Trout-Induced Musings | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Trout-Induced Musings | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kelly Rinehart
02/05/07
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Small stream fishing is where it’s at. Big rivers may be dramatic. Boat trips may be productive. Float tubing may be novel. But, when it comes to casting a dry fly, sign me up for wading a small stream. Picture a sunny, warm, northern California summer day. I had staked out a small stretch of private water. Meaning, I had the place to myself. Dropping in a line from the bank was tricky in spots. So, I opted to quietly wade into the water itself and cast upstream, my line gently floating back toward me, with the hopes of enticing a hungry trout before my presence was detected. Timing is everything in fly fishing. Fly patterns are chosen based on the current hatch and what those finicky fish known as trout are surfacing for that day. The line is presented close enough to get the attention of a potential catch while far enough away to avoid scaring off every living thing under the surface. Efforts are more productive in the early mornings and late afternoons when the sun is low, the shadows deep, and the likelihood of being noticed from the shoreline diminished.

There is also the time sensitive reality of over-fishing. I fully admit I had over-fished my prized section of solitary stream. My offerings were no longer novel enough to fool any trout, wild or farmed. It was time to move on. Yet, there are times when all logic would say “Move on!” while our gut says, “Stick around.” I stuck around. And I didn’t catch a thing. Strike that. I didn’t catch any fish. However, I stood there long enough and still enough to pick up on something entirely different and every bit as important to my enjoyment of small stream fishing.

I began to lose sight of my line and its goal to catch any particular type of aquatic animal. Rather, I tuned into other aspects of creation. Birds began to alight on the tree branches around my head, singing their carefree and communicative songs. The silence began to make a sound – the kind of sound that only the soul can interpret. Then – of course, when I was not expecting it - the fish came. Not to the end of my tippet, but to the tips of my toes. Swimming around my feet as if they were rocks within the stream, gradually being smoothed out by the constant yet graceful movement of the water. I said, “Hey, you crazy fish! Not so close! I can’t catch you down there. I’m dealing with a long fly rod here. Move back so I can make a bona fide cast for you.” But, they didn’t hear me under all that clear, crisp liquid. They didn’t hear me, nor did they even acknowledge me. I had, for a moment, become a part of their world. No longer a threat to safety or comfort. Just a fellow inhabitant of their wilderness.

I realized that to be successful, one needs to be active and inactive in their approach. Whether the success be with catching fish or catching a moment of splendor, there is a balance of using one’s skills, waiting patiently for the right time to use them, and setting them aside to take in the unexpected gift that is meant just for us. I didn’t join much of the fisherman’s banter nor obligatory exaggerations that evening. Instead, I pondered the whole of the day in my heart. I still go fishing there in my mind sometimes. I may be many miles away, but the lessons will always apply. The Creator is even more clever than a trout that way. I’m catching on.

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