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Thursday evening I loaded up the gear and drove the
family to one of my favorite spots on the river. The
early evening sky was a lovely azure, highlighted by
the bright colors of the slowly setting sun. The spinners
were not prevalent, the majority had fallen some time
earlier in the day, but the fish continued to rise to
the odd mayfly that had decided to lay her eggs later
than her comrades. I tied on a mayfly pattern specifically
designed to match the Cowichan's hatch, slowly moved
into the water, and began to gently cast the fly up
and across to the closest rises. It took only a few
casts to hook the first trout and, although it wasn't
large, pound for pound it fought as well as any trout
could. I landed it, released it, and cast to another
rise.
There were numerous fish feeding within 30 feet of
me in the tail out of the pool, but one fish began to
rise steadily on the far side of the river, slightly
downstream. It was far larger than the trout that lay
between us and I decided to risk spooking the smaller
ones and wade out as far as possible to try to get a
shot at this large fish. Out I went until the water
pressed against my lower chest and I dared not go further.
I waited until the trout rose again and then laid out
a long cast above it. The fly slowly drifted its way
over the fish but received no apparent attention. I
retrieved the fly and cast again . . . still no reaction.
I repeated this process at least 10 times and then stopped
to cogitate upon the matter before I put the fish down.
As far as I could tell I was doing everything correctly.
The only thing that might have been happening was that
I was getting micro-drag using the standard mends which
I couldn't see from this distance.
I started working the fish again and sent the fly out
trying to pile the leader up a bit by using a bounce
cast. I managed the cast but my accuracy was off and
the fish didn't take. I cast again and things looked
about as good as they were going to get. If the trout
didn't take it this time, I would have to change patterns
or give up. I was sure it was feeding on the mayflies
. . . I was doing something wrong.
I wasn’t left to ponder this very long however.
As the fly passed over where I figured the fish to be
the trout rose to the tiny offering in the prettiest
porpoise take you've ever seen. I raised the rod tip
to set the hook and the fun began in earnest.
The fish never once emerged from the water. It first
made a series of short runs back towards its hole followed
by several rolls that could have tangled the leader
in its gills and resulted in a cut tippet. Luckily this
didn't happen and when the fish realized it couldn't
return to its hiding place it headed downstream hell
bent for the bottom of the run and the rapids that led
into the next pool. I kept the rod tip up and tried
my best to follow it downstream in the chest deep water
as the reel kept up its constant complaint about relinquishing
line. Luckily, the river became shallower as it headed
towards the rapids and I managed to stop the run as
the fish pulled its way into my backing. I was now in
thigh deep water and better able to move with the fish.
All that line out and a far from tired fish on the other
end however brought my heart rate up a notch or two
to say the least. I was very concerned that the trout
would turn downstream again and I would have to break
it off or run out of line. I made my way steadily downstream
while the fish held in the current and managed to regain
my backing and some of the fly line.
When I got to within 20 feet or so of the trout it
tried its downstream tactic again. This time, however,
with the much shallower water and a better angle on
the line, I had the upper hand. Increasing the pressure
I managed to turn the fish each time it tried to head
downstream. As I closed in from the side and forced
it up towards me it caught sight of me and spooked again.
It headed upstream towards the deeper water though and
I breathed a sight of relief at not having to continue
the constant downstream battle of the past few minutes.
But the fish was far from done and, although the runs
became shorter, I couldn't manage to tire it out much.
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After a good 10 minutes of man versus
trout all I had managed to do was make two trips
to the top of the run and the fish had forced me
into one more trip to the bottom of the run. Both
my arm and the fish were getting tired when I finally
maneuvered into a position slightly downstream of
the trout. By now I was swearing at the darned thing
(my wife wasn't impressed) and I finally decided
that I was either going to force the trout to me
where I could net it or would break it off in the
attempt. Increasing the pressure well past where
I felt safe with my 5x tippet, the fish barely moved.
More pressure started the leader whining in the
current like a taut guitar string, but the fish
finally turned. I dipped the net in the water and
the current did the rest. Before the trout could
recover the current had pushed her downstream into
my net and the contest was over. |
I had won, barely, and I made my
way to shore with this lovely 19-inch brown trout.
She wasn't huge, but her size, combined with the
current and her ability to use it to her advantage,
had given me one of the toughest fights I have
ever had from a trout. |
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After removing the hook from her mouth I cradled
the brown trout carefully while my wife took some
photos. As I held the fish I noticed that she had
had an encounter with an otter or something, as
she was missing a small chunk of flesh from the
base of the top edge of her caudal fin. Once the
photos had been taken, I moved into the slower water
of the pool and spent several minutes nursing her
back to health. When she was ready I released her
and she moved off under her own steam heading for
the bottom of the pool. |
By now it had become quite dark so we packed up the
gear and headed home. All the way back we talked about
nothing except the beauty of that fish and the fight
it had given me and we prayed the photos would turn
out.
Exactly eight days later we were back at the same spot.
