A Lesson in Gluttony
Observation, Elk Hair Caddis and a Personal Best Brown Trout
Raw gluttony and greed…
I sat there watching the opposite bank. Across from me the current sped up swiftly to cutting under a soft mud bank packed with tall summer grasses. Water eddied around my ankles as I stood on a small sandbar watching the current tug on a submerged branch, caught in the muddy bank. My polarized lenses cut through the silver sheen on the water. The sun was high now, over my left shoulder and my back and neck were hot in the unforgiving rays. Still that didn’t bother me one bit. I watched, patient, looking for a pattern. There it was again…four five six seven…again…two three four… That pattern of rippled disturbance continued in the still backwaters of the branch’s wake. It was obvious especially for midday.
Rarely do I see such a plain manifestation of greed and gluttony. Sometimes a toddler will show that greed when given an ice cream cone for the first time or a group of boy scouts will show a bottomless appetite for pizza when returning to civilization after days of rehydrated meals and peanut butter and jelly tortillas. But on the river, today, I was watching a pure unrestrained primal hunger.
Still staring at the bobbing branches of the log I tapped each of the pockets on my fishing vest to find my fly box. The lid clicked open revealing a fleet of multi-colored and patterned flies arranged in careful rows. I scanned the imitation flies for a sure winner, a perfect pattern. I looked at the mahogany brown and red fly with a with a white tuft, a parachute adams, the bright orange of a royal coachman and some yellow and green hoppers. My eyes turned to my tried and true, the elk hair caddis, a simple tan and brown unassuming fly tied on a size 16 hook.
Cutting free my nymphing rig, I pinched the light tan elk hair caddis between my index and thumb rotating the eyelet to face me. Carefully, I threaded the gossamer of #4 tippet through the eyelet. After eight or so rotations and threading the loop, I licked the line pulling the knot tight. My weapon of choice was ready. Oiling the feathers for a good float, I loaded the fly into a back cast. Back and forth it flew over the river. With a final punch forward, the fly landed on the water. I mended the line hoping to ensure that the false insect looked as real as possible. Bouncing across the water I watched the tan spiked hair, like some tiny sailboat riding the current, unaware of the behemoth lurking in the coming shadows of the bank. The fly passed the point I was sure was this fish’s lair and bounced on. After a couple of seconds more, I lifted the tip of my rod and began to cast again.
Nestled in the verdant green of Pennsylvania, is Loyalsock Creek a tributary of the great Susquehanna river which flows past rural farms and pine forests. As it runs to merge with the Susquehanna, it passes through World’s End State park and under the historic Hillsgrove covered bridge. Flowing year round from early bright spring mornings, golden summer evenings or dappled fall afternoons, the Creek is a sanctuary for the local angler. In 1957 serendipity struck one such local angler, Al Troth.
Loyalsock has a prolific green caddis hatch during cool mornings and warm evenings of May and June. An avid fly fisherman and fly tier, Al was struck with inspiration by these spring hatches and began to work on a fly to mimic an emerging green caddis. In a stroke of genius, he combined the feather and wire wrapped body of a fly made by the ‘Father of Nymphing U.K angler, G.E.M Skues, The Little Red Sedge, with the deer hair wings of the Pacific coast and western Deer Hair Caddis. Combined they made a body of feathers wrapped in golden wire and a triangular pyramidal wing on the top of the fly. Troth wanted the fly to sink and float in the water column like a hatching aquatic insect. But each time he tried to submerge his new pattern it bounced to the surface. After a twenty inch trout devoured the fly off the surface, he felt that maybe, just maybe, the Elk Hair Caddis should float on top of the water. Since that combination of styles and materials made this fly, it has become a staple in the world of fly fishing and is one of the first flies I ever tied. This genius combination would eventually be the major reason for Troth’s induction into the Fly Fishing Hall of Fame
The tip of my rod settled pointed towards the bank, like a long and elegant baton, it guided the fly back up the river and into the shadowy banks. I flicked the line over, carefully mending the drag in the current. Helpless in the current, the fly rushed onwards once more, curving with the bank. It came into the the eddy of those branches and then in a flash of white and green and a spray of water, from its hideout under the log, the spotted hunter made it’s strike. Reflexively my left hand moved down quickly on the line and in the same motion I elevated the tip of the rod up almost to a 90 degree angle, setting the hook. The tip of the rod arched low towards the water.
The brown trout is a beautiful fish, A spotted back gives way to red dots in halos of grey and the grey transitions slowly to a golden underbelly which flashes constantly as you fight them to bring them to shore. As male brown trout age their lower jawbone develops a stark upward hook giving them an aggressive face, perfect for devouring large and small prey. This morphology is a shared trait among all male fish of Salmo genus of fish, a category which includes salmon. Since trout are relatively small compared to their cousins, a hooking jaw is a guarantee you’ve hooked a seasoned and fierce fish, a true monster.
Although stunning, the brown trout is not native to the waters of Utah or the United States for that matter. The U.S Fish Commission first introduced the brown trout to Michigan in the spring of 1883. They shipped around 80,000 fertilized eggs from Germany and introduced about 5,000 fish into the Pere Marquette River. After a successful introduction, the brown trout was introduced to river systems all across the United States.
Rolling over in the deep green water I saw the tale-tale flash of gold. Carefully I worked to keep the fish near the surface away from any submerged logs or rocks, anything that a fish could use to snag a fly and cut or tangle a line. This dance is a careful and respectful one. I don’t take fish to eat very often, so the battle of wills in landing a trout is one best done carefully and swiftly to preserve the fish’s energy. My pale orange line spooled quickly on to my reel, I moved up and down the bank trying to land this fish. In the commotion, my brother-in-law Robbie had come to help. The trout surfaced, coming into view. Robbie stood downstream and I worked to guide the fish into the net. Sometimes when I’m on the water alone, I want a self-release. I want the fish to shake to hook out and disappear, but not today. Today, I wanted to land this fish. After several tense minutes we got the fish into the net.
With the fish secured I finally could breath and look at this big brown trout. He was an absolute beauty, speckled, and golden, he barely fit into the net. Most fish I’ve caught on the Blacksmith Fork are small fish, eight to twelve inches. At almost 20 inches this Blacksmith beast of a fish was amazing personal best. Even more impressive was the hooked jaw which was starting to form prominently.
I think greed might be one of the seven deadly sins, or maybe that’s gluttony. Honestly it could be both. However, on the water, gluttony might the best trait a trout can have. In fact, it might be a bonafide virtue for those gilled, cold-blooded invertebrates. That hunger takes a wise fish and makes him aggressive, makes him attack anything that could be food, even a clump of tan elk hair and hackled rooster feathers. I’m sure there’s a lesson in here for all of us, but on a hot summer day, gluttony sure makes for one memorable fight.
Great story and great descriptions! Looking forward to the next post.