The Broad Majestic Willow

Date: September 29^th

Weather: 60 degrees

Stream: Clear

Hatch: Tiny mayflies

Beer: Kristallweizen

            As I squared my gear away to hit the river, I was in disbelief it was second-to-last day of the season. The fishing for the last six months has been a dream and I didn’t want to think of the reality that I would have to set my rod down till next March. Some people think the last day of summer is one of the hardest days to swallow in the calendar but I think it’s the end of trout season. After seven months of exploring new streams, hiking deep into the headwaters and enjoying time well spent outside, it’s hard to just stop.

            On the second to last night of the season, my instincts were urging me to keep my streak going on the Kinnie but I held out for the Willow. I had to; otherwise I wouldn’t be back until next March. Also, my three previous visits are too few to such a lovely river. A strange river at that too; there is much more mystery to the Willow than the Kinnie. Insect hatches appear from nowhere at twilight, the river is much narrower, pools shallower with a tannic tinge to it.

            Unlike the Kinnie this year, the Willow has been popular for anglers and tonight was no exception. One thing about fall fishing, if you aren’t on the river by 3:30, you’re missing out because the sun is gone by 7:30. The well-worn angler trails cutting through the woods and prairie grasses were a welcome sight. I had to remind myself I wasn’t wormin’ but casting nymphs. Some of the pools I had planned to hit just weren’t that accessible surrounded by overhanging brush and shrubs.

            I was lacking my sweet spots on the Willow this time around. Dead drift after dead drift yielded the promise of a strike to be crushed by having to roll cast again. Stonefly, caddis fly, and prince nymphs did little to induce any hungry bites. Streamers did little either. Standing midstream of a nice pool, I cast straight in front of me towards the little falls. My drifts hooked nothing but chubs but from previous experience I knew big trout lurked. As my strike indicator drifted towards my feet I saw it drop, lifted the rod straight above my head and felt it bend. It fought and fought and fought, better than any brown and when I finally grabbed my net I scooped up a prize rainbow trout. My only fish of the night but a beauty, no caviar though.