|
|
 |
|
June, 16 2002 Mystery Creek Time: 8:30am - 12:15pm Narrative: The fly fisher as predator. There’s
something very satisfying about declaring that you are going to go to bring back
dinner and actually doing it. I know, this flies in the face conventional PC Fly
Fishing etiquette. I’ve never put much stock in that hunter/gather, getting
back to our roots, maintaining our traditions mumbo jumbo that hunters often
espouse but there’s something primal about planning to fish your limit
and actually doing it; something that touches our primitive self and is
immensely satisfying. Chest swelling satisfying. Today on Mystery Creek, I planned to kill
five fish, did and am feeling pretty good about it. The fishing started
innocently enough. I had 2 1/2 hours to creel 5 dinner fish. Didn’t seem too
difficult at first but when in the first hour I had only landed 2 fish, barely
large enough to feed a cat, my skills as provider fell into question. In truth,
I started to feel slightly stressed. What must it have been like to HAVE to
catch fish to feed your family I wondered. Realizing for the first time that
what I take for granted as a simple pleasure was a necessity for folks 100 years
ago and is a necessity for many South East Asian immigrants today. I can remember when I first started fly
fishing. I would cut class to fish Lake Temiscal in the evenings. Fishing for
Bluegill mostly but there were always families of Vietnamese or Laotian
immigrants, bait fishing for the latest stockers. A father and his sons mostly,
set up with multiple rods. At a limit of 5 fish each, the more sons, the more
fish for the family. They were good. I remember standing in awe as this kid made
his cast and seconds later pulled in a fish, only to do it again 5 minutes
later. It was amazing to watch. I, of course, wasn’t under nearly the
same sort of pressure. The pressure on myself was self-inflicted. In 2 hrs I was
meeting my family at a restaurant for Father’s day brunch. Putting food on the
table was not a problem, not now, hopefully not ever. Feeling I
had spent too much time fishing the lower river, I moved quickly through areas
that are usually fish producers. It was now 11am and I wanted to hit the “big
fish” water before my planned 11:30am departure. By this time, I had switch
from my Krystal Flash on a Hook, Bead Head Prince combination to a BH Prince,
Gold Rib Hares Ear combination. I was getting desperate. I lost faith in my
usual sure thing for this stream attractor flies in favor of a “match the
hatch” strategy. I quickly surveyed the stream and found bunches of size 20
midge and mayfly nymphs. My first instinct was to put on a size 20 midge
imitation but I opted for the more generic GRHE imitation. It worked. Now at the “big fish” pool,
I hooked fish. I soon went from zero to one fish in the creel. On the next cast,
I hooked into the biggest fish of the pool. He revealed himself with a slight
head turn as I tightened up on my rod. I felt a slight tug and the “twang”
you feel when you’ve pulled a fly from a fish’s mouth……I missed the
largest fish of the day. “Boy, what an accomplishment it would be to bring him
home for supper”, I thought. “Mom and Dad could live on that fish for
days”…..lamenting that I wouldn’t be given a second chance, I continued
casting. 1 fish in the creel, missed the big fish of the day, I was quickly
approaching the point of no return. What’s the point of no return? The latest
time at which I calculated I could leave the river and return home with an
acceptable margin of tardiness. The next fish was the big’n. Whether it
was the same fish or a different fish, I don’t know. I suspect it was the same
fish taking a different fly. It didn’t matter. It was a brick. The fish made
one run to around the pool and then sat motionless in the fast moving water. I,
my 6’9” rod and 6x tippet sat motionless as well. There was no way I was
going to horse this fish. It was simply too heavy. I had quite a quandary. I was
in the same situation 4 or so years ago while fishing a lighter rod. Then the
fish charged down stream, my rod went limp as a noodle and my tippet snapped.
With steely resolve, I promised myself that would not happen again. The fish was 22 inches if it was an inch.
I’m the first to admit though, that in small streams, things tend to be
smaller than they appear. My plan was to simply hold on and let the fish tire.
It didn’t seem to want to do anything other than hang out, which was fine with
me. We both stayed motionless. It made a play for the rock and undercut bank at
the end of the pool. I pulled right, steering him into the shallow water near
the bank. It swirled, jumping in water just high enough to cover his back.
“Whoa, that’s a big fish…” Then, it jumped again and my tippet
snapped as the fish hit the backside of a rock and left a V wake as it ran down
stream. “Should have followed it down
stream, not tried to play it on a long line”, I muttered to myself. The point
of no return had come and gone. I was in trouble now. Not literally. I had
missed the point of no return and a scolding was inevitable. Not only that but I
assured a scolding for years to come. Once, about 10 years ago, I fished
Pleasant Valley Creek before my wife and I were due to check out of our hotel.
“I’ll be back before check out”, I declared. I returned to find my wife,
bags in hand, waiting on the stoop outside our room, not in the best of moods.
For years later, until his death, Don the innkeeper would take a dig at me each
time I drove away with rod in hand. He had great fun at my expense. What’s that expression? “In for a
penny, in for a pound?”. I continued to fish, hoping to hook another big fish
but knowing that with all the commotion the previous monster had made, I’d be
lucky to hook anything. No one has ever accused hatchery fish of
being bright. (What? Did you think these were wild fish?) Within a half dozen
casts I was into another fish, then another, and then another. I left only when,
after having filled my creel, a half dozen casts didn’t garner any more
strikes. It was 12:15 by now. Our planned meeting time was 12:30 and even with
good traffic, it would take me an hour to drive back. I sped by Sunday morning churchgoers and screeched around road toasters returning from Yosemite as I raced into town. I arrived at 1:40pm and met my brother in law just as he was leaving. “How’re are they doing?”, I asked. “Barely started on the second round”, he replied. We both smiled knowingly. The first course at a buffet is just a snack for this group. It’s rare that we get out in under 2 ˝ hours. My wife sat with a big smile on her face and waved me over. I guess I hadn’t reached the point of no return after all. As we left to return to the Bay Area, my mother-in-law had fish heads simmering on the stove and a big smile. She was pleased with my catch and so was I.
Previous Pish Page Chronicle Next Pish Page Chronicle Pish Page Index
|
