I’m a bit late with this post, the season has actually been open for over a month now and I’ve been out on the water three times this year already.
Day One: It had been a long off season and I had been bursting with anticipation, so I was out on opening day this year and hit the water at 6:30 AM. It was the first test of my new rod, and I was as excited as a kid on Christmas.
My son decided to come out with me, as he had nothing else on his agenda and he thought it would be nice to spend time enjoying the outdoors and listening to music. This would be the first time both of us would be outside of the house for 6 weeks, as we’ve been in isolation due to the COVID-19 pandemic, so we both were looking forward to the outing.
It was quite cold as I geared up, and even though I had on my neoprene waders I could feel the cold of the water as I waded out into the river. I had chosen a stretch of the Credit River that normally has a fast current, and this was accelerated a bit by the spring melt, so I knew it would be a tall order to catch anything.
Under these conditions it is very hard to catch any fish, as they are almost dormant due to the water temperature, and are generally lying down at the bottom of the deeper pools, under the bank overhang, or anywhere else that is out of the current. If you’re able to drift your fly right to them, and you’re lucky, you may get a strike. This was really just an opportunity to finally get outside and get used to my new equipment.
I found the new rod to be much faster than my old (last season) rod, and had to refine my timing accordingly, but thought that I had made the adjustment quite well as my casts were looking quite good. Then after about ten minutes, I found that I couldn’t cast much more than about 15 feet and that my line wasn’t flowing freely. I thought I had lost my timing at first, but when I looked at my rod I saw that it had frozen solid. Each of the snake guides that direct my line had accumulated ice until the line actually froze. It was another indication of just how cold it was.
I slowly thawed out my line, and when it was free again I went back to fishing the river. I had to repeat this process another two or three times until the sun finally rose over the tree line and some semblance of warmth entered the Credit Valley.
While my son was walking through the forest, he found the remains of a small deer, which seemed to have fallen afoul of the local coyote population. By the looks of it, it had been there for several months and all that was left was the skeleton. We stood there for about ten minutes performing our best CSI, and then went back to the river for one last stretch.
After about 3 1/2 hours we called it a day and started back towards home, both feeling content with the event. The only regret I had was not being able to buy him breakfast at some small local diner, since everything was still locked down and given the state of the times, I wouldn’t have done so even if it were open.
We enjoyed ourselves, doing our own thing for a while, and periodically getting together to explore and chat. We both noticed the difference being outside after so long, and the way things seemed fresher and more vivid, essentially better. We both hoped that something good could come of the new way in which we were living.
So that was it, season has officially begun, and I’m looking forward to telling you all about it as I go.
Day Two: Second weekend of the season and another day on a demanding stretch of the Credit. This time my line didn’t freeze, and I was out for about 4 hours but again, it was a very fast current with little protection for the fish. Water was still very cold, and conditions were too tough for me and my limited experience. I know it sounds as though I’m rationalizing the situation, but it can be hard presenting a fly to a wary trout in the best scenarios, and this was certainly not the best. Still, as uneventful as this was, it was still better than spending the day indoors.
Day Three: This time I decided to venture out further and headed out to the Grand River, near Elora, Ontario. Last year when I was learning as much as I could about fly fishing, the Grand River was always mentioned in the conversations, but I had yet to go and try it out.
I had a good hours’ drive ahead of me, and I typically like to get on the water early, so I was on the road at 5:30 AM and by 6:30 I was all geared up and on the water. At that time it is unusual to see anyone else about, and this time was no exception.
This is one of the reasons I like to go out, for the solitude, as I have mentioned on many previous occasions. There was a very slow rising mist on the water, the sun was rising over the trees and the surrounding pastures were glistening with dew. It was truly sublime.
For the first two hours I was alone; no people, no fish. I found myself questioning my mechanics as casting my line didn’t feel natural to me this day. My casting seemed forced, and although my line was flowing properly, and landing where I wanted, it all seemed to be more effort than usual. There was a stretch of about 10 minutes where my timing abandoned me altogether, and my casts were definitely not right, so I went back to the basics to try and regain some sort of rhythm and form. From that time, everything was smoother and I think it was just a lack of concentration, as things improved considerably.
Shortly afterwards I saw another angler approach. He waded into the river about 50 feet upstream of me (not cool) and proceeded to start casting. When you enter a river near another angler, it is common courtesy to leave a considerable space and to do so downstream, so that you won’t disturb the riverbed and spook fish where he is casting.
After watching him for about ten minutes, I decided two things. One, I was a much better caster than I gave myself credit for (he was a complete hack), and two, he had to move. I began moving upstream and casting as I went, and as soon as he noticed me, he got the message that he was in the wrong place, and reeled in, and moved downstream about 100 yards. This was a much more acceptable position.
Then another chap arrived, followed in succession by another two anglers, and then another single. I watched them as they spaced themselves out considerately, going up or downstream for a good distance before entering the water, ensuring that each of us had our own personal space, and demonstrating the consideration for other anglers that this sport is generally known for. By the time all was settled, we were well spaced along a two hundred yard stretch of the river, far enough away for comfort but close enough that we could see each other.
I had been fishing now for about three hours, and still had not caught anything. I had been using a dry fly (surface) out of sheer stubbornness, as there was no evidence of any fly hatch in progress. I know this is counterproductive, but I like fishing with a dry and last year had considerable success, even during times when there was no hatch in progress. I thought of leaving but it was no short trip to get here so I wanted to give it a chance.
Just then, I saw a little mayfly land on the water, followed by a few others. Then I saw a fish rise to take one of them off of the surface. It looked like I was in business. I made a quick change of fly to something similar, and after about 10 minutes I had a bite! I pulled it in quickly and I had landed my first trout from the Grand River, a whopping 4 inch brown.
I couldn’t believe the nerve of this fish. I actually think it was more a case of suicide (picsiside?) than any skill of mine. But, it was a fish. I continued on and within an hour had caught another four fish, larger than the first but none over 6 inches, all brown trout. I could see three of the others, and they hadn’t even had a bite, but truthfully, I wasn’t feeling much joy this time. I did manage another, a 7 inch brown, but at this point I had decided to pack it in and go home.
The trip was great as always, and I’ll be back on the Grand again this season, but it was not as productive as I expected, based on all my research. I know there are fish there though, so I’ll practice and will try again in another spot. You know I’ll keep you posted.
Come Fly With Me 