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A Fish of Destiny Print E-mail

Either the fall run is sluggish this year, or it’s heightened anticipation on my part, I thought, as I arrived at Walnut Creek a little after 6 AM.  As I finished my coffee, I wondered just what adventure lie in store for me this day.

At the end (or beginning, depending on ones perspective) of the wall; that is, where the turbulent flow of the creek ends, I began fishing.  My initial offing was an Estes egg fly, chartreuse with a tiny red tail, and a # 18 pheasant tail as the dropper.  Over the next half hour, my float captured the ever so slight drift of this rain-starved creek time after time without even a bump.  After changing the dropper fly the third or fourth time, I moved upstream.

There were no fish in the next hole, nor the two smaller ones just above.  As I cautiously reached the “stop-sign hole”, I could see a dozen or so fish resting in the slower water.  At this moment, I was alone at perhaps the second busiest hole on lower Walnut Creek. 

Although I felt my first cast was perfect, none of the resident fish agreed, and my flies were ignored.  Positioning myself to cast to a larger male caused other fish to veer away slightly, confirming one of the disadvantages of fishing clear water.  As the chartreuse fly drifted within the feeding range of the large male, he looked and moved ever so slightly toward  it…but passed. 

Since I remained alone, I casted further upstream presenting my flies to others, resting my chosen target.  After several fruitless casts above, I drifted my fly perfectly within his comfort range.  His hooked jaws opened and the brightly colored fly disappeared.  Feeling the hook immediately, he exploded in the relatively shallow waters of this smallish hole.  His fight, however, was short lived in the 70-degree water permitting an easy beaching, revival, and release.  Although he was about 30 “ in length, he weighed only 9 #.  While reviving him, I noticed a large lamprey mark along his right side.  This made twice he’s tempted fate, twice to my knowledge, that is.  He was able to rid himself of that lamprey before his skin was broken, and I just released him.  What a lucky fish!

Chartreuse continued to be the popular color, as I caught and released three more before I left that hole.  While I was landing the last fish, I noticed the larger one still hanging around.  Wondering if he’d hit again, I tied a single chartreuse egg fly with a blood dot on a # 14 hook and let it drift at his nose.  To my surprise, the fly disappeared and I was into my second fight of the day with this fine fish.

After his release, and no longer alone at this hole, I moved upstream.  Concomitant with my relocation, the sun’s rays began to hit the gin-clear water reducing fish cooperation to a bare minimum.  Fate graced me with one more decent hook-up at the hole just below Manchester Bridge---an already ripening 7 # female.  By now, it was nearly 10 AM, so I began working my way back to my car.  Pausing at the “stop sign hole”, I could still spot my “lucky fish” of earlier this AM, surrounded by females as he lay at the end of the hole. 

Later that day, I returned to lower Walnut Creek to fish ‘til dark.  Most fish I saw remained very inactive.  A few fishermen were present, but none with fish or hook-ups.  With my tippet again decorated in chartreuse, I wondered if I’d be able to find and entice that 9 # male from earlier in the day.  As fishing pressure remained light, only a 7 year-old girl and her father fished the “stop sign hole.”    I began fishing across from them and downstream.  After a few casts each at several changing positions, I noticed an extremely long stringer tied to a rock about 10 feet from the water’s edge.  At the other end lay a large steelhead, upside down and quite dead.   Complimenting the little girl and her father on their catch, I mentioned the fish looked like one I caught that morning.  As they didn’t mind, I pulled the stringer to check the right side of the fish.  Sure enough, the tell-tail lamprey mark confirmed that luck had indeed run out on this steelhead. 

My fish of destiny was no more!

A short story by Doc Wally.

 
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