WestCentralFisher

The snow on the hillside walking down the towards the creek was undeniably pretty, but I thought to myself that I would be ok if it was the last I saw until about December. In fact, the more or less constant snow was the primary reason this was my first fishing trip in a few weeks, not counting the little pond down the road that receives a few hundred rainbow trout each winter. When I got there, the creek was as inviting as ever. It was crystal clear, with the usual bright-green vegetation of a spring creek, and just under the surface and invisible as of now, a bunch of little wild rainbow trout. My buddy would correct me and say self-sustaining, given that their ancestors rode in either on a train or in the back of a truck instead of getting here by themselves, but on the banks of a trout stream after weeks of snow and ice, that wasn't a nit I was going to pick. I have fished this creek perhaps 40-50 times, and used to know every riffle and pool to the exact depth I needed to set my strike indicator. That was about 5 years and two moves across various state lines in the past. As a cursory trip in the summer with a spinning rod and few results indicated, I was going to have to relearn it. This time, I rigged up my little 3 weight with a #18 hare's ear nymph. Significant rust aside, I was finding my old spots mostly still there, getting the fly where it needed to go, and...nothing. At these times, there's always the temptation to say the stream is no good anymore, but that was clearly untrue. I could see the flits of feeding trout everywhere they should be. I just wasn't catching them. Then I switched to a #18 Pheasant Tail, basically the exact same thing except brown instead of gray. And the same little trout that steadfastly ignored the Hare's Ear hammered them. It's easy to forget how important the little things like that are. I've caught 100s of trout on both fly patterns from this creek in the past, and usually it didn't matter which you went with. But on this day, it was the whole ball-game. Randomness like this is what keeps you on your toes. Each fish was small, but had such variation in color scheme that at a certain point, I was mostly just fishing to see what the next one would look like. After several hours of this, tired and well-satisfied, I began the long walk back up the hill. My waders had done a poor job holding out water, my legs were sore, and doing the hike out in my waders instead of changing out of them was a strategic error. But my old creek still fished pretty much how I remembered it, and that was enough to make the drive home through the now almost snow-free world a happy one.

If you fish enough, particularly on the same waters, you sort of develop a sense for when the fishing probably isn't going to be much good. This is heightened in the winter; there is just a sort of stillness to everything some days. You can still see some fish, because it's a crystal clear, spring-fed river, but they aren't doing much. You might easily show up the next day, in seemingly the exact same conditions, but it's not the same. There is a sort of sense that everything is just a bit more alive, and if you don't trip over your own feet, you'll probably catch a whole bunch of fish. Wednesday, the first day of this year, was the former. I met my Dad on the river late in the morning; it had been September the last time we fished together, far too long. There had been good reasons in both of our lives for that, but nonetheless it was a problem that needed to be solved. The place we met at is about the furthest it could be from a secret, but it's also just enough under the radar that you can pretty much have it to yourself on a winter holiday. The fishing, as I hinted at, was on the slow side. That's a relative matter. This river is absolutely loaded with trout, so even on the slow days you are bound to catch a few. My dad caught a few little browns on an olive woolly bugger; I caught two 9 inch browns and two rainbows a few inches larger than that on a little olive jig. The strikes were tentative, and the fights sluggish at first, before heating up. It really was one of those days where I didn't mind the fishing being a little bit slow. I found myself looking a little more at my surroundings, which are quite impressive here. When I looked up at the steep, cedar dotted slope above the river, it occurred to me that this was almost certainly the first place I ever fished for trout in Missouri. I was about 8 years old. My grandfather was a passionate fly fisherman. It had been his birthday, and he had driven over, set up his RV at a campground down the road, and called up my dad and informed, not asked that we would be going down there and going fishing with him. I had totally forgotten where it had been, and it bugged me, but on this day, looking up at at that hillside, and thinking back on that day 25 years ago, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that was the spot. He spent that whole trip patiently trying to teach me how to fly cast, with what you'd have to call limited success. I don't think he fished at all. I'm absolutely certain no one came remotely close to catching a single fish in two full days of fishing. And it's one of my fonder childhood memories. He passed from cancer a few years after that. He was one of those tough, stoic men who died, almost literally on his horse. Once there was nothing much more to be done, he spent his last few months on a horse ranch in the southwest. He went straight from a trail ride to the hospital, and was gone within a few days. This surprised no one. If he saw me casting an ultra-light spinning rod instead of a 5-weight, he'd have pretended to be offended to his core, but he'd mostly have just been happy that I spent my holiday on the river with my Dad. When we breaked for lunch back at the truck, I mentioned this to my Dad. He agreed it looked like the same spot, and we both got a good laugh reminiscing about how disastrous my fly casting had been on this river 25 years ago. Apparently I hooked pretty much everyone in our party at some point with a fly, a detail my brain conveniently has omitted from memory. We both agreed that if we ended up living lives where the sight of a pretty hillside on a trout stream was the sort of thing that inspired people to remember us, we'd have done OK. Then we finished our lunch, and went back to the river. I asked my dad if we could switch set-ups for the last couple hours so I could fish with my grandpa's old 5 weight for awhile. Fittingly, it had gotten windy, and I was pretty rusty with my fly casting. It did not go particularly well, and I caught no more fish, and did not come particularly close. I could just envision grandpa sitting on the bank a safe distance behind me, and chuckling after a failed cast, and saying "If that's what you call 10 and 2, son, I'd hate to see you drive."

