Tributary Four
The Secret of the Depths, Part 2
By Carl Pudlo, Colorado
One April morning in 1998, I decided it was time to fish
the nymph to the exclusion of all else, until I mastered
the difficult techniques. I drove to 'the Confluence.'
After the nerve-wrecking drive, I performed the customary
drill of getting the waders on, and stringing the fly rod.
I had fished 'the Confluence' several times before with
streamers. I devoted this fishing trip strictly to nymph
fishing. I have two favorite stretches of the stream that
I like to fish. The first stretch I fished that day has
a moderate flow of water whose depth easily surpasses wader
tops. The moderate pool of water lies below a narrower
section of rapids with large rocks on the far side of the
stream and a black sand bottom on the near side. Since it
was spring, the flow was not as heavy as in early summer.
I waded through the muddy south bank to about mid-stream,
then headed upstream as far as I could without taking on
water. Since I stirred the water a bit, I stood there for
a short time to allow the water to settle, all the time
observing the many flows and eddies the water was following.
I finally cast the nymph toward a spot forty-five degrees
upstream from where I was standing. I mended and stripped
the line regularly as the current quickly brought the nymph
back to me. The nymph was a bead head, and I could feel it
sink quickly as it hit the water with each cast. I had
patterned my casts to fish all possible water as far as I
could reach with a reasonable cast. After thoroughly fishing
the far bank at all possible depths, I began to concentrate
my casts on the middle part of the stream where the water
appeared to be deepest. About the tenth cast into mid-stream,
I felt a major tug. I did not need to watch the fly line for
the atypical motions that signal a strike on the nymph. This
fish made its presence known with a major attack on the nymph.
After a short battle, I had in my hands a streamlined
thirteen-inch brown trout. I had to admire the trout for a
while before releasing it. This had been quite a success for
me. I had caught and released a nice fish, but the pleasure
I received from that fish stemmed from the fact I had caught
it with a nymph!
After a short respite to enjoy the single catch, I moved
downstream to my second favorite stretch of the stream.
This stretch of the stream follows a wide, deep turn in
the river and precedes a narrower, rock-infested decline.
The section is famous for sweeping people off their feet,
making it necessary to sidestroke through the deepest part
of the stretch to the safety of the opposite shore. I
fished the upper part of the hole around a boulder that
sat on the opposite shore. I moved closer to the down-stream
side of the hole, carefully noting the rocks and washes I
would fish with particular attention to detail. As in the
previous hole, I fished the far bank and proceeded in a
methodical pattern to mid-stream. Again, as in the previous
hole, the mid-stream fishing coaxed a strike from another
thirteen-inch brown trout. This time I had to rely on
carefully observing the floating fly line for any scant
movement, movement unnatural to the current.
My abilities as a nymph fisherman have become better and
better the more I use nymphs. In one section of the South
Platte where I fished for an hour, I have fished only two
holes pulling in over 15 trout using a nymph. The trick
is patience and observation. I cast upstream as if I were
fishing a dry fly and closely watch the fly line. I will
set the hook with any unnatural movement of the fly line.
There are many ways to fish a nymph than just casting
upstream. The conditions of the river will define the
method of fishing the nymph. Rarely have I been skunked
in recent years while fishing a nymph. In fact, many
times a fish will suck in and spit the nymph out without
any indication in the fly line. Once while walking upstream
on the South Platte, I noticed several fish swimming in a
small, clear pool of water. I stayed far off the bank,
behind a bush so as not to disturb the trout. I tossed
in a nymph. The fish immediately noticed and went to
investigate. Two or three fish looked closely and turned,
one fish sipped the nymph into its mouth. There was
absolutely no movement in the fly line to tell the fish
sipped in the nymph. I set the hook and landed a
thirteen-inch brown trout. For the many hours of nymph
fishing I have put in, it is quite possible that I have
had hundreds of strikes without even knowing there was
a take.
One day in the life of fly-fishing can be a determining
day for future fishing. This day happened to be a day
that taught me lessons I try to keep ever-present on my
mind as I fish the South Platte River. When I fish
streamers, I pay less attention to the streamer as it
rides the currents of the water. It is easy to ignore
the streamer since the fish will more noticeably attack
the imitation minnow. I have missed many fish due to
daydreaming while fishing a streamer. Similarly, I have
caught a number of fish while daydreaming and keeping my
non-visual senses aware of the streamer. Quite the
opposite is true with fishing a nymph. Because the
strike on a nymph is so unnoticeable, and the fisherman
must rely solely on the movement of the fly line or strike
indicator, constant vigilance on the float of the fly line
is mandatory. I often wonder how many fish have tasted
and spit the nymph without any visible trace, or how
many fish have left such an indiscriminate strike
indication that I did not notice.
Observance and patience, those two rules have become a motto for me
whenever I fish a nymph. Without patience and the
ability to observe, nymph fishing is nothing more
than casting practice. With practice and experience,
nymph fishing is by far the most rewarding way to fish
trout. The road to mastering nymph fishing is filled
with potholes. My hope in writing this is to encourage
slow learners, like myself, to persist in familiarizing
yourself with multiple fly-fishing techniques. One last
note to those nymph fishermen who use a strike indicator,
develop some talent and learn to fish without the indicator.
Real nymph fishermen, like real men who do not eat quiche,
do not use strike indicators.
To be continued... ~ Carl Pudlo, Colorado
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