Hit and Miss

I get back to the vise and concoct an improved muddler for Clear Creek. This one is articulated. That stinger hook just might cut down on lost fish.

Articulated Smallmouth Muddler

Shank: 1 3/8" articulated shank

Hook: Gamakatsu B10S Stinger #4

Thread: Black

Tail: black marabou, thick; or a few wraps of black crosscut rabbit strip;

then four grizzly hackles, two on each side; finally some flash, thick

Body: Grey Ice Dub, thick

Rib: tying thread, back and then forward again

Head: spun natural deerhair, cut bullet style

Collar: deerhair tips, flared 360 degrees around shank.  

I want to get even further downstream today. On the way to the fast water I do take a moment or two to probe the bend and test the fly.

It swims beautifully. The extra weight of shank and hook let me keep it in the killing zone.

It's a hot and steamy day, and there's a severe storm on the northeast side of town. I'm on the southwest side, though, and the sun breaks out. I congratulate myself on outmaneuvering the heavy weather.

I work through the deep runs without a touch, mindful the whole way of those spots that held a fish the last time I was here.

Then, where the stream widens out again, I find a scrappy smallmouth in a whole new lie. They do keep you guessing.

I take a water break and find a micro environment in the crotch of a tree.

Up ahead someone has stacked some stones. These cairns are controversial on mountain trails and summits where the moving of hundreds or thousands of rocks over time may have a detrimental effect. Here in the stream, though, I find them pleasing to the eye.

I come to the long pool in a state of zen. 

I find another smallmouth hanging out where the riffle dumps into the slow water. Like the previous fish, the take is hard, the fight is explosive, the jumps are high. But today, unlike my last trip, the hook holds fast.

I'm looking forward to that new riffle and run I discovered last time, but before I get there I realize the sun is gone and heavy clouds are moving in. Fast. Guess the joke's on me as far as the weather goes.

I'm not concerned about the rain--I'm once again wading wet. But I hadn't thought about wind. The wind hits like a wall and the woods are thrashing overhead. Sticks and leaves begin to rain down.

I'm suddenly thinking of all the downed trees I've seen along this stream. Just then there's a rending cra-a-a-a-ck, and a large branch whumps to the ground on the right bank. Then another cra-a-a-ck and another heavy branch hits on the other bank. I'm wondering if it would be safer to stay in the middle of the stream when a branch crashes into the water five feet away from me. I hustle over to the high bank and get under--guess what?--a fallen tree that hangs over the bank. Maybe that will afford some protection.

Then, as the storm comes on at full force I burrow under the bank itself. It seems safe. After a few minutes the wind dies down. I don't hear anymore branches or trees falling.

The rain moves in. I'm not hot anymore.

As the rain gradually slows I come out of my retreat and check out the branch that just missed me. That would have hurt.

So far there has been no thunder or lightning, but now I hear thunder grumbling its way toward me. Time to go.

I turn and head back upstream for the truck. I leave some geodes on a rock. I think I've got enough at home for now.

I pass the bluegill nests, now empty.

As I get around the bend where I will wade into the woods and take the fisherman's trail to the crossing, the rain picks up and the lightning and thunder are beginning to put on a show.

Just as I get to the truck the sky opens. I climb in, soaked to the skin, and start the drive home.

By the time I get to the highway the storm is moving off to the south, and by the time I get home it's over.

I reflect on the fact that fishing is a matter of hit and miss. Weather, it occurs to me, is the same. And so, it must be said, is our own personal safety, especially when we push the limits on our fishing expeditions. We weigh the risks and take our chances, because we know that with risk comes reward. At least we hope so, but the reality is that when all is said and done it's hit and miss.

It could have been a hit for me. I'm grateful for the miss.