 |
| Jessie Hollenbeck ties a fly on by headlamp |
At some point in the early part of the summer, when the dry
fly fishing begins to lose some of its luster and the trout start to settle
into their summer holding patterns, my friends and I start to talk about fly
fishing at night. We vow to make room in our schedules for a late night rendezvous
during the dog days of summer in late July and August, when the water is low,
and the fish - hopefully the big trout - wait until after dark to feed.
When the time is right and the phone calls are made, we all
make the drive to the pull-off and with nervous hands we try and tie on our
first choice of flies as quickly as possible – flies we all hope will bring interest
from the trout.
With a parade of
headlamps leading the way, the walk down to the stream is filled with small
talk measured in the cadence of a quick step that is only paused for a warning
of a fallen tree or rock under foot.
 |
| Even the smaller fish can't layoff a big meal |
Then the path finally spills out onto the bank, and the
stream lies before us.
With headlamps turned off, we wait for our eyes to adjust to
the dark before taking those first few steps into the water. Our sight now becomes a liability.
Fly line is peeled off the reel and the whistling sound of
it slipping through the air as it carries the fly off to a target unseen seems
so much louder without the aid of our eyes. Even the pull of the rod as it
waits to spring forward the fly line seems greater. We are now fishing blind
and we are better for it.
 |
| Flies like these draw explosive strikes |
Now we must wait for the fish. Even though we can hear them
thrashing at the surface in the hopes of destroying the fly, it is the pull
that we are after – And a patient hand is rewarded.
This year I was joined by Jessie Hollenbeck of Wide Sky Flyfishing, Mark Mckelvie (AKA Fly Master) and Rich Pecora. And even though our
trip is now a couple of weeks old, the memories of trout and friends still
remains.
Throughout the course of that evening we all took turns
working our own stretch of water, and even managed a few fish for our efforts.
The only pause in the action was for a quick photo or to let another angler work
into a productive run.
 |
| A nice small stream brown taken on a mouse by Jessie |
In the end, Jessie and I stood knee deep in one last stretch
of creek for one last chance at a large trout. But by now the time between strikes,
splashes, and the push of water became greater, an
d we found only one more
trout willing to exact its full measure on a fly. If only its determination
would have been matched equally with size – it would have been a bigger fish.
But in the dark, all fish are monsters. 
