“Ain’t no fish in there.”
I’m confident that by fish he meant trout. Because there was, without a doubt, fish in this creek. Suckers finned in the clear pools. Dace chased little olives and midges. Suckers and dace are certainly fish. But few people with full vests and fancy fly rods are actively looking for suckers. Few folks with worm buckets and cane poles are looking for suckers, for that matter.
“Well, that may be,” I said. “But I’m going to give it a whirl and see if I can find anything swimming around.”
He eyed me suspiciously. I imagine he was considering what kind of nefarious or seedy deeds I was actually planning such that I’d put together such an intricate ruse of fly fishing for trout in a stream that he knew held no trout. For all he knew I was going to go and get high. Or worse, that I was a fed.
“Why don’t you try Spring Creek?” (actually, “crick”) he asked with equal parts benevolence and apprehension. “They’ve got that whole fly fishing only section. You’ve got to throw them back and everything.”
It was clear that he assumed I was a little nuts and was as concerned with his own well-being as a local as he was for mine as a misguided and potentially misanthropic actor. And he was right. About Spring Creek, at least. It was quite the trout stream. The catch and release, fly fishing only stretch was known for the big, wary rainbows and browns. Anglers came from hours away to show up early, secure a spot, and drift miniscule midges in front of the same selective fish for the better part of a whole day. It does hold a certain allure, I admit. But it isn’t exactly the kind of explorative, wild fishing that scratches a pioneer itch that we all need to scratch from time to time.
Scratching is a practice best done with some foresight. And this satisfying scrape was the result of some empirical research. Old fisheries reports, watershed analysis, and the optimism that only wild trout aficionados can muster up all played an important role. Essentially, the state had said there were fish there at one point in the past; the creek was accessible to trout through connected bodies of water; and I have an unyielding hope that some trout cling to even the most precarious ecological crevices.
Some of these expeditions result in success. Often, that means a small wild trout. Infrequently something truly large and surprising comes to net. The most common outcome is nothing or one of the many species that are fine in their own right… but not trout when trout is what you’re after. Yet like the folks who keep pulling the slot machine arm or scratching ticket after ticket, the intermittent positive reinforcement keeps me coming back.
There is something to be said for tricking the overfished, fished over specimens in the special regulation section. But the upside of catching fish where “there’s no fish here” is a real intoxicating feeling.
“Yeah,” I said to him as I looked up from tying on a fly. “I might head over there this afternoon. But I just want to poke around here for a bit first. Stay away from the crowds, you know?”
“Alright. Well, you won’t have any competition from me. There’s no trout there… And if you do catch something it’ll be a miracle.”
I’ll take it.