By Daryl Bauer, Fisheries Outreach Program Manager
I have not taken time to re-watch it lately, but A River Runs Through It is a great movie. If I recall correctly, the closing line to that flick was, “I am haunted by waters.” Take a couple of minutes, watch.
A few weeks ago, I spent time on some of my favorite trout streams in the panhandle of our great state. Those streams are not large, but they run through beautiful places. The trout in them are beautiful too, particularly in the fall (Fall Colors: Fishing Edition).
Every opportunity I get to fish for trout in small streams I am reminded of the need to slow down. Sneak, be quiet. Trout in those waters know how to survive. They do it by being keenly aware and cautious. Have always said those fish are easy to catch as long as they are not spooked. On the other hand, once scared, they cannot be caught with anything short of explosives.
In spite of the streams being small, there can be some large trout in them. They are particularly wary.
I understand the closing scene and lines of A River Runs Through It. I can relate. Beyond, can tell you that there is more in those waters that haunt me—big fish.
One in particular from this recent trip will torment me until I have another chance to fish those waters. In spite of knowing I needed to slow down and still-hunt the fish more so than casting and catching, I failed to execute that plan.
It is never good to be on a schedule while trout fishing on a small stream. Knowing that I had only a certain amount of time to fish just made me hurry and do stupid things.
Trout racing frantically for cover painfully reminded me I was doing it wrong.
Finally, taking a deep breath and realizing I had time to fish only one more spot, I crept into position and took a look. That deep breath escaped my chest as I spotted a very nice brown trout holding in a run, in feeding position. I knew I would have to sneak, probably only have one chance for a quiet cast. But, if I did it right, I could be taking pictures of that gorgeous fish before slipping it back into the water from which it came.
I made a wide loop around, crossed the creek onto the opposite bank. Crouched, I snuck into shade and towards my casting position. The last few yards were crawled on hands and knees. Peeking, I could see the fish still holding where it had been, at ease.
Readying my gear and checking for all obstacles I prepared to make my cast. Carefully, quietly the fly arced through the air and softy touched the water perfectly upstream of the fish. . ..
Which promptly turned and raced downstream like a band of otters was hot on its tail.
I am haunted.
