Raul and I (BayE) hooked up last Wednesday so I could get my Davidson River cherry popped. We met up at Dave’s shop in order to perform an Intervention with Dave. We begged and pleaded to him to attend a Fly Casting rehab center for guides. Our efforts fell short to say the least as we were run off the property by Dave in a fit of rage holding a hula hoop in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, cigarette dangling out of his mouth and his pants starting to fall down. He was spouting out vulgar profanities as we raced off the property in the Subaru. Our belittling didn’t stop there as was made several attempts by phone to once again convince him of his need for rehab. Remember Dave it’s only because we love you.
During the entire drive to the Big-D I was reminded of the shit show I was about to witness. Small stream fishing with fish just barely outnumbering the fishermen 10-1 (probably 1500-2000 fish in the section we fished i would assume?) Nothing can be worse for a fly fisherman to have to endure as compared to a day of combat fishing, especially on a small stream with tight overhang. Throw in a little low gin clear water full of some”naturalized” and wild trout, and you have a nearly impossible trout to fish to.
We arrived to a parking lot FULL of cars, school is out, the parking lot is at the hatchery, picnic are, playground, stream access, hiking trail, and bike trail access points….did I mention yet it’s 128.6 degrees outside? Well it was. We rigged up the rods with some good old PIA 7x and hit the stream. To our surprise 90% of the cars we not fishermen, but campers/hikers/bikers. We found a couple great holes and the fishing commenced. My cherry popped quickly with 2 nice browns giving up after great fights to get their picture taken. We fished around for a few hours catching some dinks here and there until the call of the wild pulled us up near the hatchery’s water outlet. A place were the men are separated from the boys, were the vultures circled for an easy meal, were heros are made and legends are written into the history books. WOW what a big giant hole, gin clear of course, full of monster trout with NO ONE around!!! Except Roll-Cast Linda (another story another day.)
After casting to what seemed like mouthless trout, minus a couple of brook trout brought to hand, the skies turned grey and started to rumble. The rumble turned into loud cracks from bolting lighting somewhere in the close distance, then it started to rain. Then rain some more. And more. And More. And more. Then it rained a little harded. Then a little harder. Then the wind picked up and so did the lightning, still it rained even harded, but in a different direction. Did we leave? HELL NO.
What happens to a stream after a torrential downpour of rain? It gets muddy. But what happens to the stream during the rain? You get a window of slowly rising water along with a gradual change in water color. All of this equating to hungry fish getting fed and we were going to be serving up some shit that would get them hooked!!! Well at least that is what I thought. I had my rig ready and so did Ryan and of course the Asshole that Ryan is would take on the first customer, which would leave me playing net man leaving my pole behind.
I can go on and on at this point about the next 40 minutes of fishing but let me try to sum it up the best I can. We are soaking wet, my double fly/indicator rig is so tangled it looks like something a cat coughed up. Ryan is fully rigged and rippin lips faster that I can net his fish, take his pictures, regroup myself and attempt to fix my rig. He hooked at least 6-8 fish over 20 inches and a few reaching the 25 inch mark, that all fought like TANKS!! I want to call him an asshole but I won’t, even though I would have given him my rod if I were on my 4th 20 inch fish while my “Friend” is struggling to restring his rod to participate in the fish frenzy. With that said I was happy just to be the net man, glad to see those big fish brought to hand.