Trout Lake Report: Just a Roundabout

You're back at the lake the very next day hoping to ride the wave of success from the day before.

It's another windy day, and the sun is hot.

You start with a quasi-hopper, but then go with a bright caddis nymph under an indicator. You catch weeds and reeds at first.

But the inlet fingerlings give you some action.

You see some big birds circling. At first you think they're crows.

Then you decide they're nighthawks. You wonder if this is an indication of flocking before an early migration, but you can't confirm that in research. It reminds you to appreciate the swallows while they're here. They usually make their exit in August.

The south wind switches to a north wind. You go back to the hopper and look for bigger fish where you found them yesterday. They aren't there today.

You slash a muddler across the riffles for awhile as the sun dips behind the mountain.

Then the wind dies down.

You go back to the nymph/indicator rig. Again, it's the little guys who want to play. You gotta love 'em.

You work your way over to the take out side. The beavers are quickly changing the shoreline here. You work a muddler along a length of it, and the only things you get a rise out of are a couple of beavers.

You wait again for an evening/dusk/night rise, but it is not to be.

You had hoped that those two good fish the day before were a sign that things were turning a corner.

Guess it was just a roundabout.

Trout Lake Report: Not This Time

You're out on the north end again. You're observing the day to day changes in the life of the lake, as you have been doing since the beginning.

The day is hot and calm. You fish a quasi-hopper all the way around past the inlet. You find one fish working in the shade. You show it the hopper. It doesn't bite. You begin a seductive strip, and five feet from the tube it breaks on the fly. It's beautiful: it comes from left to right and nails the hopper; when it feels the hook it reverses and jumps from right to left. It hangs there in the air glittering in the sunlight...and when it comes down with a great splash it has thrown the hook. Kudos, trout.

You cut across to the other side. The shallows are filling up with weeds.

So is open water. These plants may be ten feet long. In past years, as weeds rise and water lowers, weed beds are created that in turn form "pocket water" in which one may find large fish, especially of the Brown variety, sporting about. You look forward to that possibility.

No large fish on this day. The east shoreline holds only small fish with large aspirations.

At the end of the shoreline you decide on a change.

You've seen a few cinnamon ants again. You just happen to have a couple of newly tied ant flies. It's the same recipe as used on the Henry's Fork--which these trout seemed to reject on a recent trip--but these are smaller and neater.

You cut back across toward the inlet, working the ant.

You get an enthusiastic take out of nowhere. This kid liked the new fly.

You go on a ways and see a faint rise. Then another. A chain riser. It's moving away from you. You lay the fly out on a line bisecting the rises and hope it will come back. It does. It just kisses the fly and you hook him. The best fish of the day, and another vote for the new ant.

You want to do that again. A breeze has kicked up, though, and you can't see any rises in the riffles. 

You head over to the inlet.

The breeze is swirling. You don't see any rises here, either. You switch to a caddis--easier to see--and entice some little fish to eat it.

After awhile, the action slows. You start back to the open water off the take out, trailing the caddis behind.

The sunset is lighting up.

You kick slowly across, enjoying the show.

You wait until dark, hoping that the breeze might leave and the fish might light up.

Not this time.

Trout Lake Report: Someone Has To Do It

You pull in at the channel access the next day. It's another hot one.

You park in the shade of the willow brake you have come to love. You climb out of the truck and spend a few moments taking in the spicy smells of the lake and its vegetation in the heat of the day.

You notice again the ants busy traveling up and down the willows, taking detours along every branch and twig. How many miles in a season do all these ants together rack up just in the willows?

The lake is starting to go down. The water comes only halfway up the access now.

You hightail it for the Drake Bank hoping to get there before anyone else does.

You do stop by the bush that Brown was jumping into the night before just in case he or others of his ilk have made it a hangout. You try a few casts, but nothing is shaking.

You're fishing a Damselator. The damsels like it but the fish are staying down. You finally see a fish working up against the driftwood when you get to the shade. You lay the fly in. You wait. You get a sipping take. You pull the fly out of its mouth. Maaaan.

At the same place you begin to see Drakes. You hope that's a good sign.

You go to your Drake box. You have a Drake box now because you finally found that stash of Drake flies from years past. You knew you had them, it just took awhile to remember where you had put them for safekeeping.

The variety is astounding. So is the wide range of skill levels on display. But they have all successfully caught fish in the past.

That being said, you go to a fly you just tied up today. You like this 2016 version.

You move on down the shoreline. There's a boat ahead of you. Where did he come from? He's coming your way. And he's catching fish. You aren't catching fish. You hate it when that happens.

You get close. He shows no sign of getting out of your way, so you get out of his. Live and let live...you SOB.

No one else is ahead of you, and you have a clear shot to the end. So that's where you go. You've fished along the way but still haven't brought in a fish. You can find Drakes if you look for them, but they aren't thick by any means. But down here fish are taking them.

You get your first fish, a small but pissed off Brown.

The evening is calm as can be. You stay where you are--this is the heart of the Drake Bank--and methodically cover the shoreline. There are fish under you, and they are rising around you. You get lots of flippy hits from troutlings, but now, when the fish are on the hatch, you never know when that sipping rise is caused by a very large fish.

You try one of your vintage flies. For a moment you think it may have brought you one of those large fish, but it's just another little pissed off Brown, You love these guys.

The Drakes are steady but nothing spectacular. You see dragonflies that seem bored, as if it's way too easy to stay ahead of the hatch. You decide that the hatch must be on its last legs, that you have truly missed the peak of it this year. 

You're still catching fish here and there, but they're troutlings. Feisty and pretty, but after awhile just a little bit of a nuisance.

The sun goes behind the mountain. You decide to work your way back toward the truck. You tie on the Brown Drake Muddler. A fitting benediction for the hatch that was.

You get hits, you get hookups--and you get more troutlings. They're small, but they're superb predators.

Halfway back to the truck you sense a change. You look up and the sky is full of Drakes. Holy Cow, they're everywhere. It looks like the hatch has really popped tonight. So maybe it's not over after all.

You keep fishing but still come up with small fry. You wonder what's happening on down the bank where you were. You think about that reedy bay. You really wish you hadn't left so early.

You kick on back to the truck dragging the muddler behind you, and formulate a plan. Looks like you're going to have to come back tomorrow with the Drake box, set up in the prime area, and stay there until dark.

It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.