A Rise In The Flats

 Over time, the feeling that it is necessary to catch as many brook trout as possible, and the biggest brook trout possible, has waned for me. I used to be fiendishly obsessed with the species, and still am, but it takes less to satisfy me these days. A few fish to hand is enough, and though I still look for the largest in any given stream I don't put nearly as much time into that pursuit as I once did.

Have I fallen out of love with brook trout? No, quite the contrary. I've just grown up a bit in my fishing. I know how sensitive native brook trout are, and I feel that mitigating my intrusions on them is not a bad thing.  I've tried to do the same thing for striped bass and other at-risk native fish as well, limiting my catch and altering my methodologies and photo taking and posting habits. 

Now, when I walk a brook trout stream, I am far more inclined to seek out a visibly actively feeding fish rather than prospecting every viable pocket. It means I catch fewer fish, which is fine with me. But the experience I get is as rich and fulfilling as that of hunting down a giant brown slurping mayfly spinners. 

One cool April evening I was walking "The Family Secret." It was windy, and indeed chilly compared to the days prior. The insect activity was lackluster but not absent. There was a smattering of paraleps, some small black caddis, and two different stonefly species. I saw no rise activity until I reached a certain pool I've often had decent luck in. I stood and watched for a while, but saw no rises or flashes. Then, in the shallow and swift tailout, a brook trout rose. It wasn't a small fish, but it had dropped back into just 5 inches of swift but smooth flowing water. It was doing almost exactly what a large brown trout does during a hatch or spinner fall. I tied on a black CDC stone, and waited a bit. The fish didn't come up again, so I made my best guess as to where it was sitting. The first four casts drew no response, so I let the fifth drift further down. The fly disappeared in a swirl and I gently raised the rod. He was on. The fight was spectacular, highlighted by a handful of acrobatic leaps. 

I continued fishing, but the only other fish I found actively feeding in the waning light was a small fallfish. No more brook trout came to hand that day, but that made the one I did catch stand out even more. 

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.

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Edited by Cheyenne Terrien