I read this reply, and as a result am currently looking at two reels spooled with 2 and 4 pound test. The difference is really obvious to me. Not trying to be combative, I just don't agree that it isn't a noticeable difference. It's very noticeable to me I'm not a fish either, so I can't be certain but to me it seems plausible it could matter.

The river is certainly very nice right now. And not that many people on it even on a Saturday with fairly good weather.

For the sake of clarity (some pun intended) this mostly matches with what I said. I think heavier line has an effect with more subtle forms of presentation like tiny marabou jigs, and less so (if at all) with less subtle presentations like spinners/crankbaits. I do happen to think 2 pound test is marginally less likely to spook fish than 4 pound based on anecdotal, visual observation while sight-fishing. That conclusion may well be wrong, but I do fail to see how it would be "mind-boggling" to draw a seemingly reasonable conclusion (smaller diameter material may be less likely to be noticed by fish) based on observational evidence that seems to support it. There are loads of possible reasons I could be interpreting the evidence incorrectly, but I'm compelled to push back a touch at the insinuation that it's a ridiculous thought. I will allow that I've not yet seen fish carrying calipers about, but I'll keep an eye out for it. If you see any, please let me know. Might be time to take up golf at that point. Anyway, y'all have an excellent Christmas Eve, regardless of which gauge of fishing line you prefer.

Yeah, it totally depends, I agree. Heavy line isn't going to impact the action of a jerkbait/crankbait, and since any take will likely be a spur of the moment thing the line getting noticed is unlikely. I find that's mostly true with spinners, the exception being on small wild trout creeks in low water where everything just seems so magnified and every little thing matters. But anything slow where a take is not likely to be a reaction strike is a different story I think. Lots of times when I fish jigs, I am either dead-drifting or almost so with slight twitches. Fish are often looking at it a few seconds before a take (or not). In those cases, when sight fishing, even with 2# line I'll see fish spook from what I at least think is the line, and my educated guess from observation is that it happens more often the heavier the line. Of course, this can be made moot by even a little rain and an olive-green cloudiness to the water. That's why this stuff basically doesn't matter on the 11 Point. It basically always has a slightly lower level of clarity. I also suspect it doesn't matter nearly much in fast water or anywhere with significant turbulence.

It could be just a matter of confidence, and I don't doubt you tested this much more extensively than I did. My biggest point of reference is that earlier this year (August/September) I was really struggling to consistently catch trout. I re-spooled with 2# test, and I really did notice what felt like an immediate uptick in the number of fish I hooked, and that continued on. It was sort of a turning point in my success, or at least I thought it so. A couple notes: as most folks will recall, the water was really low and clear in late summer and early fall this year, so any possible effects would have been more than normal. Additionally, I can't rule out I just improved in other aspects of my ability at at the same time and it's coincidental. And the biggest differences were in slow, glassy pools with slow presenting lures (jigs, primarily). I also did well fishing on the 11 Point in relatively low water conditions with 6 pound test, but that surprises me not at all. The Eleven Point is basically a big brawling Rocky Mountain trout stream transposed into an Ozark landscape, and it is sort of its own thing. It's sort of like changing the color of a jig/spinner/whatever, and starting to catch fish. You never really know if the change mattered, or the fish just happened to start biting right then, but it's hard to want to switch back to the previous color either way.

