WRITING ON THE FLY
By GEORGE LISET
One can only read so many books and magazines. An angler can only play with their rods, reels and fly boxes so many times. I was going stir crazy. By this time last year I had been out fishing a number of times. The mild winter was a gift in that respect, along with the no shoveling. However, finally having a typical New Hampshire winter has kept even the most hardy fly fisher indoors for far too long.
I have been keeping my eye on the weather and noticed a break in the cold weather. I gathered my gear, loaded up the truck and started driving north. My sources told me that there were a couple of rivers that were open around Lake Winnipesaukee. I had no great expectations because of the cold. I knew that if any fish were around they were going to be hunkered on the bottom. That meant breaking out the nymph rod, but I have also had luck swinging wet flies.
On the drive up my mind was racing like so many motorcycles during Laconia Bike Week. We’ve all been there. You start off your drive or commute with your mind racing and you get most of the way to your destination and wonder how you got there. I don’t know if that should be scary or a multi-tasking achievement. Hopefully some police officer doesn’t make that decision for us.
When I arrived at my destination, I was quickly reminded that there is a temperature difference between the lake and the seacoast. It was too late now, there would be no turning back. I rigged up my fly rod with a pair of bead head wet flies and began my short hike in. The snow was midway up my shin which made for slow going. The winter had been hard on the river. A number of trees laid across the river and numerous branches were in the river as well, and those were just the ones I could see. I was glad I had brought an extra tippet.
I started at a spot where I usually have some luck when the fish are up in the river. The water was cold. My stream thermometer said thirty-eight degrees. The sun was in and out and the air temp was the same as the water. The birds were singing and the critters were running along the banks. Spring was coming and the river was waking up and I was on the water.
I started swinging the wet flies and I was trying not to get snagged. Those submerged branches have a way of getting your flies. I worked on a section of river for a while with no luck. I knew the fish would be on the bottom, and also knew I was getting bottom since I had the occasional snag. As a friend told me when it came to fishing nymphs, “If you’re not dragging, you’re not bragging.”
I moved to another section of river where I encountered another brave angler. There is a certain camaraderie with early season fly fishers. After exchanging pleasantries we got down to the nitty gritty, “Did you have any luck.” We both replied in the negative. He did offer that he heard that a friend had a caught a fish the day before further down the river, so they must be coming up.
I began fishing another section where I could lay out some line and tied on an olive wooly bugger. It was great to be out. The wind began to pick up and the fingers were going numb so I decided I had enough fun for the day. When I got back to the truck I took off all my wet stuff and put on the heater to warm up. My truck headed for the nearest cup of hot coffee for the ride home. My mind began racing again as I planned my next trip. Hopefully the coffee will help me remember the ride home.
