ONE FLY, ONE CAST, TWO TROUT

by Greg McMorrow

At 67 years of age, one would think it unlikely to experience much that is truly new. The wonders and responsibilities of family, raising children, and having a career, coupled with gently launching into retirement, are mostly behind me now. I have been blessed and fortunate with these endeavors and now can enjoy more time on the rivers of Northern Michigan that I have loved since my early 20s. My son and I often float the flies-only section of the upper Manistee. The water below M-72 is easily accessible to a drift boat (which I will admit is luxurious comfort at my age) and largely void of crowds except during the high season of mayfly hatches. We have enjoyed floats every month of the year but are undoubtedly most excited to streamer fish during the fall months. The beautiful change in color of both fish and trees amongst relative solitude is unparalleled.

As the fall progresses, spawning redds become visible, and fish feel the call to lay and fertilize their eggs in a similar fashion to anadromous fish such as salmon. We often see large spawning fish in fast clear water and marvel at the sheer energy expenditure as the fall-call progresses. It is rare to see such large browns in stationary holding positions apart from a few weeks of peak mayfly hatches that mainly happen at night.

Conservationists need to observe but not disturb these fish while they are on their beds. Trout are particularly vulnerable during this short window – spawning success becomes vital for future fish populations, and the fishery’s sustainability is ultimately dependent upon unmolested fish reproduction. Besides, as trout spawning occurs over several weeks, there are more than enough pre-spawn fish that are eagerly aggressive, as well as post-spawners that feel the need to bulk up before the long winter.

This fall we were fortunate to fish active stretches of the river with optimal conditions: higher water levels with a nice stain under minimal natural light. The day in question was far from one of these days. After launching the boat, we were both in a full sweat. It was 80+ degrees, not a cloud in sight, and the water was relatively low and very clear due to the lack of precipitation in recent weeks. In short, this late September day had more of a beer and hopper dog-days of summer feel than anything. No matter, we decided to push on with a small streamer approach, a size 6 Krystal Bugger, in hopes of picking up a few brook trout that have little reservation about feeding in the middle of a hot clear day.

To our surprise and delight, about five minutes and no more than a bend and a half from the launch, we hooked our first trout. As expected, it was a six-inch brookie that darted out from the bank to attack the fly mid-river, in 18 inches of water or less. I immediately pulled on the oars to slow the drift a bit, anticipating that we could strip in the beautiful colored-up male with a quick release on the go, without dropping the anchor. It was an auspicious start, and the ‘we will take this all day ‘ mentality entered my mind given the conditions. However, as the fish was almost surface skipping, inside ten feet from the boat and perhaps just a couple of strips from coming to hand, a near 20-inch brown tore into the brook trout. This was a magnificent fish in any season and seemingly inhaled the six-inch trout whole, ensuring a whole new battle, which turned into a dizzying fight, with the fish tearing across the river and downstream. Usually, I would drop anchor once the hook set was ensured and the trout was under control. This was different; did the relatively small hook rip thru the brook trout’s lip and fortuitously hook the big brown, or was the mangled little guy just (un)securely lodged in his gullet? Ryan urged me to continue gently floating as we had no clue the answer to this question. We have hooked, lost, and landed many brown trout over 18 inches, yet we never had this situation arise. The certainty of a size 2/4 articulated streamer hookset was usually part of the equation.

After a few minutes of the fish violently flailing around the river and our delicate dance to not dislodge the uncertain debacle, the fish began to tire. As the trout headed slightly upstream on the right side of the river, I heard “NOW” from the boat’s bow, which under no uncertain terms meant to drop the anchor. Taking no chances, Ryan slid over the gunnel of the boat and waded toward the fish. Despite nearing exhaustion, the brown’s hard-wired instinct sent it on one last tear before finally succumbing to the bottom of the net.

The mauled brookie was indeed solidly lodged in the brown’s gullet and did a remarkable job as a de facto hook. After carefully dislodging the mangled brookie, we snapped a few pics of the beautiful brown before swiftly releasing him back into the river, with careful concern given the hot weather to not overtax this beautiful specimen. The revival was brief, and the large trout swam away healthy and more than likely hungry after the rare and cherished encounter. However unlikely, I guess we are bait fishermen now. Does this mean I will start having to pay double for fly fishing publications?

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9/30/2021 11:34:29 AM