I'm writing today, though, about a fish that I didn't catch.
On one of our earliest trips to Verdigre, some five years ago, Jessa fished with me. Now, her childhood in Louisiana had conditioned her to view fishing as a relaxing social occasion; the slow, stealthy approach required for trout-hunting on a spring creek isn't really quite her cup of tea. Nevertheless, under my tutelage she drifted a Glo-bug (salmon-egg fly) under a bank of milfoil and connected with a good rainbow trout—which, in true rainbow fashion, thrashed its way off the hook just before it was brought to hand. Jess took it hard, and thereafter left the fishing to Ellie and me.
But about two years ago, or maybe it was three, I prevailed upon Jessa to fish with me again. Once again, we fished as a duo, taking turns with the rod and the net, and once again she grumbled good-naturedly about the necessity of moving so slowly and keeping so quiet. (This from one of the quietest people you're like to meet.) I had caught a couple of fish and it was Jessa's turn with the rod when we spotted a couple of rainbows just downstream.
The setup was excellent, but presented a challenge. Whereas trout in this stream spend most of their time hiding under milfoil and watercress from anglers and predatory birds, these two were holding steady in the open, actively feeding in a small pool just below a bend in the creek. We could see them, which meant they would be able to see us, and the stealth that had put us in a position to fish to them would need to be maintained throughout the encounter.
I'll tell you true, I wanted a fish for Jessa quite badly, and our first offerings were not subtle. I had Jessa try another Glo-bug, and when that was refused after a couple of good drifts, a San Juan worm. Again, no takers. Surely a woolly bugger will produce, I thought—there are some leeches in the stream, and I figured that, even though Jessa's drifts had looked drag-free to me, trout will overlook a less-than-perfect presentation if some motion is to be expected from the prey item. However sound my reasoning, though, the trout appeared uninterested in the bugger.
So, time to re-assess. The good news was that we hadn't put the fish down: they still seemed relaxed, apparently unaware of, or at any rate unconcerned about, our presence. The bad news was that they had ignored several meaty offerings, substantial bits of protein (had they been real) that should have tempted a hungry trout. But then it occurred to me that we had watched them feeding, and that from our vantage point just upstream, we hadn't actually seen what they were eating, just the opening and closing of their mouths. The penny finally dropped, and I clipped off the bugger and tied on a small, very neutrally-coloured nymph.
Once again, Jessa's drift was good, and when the nymph was past the trout she lifted the line carefully and quietly from the water. (Trout-hunting may not be her preferred métier, but she's good at it.) On her second try, one of the rainbows opened its mouth and took the fly; Jess lifted her rod, and all hell broke loose. The set was perfect, and all the trout's aerobatics did not throw the hook. I don't remember if she put the fish on the reel or if she stripped the line in by hand, but I was ready with the net and Jessa had her Verdigre trout at last.
