FishWhistler25
New Member
The heat of summer has been blistering the past few weeks. While I do enjoy spending days by the pool, my itch for chasing native brookies burns.
After what felt like an eternal drought, the rain gods finally blessed us with some much needed downpours. I sat at my desk all week watching the raindrops fall from the sky knowing that our native brooks lay thankful for this needed rain.
With water temps down, I knew that it was time to chase after my favorite catch. I planned to visit a stream that is tucked way up in the mountains. No hiking trail, no clear paths, and nobody but myself.
I arrived to the stream around 6:45 in the morning, parked the truck and rigged up a size 18 parachute adams with a size 20 BH gold-ribbed hares ear nymph dropper. I then began my ascent upstream.
The first hour of fishing was slow, the hike was even slower. I felt like I was playing a game of chess against the forest, every move I made to crawl through the thick growth of rhododendron was matched with another obstacle placed seemingly strategically by the forest.
I would occasionally stumble upon an opening and be rewarded with a combination of native brooks and wild bows. While I am always grateful to catch fish (especially natives), the fish I was landing were exceptionally small. At this point in my fishing career I am almost a professional at catching tiny fish, but these little fellas were gunning for the crown of King Dink.
Regardless, I pressed on.
I found myself in what can only be described as a labyrinth of thicket. I fought my way through and stumbled my way to the other side only to be stopped by the sight of a perfect native brookie.
It was a miracle that I had not spooked this fish as it laid in the shallow tail-out of a pool only about 10 yards in front of me. I knew that every move I made ran the risk of scaring this beautiful fish back into its underwater lair of safety. With that in mind, I carefully pulled out enough line to put my fly right in front of his face, cut of my dropper, and planned my cast.
If I tried an overhead then the forest would have surely engulfed my fly and my shot would be blown, so a roll cast it was. I thought to myself that I only have one opportunity at this, and proceeded to lay my fly delicately in front of my target.
WHAM!
He struck the parachute adams like a torpedo! I set the hook and the fight was on: he pulled with all of his might against my 4WT. My heart raced as I extended my net to land this absolute beauty. Words can not describe the feeling of catching a new personal best.
I took my pictures, thanked the river, and released him back into his home. My day was made.
Needless to say, the hike back to the truck felt a lot sweeter than the way up.
After what felt like an eternal drought, the rain gods finally blessed us with some much needed downpours. I sat at my desk all week watching the raindrops fall from the sky knowing that our native brooks lay thankful for this needed rain.
With water temps down, I knew that it was time to chase after my favorite catch. I planned to visit a stream that is tucked way up in the mountains. No hiking trail, no clear paths, and nobody but myself.
I arrived to the stream around 6:45 in the morning, parked the truck and rigged up a size 18 parachute adams with a size 20 BH gold-ribbed hares ear nymph dropper. I then began my ascent upstream.
The first hour of fishing was slow, the hike was even slower. I felt like I was playing a game of chess against the forest, every move I made to crawl through the thick growth of rhododendron was matched with another obstacle placed seemingly strategically by the forest.
I would occasionally stumble upon an opening and be rewarded with a combination of native brooks and wild bows. While I am always grateful to catch fish (especially natives), the fish I was landing were exceptionally small. At this point in my fishing career I am almost a professional at catching tiny fish, but these little fellas were gunning for the crown of King Dink.
Regardless, I pressed on.
I found myself in what can only be described as a labyrinth of thicket. I fought my way through and stumbled my way to the other side only to be stopped by the sight of a perfect native brookie.
It was a miracle that I had not spooked this fish as it laid in the shallow tail-out of a pool only about 10 yards in front of me. I knew that every move I made ran the risk of scaring this beautiful fish back into its underwater lair of safety. With that in mind, I carefully pulled out enough line to put my fly right in front of his face, cut of my dropper, and planned my cast.
If I tried an overhead then the forest would have surely engulfed my fly and my shot would be blown, so a roll cast it was. I thought to myself that I only have one opportunity at this, and proceeded to lay my fly delicately in front of my target.
WHAM!
He struck the parachute adams like a torpedo! I set the hook and the fight was on: he pulled with all of his might against my 4WT. My heart raced as I extended my net to land this absolute beauty. Words can not describe the feeling of catching a new personal best.
I took my pictures, thanked the river, and released him back into his home. My day was made.
Needless to say, the hike back to the truck felt a lot sweeter than the way up.