I'll also say it greatly depends on what you're using. For spinners/crankbaits, 4# vs. 2# will likely not matter a whole lot except in the clearest conditions. For marabou jigs I find it matters more since fish have much more time to inspect

Anecdotally, I just seem to catch about ~1/3 (very rough estimate, of course) fewer trout on 4# on average compared to 2. And for trout fishing on most streams it rarely costs me lost fish. Obviously, would never intentionally choose 2 pound for smallmouth fishing, but that was a happy accident. It only really matters if water is crystal clear, but nonetheless it's my default for trout fishing.

He did not. So there is some justice in the world, I suppose.

Also, funny story I forgot to share. After I got done fishing for the day, I drove over to Bennett Spring State Park just to look around/take pictures/relax for a bit. I was sitting down on a bench not far from the banks when a young fisherman, maybe 20/21 years old started fishing nearby. We said hello, talked about how our respective days of fishing went, etc. He seemed to know what he was doing from a fishing standpoint, but he made one fatal error. He yelled at me "holy crap, there's a 4 or 5 pounder right there!" quite loudly. I wasn't fishing at that point, so I suppose he felt safe saying that, but I saw the only other fisherman in the vicinity visibly perk up when he said that. After a few minutes, he was going back to his nearby car to get his other fly box having apparently exhausted the options in his vest, and the second he stepped away, the other gentleman I just referenced walked up, and dang near immediately hooked this kid's fish on a marabou jig. I felt a little bad for the young man, and it was definitely a bit of poor form on the other guy's part, but you have to account for the human dimension.

That one's bigger, lol. I did catch a couple ~14 inchers, but I happened to have my phone out of the dry box when I caught the one in the picture. Likely story, I know. I did lose a bigger one....maybe 17-18 inches. I'll blame the two pound line (again I went there to fish for trout...lol). It didn't actually break off, but I was real worried it would, so I didn't play it as confidently as I normally would, and eventually he shook the little marabou jig hook.

Good day on the river today, not that I have a whole lot of bad ones. Trout fishing was about as slow as ever I've seen it here (only a couple 11 inch rainbows caught all day, a few more hooked and lost) but the smallmouth fishing was positively decent and filled in the gaps nicely. Overall, very nice day on the river with slightly slow fishing for most of it. No complaints here. The smallies fought hard and really were a good deal of fun on the ultra-light trout setup.

I don't have any answers for you, but I just spent a long, deeply relaxing and enjoyable weekend fishing there this fall, before the flood, obviously. While it's no longer what I'd consider my home river, the Upper Current was that for me for many years. Seeing some of the photos of the park hurts my soul a little. I know it'll bounce back in time, but so many good memories in that place. Last place I ever fished with my grandpa, for one. We stayed down at the cabins there with him, realistically about 5 years after he had any business being out fishing. But he really wanted to go. Being a lifelong saltwater fisherman who set the hook violently, he yanked the hook out of every fish he hooked, but finally on about his last opportunity before we needed to leave, I saw his line twitching, and just waited to tell him until I was pretty sure the fish had swallowed the powerbait. Even then it was touch and go, but we were able to get it onto shore finally and he got just about as excited as I've ever seen the man. You would have thought he caught a tarpon. Good memories. I know the river will bounce back, and I hope to have more good memories down there, but I expect it'll be different. That's ok, but it's hard not to feel some kind of way about it.

I've had two experiences with large animals I'd categorize as negative (though I'll note nothing happened either time). Both involved moose. I once had the "between the cow and calf" experience while wading on a little brush-lined trout stream in the Bighorns. Definitely unpleasant. Thankfully it was a small and shallow stream, so I simply waded down the middle until I was pretty sure I was no longer in between them and scurried up onto the bank and back to camp. The brush made visibility tough, so I couldn't be sure, but obviously since I'm posting this, it ended up ok. The other was while hiking in Northern Colorado with a couple friends when I was a young pup, maybe 19 or 20. We'd planned our hike badly and it was nearing dark with a couple miles left. There was one place where you could safely ford a small but very fast moving river. And a cow moose was blocking it perfectly. In this case, she didn't do anything aggressive, she just picked from our standpoint an inconvenient place to stand, and would not move. After about 20 minutes of waiting and nothing happening we searched out an alternate crossing, which was very sketchy because it was then totally dark. I'll note the only thing that made that moose dangerous was that our poor planning made it so we could not practically wait the situation out. I learned a lot that day in terms of how much respect wild areas demand, particularly out west. Not so much because of the moose, but for many reasons that day could have ended much worse than it did for us.