Monday

I first saw the trout while I was making a cast to a much smaller fish. The brown I had been targeting was probably twelve inches or so. It was steadily rising to imperceptible midges that were apparently floating by with regularity. There was no pattern or cadence to its feeding. After what must have been seven or eight casts, my eyes perceived that a background shape was actually another brown trout. Further upstream and lower in the water column, it only revealed itself when moving its head enough to one side that a sliver of white appeared as it ate.

The smaller fish continued to feed while disappearing from my mind. A new leader and a new fly were in order. A slight repositioning and a longer cast were necessary. On the second presentation, the weighted cress bug looked to have the right trajectory. The big brown flicked its head as my fly drifted by and then eased up under the bank.

It was over as soon as it had started. I marked the spot on the bank by taking a mental snapshot of a few stumps that sat above the fish’s sanctuary, reeled in, and headed home.

Tuesday

Back on the water the next day, I told myself to resist the urge to cast to the fish I had spooked less than 24 hours ago. I had been telling myself that since I was taking my gear off the previous day. There are times when you can rest a fish for fifteen minutes. Big spring creek trout like this one, in my experience, are better left alone for at least a day. So I fished downstream of where I saw it. My plan was to then take a wide berth and fish upstream of where I saw it.

But I gave in. My lack of self control was not immediately discouraged as the fish was right back in its spot, feeding as it had been the day before. I put on the same leader as the day before but utilized a smaller, more inconspicuous fly. I made a cast to the same spot upstream. The drift looked perfect. In a tragic moment of deja vu, the fish flicked its head as my fly drifted by. This time, it made a hasty retreat to the undercut bank. I should have waited.

Wednesday

I was committed to not cast to the big brown. But I also wanted to observe it. Easing up to a vantage point where I could see its whole pool, my heart sank as it was nowhere to be seen. Did someone else spook it? Did I spook it so bad that it moved lies or adjusted its feeding schedule? Had my impatience ruined an opportunity at a truly magnificent trout?

Thursday

The previous evening and present work day had been filled with second guessing my tactics. I broke down each variable and considered what could have been better with my positioning, my mends, my fly choice – everything. I left the office a little early to make a mock presentation on a similar pool with my reconfigured approach. It looked flawless. It felt flawless.

I hurried upstream to see if the trout was back, to employ my 2.0 improvements. To my surprise and shame, it was back… albeit roughly ten feet further back in the pool. Consequently, as soon as I got into position to cast it shot under the stream bank before my fly could even hit the water.

Friday

For my own sanity and for the good of that trout, I fished for brookies in the mountains.

Saturday

Trying hard to not beat myself up over missteps and miscalculations, I fished the spring creek in the morning. I only had a few hours so I intentionally stayed downstream. I caught some decent fish on dries and on subsurface patterns. I found a 14-inch fish that was taking nymphs off the bottom like my big brown. I put on the same leader and pattern I thought would work and, while I missed the hook set, I made a decent presentation. Hastiness hadn’t paid off before, and I only looked at the big trout’s pool from afar before heading home.

Sunday

I rested. The trout did, too.

Monday

A busy start to the work week was a decent distraction until 4:00 rolled around. Then the fish thoughts began to swim in and out of the task currents I was navigating. I was in the car by 5:02 and headed to the creek. Saturday’s rod was still rigged up and ready to go. Parked, in my waders, and moving towards the pool with the big brown I prayed and planned and did my best to be patient. Ten yards from the bank I slowed down my approach significantly. Spooking it in the the tail of the pool was not an option today. Creeping up to the streamside grass I could tell it wasn’t in the back of the pool. Moving slowly towards the head I could clearly see the trout’s tail back in its original feeding location.

Maybe 48 or 72 hours was the trick. Maybe the trout had a weekly schedule that dictated its behavior. Maybe I had just been too impatient and impulsive those first few days. But now I had another chance at what looked to be a 20-inch fish on my little spring creek. Breathe. Make the cast I know I can make. Just do the simple fly fishing things I know how to do.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to hide or contort myself to make a good cast to the fish where it presently fed. There were no back cast obstructions to speak of, either. The leader unrolled and the diminutive cress bug plooped  upstream of the fish about eight feet. I made a quick mend with my rod tip. I saw that the fly was on the right trajectory. Another quick mend. It hung on a big of aquatic vegetation for just one split second then broke free. At that same moment the fish moved ever so slightly. A shiver of the tail. A subtle gill flare.

A week of chasing a trout.