Clouds blanketed the sky, trapping in some humidity and making for a muggy day on the mountain. I was out looking to explore more of a creek I had previously visited. My last visit was short due to a mixture of rising temperatures and an abundance of mosquitoes.
I started out on the trail, heading downstream instead of up where I had gone last time. I quickly found that the amount of mosquitoes didn’t seem to change. I connected with the creek after about a mile and started casting my line. I placed the fly into different spots in the water, covering as many features and characteristics as I could. Unfortunately, I wasn’t finding any trout. At least none that were looking to take a gamble on a fake fly.
As I worked my way upstream I came to a pool with a healthy current feeding into it. On the side of the bank I was on there lay an uprooted tree with its thick roots stretching out toward the flows. The farside was full of thick, overhanging brush. It looked fishy.
I started casting from further back, and slowly worked my way along the bank, placing my fly closer and closer to the current with each consecutive cast. There was a small fish or two rising near the overhanging brush, and when I could finally make the cast to that spot they seemed put off by the intrusive kebari.
I changed my tactic to a subsurface dead drift in hopes that maybe a lift toward the surface would entice a strike. I changed the focus of my cast more toward where the current was entering the pool so that I could use the tumbling water to submerge my fly. A few casts in the line went taught and I pulled the rod tip back to set the hook.
I was immediately met with a fight. But as I pulled downstream toward myself, it seemed the tug on the other end of the line became stronger and stronger. It was happening fast. I was caught off guard. The fish bolted into the gnarled roots, tangling the tippet in the process. I tried to figure out a way to get into the spot to get it untangled in hopes I would still have a fish on the other end of the line, but by the time I was able to reach my casting line the fish had spit the hook and disappeared. I pulled the line until I felt tension, and ultimately snapped the fly off.
Frustrated, I stood there overlooking the pool. There was no way I would have another chance at hooking that fish again. I figured the fight would have spooked the other fish as well. So with a pool that was disrupted and a hook lost to the dead tree, I started making my way upstream along the gravel bank.
The fight played out over and over again in my head as I paced along the rocks and weeds. A few hundred feet up I stopped to look back and decided that I needed to go back to try once more. I wouldn’t be able to go home without saying I at least tried to catch that fish.
I looped back around the back of the pool and worked my way up the bank slowly. On the end of the line I had a different fly than the one I had lost. Not by choice, but because the one I lost was the last of that pattern in my box. I made my cast, placing the kebari into the tumbling water once again. Nothing. I let the the fly drift through the section and lifted it toward the surface before casting back into the flows. The fly drifted, the line with a little slack, just past the roots where I lost my last catch. There was a slight pause in the line, and I pulled the line taught. The tension increased and the line started to sing as the fish started to dart around the pool. It was game on!
I lowered my stance and remained planted while trying to keep the fish from darting into the gnarled roots. As I gained control, I started taking steps backwards, pulling the fight away from the obstructions and into an area where I could focus on landing the fish. After getting my opponent out of the deeper part of the pool, I was able to bring it closer toward the bank, and finally into the net.
This was easily the biggest trout I had caught on a tenkara rod. It was mean, it was strong, and it gave a good fight. With my heart racing, I reached down into the net, removing the hook from its mouth and bringing it up for a quick photo. I placed it back in the water and let it hold in the current for a few moments before releasing it back into the pool. Back to its place among the roots.
I fished my way upstream back to my car with no other bites from fish. Plenty from mosquitoes. I look back to the few times I fish the creek, and while most of what I remember about the creek is the amount of mosquitoes, I will always remember this fish. This rainbow trout that, at the time of writing this, is still my personal best on a tenkara rod.