The hatch had slowed but the fish were still onto it
and although the water level had dropped another foot
the fish had held their ground. Again I entered the
water with the same March Brown pattern attached to
the end of my leader. There was nothing big rising so
I worked the small fish over for the next hour and managed
to catch and release half a dozen or more eight to 12
inch rainbows.
As dusk approached more fish began to rise. The shallower
water had made them warier and the larger fish had avoided
exposing themselves in the bright light of day. Across
the river, under some small willows, several fish were
rising steadily now. I waded further out into the river
not worrying about the smaller fish in the tail out;
I wanted one of the trout under the willows.
Reaching a spot where I thought I could cast to the
fish and still not spook them, and remembering the drag
problems of the previous trip, I immediately concentrated
on bounce casting the little mayfly just above the rising
trout. Again it was a long drawn out affair. They seemed
to have a sixth sense that the fly was not a real mayfly.
I drifted the fly over the trout several times only
to have a fish take a real mayfly inches ahead of or
behind my pattern. I was determined however, and continued
to work them over for as long as they continued to feed.
After twenty casts I stopped counting and simply relaxed
and continued the siege. Finally one of the fish rose
to the pattern in a slashing strike and due to my now
over-relaxed state I reacted too slowly and missed it.
I could have pitched the rod into the water after that.
The only thing that stopped me was the price of my gear
and the fact that the fish were still rising . . . I
cast again.
Five casts later a fish decided that my fly was worth
a try and struck. I wasn't asleep this time and I set
the hook well. This trout headed right towards me and
upstream and I had to hand-strip the line in to get
pressure on it. After the initial run it stayed put
in the current and used the pressure to keep me at bay.
I couldn't move the fish, but did manage to reel in
the excess line and play the trout on the reel. As I
made my way upstream I increased the pressure on the
trout - first to the left, then across and to the right.
This did the trick and the trout turned and headed downstream
towards shallower water. It stopped mid-way down the
run and I stumbled my way out of the deep water and
over beside the fish, albeit still 20 feet away. Again
it held its ground in the current and again I had to
work the rod to get the fish to move.
I was becoming concerned at this point. All this pressure
in different directions was sure to be loosening the
hook and with the fish simply moving from pocket to
pocket it wasn't tiring very quickly. I maneuvered myself
downstream again and tried the trick I had used the
previous week to net the brown trout. Sure enough, as
soon as I had managed to turn the fish the current caught
it and pushed it right into the waiting net. She wasn't
ready to be netted yet, but she was in the bag before
she knew it.
"Another beautiful brown!" I exclaimed to
my wife as I sloshed my way towards her to get more
pictures.
I removed the hook, and as I slid her out from the
confines of the net I noticed the tell tale scar on
the caudal fin. That's right, it was the same fish.
I was ecstatic. This was (to my knowledge) the first
time I had actually caught the same fish twice. My wife
took the pictures and I showed my son the scar to prove
that it was the same trout we had caught the week before.
Then I carefully released her again.
I packed up my gear in the closing darkness and talked
to my son about the opportunities and successes of catch
and release as we made our way back to the truck and
home. I explained that here, now, was living proof that
you can have your cake twice, as long as you don't eat
it. He was very receptive to this line of logic. He
has been releasing much of his catch since I began teaching
him to fish. He's was only 12 years old then. He is
23 now and still bugs my friends about killing their
catch. Sometimes I have to remind him that it is their
prerogative to do so where legal. I'm very proud of
my son's outlook on sport fishing. I have taught him
to only kill what he will eat, and since trout don't
freeze that well we kill only a few fish each year.
He believes, and adheres to, what I have taught him,
not because he has to but because he now believes it
to be right. Our beautiful brown trout was the proof
in the pudding. We all could take a lesson from that
experience.
Someone once said that we are simply borrowing the
earth from our children. I believe this to be true.
I also believe that our children must be taught so they
will be ready to inherit this earth from us. My family
knows that catch and release works. Give yourself and
your family the opportunity to experience the same thing.
Release some of your catch. Your children will thank
you later.
Bill Luscombe has been hunting and fishing for most
of his 42 years. He has been flyfishing for 20 years.
He instructs flyfishing, and has done so for the past
12 years. He also instructs the federal FSET firearms
course and the BC CORE hunter training course. He is
an award-winning outdoor writer and has been writing
freelance since 1987. He has been published in BC Sport
Fishing Magazine, Outdoor Edge, BC Outdoors, Western
Sportsman, Island Fish Finder, and the BC Hunting Guide.
Bill Luscombe was born an army brat and raised in Ladner
(Delta, BC) where he was raised hunting waterfowl and
pheasants. He presently resides in North Cowichan on
southern Vancouver Island where he has lived and worked
full time as a professional forester since 1982.
He presently works in Nanaimo for the BC Forest Service
and continue to write the fly-fishing column for BC
Sport Fishing Magazine as well as contributing articles
freelance to various outdoor magazines in western Canada.
Bill Luscombe is also a BC Director of the Northwest
Outdoor Writers Association.
"Catching fish is not hard. You simply need to
understand what makes them tick. If you think like a
fish, you will catch fish. It’s as simple as that."-
Bill Luscombe
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