Endings

When the water is in the trees there won't be any fishing opportunities. It becomes a waiting game.

The Hendrickson hatch is a bit like a story or movie plot. There is a beginning, with a slow build up. Then comes the meat of the story where the true tale unfolds. We learn more about the characters: flies, fish and fishers alike. Then the story begins to wind down. Sometimes it is dramatic and other times the story fades to black with nothing more than a whisper.

This year the Hendrickson hatch might better have been described as a baseball game. The early and middle innings came and went with little drama. A few nice fish caught even though the river was on the high side. Then came the rain delay. A long one. The river released its water grudgingly and many of the fair weather anglers (the guys that come out for the Hendricksons and high water streamer floats) were not to be seen when the game came back on. The river was all but empty, as it often is.

When the weather turned just right the last of the Hendrickson spinner flights appeared out of nowhere. Deanna and I were able to find a spot on the river that fishes perfectly under the still high flows. The spot in mind, far off the beaten path, only fishes well under specific flows. Too high and it's impossible to get in. Too low and the river takes on the appearance of a pond. The water barely moves. But the conditions as they were gave us the opportunity to creep into the river along a gravel bar that is exposed in lower flows and acts as a perfect casting platform in the present conditions. The bar also creates a perfect chum line out towards the middle of the river, leaving the angler a fairly easy cast to trout that set up waiting for bugs.

When the first fish began to rise, I unstrung my rod and found the leader in sorry condition. Very sorry condition. The thought of rebuilding it crossed my mind but I knew better. Though it would take a good 20 minutes back and forth to the car I knew that retrieving a new leader would be the best idea. I trudged off as quickly as I could while Deanna said something about coming prepared. That advise would have been greatly appreciated back when we first headed off.

Upon my return Deanna pointed out where not one, but three fish were coming up with regularity. The top fish was making quite a rucus and in a perfect spot for an easy drift. I slipped quietly into the river and onto the firm purchase of the bar and took a look at the water to confirm my suspicions. Scads of Hendrickson spinners drifted by. The fly choice was an easy one. A Battenkill Flats. And then the furstrations began in earnest.

First, I couldn't get the fly threaded. I had my reading glasses but was having difficulty seeing the eye. My 5x magnifiers were in my vest pocket and I wrestled them out. They were filthy. I had to clean them and with the slightly humid air the moisture on the glasses kept fogging up until I thoroughly dried them. My target fish kept on feeding noisily. And it was moving ever closer to me.

With the better spectacles I saw that a small bit of hackle stem was obstructing the eye. I cleaned that up quickly and tied on a clinch knot. I gave it a firm tug. The knot slipped. Ugh. Back to knot school for me. I finally got a good improved clinch knot on and was ready to cast. The fish continued to feed, the bugs were drifting down the feeding lane. It was perfect. Then I cast. My reel slipped from the reel seat and into the river. The loose drag happily released line. We will just leave it at my having to get a little wet to get the reel back and fastened securely to the seat. My bankside fan club asked if I was sure I had tightened it well enough. Again, fine advice. Before I got in the river.

Of course at this point, fish # 1 gave up on me and stopped feeding. But there was still fish number two. That one didn't look too impressive but it was feeding with regularity. In the same spot, no cruising about. Unfortunately it was also too far downstream from the gravel bar to make for an easy cast. Still, it looked catchable so I figured a cast directly across stream and then a series of mends and tugs of the fly to get it in the right feeding lane would do the trick. And it did.

The take was nonchalant. I struck out of instinct, not knowing if the fish had taken my fly. Fortunately the resistance I felt when the set was made confirmed that the fish was indeed on. A small one. Or so I thought. As I retrieved line the trout decided enough was enough and raced downstream, my rod bending half again as much as it already was. What to do? Go for a swim to chase him? Slowly work him back upstream to me? Send my wife for a swim? That seemed a tempting option after all her helpful adivse.

Then the line went slack. I cursed. A couple of times. Then I began to reel in, assuming the knot had slipped. Surprisingly, it had held. The fly was there dangling at the end of my leader. And fish # 1 had begun to rise with aggressive enthusiasm. Game back on.

It took all of one cast to bring this fish up. It simply wanted to be caught. I set the hook. Nothing. The fish rose again. Cast, rise, set, nothing. Hmmmmm. And then it stopped feeding for the night. I reeled in and looked at the fly. When I went to put the hook into the keeper ring the problem was obvious. The hook was gone!

Fish # 3 fed with reckless enthusiasm far enough away to not warrant a fly change and likely a wet wade to get into position. I got out of the river defeated but grinning. It was an amazing and amazingly comical session on the river. Who could ask for more? Other than landing that first fish, of course.

Just because a fly looks good in the vice doesn't mean it will stand up when needed. At least that was the case for me.

Later that evening, after enjoying a beer along the river with Deanna, I retold the story to a friend who gave the best advise of all. Get better hooks. Thanks!