It’s a jungle out there!
This phrase takes on a whole new meaning if you’re chasing a few late-season trout on the smaller streams of the area –– it’s literally true.
The consistent rain has our creeks higher than usual offering fishermen better conditions than normally expected. That’s the good news, especially if you’re fly fishing some of the larger streams.
However, I have a few favorite smaller streams that don’t allow a back cast. Few fishermen visit these streams in late May. The fact they are difficult to fish this time of year helps as well.
Nature’s unstoppable, she insists that if an area can produce any type of life it will and that the life existing there will grow to its fullest potential. Your yard is the perfect example –– grass can grow there, but dandelions grow faster and larger. The battle’s on, unfortunately.
Streams flood and flood waters are tremendously nourishing, carrying every type of natural, perfect fertilizer and a host of seeds of every type imaginable. Their banks therefore producing plant life on a grand scale, even a giant scale because of this.
For instance, there’s a Timothy-like wild grass that commonly grows knee-high in normal circumstances. However this grass or a close relative can grow chest high by a stream. It’s long, slender leaves have a microscopic serrated edges that can slice you like a knife and it’s wise to exercise caution moving through it.
Blackberry bushes reach fearsome proportions as well with matching thorns. A long, gripping, vine-like, bright green vegetation grows close to the ground that snags anything it touches and wraps your angles tenaciously. A host of other oversized and aggressive plant life also reaches waist-to-head height by late May and early June. This maze of greenery dares you to pass through its insidious clutches –– it’s a jungle. No wonder Tarzan stayed in the trees and swung from vines, it’s much safer that way.
However, because of this, few are crazy enough to fish in these conditions. Well, let me rephrase that statement: no one in their right mind fishes there.
I believe those words might imply I’m not all there. Hmm, being a spring turkey hunter’s a strong clue, but my excuse, and it’s a good one, is that I’d forgotten how bad this stream really was!
The creek’s about 45 minutes from home and when I pulled over by the bridge and looked upstream a wiser man might have just driven off. The stream banks were walls of grass 4 feet high. Well, I ignored all the signs.
As I attempted to push my way through that grass I fell flat on my face, my rod flying up in air. I’d tripped over a large tree some 12-inches in diameter, invisible in the sea of vegetation; a cut on my face from the grass and I’d only walked 25 yards.
I began walking up the creek. Where it was gravel, no problem, but some areas were deep mud which presented a problem as I sank in and had difficulty pulling my feet out. Don’t stand still too long or you just keep sinking deeper.
Coming to a fast, deep run I crouched low and cast, but a bunch of overhanging grass kept snagging my line, ruining the drift. After several attempts and casting further upstream the line sank deep enough, the worm washing through without a hit. I was disappointed, knowing such an area had to hold a trout. Just as the worm was about to leave the hole, a black shape shot from the deeper water, grabbed the worm and shot back up. I soon landed a nice brown trout about 11-inches long. Alright!
The next few holes had to have trout in them, but I couldn’t get a hit in the clear waters, though one trout shot out from under a log, saw me and dashed back. A suspicious soul for sure.
After more encounters with the tall grass, briars, thorns, mud, falling over sticks and logs I came upon a fast run overhung by brush. I was hot and sweating, but this looked promising. I crouched low, moved close, waiting five minutes before casting. I used half a crawler since it was heavier and would sink quickly, not washing downstream as quickly in the current.
I had a good feeling about this spot and with a beating heart, filled with anticipation, I made a long, upstream cast close to the bank and dropped my rod tip so the drift would be perfectly natural.
Watching the line remaining on the surface I reeled the slack out as it came back at me. Suddenly it twitched sharply and lifting up I felt the weight, giving a couple firm tugs when the line came tight. This could be a big one.
The fish shot up the swift current as if electrocuted, my drag squealing. For a second I thought I’d have to follow him upstream, but he stopped and came back, staying in the deepest part of the run. After that first run the fish refused to move, staying in the fast water fighting both me and the current. It took five long minutes to wear him down.
When I finally netted the brown he was over 20 inches long, a real beauty, something I never expected to land on a hot summer day in the jungle.
Now, if I could just get back to the car!
