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The rods and reels are packed, clothes are ready,
and the fly boxes...well there are too many. I
can't find the Spring Creek box. It's here somewhere,
and I've got a few days to locate it.
But then, JC, (my husband), had a conversation with Host Z
from our Chat Room who suggested we not bring any flies,
they, he and Cary Morlan (aka Linemender) the instigators
of this Central Washington Fish-In, would have flies for
us. A wonderful gracious offer, but how would that look?
Here we are the publisher and editor of Fly Anglers OnLine
bumming flies off our friends. Well I suppose that's what
friends are for, but it just doesn't seem right.
JC has fished Rocky Ford Creek a few times, but not recently.
He vaguely remembers a blue wing olive hatch when the sun
hits the water. And that's about all he remembers.
I know there are really big trout there, a friend and
her husband fish there occasionally and the wife tied
into tied into a dandy a year ago. She was sitting on
the disabled access dock watching her husband fish,
not having had any success herself and spotted this
huge trout just hanging out in the shadows under the
structure. Hubby wasn't doing anything worth watching,
so she picked up her rod, found a big woolly bugger and
very carefully threaded the fly in the current to the
trouts lie. Occasionally pausing to make sure she was
still on track, she had no idea she was mimicking a
leech's movement. Inch by inch, pausing to make sure
it was still on track, she finally fed in the last few
inches. The trout opened its mouth a bit wider and
sucked it in.
Yes, she landed it.
The problem is, I don't fish woolly buggers. Or nymphs.
I do fish streamers in the saltwater but not on a spring
creek. A person has to have some standards. Truth be told,
I just get a huge kick out of watching a big fish take my
dry fly.
So somewhere in the den, or the spare bedroom, or one
or two closets is this wonderful box of elegant little
sailboats we call mayflies. I probably won't catch the
big boy hiding out in the depths - but then, I could
float a perfect drift with the perfect fly so natural
the big boy would just have to come up and take
a look.
Now just which fly would that be . . .
~ The LadyFisher
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