Coming To An Understanding

The next day I'm again on the trail to Clear Creek. I leave all my skepticism behind. At the fork I go right and follow the trail upstream.

I have retied my leader. I have a sturdy 2X tippet on. I begin to fish the flashy woolly bugger. I drop it right up against the bank. Something is instantly on it. It takes off downstream and I work it back carefully.

There we go.

I wade through the minnows and keep hitting the far shoreline with the bugger. Ten feet further on I give the fly one strip and come up on something heavy. Another run downstream, another careful retrieve.

Beautiful.

I was primed for the deep slot on downstream sometime later, but luck has overtaken me early. I fish on expecting anything.

I catch some rock bass. They were absent the day before.

At the riffle I wade out and take a break. Time to savor those two fine fish. Then I walk around to the easier ford and cross to the other side.

I have tied a replacement for the fly that left in the jaw of the smallmouth that broke me off. That one was a 10; this one is a 6. Sturdier. Maybe more tempting.

Below the giant pool I fish the whole bend as it sweeps toward the fast water below. There is a nice deep run along the high bank, but I find no takers this time. But it gets the fly ready for perfect subsurface swings.

I come to the slot, and to the scene of the crime. This time I fish it with full attention, from top to bottom. There is no smallmouth in there today, but I will never fish it again without being on high alert.

There is still some daylight left, so I determine to see some new water.

I fish down past the bluff.

The current has pushed the fallen tree down and back, opening up some water.

Around the tree there's another series of riffles tailing out into another long, slow pool. A deer splashes across the river just beyond the pool and disappears into the trees.

I fish when I'm fishing--full attention--but between casts I'm scanning the new gravel bars for more geodes. I catch some more of the pumpkinseeds. In the dusk their colors really pop.

I find another nice geode.

And I catch one more smallmouth. It makes me eager to keep going, to find out what lies around that next bend.

But now it's time to hike out. As I wade up through these now-familiar riffles and pools I think about those beautiful smallies that I was fortunate enough to catch.

And it seems to me that, after a time of sizing each other up, the stream and I have come to an understanding.