Knowing I wouldn't fish much this weekend (if any), I had to wet a line. After work Thursday I headed straight to my trout stream. I had high hopes. One of those feelings where you just know you are going to catch a lot of fish. I arrived to see 2 other cars there.
"Don't panic, they are probably further down," I told myself. As I near the stream entrance I hear children talking. This can't be good. I walk on to the bridge so I can survey the situation. F&%#! Bubba is sitting on his cooler, his wife, two kids and grandpa all chunking corn laden hooks. I have to hike around them and enter less productive water.
"It's not my stream," I keep telling myself. I watch them catch trout after trout. I listen to the dad yell at his young daughter because she knocked over his beer. I hear grandpa talking smack because he doesn't see me catch anything. "Fish are jumping all around him down there and he can't catch 'em," gramps said. Well, he was partly right, it was equal parts fish missing my fly and me missing the ones who didn't.
Talk about adding insult to injury. I kept casting, hoping, even praying. Please let me catch a fish, and I want them to see it. I am fishing a hopper/dropper. The dropper is a yellow beadhead soft hackle (sz14). Well, I make another desperate cast and my hopper disappears. Well, I don't believe it, nice change of pace to catch a decent brookie here.
A nicely colored fish, almost could pass for a wild one. I make sure they see me catch at least ONE fish. I decide to try another stretch and get away from them. The dad is really pissing me off the way he was talking to his kids. This was the best snapshot I could do on my way out.
I make a few casts and connect with another fish, a small brown. But he did eat my hopper!
Well, not 10 minutes later, I hear thunder. You've got to be kidding me. The ONE day it rains in the last month is while I am fishing.
I try to wait it out, then the lightening started. Surely bubba and his family are gone, I mean they won't stay out there with their kids, right? Wrong! I call it quits and head out.
I immediately plan to return for redemption. I decide to get up at 4am the next morning (today) and get there by 5:30 to fish until 7:00 or so before work. No one else will be there then. Well, I drag myself out of bed and get there to find the creek waking up for the day. Raccoons scurrying across the creek, turkeys yelping, deer running, and most importantly....trout rising. Although, something is in my favorite section again. But I quickly scare him off.
I tie on the same hopper/dropper combo. After several hundred hurried casts, nothing. I change to a yellow stimi and a zebra midge dropper. The whole time my nervous fingers are tying the new rig, trout are splashing all around me. I catch a couple of small browns on the dry. Before I knew it, my time was up and no more brook trout came to hand. All the way up there twice in 12 hours. I have a problem. But at least I admit it.
On my way out, I check out bubba's footprint.
I cleaned up after him, but I fear it's a lost cause.
