Spring Closure

Summer swelter on the last morning of spring, and I am in full hunting mode. The time has come for the new eight-foot three weight hollowbuilt flyrod that Dennis Menscer meticulously crafted for me over the winter to test it’s mettle. I had fished it a couple of times, though I had not tied into a trout of any considerable size. Yes, the tough spring of ’24 has continued right up to the end.

I stalked slowly as daylight grew, the rising sun setting the fog in motion. I heard the first rise, though I could not find it in the swirling mist, but waiting, then fishing the cover failed to reveal it’s maker. I worked slowly up the riverbank with my casts, the three weight doing a lovely job with a Baby Cricket at fifty feet. My eyes locked on the next sound to imprint itself on my consciousness, and the cast was in the air before the subtle ring dissipated. There was no response, and even as I dissected that entire band of current with multiple casts the river remained silent.

I spent an hour working slowly up the pool with nothing but bits of unoccupied cover for targets.

As the sun burned away the last wisps of fog, I observed a tiny dimple in the bright sheen of the surface. The sight failed to raise my heart rate, for I had no doubt that a small fish was working the morning drift. I scanned the surface and found a pair of tiny spinners and one creamy, pale mayfly. Eventually, a better riseform showed along a shady edge, though it’s maker wanted neither my tiny red spinner nor a pale sulfur.

The drift remained spare for a couple of hours, with just a taste of something to elicit a rise here and there from the little fellows. At one point, I readied myself for a little hatch of sulfurs but, though they came briefly, there were no rises seen. I worked on upriver, casting long and delicately to shade and cover. The rod performed flawlessly, though nothing interrupted the soft drifts of my flies.

There are times one fishes well and finds nothing to show for the effort. This awkward spring has brought many such moments.

Late morning, and at last I began to make my way back to the beginning. The full heat of the sun had stirred the mountain air into motion, and I hoped the hot breeze might send a few treats to interest just one good trout. I knotted my old friend, the Grizzly Beetle, conceived for these moments, and having shone brightly during many of them.

The beetle changed things straight away, enticing a strike from the glide I had covered more than thoroughly. The brownie was feisty and brightly colored. Though he was small, the change of fate felt real, and I continued with new energy.

A long cast, and an even longer drift finally brought what I had been seeking: the test for the new flyrod. The brown caused the light tackle to shudder when he charged for heavy cover, but Dennis’ knows how to design a taper. Of the old masters, Fred Thomas was his favorite, and just as the fine tips of a Thomas rod belied it’s fish fighting mettle, so too the fine tips of my beautiful Menscer 803!

It was a tough battle, but the flyrod won, and I slid the mesh beneath a brawling twenty-inch wild Catskill brown!

I was elated as I worked down river, feeling my fishing had ended for the day. The water betrayed no more evidence of life, that is until I neared an old favorite piece of cover. The ring in the surface was subtle, and not the bulge and dimple kind of big trout subtle, though something told me to stalk carefully into range.

There were a few signs of motion on the water as I worked gently into casting range, though still nothing that got my hackles up with that sixth sense kind of trout hunter’s magic. I felt more of a kind of serene confidence.

The cast was long, angled downriver and across to offer the little beetle with the best and longest drift possible. The fly drifted only a few feet when the surface blossomed with a wide soft, slow-motion ring, and I raised the gentle wand of cane to meet it.

The trout charged away from the bank and his sheltering cover, giving only brief moments for me to feel his weight as I stripped fly line as fast as I could manage. Once he turned against the rod there was no question of his size. I let him pull slack back between the fingers of my rod hand while I wound quickly to get as much line as possible onto the reel. Once successful, I was finally treated to a bit of that lovely Hardy music!

Drawing him close for the first time, he looked dark knifing over the gravel in that crystal clear water, and I realized that I wanted him very badly.

Light tackle is criticized by some, saying that good trout are played out, exhausted. The playing of the trout is up to the angler, not his tackle, and I have seen medium sized trout played nearly to death on long, stiff, heavy graphite rods by anglers too fearful of losing their fish. I know that light tackle, when used to it’s full potential, can land large trout as quickly as necessary for a safe release. A well designed and well-handled rod that gives cushions light tippets and tires the fish quickly.

My slim three weight cane rod brought that second beautiful brownie to the waiting net, all twenty-one inches of him. I would expect nothing less from a Dennis Menscer flyrod!