Pocket to Pocket
A flash of the underbelly right after the hook set or even during the take reveals the answer - if you see red, it’s a brookie. Silver, it’s a rainbow.
This is a great time of year. The sun doesn’t set until after 8PM. Even when you’re deep in the woods, in a stream valley, there’s still plenty of time to fish after dinner. It’s warm enough for shirt sleeves but not too sweaty. You can fish below the surface but they’re taking flies on top now too.
The early season rush has faded and I’m alone on the water again. There are still some stocked fish hanging tough, silver skin showing scars from their inhospitable handling. The little natives will be there regardless.
The water level is good - too high right after a spring thunderstorm, but it will settle down quickly. Plenty of days yet to come before summer cuts flows to a trickle.
I move from pocket to pocket. A few inches deep in the shallows, two to three feet in the deepest holes. Stalking a quiet stretch - in-between picnic areas. Two guys on motorcycles are idling on the side of the road. Then the engines roar and they’re gone. The only sound now is the water, my clumsy steps on the rocks, and the occasional wheeeeeez of a fly in my ear. I try the next pocket or pool, then the next and the next.
There’s a fish in nearly every spot. Nearly. Usually a brookie. Six or seven inches. Sometimes a real hog at eight or nine. The colors vary from subdued grays and purples to bright oranges and reds.
The brookies are interrupted by the occasional stocker - less colorful rainbows (ironically). Comparatively heavy. You can tell right away by the silver-gray flash on the take and the heavy pull on the ultra-light tippet that it’s a stocker. I’m never mad at that. I fish a lot but not so much that I’ll be picky about what type of fish decides to play along.
I can feel the tiny leaks along the seams of my waders. Not even a year old yet and leaking. But that’s the world we live in, isn't it. I think I can patch them up. Maybe even exchange them for a fresh pair but probably not. I’ll ask the guy at the fly shop. I knew what I was in for, buying the cheapest pair. But the cheapest pair was still two hundred bucks.
I’m pretty good at reading the water - that is, knowing where in the stream the fish will be hiding. But there are always surprises. A fish holding in a shallow run that you cast to, expecting nothing and getting something. Or a deep pool flanking an undercut tree that looks like a sure bet to hold the fish of a lifetime…and nothing. It’s all part of the game.