THAT'S WHY THEY CALL IT FISHING
I enjoy reading Rick Zieger’s articles about his adventures fishing the farm ponds around his home. His stories about muddy roads, forgotten equipment, and boorish intruders remind me of many of my fishing trips over the years. It seems that this year had more than its share of misadventures for the Ladyfisher and me.
We made three trips to a particular lake that is about 80 miles north of our Montana home, and each trip was , fishing wise, a complete wash. On each of the three trips the wind was the spoiler. It's a reality, especially in many areas of the western United States, that wind can be a real demon. It can make fly fishing a real challenge and sometimes a near impossibility.
I was first introduced to the western wind during the early 1970's. After my first trip to the Montana, Wyoming and Idaho in the fall of 1971 I spent my next two summer vacations fly fishing and traveling through the area with my family. It was during those two summers that I became more than casually acquainted with the infamous western wind. In 1973 my nephew, who was serving in the United States Air Force in Vietnam, took his leave and flew into West Yellowstone, Montana to join us on our vacation. For the next ten days we hit every trout stream within a day's drive of our campground in Island Park, Idaho. It was on one of those beautiful summer mornings that we encountered THE WIND.
We decided to walk into Bonefish Flats, a big trout hangout on the Henry's Fork of the Snake. For those of you that are familiar with the Harriman Ranch on the Henry's Fork, in those days it was still a working ranch but it was open to fishing. To get to Bonefish Flats you could either park at the upper end of the ranch water [referred to in those days as the north wire] or you could park at "The Mail Box" and follow the road down to the river. It was closer to walk from the mail box so we chose to make the hike from the road. Since it was a good hike from the road to the river we would carry our waders until we got to the river. There were lots of cows and to keep the cows from eating your shoes you could hide them under the bridge. After stowing our shoes and donning our waders we headed upstream to Bonefish Flats.
It was early July and there were several hatches in progress and we were looking forward to a challenging morning of fish over big rising trout. Once we arrived at the tail of the flats we could see rising trout sprinkled across the flats and not another angler in sight. To the north Cumulus clouds were beginning to build and the distance rumble of thunder could be heard, but the storms were not coming our way so we ignored the billowing clouds and began to concentrate on the rising fish. Over the next half hour or so we tried to pick out the biggest risers and we began to make our stalk. As I was approaching a big rainbow that was sipping in the hatching PMD's an unexpected gust of wind swept upstream sending the hatching flies tumbling across the surface. Glancing up I noticed that one of the clouds that had previously been over the mountains to the north had slipped over into the Henry's Fork valley and a dark wall of rain and wind was bearing down on us. Another stronger gust of wind hit me and the big rainbow slowly slipped out of his feeding spot and shot across the flat toward deeper water. I shouted to my nephew and we quickly got out of the water. We donned our rain gear, hunkered down in the grass along the bank, and put our back to the driving wind and rain. Sheets of wind driven rain flattened the grass and sent whitecaps coursing across the flats. While it seemed like an eternity, the storm moved through swiftly and as quickly as it arrived it was gone; the sun came back out and the wind died. We sat on the bank hoping that the hatch would resume and the fish would move back onto the flats, but the wind and rain had vanquished the bugs and the trout.
There is also too much of a good thing. The Mother's Day caddis hatch that occurs on many of the streams near my home in Montana is one such example. For the best possible fishing there are a variety of conditions that must be just right. Unfortunately, the Mother's Day caddis hatch is triggered by the increasing day length which coincides with the beginning of the spring runoff. The best fishing requires that the hatch starts before the runoff begins and on many years the runoff beats the hatch. But on the best years the hatch starts early, sometime in the last few days of April or the first few days in May. When the conditions are just right the bugs begin to hatch slowly, building and moving slowly upstream. The trout, hungry after a long Montana winter, begin to respond with eagerness and one can experience exceptional fishing. However, in some years the hatch delays and then, with a rush, the bugs all begin to hatch at once. The trout gorge themselves on the hatching bugs and their hunger is quickly satisfied. Now the angler is faced with a blanket hatch of insects and all the trout are stuffed to the gills. Having waited all winter for such a bountiful hatch it is very discouraging to see all those bugs hatching and buzzing around laying eggs without a single trout to disturb their activity. It gives a whole new meaning to the saying, "be careful what you wish for."
There are many similar conditions that may confront the angler during the course of a lifetime of chasing trout with a fly. If it was all predicable I believe that most of us would soon tire of the sport. After all it's called fishing and not catching.