Trout Lesson
When I retired
four years ago I knew exactly how I wanted to start the next stage of my
life. I rented a little log cabin near
Viroqua, Wisconsin which is in the southwest part of the state. This region is known as the driftless area
because the succession of glaciers that covered what is now known as Wisconsin
never made it here. Here there are many
ridges and steep hills. The deep valleys, or
hollows, almost all seem to have a clear spring creek running through
them. The creeks are full of native
trout, mostly browns, but some brookies as well. The fishing can be as world class as
Wisconsin offers.
I had heard
about the area as far back as several decades ago when I spent more active time
with Trout Unlimited. Several
members spoke highly of the fishing down there.
But it is a So, I never made it down there until about 7 years ago. Once I discovered what my penchant for
familiarity and “sure thing” had caused me to overlook all these years, I have
returned each year to celebrate the end of the trout season.
In my
younger years, winter caused me to be most eager for May – the beginning of the
trout season. Even if the fishing wasn’t
always that good, and the streams overcrowded, it felt good to be on the
water. Or rather I should say “in” the
water. A unique characteristic of trout
fishing is wading the rivers and streams.
There is something about feeling of the push of cold water. You learn to not fight the current so much as
to let the stream take you in.
In those
days I measured success by a full creel.
It was important to not only catch fish, but to catch and keep a limit
of fish. I used bait because it was the
easiest and surest way to get that limit.
By midlife I
put off trout fishing until after Memorial Day.
I found that June fishing was actually a better as the fish seemed more
active. And, by that time many of the
people shifted their attention to boating and fishing the lakes as they warmed
enough for swimming. During this phase
of life, I shifted to just fishing with artificials. The fish didn’t take them so deep, so most fish
could be returned to the stream to live and fight another day.
Now, in my
later years, I prefer my flyrod. It’s
more of a challenge. A good cast almost
feels as good as a good strike. I have
learned enough to have a feel for what the trout should be biting on. And there is a greater connection with the
fish because you hold the line directly in your hand, and so you feel each
throb of the head and strong tug of a good fish.
They say that those who fish for trout do it as much for where they are found as they do for the fish themselves. That is very true. Whether it is the singing, surging brandy-colored
And the fish
themselves are as beautiful as the waters they thrive in. Especially at the end of the season because
native stream trout spawn in late fall, so at this time of year the brookies
have bright crimson sides and the browns are true golden.
I have
learned through the years that the best really is the last. Even in the driftless, at the end of the
season I can have most any stream to myself.
If I find a vehicle already parked by the bridge I simply drive on to
the next bridge. I crave solitude when
trout fishing.
That special
retirement trip four years ago was nearly perfect. The weather was a bit gray and the breeze was
a bit cool, so it was comfortable. The
fish were eager enough. The extra time I had for this trip afforded me the
opportunity to try several new streams and stretches. Most were places I will want to return
to. While a hooked and landed lots of
very nice fish, the biggest one got away, as it should be – at least much of
the time. That big brown trout will be
even bigger in my stories than she likely would have been if I would have
netted her. Also, that fish reminded me
of the most important lesson of trout fishing, and of life, that I have learned in
my trout pursuits all these years – you can’t lose something you never really had.
His Peace
<><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Jon Sailer on Unsplash
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