A tale of two trout streams

The afternoon of September 18, I found myself and the Graham brothers, Ed and Jim, fishing in the area of Baxter’s Pool on the Beaverkill. I went above Baxter’s while Ed and Jim shared that pool. After studying the flow, I waded cautiously across to the left-hand bank. Upon gaining dry land, I found myself on an island. The narrow run of water on the far side of the island looked good as it was in the shade. My stream thermometer showed it was only 65 degrees here versus 68 degrees in the flow of the Beaverkill.

While it was small, it appeared “trouty.” I tied on a dry fly and cast it gently on the water. Three pools later, I had not raised a trout. The final pool at the top of the island looked interesting. I switched to a beetle imitation made of deer hair. The left-hand bank, overhung by various bushes, presented the opportunity to fool a trout into thinking dinner had fallen into the flow. This seemed a logical approach by an educated fly fisher. Neither logic nor education raised a trout. The beetle was ignored.

At this point, I crossed over the tip of the island to the main flow of the Beaverkill. The water ran swift, a perfect place to fish an imitation of the fast-swimming nymph of the Isonychia mayfly, abundant in this water now. Two casts, and I felt a bump, as the sunken fly began to swing as it moved down and across the current. Missed him. Try again. This time, there came a tap, tap, tap, in mid swing. Missed him again. Rats! I moved downstream and put the fly out again. As the fly completed its swing, I felt a whump! Again I missed the strike. I checked to see if the hook point had broken off. Nope, that was not the answer. After 40 minutes of fishing the nymph, I missed six hits and hooked two fish. A 10-inch brown, and an eleven inch rainbow. Fast action, but I cannot explain the high number of missed strikes.

Friday afternoon, I fished the waters of West Canada Creek. As I walked along the bank I saw good numbers of Isonychia mayfly duns in the air. Since the duns were present, many of the nymphs had to be moving actively. No rise forms were observed, so I fished a nymph again, hoping for the same fast fishing I found on the Beaverkill. Some time later, I was both puzzled and humbled. I had yet to feel a hit, let alone catch a trout. How could this be? I was using the same technique and the same fly that had been successful on the Beaverkill. I sat on a streamside rock to ponder the problem. I was befuddled. Perhaps, if one imitation nymph did not do the trick, maybe two nymphs might stimulate a trout’s appetite. I tied a second fly onto the bend of the first nymph. This fly was similar to the first, except it lacked the copper tungsten bead and had a few turns of partridge hackle as a collar behind the hook eye. It seemed a forlorn hope that this would change my luck. Fishing time was running out. It was nearly time to take Barbara Ann to dinner. Two casts, and I felt a solid bump and had a trout. A small brown, eight inches long. This fellow took the fly so deeply I had to cut the fly off. I feared I might injure him by attempting to remove the fly. I had achieved only one strike in two hours of fishing the same fly that produced eight strikes in 40 minutes on the Beaverkill. Yes indeed, trout surely do “behave in funny ways.”