Wild Trout

[WestCentralFisher]

The primary purpose of this week's trip was to fish the trout factory that is the upper Current River. And we did, to great effect. My dad's leg is mending from an ever-lengthening string of surgeries, so we sat at the social hole in Montauk and caught what he'd so poetically call snot rockets on Powerbait. He's a fly fisherman, and an excellent one, so this was a ding to his pride, but it beats the hell out of not fishing. We then went down to the "real river" as he calls it at Baptist Camp, and we did get to catch fish on a fly rod, albeit from lawn chairs. The pool right at the access usually looks good but comes up blank, but in high and dark green water it gave up its secrets more readily. I would like to say the river saw our situation and threw us a bone, but rivers in my experience tend to be pretty apathetic to our day to day concerns.

He's a tough guy and he'll surely bounce back, but it's tough to see him like that. So when we parted ways, I needed a little more time before returning home and checking emails and doing the dishes. So I stopped by my favorite little wild trout creek.

Well, it's usually little. At twice its normal flow, it was running dark green in the riffles and tan in the deep holes, and you'd stand a fair chance at getting a jon-boat down it without incident. I immediately knew the fishing would be good. These are the conditions you always hope for, but dare not expect.

The first fish was the regulation 6 incher at the head of the first good pool I came to, a beautiful, obnoxiously colorful fish that lept twice but was ultimately limited in the fight it could put up even against ultralight tackle.

A few casts later and in the deepest part of the pool, the line stopped. It was a feeling that is so similar to snagging the bottom that it almost feels the same, but is just noticeably more alive. Soon, a fat 16 or 17 inch rainbow was leaping in the air, before submarining back down and doing its best impression of a smallmouth bass, trying to wrap me around a log. This was a borderline trophy on this creek, and things were quickly getting hectic.

Naturally, I noticed that the one other guy within a half mile was up on the far bank, watching the whole thing.

But somehow, I didn't bugger it up. There was drama at the net, with a flubbed attempt that will so often knock the hook out, but this time didn't. After I finally netted him, the little barbless single hook I'd put on my Panther Martin fell out. I admired him for a brief, happy moment, then flipped the net over and let him swim away. It was the largest fish I've ever caught on this little creek, and a memory that won't fade for a good while.

I was just feeling like everything was going to be alright when the guy on the far bank, seeing the fish swim out of the net yelled out "oh no, you lost him before you could get him on the stringer!" I don't know if he was serious or poking fun, but either way it snapped me back to reality, and I took it as a sign that the trip was at its natural conclusion.