Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The Spectrum of Emotion

Today, at 3:30 pm, I sit here exhausted from the events of today. Not that it was a particularly grueling day, but when one goes through the spectrum of emotion over such a short period of time, it does take its toll, and it was nice to peel off the waders and enjoy the comforts of home (for now). These are today events:

As is usual the mornings I plan on fly fishing, I arise with thoughts of emergers riding the river's flow, clouds of mayflies hovering and swaying , and of fish rising to this beautiful occasion. I pack the car and head north to the place where these dreams just may come true wearing the usual silly grin - I arrive at the river uneventfully.

I arrive at the river to find that the BWO hatch is heavy again and the Brook Trout aren't passing it up. The pool appears to be boiling under a stove top at times with all the activity of its jeweled inhabitants - The silly grin grows ear to ear - I quickly tie on a BWO emerger and slowly, on my knees, work my way upstream. Just as I had hoped while tying this new pattern last night, the fish eagerly rise for the fly. Most fish are in 6-8 inch range, which is the average for the Upper Credit. At times I just hold the fly line and rod in my hands and sit there enjoying the boiling and popping of the river's surface film. What a perfect beginning to the day.

Their colours are nothing short of brilliant this time of year

Within an hour of my arrival to the river, a man and his son walk up to the pool I am fishing and immediately proceed to throw bass lures. The sound of these monstrosities hitting the water make me cringe. A number of choice words come to mind but I keep my cool. I immediately strip in my line with the intent of leaving when I see treble hooks attached to their "gear" (Note: regulations for the Upper Credit River are single-pointed barbless hooks). I inform the "gentleman" of his infraction; he thanks me and proceeds to leave. Satisfied that this man will show respect for these regulations in front of his son, I make my way down to the next pool. Upon my arrival, I look back to find that the man and his son have returned and continue to fish. At this point I am irate, and am about to call the authorities to report them. I decide not to as I figured they didn't have a chance in hell of catching a trout with what they were using anyway. On second thought I should have.

After managing to bring my blood from a boil, a tie into a nice female Brook Trout on my now trusty BWO emerger. I then land another on a Pheasant Tail Nymph. After a while of nothing at all, I decide to put on the lowly San Juan worm. Immediately, fish are striking it aggressively and I land 3 fish in 3 casts, the largest being 9 inches. I switch up again with no success. I decide to throw on the San Juan one more time before leaving, and bam, something attacks it! I immediately see the flash and for a second I think it's a brown from the thickness and brute strength (although browns are not known to be in this stretch of river), but this premonition fades quickly when I see its vibrant colours. After a bulldogging battle, he finally obliges to greet me streamside. I'm in awe of his colours and the girth of his shoulders - 11.25 inches long - a trophy to Upper Credit standards.

I pull out my camera, and the trophy squirms; with all my attention on making sure I don't lose him, my inattention to my camera finds it on the bottom of the river. Jubilation quickly leads to panic, as I pull the dripping metal conconction from its nemesis. The choice words once reserved for the "fisherman" upstream are uttered.

I ended up taking a pic with my phone, but of course the colours and quality are poor and if I don't get the camera working, I will redefine the meaning of "domestic strife".

The camera is now dissected and a fan is blowing on it at full force. If the camera is in disrepair, this may be my last blog. . . as I may be without fingers.


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