Original Text by Greg Scratchley, first published by SmallStreams in April 2005. I’m re-releasing this peice as a tribute to the summer that has finally arrived – and as an offering to the summer and fall fishing gods – to provide us with great weather, plentiful hatches, and eager fish…
- G. Scratchley (March 2008)
When I’m done I’ll know it. No one else could possibly tell, and no one (including myself) can predict it.
There is a point when I’m on the water that I can say to myself “I’m done.” The statement itself is innocent. But I understand it’s danger and power. My marriage has taken a back seat on occasion to “the moment”. I try to avoid it and usually do, once in a while though – it sneaks up on me, like a housecat; silent, claws bared with nothing but evil in it’s heart…
Yesterday was one of those days. I’d planned a day on the water – and things weren’t working out quite as I’d hoped, but I got there. The ice was retreating off the lake, backing away slowly, like an animal that had met his match and knew he couldn’t win. The musty spring wind howled, blowing in dirt and the leftover garbage of winter – quite inhospitable actually – but I was in heaven.
This is not uncommon during a prairie spring. We’ve been cooped up all winter (particularly we fly-fishers) and need to see daylight, feel the running water of spring fed creeks, or the dappled surface of a trout pond before we feel right with the world. Just like yesterday.
So for 2 or 3 hours, I worked the open water – desperate to find a fish – desperate to get that first open water hookup of the year, just to get it over with. A bump. A nibble. A refusal. Another bump. Another refusal. Nothing was ready to sacrifice itself to my nymph. These challenges of course make a day trip even more worthwhile – if you can crack the code. I was on to the trout though. I came prepared with the “Happy Meal” of a spring trout lake and started working a nymph / chironomid 2 fly rig.
No dice. I was prepared – but they were too smart for me. Apparently the menu of choice had changed – and no-one bothered to inform me. I’d land one today though – and I wouldn’t be done until I did.
A bump. A nibble. A refusal. Another bump. Then – the phone rang. (Think back to the housecat). Why I take my phone fishing – I’ll never know. But I do it every time. “Company is here – we’re sitting in the living room having coffee – can you pop home?”. “Yes dear – I’ll head home right away.” That means I have to leave – right now. And leave I did. But I wasn’t done, and 2 hours later, after snacks, fellowship, and some pleasant catching up – I was back at the lake finishing what I’d started.
The winds had subsided somewhat, but the skies had clouded, and the insects ran home for the day – no more midges to keep the fish moving. Time for a woolly bugger. Think… Big Mac.
Short cast, quick strip, longer cast quicker strip. Daylight was fading – sunset only an hour away.
In Alberta during spring we have a celebration of life and spring. We call it “Daylight Savings”. We roll our clocks back and get an extra hour of daylight because after 3 months of sub 12-hour daylight days – we relish the opportunity to see what the great outdoors looks like – without a flashlight. Alberta anglers take that very seriously. Until fall, it’s “fish till you can’t see the tippet”. It’s not a suggestion – it’s the rule.
Short cast, quick strip, longer cast quicker strip. Again following the pattern. A rise to my right, just 5 feet from shore. I strip in through the circle.
It’s like looking into the vortex. You know something is waiting – but you just can’t see it in the fading light. You have nothing but hope and reflexes. Something interferes with the strip. Was it the quarry? Was it weed? Pause – and wait…something pulls back. The reflexes kick in. The rod tip floats skyward – as if on invisible strings, setting the hook firmly in the trout’s mouth – but will it hold? Keep the pressure on – don’t muscle the fish – strip in your line – get ready for a run, control your slack… and if you mess up just one little bit… it’s gone…
It was. The tension released. The water boiled – and the fish, like my daylight faded into the dark. But – I wasn’t done!
Short cast, quick strip, longer cast quicker strip. Time crept on, the last amber glow of the sun in the west turning grey as night attacked me from the east. Short cast, quick strip, longer cast quicker strip. Another rise. I targeted the wooly bugger 5 feet beyond the rise – and stripped through the vortex. No mistake this time – there was a fish there – and a worthy one. Water boiled at the surface – a tail-walk and quick run. I tried to keep my winter-dulled mind in the game – keep the pressure on – don’t muscle him!
The Rainbow was a beautiful specimen indeed. 16-18″ in the 2 or 3 pound range – startlingly heavy after a cold winter – but I would have to confirm that once in my net. He bulldogged into the reeds, I’d have to keep him close, and well tensioned… and that was the moment. He got me. Score 1 for the fish. He rolled in the weeds – getting the hook out of his mouth and firmly into the detritus at the bottom. I didn’t even feel the change – the tension was still there – but the fish, now more wary for the encounter – was gone.
Something else happened at that moment however. I was done. I don’t know why it is that I could say that – after a skunked day, on tough water, with limited prospects – but I was done.
I left just then. Just a hint of daylight lit the truck – enough for me to see the lock on the car door. And it was ok. I was done.
I was done. It was the simplest assessment of my success. I experienced what I needed – accomplished what I had set out to do.
It’s not always about landing the ‘Big One’. Sometimes little victories are just as satiating. Seeing that particular fish take that particular fly at that particular moment was enough for me to justify an hour on the road, and an afternoon of frustration.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll try again – but for today, I’m done.
About the Author: Greg is an Edmonton based fly-tier, and angler. He is one of the principals of FiftyNorth.ca and an angling fanatic trying to hold down a day job! Originally from Vancouver Island, Greg now calls the North Saskatchewan, and the Lakes and streams North of the Yellowhead his home waters. Greg can usually be found at one of central Alberta’s still-waters or streams every weekend, and around the Edmonton area several nights a week.
Article Copyright ©2005-2008 Greg Scratchley – All Rights Reserved
