This spring, I went fly fishing for the first time. I’ve caught 8-pound largemouth bass, 42-inch red drum, and 7-foot sandbar sharks, but topping those catches was the experience of fishing for 8-inch wild brook trout.
For context, I caught my first fish when I was 7 or 8: a walleye from Deep Creek Lake. Later that night, I grabbed a Maryland Fishing Guide published by the Department of Natural Resources from Walmart, a yearly tradition I still look forward to, and flipped through the middle pages identifying all the fish species I could catch in the state. The beautiful brook trout captivated me, but I didn’t know anything about its biology. I thought if I just kept casting a worm and bobber into Deep Creek, one would tug my line eventually.
I learned more about brook trout while reading the DNR’s website for a 4th grade poster project. The East’s only native trout species (although technically in the char family), they require virtually untouched streams below 70 degrees. Therefore, they are typically found in small streams running through well-preserved habitats, the primary setting of fly fishing. But those habitats and learning to fly fish weren’t as accessible to me as bass ponds and spinning reels, so it would be 13 years before I decided to follow up on my childhood dream.
Fast forward to the present day. I arrived at a famous trout stream in the Blue Ridge Mountains at 11 AM, and snagged the last spot in the parking lot. Although hundreds of families would hike along the stream throughout the day, only three groups other than my experienced friend and I fished.
We hiked three miles upstream before casting at our first pool. For over an hour, we got many strikes on yellow sulphur dry flies, but stream levels were low, and the trout weren’t acting as aggressively as normal. I focused on casting fundamentals until I caught my first brook trout where a tributary interested the main stream. Two small waterfalls dropped into a deep pool, overshadowed on one side by a low-hanging shrub. As soon as my fly hit the water at the top of the current, I knew a trout would strike. A small splash, a loud yell by me, and I reeled in my childhood dream fish. It felt surreal to hold, “trout fever” as my friend called it. It was one of the most accomplishing catches of my life.
Fly fishing is harder than “normal fishing,” and to an outsider, seems less rewarding. You exert more energy for fish so small, you can use line as thin as hair instead of 20-pound braid. So why do people love fly fishing so much? I think it’s because fly fishing is one of the most intimate experiences you can have with nature. It’s not about the size or fight of the fish, it’s about being able to catch a fish at all. Your approach and presentation must be perfect to earn a strike from a wild brook trout. The fly must “match the hatch” (local insect life of the stream) perfectly, it can’t stop moving with the current, it can’t drag, it can’t submerge when you prepare to recast. Commit any one of these mistakes, and the pool is likely busted, especially in low flow conditions. On to the next one. If even a single trout in a pool of 20 sees you? Forget about it. The pool is busted. Therefore, you have to be one with nature so much as to be invisible to it. Ditching waders and boots for barefoot sandals complicated 10 miles of rocky hiking, but feeling the water and habitat that the fish lived in unobstructed by layers of wet, heavy material put me in the needed headspace.
Fly fishing is also as much about the setting as the catch. After each of my three catches that day, I took as many photos of the setting as I did of the fish. It’s simply beautiful. The stream flowed through a gorge with tall rock faces on either side. After climbing around 2000 feet, there was a good view of the holler below stretching out into the Piedmont Plateau. The water was crystal clear, only broken up by cold waterfalls, many taller than us. For an experienced outdoorsmen, streams like these are playgrounds where wildlife, scenery, and rewarding challenge intersect.
It’s now June, the beginning of a window where fly fishing conditions aren’t ideal. Warmer water temperatures and lower flows will have trout less active and more prone to spooking. Come fall, when brook trout breed, I will absolutely fly fish again.
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