The Tactical Trout

One Fish That I Would Like To Forget

If I fished to only capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago.

Zane Grey

Fifteen years have now passed, and I can still see it. It is ridiculous to recall this fish so vividly for so long. I have grandchildren nearly as old as this memory who can casually discuss the relationship between time and gravity, write code, and are accomplished in a mathematics level I am only vaguely familiar with. After all these years, every moment is a vivid memory. I can easily recall every cast, the hook-up, and sure as Hades, I can still see it when it tossed the hook. One of Norman McLean’s famous lines from his best-selling book, A River Runs Through It, is “ I am haunted by the waters…” While I can relate, that is not my issue. I am haunted by one… single… trout. I have probably caught well over a thousand assorted species of fish since this event, so why can’t I forget this fish?

We were having a family gathering, the ladies were occupied, so Rob and I slipped away for a quick trip to a nearby stream I had scouted but never fished. The stream had a good reputation, and I had seen some nice trout there many months earlier, so we decided to try it, even though it was a cold and damp December day. The temperature was in the low 30s with patches of snow on the ground, and the forecast called for more snow that day. With ice on the stream edges, it did not look like a great trout fishing day in the mountains of Southwest Virginia, but it was the day we had, and our wives were happily doing what they do, so off we went.

The stream was much like I had remembered it, with the water a bit high from the runoff of recent snow, but it was still very clear. We carefully approached the first pool and decided that weighted streamers would be our best option to reach the depths since we thought the trout would be in the deeper water. In only a few minutes, Rob brought a very pretty 12-inch rainbow to hand for a quick release. It was not long before we each had several similar-sized rainbows in the net, and we were delighted to be making good use of our brief time to fish.

It began to snow after only 30 minutes or so, and shortly thereafter, the snow became heavy with “goose feather” sized flakes that began to cover the ground and quickly covered the steep road home. I moved up the pool toward a small waterfall where the water entered, and that is when I saw it. The trout was large, even at 35 feet; I could tell it was large with a wide girth. Some would have described this fish as having shoulders, which is, as you know, anatomically impossible for a fish, although the idea is conveyed. So there it was, quite still and only inches below the surface and very close to the far bank in a small recessed area. This trout was quite exposed and certainly was not where it should have been. Trout typically stay fairly deep when the water is cold, where they find food in the current above them and can safely rest out of reach from predators. There was no sign of insects emerging on the surface, so the fish was not feeding and just hanging out on the surface with no perceptible motion. This was strange behavior given the temperature and water clarity.

A plan came together after watching this weird trout for an anxious few minutes as I stood perfectly still, hoping I could not be seen. My weighted streamer was not a good option since there was no wind, and a splash, maybe even a minimal splash, could spook my target. As quickly as possible, I tied on an unweighted small black streamer, and with a few false casts perpendicular to the fish, my first cast landed about 3 feet to the left, then slowly retrieved. The fish did not move. Second cast, 2 feet to the right, and after settling in the water, a few very slow twitches so the fly would pass directly in front of the fish with no movement by the fish whatsoever. At this point, I wondered if the fish was ill, close to death, or perhaps asleep? The third cast was about 18 inches to the right with the same slight twitch of the fly and no reaction whatsoever. It was time to try one more cast before I changed my fly selection. You guessed it, a cast directly in front of the fish’s nose.

It was a near-perfect cast with the little streamer landing ever so softly as it slipped into the water and settled gently about 18 inches directly in front of the fish. There was no movement or reaction of any sort. Did the fish see it? Surely, it had to see it. With a very light twitch of the rod tip, the fish, with almost imperceptible movement, gently sipped in the fly. Once I was certain, with a quick hook set, the excitement began in earnest. First, there was a violent headshake followed by a dramatic leap, and it was then, for the first time, that I could see the length of the fish. Was it 24 inches or longer? I did not know, but I was certain this was the largest trout I had ever hooked. It was running downstream for the next county like it owed me money, leaping twice while stripping line off my reel at an incredible rate. Fortunately, it was a large pool with room to maneuver the fish, with my drag well adjusted to tire this little monster. Let’s simply say this old fish had an attitude. My rod was bent over, my fly line was nearly extended, and I could see a glimpse of my fly line backing. At this point, it struggled against the drag, then grudgingly began to turn and ran upstream while leaping again and shaking its head like a miniature marlin for 60 or more feet to the small waterfall where it tugged while swimming parallel to the falls.

It was then that I feared that my tippet would snap, so I did not tighten my drag while this fish still had plenty of fight left. After what seemed like an eternity, I gently turned the fish and slowly brought it toward the net. Before the fish came within 10 feet, it had other plans and went on another downstream run. After a determined run of about 30 feet, it slowed, stopped, pulled with diminishing strength for a short while, then slowly turned upstream. The line was well under control as the reel was doing its job of maintaining a good level of tension on the light tippet. I then slowly reeled the fish in to about 5 feet when it decided that the show was not over and off it went downstream yet again, stripping off more line as it went.

While it seemed like an eternity, the fight had lasted only 7 or 8 minutes, and the winner had yet to be determined. I had every intention of releasing the fish, so I did not want to completely exhaust it, which could lead to its death even after a careful release. I yelled for Rob to assist me in netting the fish, and since he had been watching the battle, he was quickly beside me. I could see that this rainbow was easily, if not over, 24 inches, and had to weigh more than 5 pounds. I had been trout fishing for nearly 50 years, and never caught any trout over 18 inches, so this fish was the catch of a lifetime, and I struggled to control my excitement. Again, I slowly retrieved my line while carefully attending to the tension on the line and brought the fish in to about 5 feet when it rolled over on its side, which is a typical “you won, I give up” motion. Only it was not. It was a tactical move, and it worked. As soon as it was inches from the net while lying flat on the surface of the water, it proved to be an aquatic acrobat and thrust its tail so quickly and with such strength that its entire body came out of the water in a head-over-tail flip. The line snapped, and I stood there in shock. That fish was not exhausted as I had feared, but had retained significant energy and used it at precisely the optimal time. I was amazed by the entire event, and continue to be amazed today. Rob consoled me for the loss, but after a minute of shock, we regained our composure, laughed, critiqued my effort, and celebrated a wonderful fish. Perhaps it was not “textbook” perfect, but it was the best I could have done, so while I have no regrets, I cannot forget this fish.

As we talked, we looked at our surroundings for the first time in a while to realize that the road was no longer visible and was now heavily covered by inches of snow. With the snow falling faster than ever, it was time to return to the family gathering to deliver a fish story about being outwitted by a tactical trout with a brain the size of a pea. Oh, my.