Trout Lake Report: Nothing Lasts Forever

You load your Father's Day present and head for the lake for some more Drake research. It's a warm day, and you should get a more accurate picture of the hatch than you did in the cold, wet conditions of the last trip.

The new tube looks good getting all wet and muddy at the channel access. Time to break it in.

Break it in you do. There are three guys ahead of you down the long Drake shoreline, so you make a long kick across the lake around them and down to the west side. Tube does just fine.

Drakes are already popping here, and fish are taking them. 

You pick up a nice Rainbow right off the bat.

Then another one.

Two casts and two fish. The problem is that you hooked five fish and lost three of them. You think the acrobatic "Drake takes" you're seeing result in poor hookups. You'd hate to think it was you.

While you're catching those fish the three guys who had been on the Drake Bank before you head back to the campground. It looked like they were waiting for Drakes, but maybe they gave up, or have an idea for supper they're really eager to try. You kick over, and another guy moves into the west side.

You fish all up and down your favorite stretches of shoreline looking for Drakes and rises, but they are sadly lacking. The inescapable conclusion is that the hatch is dwindling. And that you want to get to the west side first on your next trip.

You finally decide to tie on another secret weapon--the Brown Drake Stimulator--and start working your way back to the truck.

You work the shoreline carefully but nothing is happening. You have time to enjoy the changing colors in the sunset.

The moon is out, and the BD Stimulator is visible in the moonlight, so you can keep getting it in close. You drop it into a notch in the willows and let it sit. A fish makes a grab for it. You raise up and miss it.

You kick back and maneuver into position again and lay the fly right in there where it was. You wait. There's a rise on down the bank. That's good. A Brown, you think, patrolling its territory. You're pretty sure it will check out the notch again. You wait. And the fish comes back and grabs the fly. This time you hook it and net it. Now, that's fishing.

You fish on. You're tired but the lake is waking up. You hear rises along the shoreline, and you get bumps on the stimulator. You cast it in close and get a strong take. It's a good fish, and it's fun while it lasts. Like the day.

Time to head for home, but you'll be back on Monday for the solstice, the full moon, and the longest day of the year. You'll bring the Drake box, but you'll also be ready to move on. Nothing lasts forever.

Trout Lake Report: Seasons Come and Seasons Go...

It's the last day. The faithful float tube is waiting.

You've tied up your version of a Halloween muddler just for today.

On the way in another prescribed burn is underway. It will perfume your evening.

You park under the great Ponderosa one more time and kick out into the north end.

You start across. Fish are rising under the smoke.

There's a rise behind you and you drop the new fly near it. The fish takes before you can begin a strip. It's a rainbow in perfect condition. It churns the water, then trembles cold and firm in your hand as you release it.

You move along the familiar shoreline past the inlet still feeding the lake with icy water.

You cast into a shallow curve of shadow under overhanging willow canes, and there's a firm take. The fish jumps, and you think rainbow.

But it's the last brown of the season. You think it might be the most beautiful one of all.

You move on over the reflection of the Autumn sky.

There's a rise ahead of you, and you cast to it. You leave the fly suspended there, and the fish pulls it under. It will be the last rainbow--and the last fish--of the season.

You take your time--you want to stretch it out. But you begin to make your way back to the truck.

On the way you miss two splashy takes. Or maybe the fish miss.

It seems right, though, to end the season with unfinished business; to be reminded that seasons come and seasons go, but fishing goes on forever.

So long, lake. Thanks for everything.

Trout Lake Report: Happy Father's Day To Me

I doubt that Jeremiah thought of it as a Father's Day gift, but that's what he gave me on Monday. He asked me to take him to Trout Lake.

It's been almost four years since we've been there together. In those days we would go in the canoe, and he would do his best with a fly rod, which wasn't very good. Usually the fish wouldn't be cooperating anyway, and he'd get frustrated and bored.

In the meantime he has discovered bass fishing, spinning rods, and bass boats, and hasn't had any interest in canoes or trout, or, heaven forbid, float tubes. But he hadn't been fishing much this Spring, and he kept hearing that I was catching fish at the lake. So he asked to go. Well, "asked" in fifteen-year-old terms, which means he told me he was ready, let's go now.

I offered to pack up the canoe, but he surprised me by wanting to go out in a float tube. He just finished up baseball, and did well, so maybe his confidence is high enough that he decided he could risk looking silly in a tube.

He'd never been in a float tube in his life, but he figured things out quickly, and before I could launch into long instructions, he launched.

It had been a hot day, and it was still bright and warm when we started.

Jeremiah used his own gear but with a casting bubble so he could cast one of my flies. I got him all set up with a brown drake muddler, and with a few suggestions--just suggestions--from me on what had been getting fish in my net he was soon working the shoreline like a pro.

The first hit on his fly surprised him, and he missed it. "I wasn't looking," he said. But you should have seen his smile when he went back to work.

He knows how to fish by now, and I know the lake a lot better than I did the last time he and I were there, and there were still some brown drakes coming off. So conditions were right, and this time he finally connected.

Yeah, man. And that was just the beginning.

And he really got into catch and release.

After his second or third Rainbow he started asking me about Browns. He really wanted to catch one. But it was not to be on this trip.

We gave it a good try, though, and stayed out until dark.

Back at the take out Jeremiah waded out into the lake, just because he could. And maybe as a way to cement the bond that had been formed.

So when he waded out again and lugged his gear back up to the truck I think we were both aware that a door had been opened up into a whole new world of fishing for him. "You have to buy me my own waders, Dad." he said.

He still likes bass, and he wants a new spinning rod and reel, and I doubt he'll ever get tired of the speed of a bass boat. But I went out again by myself for a couple of hours on Tuesday evening, and as soon as I got home Jeremiah asked me if I had caught anything. "Yep," I said. "A Brown?" he asked. "Just one," I answered. "Not real big--but nice." He thought about that for a minute, then asked, "When can we go out again?"

Happy Father's Day to me.