Giant Brown Trout in the Dark

 It was never going to be a warm night, but if the temperatures don't dip into the teens and the other conditions are tolerable, I take what nights I can get between the end of November and the end of March. Trout eat at night all year, especially really large wild trout, so when an angler wants to catch the largest wild brown trout they can, taking winter nights off isn't a good idea. But perhaps neither is the original intent if you value your sanity. Cold, dark, long winter nights rarely produce the excitement that summer and fall can give. Hookups are few and far between and rarely is there not at least one body part- usually more -that's in pain. The air hurts you in the winter. 

Garth had texted me asking if I'd like to night fish the Farmington with him earlier that day, and I said yes but with a caveat. We wouldn't fish the Farmington, I had better ideas. I wouldn't tell him the names of the streams though. He rolled into my driveway a bit after 9:00 asking if we were going to this river or that river... none were correct answers. Eventually I had to tell him where we were going, but all I said was "head like you're going to that one burger joint." That was enough of an answer for him. "No!" he replied. "There? No!"

He'd fished the same spot, I knew that. But never for trout, and I was sure he didn't think there'd be wild brown trout there let alone giant ones. Most people wouldn't think there could be large wild trout at this spot, and I'm okay with that. This was exactly the sort of place I target when looking for monster nocturnal browns. 

We covered one run for a little while without anything to show for it but ice crystals in our guides. I kept thinking about the next run downstream, which was essentially the head of one excessively long glide. I knew from a recent daylight visit that there were lots of fallfish down there, on the order of hundreds, and up to 14 inches. There were also lots of spot tail shiners and juvenile white suckers. This was exactly the sort of place a large brown trout would visit under the cover of darkness. It was much too shallow and visible for such a fish to spend any time there in daylight, but without the sun shining down on this run, a big predatory fish could do its dirty deeds without eagles, herons, or people seeing it. Perhaps there would be one exception tonight. Maybe Garth and I would get to see one of these fish. 

We made our way down and slowly worked the run. I was fishing a large, black articulated streamer, about the size of many of the smaller fallfish and suckers. I swung the fly through every possible feeding lane, working it slowly, only manipulating it very slightly with small twitches. I got about as far down the run as I'd reasonably expect a trout to be when one decided to interrupt my routine. The take was subtle, just a faint tick. I lifted the rod decisively but not too sharply, and felt an initial jerky head-shake. I stripped down to bury the hook if it wasn't already and that told the fish something was really up. It began making sweeping head-shakes, yet not breaking the surface, and made a decisive turn to head downstream. This told me just how large this trout must be. It had control here, I couldn't have easily turned it. I didn't feel I needed to though, and instead opted to follow. Garth heard this commotion but wasn't yet sure exactly what was going on. 

Suddenly movement ceased, and there were a couple faint sensations of tension changing. Nothing felt good. I pulled and nothing pulled back. The fly was stuck on something and that was no longer the fish. I could tell that it was a branch, probably quite a small one as there was a bit of flex. As only a handful of fish had managed before, this beast had perfectly transferred my fly to a branch. I can picture a lot of the fish that have done this to me before because I've seen most of them. But this one I don't know. I could let my imagination run wild. It could be a giant silvery hen, with black spots like bits of pepper. Or perhaps a lean, heavily kyped buck with giant red spots and an orange belly. But I don't know, and I never will. All I know is that it was huge. Garth and I discussed the situation and decided to continue with our night as if that could happen again. Maybe it could have, but it didn't. We crept around in the glow of street lights and businesses trying not to cast shadows over deep pools and log jams. The sense I got was that monsters lurked here. Perhaps I'll encounter one some other night. Maybe I'll even get to hold it for a moment. 

Happy Holidays everybody. Stay safe, healthy, and warm. Fish when you can. Be good to the people around you. 

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