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The day dawned rather overcast with a light rain threatening on
the horizon as my father and I loaded up our 14' Lund skiff to
head out for the years first Dolly Varden fishing trip. We
fired up the 30 hp Yamaha outboard and taxied away from the
beach heading to a local stream a mere 1/2 mile down the coast
to try our luck on some early Dollies. The wind from our
passing blew salt spray into the air as we appreached the mouth of
the river, searching for the deep water channel that would allow
us to taxi upstream to reach the fishing ground. Our arrival wasn't
without notice however as by dad spotted a rather large Brown Bear
feeding on the sedge grass near where we needed to beach the
boat. After several quick photographs and a bit of arm waving
and shouting Mr. Bruin decided to leave the fishing to us. As we
secured the boat, taking into account the rising tide, we scanned
the water's surface searching out likely holding areas and feeding
lies. My dad was fishing this day with an ultra light spinning
rod that I purchased from Cabela's for his use; it is a 6' 6" 4-piece
travel rod which showed some great promise as a fishing machine.
I rigged up my 9' 6 wt Gatti for some hot nymphing action.
My dad and I have been fishing together for years but we have, in
the last few years, exclusively trolled or jigged for halibut and salmon
in the ocean, rather than accepting the challenges of freshwater
trout fishing. Although he doesn't fly fish, I am hopeful of being
able to show him the beauty and the art of this sport. (Phase II in my plans
are to teach him how to fly fish, Phase I was just getting him out
on the river). Dad chose to fish a beautiful pool below the junction
of two branches of the creek where we could see dark shadows darting
around near the bottom; the crystal clear waters allowed us an unobstructed
view of its depths. In fact we could clearly identify individual rocks
and weed beds even at a depth of nearly 12 feet. I however, chose to
hike upriver to a nifty little run that looked not only shallower, but
also seems to be an easier patch of water to get my fly down to the fish.
Ever mindful of the bruins which inhabit this watershed with us, I
proceeded to walk through the waist high grass that borders the stream,
whistling a tune to let the bears know I was coming so as to not startle
them in my appreach. I entered the stream and prepared to make my first
cast.
This particular stretch of water is the estuary to a rather small
fresstone stream where tidal influences greatly affect both the waters
clarity and depth. Tidal fluctuations can and do raise the water levels
up to 6 feet or more at this location so one must be mindful of the tides
so as not to become isolated on a previously safe sandbar. I was fishing
right at the junction of where the rainforest meets the river delta, where
the Evergreen trees such as spruce and hemlock transition into the flat
grassland/flood pan. Because of these obstructions to my back cast I
needed to position myself near the middle of the creek to be able to
properly deliver my fly. Looking upstream into a jumble of logjams
and blow downs I was confident the char we were after would be located
below those obstructions.
I was fishing my standby Battle Creek Special, with only a few
modifications, namely the addition of 1/8 oz lead dumbell eyes for
weight, using a size 10 hook. For this type of subsurface fishing
I chose to start with a 5 pound tippet and floating line. Making
my first few casts, it became apparent that with the current being rather
fast my fly wasn't sinking to the depths necessary to attract the Dollies.
I was able to remedy the situation by throwing a large upstream curve cast,
with a reach mend in addition, to allow my fly to sink to the bottom
where the fish liked to lie. After a few casts I finally got my
presentation down and got my first strike! The fish cleared water with
a mightly splash and decided to head downstream towards where my dad was
fishing, affording me a nice view of my dad holding a rod bent - nearly double -
with the weight of a heavy fish. I was shaken out of my revelry when
the fish on my line decided to return upstream and I realized I was
remiss in retreiving the line he had stripped on his mad dash downstream.
After a blistering run upstream past my position, I finally got the fish
turned back around, but the speed of the current simply swept my fish
back down, forcing me to follow along as best I could. In this time,
dad had been working steadily on getting his fish close to hand as well,
and as fortune would have it, we ended up mere feet apart as we both
struggled to land our fish. A friendly rivalry between us on our
respective sizes of fish made the event all the better. Several
minutes later, we each got our respective fish to hand and of
course a comparison must be made as to who landed the larger fish.
Mine was slightly longer, at a measured 18.5 inches to
his 18, but the girth on dad's fish was significantly larger. Two fast
pictures and the fish were returned to the water to continue on
their way. With a quick grin to each other, we grabbed our rods
and returned to the search for these elusive quarries, enjoying each
others company in the quest for this wonderfully underrated game fish.
In addendum, when back at the cabin, dad professed an interest in
learning how to fly fish, so our next outing my possibly be one where
we each take on these bright Dolly's using fly fishing gear exclusively.
. . .to be continued. ~ Clay Robidoux
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