It's All About Technique
By Sam M. Stroder
Nymphing on the San Juan
It's been my general experience that flyfishing is a technical
sport, requiring stealth and precision to successfully match
wits with a worthy adversary. Particularly as it pertains to
nymph fishing on the San Juan River, the drift must be flawless,
the strike detection acute, the hook set responsive, and the tight
line retrieve carefully controlled. Perfect technique is obviously
the key to success.
Just about the time I've completely succumbed to that ego-padding,
mano-a-mano promoting mentality, I encounter a trout whose behavior
quickly reminds me of its species' true position on the lower end
of the animal kingdom's intelligence ladder.
Case in point: On a March 2000 trip to the famous San Juan River
I had exhausted my luck in a particular location and was relocating
upriver. I didn't mind the boulder jumping, cliff climbing, rock
skating effort required to relocate very far on the north bank of
the upper main channel (a.k.a. Abe's Run), but I was too lazy to
retrieve my line and dual fly rig prior to moving. Besides, my vast
fishing experience has taught me that trolling crankbaits through
Lake Hubbard Creek back in Texas works well for sand bass, so why
shouldn't a miniscule imitation nymph drug upriver in a completely
unrealistic, counter-current fashion meet with similar fish-catching
results?
While trolling, I mean relocating, I was surprised by what sounded over
the roar of my dropper fly's wake. Anyway it sounded like the water re-entry
of an airborne fish. My suspicions were confirmed when I turned in
time to see the 16" rainbow elevate yet again, this time only 10 or
so feet from me. Close enough, in fact, for me to detect a leader
dangling from its mouth. Only then did I realize that my flyline
was moving as well. Now it's been a while since I played connect
the dots, but I did recall select differential equations and other
higher level math skills obtained with my Bachelor of Science Degree
in Engineering. So I integrated, and differentiated, and interpolated,
and ultimately succeeded in mathematically proving that the two different
sections of moving line were actually connected in the middle. HEY,
that fish is on my fly!
The rainbow's subsequent tug confirmed my conclusion, and I promptly
proceeded to land the plump trout with my size 22 foam-wing emerger
(beautifully tied, I might add) firmly lodged in its upper lip.
So much for my proper drift, strike detection, hookset, or even retrieve,
this fish had caught himself. I guess that God just blesses the
less-than-competent with an added measure of good fortune occasionally,
probably just cause we, . . . 'er, . . . they need it.
~ Sam M. Stroder
All rights reserved by Sam M. Stroder
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