The First Rise

For three days I stared at the water hoping, waiting, expecting. On the 16th of April I situated myself well down in the watershed and at 2:45 pm I saw the first bug, a Hendrickson dun drifting quietly by. It was a beautiful afternoon (perhaps too beautiful?), but by 3:05 the hatch was on. Not heavy, not sparse. But a hatch. The river was high and stained, flowing at about 2500 CFS.

Unexpectedly, my friend Greg showed just as the hatch had started. We walked upstream to check out a particular current seam that often draws trout. A bald eagle flew above the river and circled once before settling in it's nest. I observed that the trout seemed a bit more reluctant to rise in this location since the eagles had begun nesting here. We headed up river to a couple other locations and the hatch appeared to be a bit more sparse. We called it a day.

On the 17th the river had dropped to 2090 CFS, exposing some structures hidden the day before. The feeding lane was better defined in the reduced flows. The bugs came again, ducks and geese zeroed in on the hapless duns. The Hendrickson's were about as heavy as the day before, the day a bit cooler and gray. A bit fishy. Still not a rise to be seen. At an area further upstream the bugs were being blown towards the north bank and a constant stream of subvaria drifted unmolested downstream. Th best hatch yet. Not a fly was taken by a trout.

Yesterday (the 18th) dawned cool and gray. My dog Roscoe and I took a long hike up in the Merck Forest where he splashed around a very chilly Birch Pond. We took the long cut back to the parking lot (not intentionally) and got back to camp. I was exhausted. He was not. I finally snuck away from the pup around 1:30 for yet another scouting mission. The day was cool and drizzly. In his wonderful article about Hendrickson's in the book Royal Coachman, The Legands and Lore of Fly Fishing, Paul Schullery humorously observed that Hendrickson weather, in his experience, was not all sunshine and smiles. Perhaps this raw and damp day would prove the difference. The river was a pleasant amber color, and the flows were down to 1830 cfs. Wadable in places. It looked and felt promising, the drizzle never quite becoming a rain. The wind stayed down. At 2 pm bugs began to hatch. Lots of them. But not the Hendrickson's I was hoping for but their smaller cousins, the rainy day baetis, or blue winged olives.

After exploring the lower site, I headed upstream to a location that I felt would be the more likely spot to see a rise. I walked casually up to the riverbank and was immediately greeted with the slashing rise of a large fish. Right at my feet. Damn! As might be expected, the fish did not show again. And the rain came. Enough to keep fish from poking their noses out of the water. Time to go home!

As fleeting as it was, the first rise of the season was all I had hoped for and that is what I was given. It took three days and a lot of water watching. But here we are. A cool week ahead will keep the bugs from exploding all at once. A slow, metered out hatch is not a bad thing. There is a warm day or two sandwiched between the cool ones. The season's first spinner fall is probable. Will the trout respond? That is never a certainty, but the first rise of the season has been spotted and for now that is enough to fuel the hopes for the days ahead.

The first rise of the season is often a fleeting moment. The knowledge that there will be days ahead with rises aplenty fuel the enthusiasm of the fly angler, who has awaited this moment all winter long.