February 29, 2016 – A Leap Day Native Brook Trout Adventure

Change of plans: a small mountain freestone creek.

I woke this morning kind of out of it.  I was sore from taking most of a small tree down on Sunday.  It was damaged in a storm a few years ago, but we really just wanted more sun for my wife’s garden.  Up and down the ladder, working a chainsaw above my head, chopping up smaller branches on the ground:  everything hurt, as a result.  I think I was up from 4 to 5 AM at one point and turned off the alarm so I could sleep in a bit, but my wife woke me up from a deep sleep at about 7:30 AM, worried about me being late for work.  I was just tired and sore, so I took an actual sick day, not my usual “sick day,” although one could argue that it did indeed become the latter.

A beautiful little native trout.

After I took the boy to the bus stop, I took a too-brief nap, but it did make me feel a lot better.  I actually considered working on the tree again before I decided to let it wait and go fishing.  I wanted to take advantage of the extra day in February and fish a spot that would be off limits come March 1.  While special regulation creeks are open to fishing year-round, the regular Approved Waters close from March 1 to Opening Day.  Sadly, the creek I had in mind is covered under that law even though it does hold wild browns and hold-over bows that I figured would be active after a few days of mild weather.  It was today or April 16 and the Opening Day crowds.  

Like cold water covered steps.

As I was just about finished my 90 minute drive, I decided on a whim to do something completely different.  Not far above my original destination is a tiny gem of a freestoner that I have not fished in a few years.  It holds wild brookies, and with all the moss and cascades and hemlocks and deer and even a flushed-out grouse one time, it feels a bit like a Garden of Eden.  I didn’t have the right rod. An 8’6”, native brook trout, and a forest freestone creek don’t make a great combination, but I made due.  It’s a good steep climb, too, like a cold water covered staircase at times.  An adventure, basically, and a Leap Day that registered nearly 60 degrees deserved an adventure. Joe Humphreys would have been proud of the number of bow and arrow casts I had to make.

Hungry little guy.

I drove through some rain on my way north, and as I suited up, clouds gathered, but besides a drop or two, the skies never opened up.  The sun peeked out a few times too.  I tied a barbless caddis nymph on my 4 wt since some of the fish in this creek are ravenous 4 inchers that I want to catch when they’re 8 inchers, and I started hoofing it up the stairs.  When I paused at one pocket to get the kinks out, I hooked a small fish and took a water temperature reading: a balmy 38.  I stopped at a few other pockets along the way, but the destination I had in mind was a long, yard deep pool that rests by a swampy spring on one of the few level plateaus.  If I eventually didn’t take the barbless fly off my leader, however, there may not have been fish pictures today.  With no net, which would only get stuck on every branch and log on my way, I was having a hard time bringing the first 3 or 4 fish to hand.  Though there were no risers, a small stone fly landed on my sleeve at one point, so I switched to a small black and olive nymph, this one with a barb.  As I reached the pool that I had climbed to fish, I was happy to bring a better brook trout to hand.  Better here, on a tiny, rather infertile freestoner means 8 inches, of course.  I may have landed a 12-incher here once about 5 years ago, but not today.

A better fish, perhaps the best of the day.

Despite my sore body, I worked up a sweat and spent a lot of time creeping around on my knees so as not to spook the fish in skinny water without the aid of any leaf cover.  But I was having a lot of fun.  This was how I began trout fishing with the fly rod a long time ago, sneaking around chasing wild brook trout in beautiful places in the mountains. 

Or was this the better one?

The spot I thought would be the honey hole proved to be.  On one knee behind a tree, I took pains to remain concealed and was rewarded with sor(er) knees and about 5 more fish coming from the head of this deep pool, to end the day with 8 or 9 fish.  I think I only had room to make about 3 traditional casts, so at least I didn’t further stress my poor shoulders and wrists.  All in all, a memorable, good fishing/sick day.

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