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Simple happiness
These periods of low water are rarely favourable for fly fishing. The fish have taken advantage of the rising water to feed and are no longer looking for food. But as I like to say: whatever the conditions, there's always a fish to catch. What's more, being able to walk around with a rod in hand after this long truce is enough to make me happy. It's spring, nature is bursting with color, the birds are singing and the river is magnificent. A fish would just be the icing on the cake.
For a fish to come out or be in position, you need peace and quiet and a few insects. At this time of year, the best way to find peace and quiet is to get as far away as possible from the parking lots. And if you're hoping to find a few insects, the faster-warming downstream sections of rivers are the best. On the other hand, downstream areas are not at all synonymous with high fish densities.
I plan two outings and target the 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. slot, which seems to me to be the most favourable at the start of the season. I'm secretly hoping for a few insects and why not a gobble, but it's a nymph that's tied to my tip as I head upstream. So I can be very reactive if I spot a fish on the move. And if, by chance, I see a gobble, it's usually a fish in position. This gives me plenty of time to swap my nymph for a dry one.
Although I spent a pleasant day at the water's edge on this first outing of the year, my nymph unfortunately didn't leave the fly hook. I feasted my eyes on jacks, kingfishers and beaver tracks, but didn't see a single fish.
A big fish
The next day is my last chance of the week. At around 10 a.m., I'm at the water's edge, cane in hand and polarized glasses on my nose. I'll have better luck as I soon spot a suspicious shape on a gravel pit. The current is not strong, but there are ripples on the surface that prevent me from seeing perfectly. As is often the case in these moments, you alternate between certainty and great doubt. By dint of scrutinizing, I've been convinced that I could see something moving, but it turned out to be a branch! The best thing to do when in doubt is to give it a try. One thing's for sure: if it's a fish in front of me, it's a big one. But I've been watching it for over 10 minutes now, without seeing the slightest movement.
As I can't see very well, the idea is to get the nymph not too close to the fish so that I can see its gap clearly. My orange 14 pheasant tail head weighted with 5 turns will be perfect. I'm not under too much pressure, as I'm not at all convinced that I really have a trout in front of me.
The first cast is pretty good. I watch my drift, but nothing happens. I wait a little, then drop my nymph a little further upstream for the second pass. Just as my nymph reaches the top of the mass, I see it rise - it's a trout! I can't see the nymph's catch, so I strike by feel. My rod bends and I can see the trout contorting its body like a big fish. At this point, I'm very happy to have a brand-new long tip in 16/100. Luckily, the area is fairly clear and after a good fight, the trout ends up in the landing net. And what a magnificent trout it is!
Incredibly, this is my second cast and I may have just caught what will be my biggest fish of the season.
The nymph is well stung and the tiemco 100 SPBL has not moved
This beauty quickly returned to its element and I sat down to savour the moment. I didn't see any other fish that day, but I must admit that my concentration wasn't as sustained. Only one fish in two days, but it was enough to satisfy me and I didn't ask for more, feeling that I'd been spoiled enough.
It still follows me a few days later, as I write these lines beside my wood-burning stove in one hailstorm after another. I can see that mass rising, I can relive that magical moment of making contact at the moment of casting without really knowing whether the nymph has been taken, I can relive that fight and, above all, I can relive that incredible beauty. I'll remember this first fish of the season for a long time to come.
