It was one of those fishing trips. You know, everyone catches fish but you, you loose six or eight of your most expensive streamers, it rains buckets, and you sink
boat. That’s right; I got skunked at Steamboat Lake over Memorial weekend.I was determined to show those meat huckers (worms and power bait) that a well chosen and strategically placed fly was as effective as anything a conventional fisherman could load on a hook and hang under a bobber. Well, no such luck, I got stomped.
The fish were rising like mad on a midge hatch, and I threw everything in box at them. I could swear I saw a hefty rainbow nudge my fly to side to eat natural laying only centimeters from my damn near perfect replica. As we watched group of 12 year olds add another 18” fish to their stringer (full loaded, I might add) I decided it must be a lake thing. I don’t fish lakes often.
I usually have good luck with a streamer in faster moving water, so I head for one on several tributaries hoping to get boat up far enough to make a make a few good casts. No such luck, here comes wind. Determined and frustrated, I proceed to lose several of my best streamers in dense shrubbery surrounding mouth of creek (can’t retrieve them since current is too strong to get boat any further up creek).
On way back to camp we are passed by a couple of boats with stringers of fish crashing off bows of their boats (hmmm, are they just rubbing it my face, or are they tenderizing meat?)Questioning my decision to become a fly fisherman, I head over to dock to pick up my 5 year-old son and a fresh styro of night crawlers. I'll let my son fish meat before I crumble and load one up on spinner myself. Surprising, no luck with meat either, and hear comes rain. I throw my arms up and ponder my karma activity of past year.
