Craig’s fish darted away, and he went back to fishing. Jimmy was way upstream. His bright shirt, hat, and sunglasses made him very visible from a distance. Abe, however, was just downstream from me, so I headed over to see how he was doing. Slightly hunched over, Abe was stalking a trout that was feeing on PMDs.
The fish was sitting in a weird location: behind a rock that created a slightly swift current, making it tricky to get your fly down its feeding lane. Abe was persistent, casting until the fly hit the exact spot he needed it to. I stood back and watched as the fish’s mouth came up, taking Abe’s fly. Abe’s rod shot up, indication the fish was on!
I moved further down the channel, searching with the Pico. The water was a bit more shallow here, and the shrubbery was surrounding me. I spooked one fish out of a hole, because I was more worried about the yellow-jacket that was swarming my head. It finally flew away, and I switched my fly to the bumble butt. Just upstream, a fish made a mistake and gave away its position by rising to something on the surface. I locked on the spot and moved in to make a cast. The bumble butt slapped down on the water, SMACK! Before I had time to react, the fish had hit! I set the hook fast and brought in a nice brown trout.
After my fish took off, the channel opened to the main stream. The stream dotted with rising fish everywhere and I switched to a PMD. Looking up all I could think of was the guys I just dropped off. If they could only see this, I thought, as countless fish were rising all around. After a few attempts with a PMD, I switched to a PMD emerger, and it was all over. Every fish I casted to I caught on the little emerger. It was the fly of the night!
As much as I thought of Jim’s crew, I couldn't help but be slightly happy I didn’t have to share my fish. Stingy, I know!
It wasn’t even fair; I caught so many fish in such a small amount of time I almost felt bad. It was getting late, and I had already been on the water for over twelve hours. One more fish, I told myself, and found one that was rising nearby. Like clock work, it took my fly with no hesitation, but immediately came unbuttoned.
“Damn!” I yelled, knowing full well that fish didn’t count. To my astonishment, the same fish came right back, and started feeding again. I pitched out my fly, and it ate it again! I set the hook, and felt two good shakes before my fly came out of its mouth!
“Noooo!” Why is the last fish, always a pain in the ass?
I watched as the fish circled back around and, once more, started feeding. My buddy, Terri Kowallas came to mind, “The fish already gave you two chances. How many more do you need?” Is what Terri would say, but as the fish rose I figured, why not? I presented my fly, and like it had no memory, the fish ate it again. This time it was a solid hook up! The fish fought to get away, but I moved downstream with it and netted it fast.
The fish slowly swam away, as if it had been through the routine many times. I stood up thinking, last fish with my last cast; not a bad way to end the day. I waded back to the bank, and just when I was about to step out, I looked upstream to see many more fish rising.