Hooked: The Magic of That First Trout

“Alright, get your blindfold on”, was the order given from the passenger seat. A baseball cap is quickly converted to an impromptu blinder. We’re rounding one of the final bends before reaching an undisclosed stream, 5 mins away according to the GPS. I’m in the driver’s seat. The guy in the passenger seat is Cordell Jacobson; trout fishing buddy who abides to the fisherman’s code of secrecy with his entire being. The guy behind the blindfold is Dean Kuettel; first time fly fisherman and Hortonville High pole vault record holder who also happens to be dating my sister.

Ridiculous as the blindfold may sound, there’s good reason to be so protective of this particular spot. Since discovering it last season, it has consistently produced wild, colorful and native brook trout. These trout willingly take dry flies and average in size around 8 to 12 inches, with larger trout spotted on most trips. The legend of the elusive Twenty Incher that calls this stream home is likely more fact than fiction.

 

 

This stream is also home to a resident population of creek chub, semotilus atromaculatus. To the trout angler, creek chubs are equivalent to the walleye angler’s sheepshead. The setting is unique as well. Situated amongst old farm houses and rolling hills, it has a certain charm of solitude.

This is the first time that Cordell and I had brought along visitors (hence the blindfold) and it was hard to prepare them for what to expect. The hike starts out nice and easy, through a rolling hay field that had just been harvested. A row of cattails divides solid ground from the wet, where the footing becomes uncertain and ankles are easily rolled. Although we never actually enter the stream (intentionally), waders are a necessity rather than a luxury. The boots and jeans combo, admirably field tested by both Dean and my sister, doesn’t end so well.

 

 

The main purpose of this outing was for Dean to catch his first ever trout, an item that’s been top of his list ever since purchasing a fly rod & reel combo from Fleet Farm last month. I gladly volunteered to be his guide for the day. I consider myself knowledgeable when it comes to most aspects about fly fishing, however I’m pretty horrible when it comes to giving advice on casting. Anyone who’s ever cast a fly rod before knows how difficult it is at the start and it was satisfying to watch as Dean’s casting ability improved throughout the day. I had him casting to any runs that he could reach on the near shoreline as I crouched behind, giving instructions as needed.

 

 

Insect activity was minimal, other than a few lone mayflies I saw hatching throughout the day. Swallows devoured them mid flight before the trout had any shot at a surface feast. Still, we fished dries.

Anticipation for the first trout mounted with each cast. I held my breath as I watched his fly slowly drift across a hole, patiently awaiting the elegant slurp of a brookie. Finally, a strike.

Excitement broke out and I instructed Dean to keep tension with the fish. The excitement quickly deflated as a small creek chub was brought to hand. At least we weren’t getting skunked.

 

 

We moved upstream and Dean was quickly hooked into a nice brookie who flashed us his bright orange underside as he leapt into midair. Just as quickly as the fight began, it was over. There’s a maddening aspect to fly fishing where you can do everything that’s in your own power right and still lose the fish, this was one of these moments.

It was nearing lunch time and we decided to give one last go to a shallow bend upstream. There was a deep undercut bank on the far side that I’d bet the farm on holding trout. To fish it required a decently long cast across the stream. Dean put a few casts on the money and the second or third pass thru produced a strike. