Me with a nice little Cutty
With so much periphery to catching fish, could the fishing actually become secondary? Being out in nature, walking a river, studying insects, hatches, other wildlife, and being with friends are only a small part of what makes fishing fishing. But a trip to a beautiful remote stream in the Wyoming wilderness has brought me back to the root of fishing: throwing a line in the rare hope that maybe, just maybe, a monster trout will be enticed by your imitation of nature and take you for a ride.
The day started off early, dawn patrol early, and we set out with high hopes. It was Chris' birthday and we hoped that mother nature would reciprocate some birthday karma our way. A lot of driving, a quick stop for our licenses, and more driving finally found us at our destination.
We were excited because we knew this would be a day to float dry flies on the surface and the crystal clear water would allow us to watch fish emerge from their hiding places and take our bugs. The fishing started off slow but sped up as the day wore on. We began to lure out some beautiful cutthroats, which were healthy and fought well to avoid our nets.
The day started off early, dawn patrol early, and we set out with high hopes. It was Chris' birthday and we hoped that mother nature would reciprocate some birthday karma our way. A lot of driving, a quick stop for our licenses, and more driving finally found us at our destination.
We were excited because we knew this would be a day to float dry flies on the surface and the crystal clear water would allow us to watch fish emerge from their hiding places and take our bugs. The fishing started off slow but sped up as the day wore on. We began to lure out some beautiful cutthroats, which were healthy and fought well to avoid our nets.
Chris gets on the board
Pretty sweet conditions
Chris with a big Cutty
Another Beauty
Healthy for sure
We continued to cover ground. In one particular stretch Chris and I both had a new experience: a whitefish coming up for our hoppers! The one Chris caught looked like a bottlenose dolphin. Man it was ugly.
Chris definitely showed his skill in hunting down the fish. He placed cast after cast in the right spot, and wasn't missing the set on anything. I felt like somewhat of a hack because I missed a number of fish, particularly in the hole we stopped at for lunch. I just couldn't hook a fish, until I finally felt the tug only to have the trout snap my line and leave me frustrated again. But we pushed on.
Chris definitely showed his skill in hunting down the fish. He placed cast after cast in the right spot, and wasn't missing the set on anything. I felt like somewhat of a hack because I missed a number of fish, particularly in the hole we stopped at for lunch. I just couldn't hook a fish, until I finally felt the tug only to have the trout snap my line and leave me frustrated again. But we pushed on.
Brown in the net
On the big hopper
Another close up
The release
The recovery
The lunch hole
Nice Cutty
First Whitty on a hopper
In the net
We came around a bend an hour or so after lunch, and I looked at a strange little hole with some fast water and thought there had to be fish in there. I caught a small cutty, and Chris was surprised to see me return to the spot and cast again. He moved on to the next spot, but luckily was within earshot when the unexpected, yet hoped for occurred.
I saw a big hammerhog, as we call it, come up and subtly drag down my grasshopper from the surface. As I saw his body curve on the return dive I knew it was massive. I yelled to Chris, and no doubt he knew from the inflection in my voice and my deer-in-the-headlights look that I had a monster on the line. The fish dove back into it's hole, making my line look like a snag on the bottom. But I knew I had hooked him well and could still feel movement on the line.
Slowly the monster worked into the faster current behind his hiding place, and the rodeo began. I saw the dark outline of the fish and it looked like a shark. Chris saw the size of it's mouth and dropped his own jaw. Our coordinated netting effort began. For the next ten minutes, we worked our way down river, trying to tire out the slab of muscle toying with us.
I did not want to put this guy on the reel, but rather fought him by hand. I have lost fish before on the reel and regretted doing so. With my 5 weight bent and my arm sore and tired, we slowly worked him into the shore, and weren't surprised by a number of bolts he made as he saw us with nets ready. The tension in the air was ten-fold of the tension on the line. We both knew this was the biggest fish we had hooked and it letting go would have been the ultimate heartbreaker. But I finally got him close enough to Chris and with stealth and precision he netted the beast.
That is where things stood still for a minute. I looked into the net and the image didn't compute in my mind: the fish was just way too big. Chris has a large net, but the thing was still too big for it. Seeing the jawbone, the kipe, and the eye finally registered and the primal screaming of jubilation ensued from both Chris and I. The tail was giant, and the frontal fins looked like golden lily pads. The mouth was gruesome and full of teeth, just perfect for eating other fish and I am sure a mouse or two.
