Have you ever been by water and said, “I wonder if there are any fish in there?” If you love to fish, the answer is an easy yes. The second leg of my trip Saturday gave me that opportunity to ask that very question. A friend who was with me, we’ll call him Glen, told me of a river that was off the beaten path. My first site of this stream was from an overpass where I had pulled over on the highway. At this vantage point there was a quarter-mile of steep mountain and six-foot deer fences to cross to get there. Lucky for us, we also spotted a dirt road that would take us a stones throw away.
The water was clear and cold. There was a small number of caddis and mayflies dapping the surface. First impressions, it showed promise. I tied on a size 16 Elk Hair Caddis in order to imitate the real deal already present. I wasn’t disappointed. No sooner did the fly hit the water than a little torpedo of a fish shot out of the water after it. Of course, I missed. Even Glen took a quick glance my way and asked, “Was that a fish?” Obviously, I wasn’t showing the proper respect this little stream deserved. That changed fast. I continued to dap the surface and watch fish after fish blast out from below.
The fishing was fast, and the fish were fierce. Each one a small Cutthroat Trout ranging from three to eight inches. Size didn’t matter to my flies. They demolished three of them by time I finished. As the sun dipped behind the mountain we said goodbye to the little stream that had treated us so well. Glen and I compared stories as we made are way back home. We couldn’t call ourselves proper fisherman if we would have done otherwise.