What a winter!
According to my diary, from Jan. 1 to March 31 we had 34 days that were 15 degrees or below and 13 days of 0 or below temperatures!
With every third day averaging out to be 15 degrees or colder and approximately one out of seven days zero or below, I think it’s safe to say this was one of the most bitterly cold winters I’ve experienced.
With the thermometer hovering in the teens or below until the very end of March it was too miserable to even think about fishing. The cardinal wasn’t singing, no buds had appeared on the big maple, the frigid air held no promise. It simply didn’t feel like spring or trout season at all. In fact, I was seriously concerned the temperatures would be in the teens come April 1 and that’s a very depressing thought.
However, the last days of March unexpectedly warmed and the milder days brought with them their special thrill and delight. That feeling of being intensely alive once more, eagerly looking forward to a day especially anticipated. Trout season was on again!
On April 1 as daylight slowly filtered into the sky, we pulled off the road, the headlights illuminating frozen puddles and frost covered grass.
The temperature on the dashboard read 22 degrees. We wondered if we’d dressed warm enough after stepping outside into an icy, swirling breeze that seemed to suck the heat right out of us. Frozen gravel crunched under our boots and the frosted, brittle grass seemed to shatter underfoot as we walked quickly to the creek.
This early in the morning everything appeared a dull grey in the glimmering predawn. The creek was bank full and its cloudy waters were rushing downstream as if eager to be far away as quickly as possible. I shivered in the wind as Dave Jr. and I made our first casts of the season.
Dave Ling Sr. was the last one to reach the stream, the last one to rig up and the last one to make a cast. His fat red worm bounced down the current and sweep into the big eddy underneath the bridge.
He tentatively raised his rod tip after a moment or two and felt a weight, then the unmistakable tap-tap of a fish. He set the hook and grunted as a bigger trout turned his side into the swift current, bending his rod double! This was no nine-inch trout on the end of his line, but a heavy, strong fish with his own ideas about where he was going.
I took a while, but eventually Dave landed the first fish of the season, a long, beautiful, golden-sided brown. Good grief, his first cast of the season he catches a trophy trout! From his huge grin it was evident we would be hearing about his prowess all day! After all, both his son and I had already made several casts in the same hole to no avail.
Despite the fact there had to be other trout in that hole, we couldn’t entice another hit. Moving up to the next hole we made repeated casts with no results.
Then a thin sliver of bright red crept above the distant hills as the sun rose, continuing until its brilliant red orb hung just above the horizon, framed between the hill tops and the low edge of clouds. Then it slowly climbed into the cloud cover, turning the clouds a bright yellow and disappeared.
However, the added light must have made it easier for the trout to see in the dirty water because Dave Jr. suddenly set the hook into another heavier fish. The bright sunlight illuminated him like a spotlight as he battled a 16-inch brown onto the shore and held him up for us to admire.
I finally felt a hit and landed a hefty brown. The fish’s stomach bulged with worms which hung out of his mouth and gills. Man, talk about a glutton! I had no idea where this big eater intended to store the night crawler I was using for bait unless he intended to hold it in his mouth until he had more room.
Moving upstream I saw another fisherman ahead of me, but before I reached him he turned and moved on. He had been fishing a fast, deep run. Many times deep runs have a swift current on top, but a much slower water flow underneath.
To get your bait down on the bottom where the fish may be necessitates a very long upstream cast. Some overhanging branches made this a little difficult, but eventually I fired a cast up into the rapids and let it sink.
I reeled in the slack as it swept back at me and gently lifting the rod tip felt the sinkers kissing bottom. Suddenly, the bait stopped and began moving upstream. Panicking slightly, I immediately set the hook, tearing the small hook out of the crawler, but luckily not stinging the fish spooking it. Upset at my impatience it was some consolation that I’d have a second opportunity at the trout.
About 20 casts later, the trout took again, sliding downstream until almost directly in front of me. Setting the hook, my rod bent alarmingly as the trout turned and shot across the swift current. Wow, a powerful fish! My 4-pound suddenly felt weak and vulnerable. Playing the fish very carefully, allowed me at last to slip the net under a very nice brown, gleaming yellow gold in the watery sunlight.
We all met at noon and headed back for lunch, marveling at what a great day of fishing we’d experienced. You had to be very meticulous and patient in the high water, but the bigger fish were hitting and it wasn’t bitter cold as we had feared.
April 1 had far exceeded our expectations and we were three thankful fishermen
