Dawn Patrol Wild Trout

The day is always darkest right before the dawn.
I stood looking at the reflection of a factory flood light on the swirling surface of an urban wild trout stream in my 6th hour. When I'd made my first cast, there was still a little bit of light from the setting sun gracing the deep green leaves and numerous brick buildings that lined the stream, diffuse and filtered by a layer of low clouds. The brown I'd just released, which had taken a Master Splinter, was so small I felt bad for jamming such a large hook in it's face. At least it was a stream born fish, unlike the handful of rainbows I'd hooked prior. Though they filled the gaps in what would have been a near full night lull, I'd just rather not have caught them at all.

I thumbed through my fly box, full of Pushers, Muddlers, stone fly nymphs, Governors, Professors, Kate McLarens, Mr. Hankies, and bunny leeches, many wet from their turns on the end of my short, stout leader. Nothing had worked well. I sighed, shoulders slumped, and closed the box.
This sucked.
When changing flies and presentations doesn't work, something else needs to change. So, tired though I was, I hoofed it to a different river. Smaller, cleaner, and more densely trout populated, I wasn't expecting the 8 pound wild brown trout that was possible in the river I'd just left. But I hoped I might at least find a trout that would put to shame the largest stocked rainbow I'd caught there. With the light of a new day starting to give the sky that deep blue color of false dawn, I laid the first cast against a cut bank and about s*** myself when a low teens brown hit the Splinter roughly like a pike smashes a duckling. This was no longer night fishing, I could see it happen. And, miraculously, I didn't miss. As I released that fish I thought to myself "that was definitely a fluke".
10 fish later, I had accepted that something magical was happening.

Fishing a mouse for trout isn't about catching a lot of fish, and contrary to what many might believe it isn't even about catching the biggest fish. If it is you're doing it wrong. Mousing for brown trout is about catching trout on your terms. It works, and occasionally works well, but rarely ever does it meet the terms of enough of the fish in the river to catch the most or the biggest fish. If I want to catch a ton of trout at night, I'll fish a muddler or a wet fly. If I want to catch the biggest trout I can I'll fish a large Pusher, a large Muddler, or a large black leech. For whatever reason, this particular morning, all the trout wanted to turn my Master Splinters into paste. This doesn't happen with any regularity, I've been round the block enough times to know that. So I enjoyed it while it lasted.

Eventually, I had a very large fish swirl on the mouse and not connect. I just couldn't stand to walk past it looking for the next fish, I had to catch that one. Off came the mouse and on went a small sparkle minnow. I dropped that fly into the shallow side of the trough, made one strip, and had my rod about get ripped from my hands as the king of the pool ate and ran hell towards the cut bank. He went airborne, crashing through the overhanging bushes more like a tarpon in the mangroves than a trout in a low gradient small stream. Though my tackle was fortified for doing battle with monsters even larger than this my heart beat still quickened. There was some give and take before he was mine. Quietly uttered expletives denoted my shock at this fish. That it wasn't on the mouse made it no less exceptional. I'd found what I was looking for and still done so on my own terms... as well as the fish's.

The longest, most frustrating of nights may give way to something spectacular. It did this time. About two dozen wild trout to hand, some of a size uncommon in a small CT stream....
There's a reason I fish dusk till dawn or longer, and there's a reason I try to be on the water as much as possible. I can take logs, pay attention to weather, and focus on every bit of minutia, but none of that is worth a damn if I'm not out there putting flies in the water. I regret the days I've missed this season, not while out herping or storm chasing, but doing things that weren't worth my time. But the same might be said about life as can be said about that glorious morning.
The day is always darkest right before the dawn.
Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.