Thirty Incher

A thirty inch stick that is.

Trying not to give up on Brookville. I've seen the photos of big fish, but, come to think of it, in the times I've been there I haven't seen a single one of the many fishers catch a single fish.

I'd really like to catch a trout but so far I haven't cracked the code. Next time I think I'll try to get there early in the morning before the lines form. Maybe that will make a difference. 

Articles of Faith: They're In There

Went to Brookville, the popular tailwater and only place to find trout in this part of Indiana. The water level was where it should be this time.

The air temperature was pushing 60 but the water temp was at a chilly 39 degrees.

The break in our recent sub-zero temps brought out the fishermen, especially on this last and warmest day before another plunge in temperatures and a predicted winter storm.

I got in line and swung some streamers through likely water, albeit water that had already been pounded. Later I drifted nymphs. Through it all I saw no evidence of piscine life. No one around me was catching anything either, even the manic guy that kept wading back upstream and cutting me off.

I knew I was rushing it, that I needed to obey the winter-time tenet of "low and slow," but I couldn't master my impatience.

I had talked with two people before walking down to the river. A nice woman told me this stretch was the one where fish were recently caught. Then a gentleman said it was a slow morning. He had managed to roll one fish, but he thought it looked really apathetic about the whole streamer thing. He thought things were best here when water temps were around 50 degrees. Something to look forward to.

But then he said you never know, and showed me some pics on his cell phone of a fish his friend had just caught right here in this spot: a 21 inch gnarly Brown. Of course. (And he couldn't resist scrolling through some of the fish he had caught in his trips here. Big fish.)

So they're in there. Better luck next time.

I stayed until late afternoon and was the last one to get back to the parking lot. I could have taken off my jacket and been comfortable--except for the rain--but my feet were blocks of ice.

As I was getting packed up another car rolled in and a young guy quickly geared up. He asked if I did any good, and I said no. But did that stop him? Nope. I think I heard him whistling as he hurried toward the river.

A Screwed Up Day

I miss trout, and with precious little action now in my local waters I determined to make a trip back to the Brookville tailwater. That's the closest place to home that I can find trout.

I screwed up. The cardinal rule when you're driving a distance to fish is to be sure to check water levels first.

I drove the two hours to Brookville without doing that, and, wouldn't you know it, someone had flipped a switch and tons of water were being released from the reservoir. Dang.

I stayed and fished. It was bank fishing, working streamers and nymphs as far as I could roll cast them. I was hopeful that the swing up along the bank might find a trout or two seeking refuge in the soft spots there. It reminded me a little of fishing Rocky Ford Creek in Washington state. The only difference was that I caught trout there.

I started fishing the current seam between this backwater and the racing flow in the main channel. I could roll cast far enough to cover the whole seam. There were a few fish breaking the surface right out in front of me, but I couldn't get anything to take a fly.

Then it was like someone flipped a switch. In quick succession I caught a mess of bass and crappie. I hoped for a trout in there somewhere but it was not to be.

Then the switch was flipped off and the fun was over.

On the one hand, I didn't catch any trout. On the other hand, that was the most fish I've caught in some time. Not bad for a screwed up day.