It's no use. It seems ironic really, one of those rare days when everything is going so smoothly - casts are perfect, drifts are perfect, fly presentation is perfect. Everything is perfect. I'm dropping my kebari on the little clear runs between the great weed rafts that sway to and fro in the stream like giant hula skirts. The gravel channels are barely six inches wide in places but I'm hitting my target every time. One of those days when I'm fishing well, not cursing myself, happy in my own little world. It's all perfect. Well, almost, because there are no trout. None at all. Not even a bump. I know they're here, hiding under the weeds, waiting. I've seen them. But it's just so damn bright today.
And hot. Too hot, but a good day today to finally pluck up the courage to wet wade for the first time this year. Which turns out to be a good call. The water is clear, clean and cool - beautifully refreshing on this, one of our hottest days of the year so far, here in the southeast.
This place is idyllic, and often I would be content enough to just drift a fly and to let myself drift too, for a few hours, fish or no. But today, don't ask me why, I need a bend in my rod, the hunter's instinct frets and nags. So I bow out and decide on another place, another river, another species.
A half hour of rattling along little country lanes and I'm at my next destination. By now its near to noon and the heat is relentlessly fierce. When I arrive at my new mark the river is clearer than I've ever seen it, and at it's summer low. If the water is too warm there'll be no fishing for me. The dissolved oxygen will be too low to safely recover the big chub I'm hoping to catch. But the water is cool here too and the fish are actively feeding, still in the great shoal I found here last week. As I move up the gravel bed the smaller fish scatter around me like iron filings pushed away by a magnet of the same polarity.
But it's the big chub I'm looking for and a tail flick betrays a fish hiding in the shade of the dogwood lining the far bank. They always hold the best spots, the big chub, just like trout. But the challenge of catching them is quite different. Less territorial, more nomadic, these muscular brassy fish cruise the river looking for opportunity. The smaller fish shoal up, the bigger fish, though often found in small pods of similar year class, seem just as content to operate alone. But, when as today, a food source concentrates them, they can be found hidden amongst the great shoals of yearlings, leviathans in Lilliput.
And herein lies the challenge of catching them, for big chub are clever fish. This one is positioned on the edge of the shoal, just under the brush. The smaller shoalies serve as an early warning, telling of any approaching danger that may prompt the older fish to simply fade from view, far under the green overhang of summer dogwood. But the shoalies tell of good things too, and when they start to twist and turn on a hatch of ascending nymphs, you can be sure the big, brassy and emboldened chub will re-materialise from the shadows, bullying into the feeding lane. It's this behaviour I'm hoping to trigger, by creating my own 'kebari hatch' with short well placed drifts close to the bankside cover where my chub lurks.
There is no breeze and the flat calm surface is like glass, so that any slight movement scares the little fish, causing them to dart this way and that. No place for false casts or flies stuck in branches. Each cast must be placed, fly only, in the feeding lane tight to the woodwork. I'm using a a small drab brown jun kebari I tied up a few days ago, and I'm keen to try it here because I think a subtle fly is called for. It gets hit by a tiny chub on my first cast, and I quickly draw the fish out from the shoal and release it. Today I don't want a numbers game, just a big fish, and crazy little chublets careering about the pool with my kebari will put my fish down. So short drifts, show them the fly to work up some interest amongst the smaller fish, but lift off and recast before a take. Hopefully the little commotion I'm causing will seem enough like a feeding frenzy to tempt the bigger fish out to investigate.
Perhaps it's more luck today than judgment, but it works. A dark shape fins out sideways from the shadow, a white flash as a mouth opens where I think my submerged kebari drifts. My heart skips a beat but my hand flicks the rod up without thought, the rod bounces, not a casting stick but a shock absorber now.
I shan't tell of all of the fight because it would feel too much like writing fishing-porn, but powerful lunges and runs and tangles in branches all feature. So does an even bigger chub that emerges from deep within the shade to learn what all the fuss is about. But despite the drama my fish does come safely to hand, so big and beautiful and brassy is he, and right back on the feeding station he goes, soon after release. It's such a perfect day after all.
And hot. Too hot, but a good day today to finally pluck up the courage to wet wade for the first time this year. Which turns out to be a good call. The water is clear, clean and cool - beautifully refreshing on this, one of our hottest days of the year so far, here in the southeast.
This place is idyllic, and often I would be content enough to just drift a fly and to let myself drift too, for a few hours, fish or no. But today, don't ask me why, I need a bend in my rod, the hunter's instinct frets and nags. So I bow out and decide on another place, another river, another species.
A half hour of rattling along little country lanes and I'm at my next destination. By now its near to noon and the heat is relentlessly fierce. When I arrive at my new mark the river is clearer than I've ever seen it, and at it's summer low. If the water is too warm there'll be no fishing for me. The dissolved oxygen will be too low to safely recover the big chub I'm hoping to catch. But the water is cool here too and the fish are actively feeding, still in the great shoal I found here last week. As I move up the gravel bed the smaller fish scatter around me like iron filings pushed away by a magnet of the same polarity.
But it's the big chub I'm looking for and a tail flick betrays a fish hiding in the shade of the dogwood lining the far bank. They always hold the best spots, the big chub, just like trout. But the challenge of catching them is quite different. Less territorial, more nomadic, these muscular brassy fish cruise the river looking for opportunity. The smaller fish shoal up, the bigger fish, though often found in small pods of similar year class, seem just as content to operate alone. But, when as today, a food source concentrates them, they can be found hidden amongst the great shoals of yearlings, leviathans in Lilliput.
And herein lies the challenge of catching them, for big chub are clever fish. This one is positioned on the edge of the shoal, just under the brush. The smaller shoalies serve as an early warning, telling of any approaching danger that may prompt the older fish to simply fade from view, far under the green overhang of summer dogwood. But the shoalies tell of good things too, and when they start to twist and turn on a hatch of ascending nymphs, you can be sure the big, brassy and emboldened chub will re-materialise from the shadows, bullying into the feeding lane. It's this behaviour I'm hoping to trigger, by creating my own 'kebari hatch' with short well placed drifts close to the bankside cover where my chub lurks.
There is no breeze and the flat calm surface is like glass, so that any slight movement scares the little fish, causing them to dart this way and that. No place for false casts or flies stuck in branches. Each cast must be placed, fly only, in the feeding lane tight to the woodwork. I'm using a a small drab brown jun kebari I tied up a few days ago, and I'm keen to try it here because I think a subtle fly is called for. It gets hit by a tiny chub on my first cast, and I quickly draw the fish out from the shoal and release it. Today I don't want a numbers game, just a big fish, and crazy little chublets careering about the pool with my kebari will put my fish down. So short drifts, show them the fly to work up some interest amongst the smaller fish, but lift off and recast before a take. Hopefully the little commotion I'm causing will seem enough like a feeding frenzy to tempt the bigger fish out to investigate.
Perhaps it's more luck today than judgment, but it works. A dark shape fins out sideways from the shadow, a white flash as a mouth opens where I think my submerged kebari drifts. My heart skips a beat but my hand flicks the rod up without thought, the rod bounces, not a casting stick but a shock absorber now.
I shan't tell of all of the fight because it would feel too much like writing fishing-porn, but powerful lunges and runs and tangles in branches all feature. So does an even bigger chub that emerges from deep within the shade to learn what all the fuss is about. But despite the drama my fish does come safely to hand, so big and beautiful and brassy is he, and right back on the feeding station he goes, soon after release. It's such a perfect day after all.
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