I didn't even know how to take the thing out and hold it for a picture. Both Chris and I have big mitts (often referred to as banana hands) which sometimes makes our big fish look much smaller in photos. I didn't care this time. I held him, took out the tape measure, and tip to tail measured 23"! Surely the biggest fish I had ever caught, and perhaps the largest I could ever hope to net on a dry fly. We snapped a few photos, and with a slap of a tail the big boy was released back into the river.
High fives and even a hug ensued (yes, how bromantic). I was in complete shock for the rest of the day. I have never caught a fish that actually made my body feel numb, but this one did. The exhilaration, the adrenaline, all of the thoughts and realizations of that beautiful moment were hard to fully take hold of.
I saw a big hammerhog, as we call it, come up and subtly drag down my grasshopper from the surface. As I saw his body curve on the return dive I knew it was massive. I yelled to Chris, and no doubt he knew from the inflection in my voice and my deer-in-the-headlights look that I had a monster on the line. The fish dove back into it's hole, making my line look like a snag on the bottom. But I knew I had hooked him well and could still feel movement on the line.
Slowly the monster worked into the faster current behind his hiding place, and the rodeo began. I saw the dark outline of the fish and it looked like a shark. Chris saw the size of it's mouth and dropped his own jaw. Our coordinated netting effort began. For the next ten minutes, we worked our way down river, trying to tire out the slab of muscle toying with us.
I did not want to put this guy on the reel, but rather fought him by hand. I have lost fish before on the reel and regretted doing so. With my 5 weight bent and my arm sore and tired, we slowly worked him into the shore, and weren't surprised by a number of bolts he made as he saw us with nets ready. The tension in the air was ten-fold of the tension on the line. We both knew this was the biggest fish we had hooked and it letting go would have been the ultimate heartbreaker. But I finally got him close enough to Chris and with stealth and precision he netted the beast.
That is where things stood still for a minute. I looked into the net and the image didn't compute in my mind: the fish was just way too big. Chris has a large net, but the thing was still too big for it. Seeing the jawbone, the kipe, and the eye finally registered and the primal screaming of jubilation ensued from both Chris and I. The tail was giant, and the frontal fins looked like golden lily pads. The mouth was gruesome and full of teeth, just perfect for eating other fish and I am sure a mouse or two.
I didn't even know how to take the thing out and hold it for a picture. Both Chris and I have big mitts (often referred to as banana hands) which sometimes makes our big fish look much smaller in photos. I didn't care this time. I held him, took out the tape measure, and tip to tail measured 23"! Surely the biggest fish I had ever caught, and perhaps the largest I could ever hope to net on a dry fly. We snapped a few photos, and with a slap of a tail the big boy was released back into the river.
High fives and even a hug ensued (yes, how bromantic). I was in complete shock for the rest of the day. I have never caught a fish that actually made my body feel numb, but this one did. The exhilaration, the adrenaline, all of the thoughts and realizations of that beautiful moment were hard to fully take hold of.
The fish fresh out of the net
All Smiles
Money shot!!!
A few things I learned and am very grateful for that day:
* a good fishing partner not only helping to net, but also taking and sharing the joy of the moment.
* said fishing partner, whose birthday was that day, moving on from the hole (I would have felt terrible catching that one if I were in front of him that day).
* having lost a fish earlier in the day, which made me extra focused on making everything on my rig was correct.
* a good rod that punched above it's weight. My Sage RPL+ held strong though only a 5 wt.
* the perfect bug that matched the hoppers on the bank so well. Imitation is the highest form of flattery!
The beauty of it all is that catching a fish that big is hoped for, but not expected. Every cast made carries with it that hope, and I am jubilant that mother nature exceeded any hope or expectation I could have concocted myself. Surely a day to remember, a fish to set the bar, and a perspective forever changed in regard to the wonder that is fly fishing.
* a good fishing partner not only helping to net, but also taking and sharing the joy of the moment.
* said fishing partner, whose birthday was that day, moving on from the hole (I would have felt terrible catching that one if I were in front of him that day).
* having lost a fish earlier in the day, which made me extra focused on making everything on my rig was correct.
* a good rod that punched above it's weight. My Sage RPL+ held strong though only a 5 wt.
* the perfect bug that matched the hoppers on the bank so well. Imitation is the highest form of flattery!
The beauty of it all is that catching a fish that big is hoped for, but not expected. Every cast made carries with it that hope, and I am jubilant that mother nature exceeded any hope or expectation I could have concocted myself. Surely a day to remember, a fish to set the bar, and a perspective forever changed in regard to the wonder that is fly fishing.
Looking back down the valley
Looking up the valley
Thanks,
Jon Dalton
