Look, Ma, I'm Fishing

The calendar says November but the temperature says October, so it's off to Clear Creek again. The great question troubling my mind is, "Have the fish returned after the flood?"

I hike upstream to the log jam run and get some bumps, then see rises. I fish them eagerly.

Chubs; but a fish on the fly nonetheless, after a long hiatus.

I go on upstream and fish my way back down. More bumps in the current seams, but no hookups.

The chubs have moved downstream to the deep, slow water.

I cast a little woolly bugger, and before it can sink chubs come up from the depths and grab it. Look, Ma, I'm fishing.

I continue on downstream all the way to the old bridge abutments. It seems logical to me that if chubs are back their cousins of the smallmouth persuasion should be, too. They aren't.

A chip of moon shines in the shallows as I wade out and begin my hike back to the truck.

I'm content. The creek is showing signs of life again, and so is my fishing.

Thanks, chubs.