August, Moss, and Brown Trout
My first few times fishing the North Fork River have never been remarkable from a fisherman's point of view. I was unfortunate to have never enjoyed a blizzard of a hatch in which the surface of the water looked liked rain. I must say first of all that I am, not because of some purist ethos, but I am primarily a Dry-Fly fisherman.
I was introduced to the fly rod fishing dries, and I have never seem to want to tie on a nymph, or wet fly. But have at times fished streamers, usually here on the North Fork, with minimal success. I enjoy the Dry, I am fascinated by the fish, each fish that I have taken on a Dry all seem to take the fly in a variety of different expressions. From the timid unsure variety, to the shark like attack that makes the reel regurgitate a gleeful scream. All these personalities are the reasons I fish Dries, even if I am having a slow day.
So it had been a few months since I had been able to really fish the River patiently. A couple of earlier fishing trips had ironically been ruined by, (gratefully), rain. This trip however was different. This time my partner, and I were
camping at the ROLF. This was my first time staying there, and everything about this wonderful retreat exceeded all my expectations.
The campsite , named Pescadaro, Spanish for fish, was situated on a high bank overlooking the river. To our west was a typical Ozark ridge of aging Pine, and a wonderful trail that in spring would be a dazzling showcase of native wildflowers, led up to the Falls.
At about six o'clock that evening I was able to fish the river in solitude, free of canoes, and the loud paddle slapping hordes. I was there Monday , and had anticipated few if any canoers, but there were several parties, accompanying us down the river.
I began fishing the first riffle below the Falls, I had tied on a mayfly variation size #16. I then began to fish the bottom edge of the riffle, targeting the flow out and working my way upstream, fishing the slack water , gradually working my way into the heavy current. I would let my fly ride the top a couple of times then let it get wet and sink a few inches below the water. I noticed some mayflies beginning to hatch , I began to anticipate a strike at any second. I was not disappointed, after letting the fly sink a couple of inches I had a viscous hit, the trout shook of after about a second.
I was mentally deflated, but inspected my fly for any damage and hit the area again, after two casts, BANG!!!! He took the fly, and I properly set it. Then he tugged hard at my line, went deep and stayed there for a few seconds, he felt large, he was going deeper and I was having trouble balancing my self after he took the fly. Then to make me work harder to land the fish, the moss began to lend a hand.
First a chunk came floating right into my line. Then as I was trying to clear the moss, move to shallow water, keep the fish on, I fell backward about halfway into the water. With more moss collecting itself to my line faster than I could remove it. I began to yell for my friend to lend a hand, useless since he was more than a quarter mile away setting up camp and photography equipment. I began making headway at removing the moss from my line, but as I moved father down the line the fish would move father away and pull even MORE moss with him.
Well now, this was getting to be a real challenge, the fish was going downstream, and he actually hung himself up in the moss. What a relief !!!! I finally got him unhooked, we took the photo, and set him loose about a 100 yards further down the block. I never measure my fish but would day he was a 16 inch fish. He put up one heck of a fight and then to add the moss to it, quite a little adventure.
I finally was able to examine my leader and tippet. They were both a complete loss. I had to stand and absorb the warm intoxication of catching such a fish. After about 15 minutes I decide that my evening fishing was done. It was time for food, drink, rest and refitting.
A Great Blue Heron was waiting for me as I eased into the chilly water. I approached slowly not wanting to ruin the birds fishing either. I thought the Heron was excellent omen, I really enjoy fishing next to one. I tied on a Mayfly again, encouraged by the tiny ones hatching , exiting to enjoy their brief period of existence. I fished much the same way as before, but this time concentrating on the slack water next to the fast current.
As my fly drifted, a nice looking Brownie chased my fly about ten feet, then gobbled up the Fly hurriedly. He took off with my line and I was able to hold him for a second , but then he used the moss to his advantage and with sure precision tangled the line in the mossy undergrowth.
Well I was going to have none of this. I began to work my line out of the moss, albeit still tangled with pasta like vegetation. I finally unhooked the Brownie , about 13 inches or so, but strong. Fortunately my liner was only slightly tangled, is that possible ??, anyway I snipped off some leader, attached a bit more tippet, and away I went. I then hooked another fish a few minutes later, again into the moss he went, forcing me to come after him. He was about the same size as the one before, except he had a little more girth to him.
I highly recommend The River of Life Farm to anyone dedicated fisherman. Mr. McKee and his family provide a wonderfully secluded, private setting to enjoy the remarkable delicacy. that are our Ozark hills.
Jayson
Hickey |
