
After hundreds of casts, dozens of holes, and double-digit miles, I caught the best trout right next to the parking lot. Add to all that the fact that I had no business being ready to fish. Why did it happen the way that it did?
I don’t know. But I’ve caught enough fish in quasi-ironic circumstances like this to just be content.
What do I mean by “quasi-ironic circumstances like this”? Well, note the hyperbole in the first sentence of the article. What I was trying to communicate was that I had been fishing all day. A lot. Miles and miles and hours and hours into the wilderness of New England, and I had caught a handful of decent fish. I was content: bright, sizeable brook trout had come to hand earlier in the day. It was a great way to spend an unseasonably warm fall morning.
The fish weren’t coming that easily. After a summer of fast and furious dry fly action, a few cold snaps will bring you back to angling reality. Trout are trout. Even small stream mountain brook trout are trout (char, but… you know). They have a biological flowchart which dictates when they’ll rise to dry flies. Water temperature, flow rate, sunlight, and a host of other variables have much more bearing on these fish than my ability to pick the right fly. Plus, I have to pick the right fly. Then place it in the right place.
Stated like that, fly fishing is simple. But it isn’t always easy.









