Pigeon Holed

As anglers, sometimes we get caught in a rut. Same routine. Same place. Same runs. Maybe you’ve been there, and agree. The routine sometimes gets predictable. That happened to me this past spring. Restricted travel brought on 2 contributing factors to the routine – the first, limited exposure to people, the second, a constant goal to not experience people.

The cabin is located on a fairly remote part of the Big River. There aren’t many access points for foot travelers, and the closest takeout is limited to carry out crafts. With many folks bugging out of metropolitan areas for country locales, I saw more lights on, than any other time I can remember. The same applied to the river. Despite everything going on, most of us were laying low and quietly doing what is an annual ritual of spring bugs.

It's not uncommon for me to spend the majority of my time on the same stretch of water, either on foot or afloat. I like it, and know it well.

One night at Home Pool, I was shocked to see there was a couple practically getting it on upstream, across the river. This continued until their next door neighbor walked in to fish directly across from me, and 20 yards down from them. They quickly retreated back up to their home. Until this year, I’ve never seen a soul recreating in any way within eyesight of where we step into the river.

My new friend on the other side figured out that it is too deep to wade in where his property is, and the contour of the river did not allow for a good presentation. It didn’t take long until the scene is what it normally is – quiet, and without company.

Traffic got to me at the put in one evening, and this was the last night I’d fish this familiar run until high summer. Normally, the only people we see are the land owners, some of whom fish, so we give plenty of berth. On this particular night, the green drakes were on, and I counted 4 drift boats and 3 brand new inflatables at the launch. All of us leaving at the same time.

I’ll avow that we’ve been pretty spoiled over the years with this run. It’s quiet, can be sped up or slowed down depending on what’s going on, and devoid of commercial traffic. It’s a real departure from everyone stacking up at the bottom of a commercial float, where everyone can get impatient from trading paint all day on other sections. The only concern we have, is not stepping on a grouse or rattlesnake when walking up to get the trailer. Both are equally frightening in the dark, and they each leave a distinct impression.

Bob and I pushed off ahead of everyone. Selfish angst kicked in the moment we dropped in. I thought who are all these people, and where are they taking out? So we ran down to get away, leaving very productive big fish water behind. I’ll trade that any day for solitude, and that’s what we got. We did pretty well, and slowly fished down.

Once night fell, it was time for the coffin flies to do their thing, and the river would soon boil. Or so I thought. Every single one of those water crafts except one was using lights as bright as the sun. I fully understand that we were all new once, but all those lights really put the fish off. Also, if you need lights to be on a river at night, you shouldn’t be on a river at night.

Some constructive, night fishing river etiquette was offered free of charge. Then we called it a night. It was right then and there, that I realized, this type of thing wasn’t going to change any time soon. I needed to make a change.

Rather than get pigeon holed into the routine, which would likely continue to build frustration, I focused on the fishery that most overlook. It was delightful, and rewarding. The drives were a bit longer to and from, but it was absolutely a worthwhile investment into peace. Those “rough” fishes were kinder and more plentiful. Perhaps because they don’t see people each and every day. Spending time in new sections is a reward all its own. The learning curve is part of the challenge, and successes are sweeter.

I’ll get back to the trout once the water temps fall again. Hopefully, the traffic has lightened up a bit. If not, I learned a lot from my time away.