Weather: 55 - 65 degrees
Stream: Clear
Hatch: Tiny mayflies
Beer: The Dancing Man
This season of dreams has passed too
quickly for my liking. Exploring the Whitewater, witnessing prodigious Sulphur
hatches and finding recluse from the summer’s heat still feel like yesterday.
But here I am at the season’s close after putting in six and a half months of
good fishing and I feel a little sadness in my heart for this year’s finale. It’s
beyond my logic that the season ends in the middle of fall when there are still
many beautiful autumn days left in the year.
My walk down the canyon started on
good terms, no cars were around and the construction crews were absent. The
yellows of basswoods and birches were showing a beautiful contrast with the big
white pines scattered throughout the river bottom and hills. My arrival on the
river was remarkably early but with the sun down by 7:30 every hour on the
river has to count. Like other times on the river this I started with my
standard nymph and strike indicator rig. Fishing at three o’clock, sometimes it’s
hard to distinguish if it’s the fish not biting or the need to switch flies. I
figured the latter. 
My luck on nymphs was hit and miss.
I had two early bites only to be lost setting the hook. Then I had nothing for
a long time and streamers didn’t produce anything as well. But as I’ve noticed
the past few years, there is always an insect hatch going on those last few
days of September and tonight was no different. They must have been some sort
of mayflies but, regardless, the trout were rising. Not having small enough
flies I trimmed the hackle off some with a scissors and found some luck.
Perhaps I should invest in some size 20 flies but in a pinch, my technique
worked. I didn’t catch a bunch but some are better than none. Some had size and
some didn’t but I think the fall feeding frenzy let me get away with my unconventional
technique more than anything. 
Without failing, I spent a
considerable portion of the evening at my favorite honey hole. More often than
not I was distracted taking in the remarkable scenery of it all; beautiful
riffles leading in a steep canyon wall with good depth and structure all overlooked
by stately pines and birches above the cliff. I spent too much time there and I
had to duck out as the sun dropped. I’ll miss that spot.  |
| Last trout of 2012!!!! |
My last stop for the evening brought
me to my beautiful bend where I caught my first trout on a fly. I’m a big
romantic like that and it was the perfect spot to close the season. In the
north we have something called the witching hour, that last half hour of dim
light left in the day before it disappears. Strange things are known to happen
during it and I was holding out for something special. I have the angler’s
habit of telling myself one more cast then I’ll leave. I told myself that too
many times at that spot. On one cast that I might have meant it, I dropped a
fly on a beautiful cast behind a submerged boulder and had that instantaneous
gulp that comes from nothing other than a trout. It wasn’t big, didn’t have any
eggs but for those last moments of the season it was mine. A quick picture and
I released it. As I walked out of the valley a final time I blew lots kisses to
river I hold dear and savored my last Dancing Man I had saved just for this
occasion.
If this was a movie or a tall tale I
was telling people, I would make sure to say I caught trout after trout on the
season finale as a fiery red sun set above me. But that wasn’t the case
tonight, just a handful of average size trout but a great end to the best
season I’ve ever had. The season was a huge learning curve for me; I refined existing
skills and added new ones to my repertoire. But more importantly I was able to
spend time week after week in the magical waters of a beautiful river. 
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