July 10, 2005 - The Turnaround
Evening fished the Pigeon at the turnaround. Pretty hot day, 90's, but hoping, later hours and upstream locale would cool things down. This stretch, above the dam, is 10 to maybe 20 feet wide, not counting the overhanging tag alders & cedars, which might make it 2 feet wide a few feet above the stream. Most people think it's too small for flyfishing, and since they tend to use 8 1/2 or 9 foot 5 weights, they're right, and that's okay by me. I use a 6 1/2 foot 3 weight, and know how to roll & sidearm cast. The dam keeps out rainbows, so there's a nice population of brookies, a few monster browns, an occasional bear, bobcat or elk, and almost no people.
There weren't going to be any monster browns this day, but there was a fair share of brook trout. They don't tend to be large, anymore, or smart, overfishing and especially habitat destruction having taken their toll, but they are by far the prettiest trout. Green & black squiggles on the back, spots of all colors on the sides. To a scientist, they're in the salmon family, not trout, but anyone who's caught one knows they're really a trout. And they're the only native trout to much of North America.
Well. The water was some of the lowest I've seen it in a long time. Hot weather and not much rain can do that to a stream. The fish would be hiding in the pools, undercut banks, near colder feeder creeks,maybe some deeper riffles. The warmer the water, the less oxygen it can hold, and that's a crucial factor in trout survival. They need cold water.
Just upstream from the put in spot is an outside bend to the right with the requisite undercut bank. I knew there had to be a fish there. If it was a larger river, maybe a nymph would've been the fly of choice, but Michigan streams are usually a timber storage bin, and going very far subsurface can result in a lot of hangups and lost flies if you're not on a bigger stream.
There was no obvious hatch, so I started off with the fly already tied on from the last time, a sort of homegrown 16 Hendrickson type (I've never really followed tying recipes too exactly, so you could say it was an light wing olive just as well).
I knew that with the warm temps, coaxing fish up top would be slow, but I also knew they had to be there. It took a half dozen casts, maybe a few more, but eventually one gullible dupe took the bait. He wasn't that large, but sure was pretty. Catching him also meant I could crack the beer in my creel. Can't do that till I catch one. I slipped the hook out & let him go; maybe he'd grow to be a big old fellow, and maybe I'd catch him then.
to be continued, maybe...
