In the still of the night

Fly-fishing for trout after dark is a technique practiced only occasionally by most fly fishers. Some anglers frown upon this type of fishing. Listen to what James Chetham, who in 1681 wrote the Anglers Vade Mecum, had to say about night fishing: “…it is an unpleasant, unwholesome, ungenteell way of sport, used by none but idle poaching fellows.” The Tangler must confess to having practiced this method of angling in his checkered past.

Let me explain how I came to be one of those, “idle poaching fellows.” Way back in 1950, for Father’s Day, my dear wife gave me a book titled, “Taking Larger Trout,” by Larry Koller. The foreword of this book was written by Jim Deren of The Angler’s Roost. This book contains one of the best chapters on night fishing for trout ever written. Fly-fishing after dark is not for the faint of heart. It was the late 1960s before I decided to give it a try.

For my first attempt I chose the Amawalk Outlet, a small wild trout stream, located in northern Westchester County, NY. It flows between Amawalk reservoir and Muscoot reservoir. Since bumping around in the deep woods seemed to be a bit of a spooky adventure I chose to fish several pools that flowed right alongside Wood Street. Both the Wood Street Pool and Hole Number One below the Wood Street Pool seemed to be the exact type of water that Larry Koller described as perfect for after dark fishing. It is part of a trout fisher’s conventional wisdom that large trout, skulking and secretive by day, prowl the pools boldly in the dark.

My first attempt showed me that night fly-fishing is quite a different angling experience. The fly line cannot be seen; therefore one’s casting rhythm is based entirely on feel and instinct. The night angler comes to know a different universe. Casting distance becomes difficult to judge. The noise of the stream, usually inconsequential in daylight, is greatly amplified at night. The fisher finds himself quite disconnected from what he usually experiences during the sunlit hours.

It was with considerable misgivings that I slowly eased myself through the dark, into the head of the Wood Street Pool. If it had not been for the strong desire to hook a really large fish I would have reeled up and gone home. I was fishing with a single large, bushy wet fly tied with gray muskrat fur. Is it not true that in the dark, “all cats are gray?” I worked my way through the length of the Wood Street Pool without getting so much as a touch. I then had to negotiate my way through the fast riff at the end of the pool to get down into Hole Number One. Twice I nearly lost my balance. I dreaded the thought of going for an involuntary swim in the dark. My breathing gradually returned to normal once I reached the top of Hole Number One. My casting continued to prove fruitless and I began to wonder, where are all these trout that are supposed to feed ravenously after dark? Cast and cast again. What I had been anticipating happened with such unexpected swiftness that I was stunned. I cast and seconds later, 20 feet away, the pool literally exploded. It was as if someone standing on the far bank had thrown a great boulder into the brook. Jagged spears of white water rose up and flew in all directions. A thunderous crash followed and my fly rod was nearly torn from my hand by some overwhelming force... then—nothing. In an instant triumph had turned to ashes. The huge trout had smashed the leader.

The trout and I each had a souvenir of the evening. The trout would carry my fly in his jaw until it rusted out. My mind would forever hold the memory of that chaotic split second that had so shattered the nighttime.

I shivered, either from the chill of the night air or from what had just occurred. As the moon rose over the eastern ridge, I reeled up and headed home.

Come dark next June, may I suggest you go fishing. The fish of a lifetime may be lying in wait out there, in the still of the night, with the moon shining bright.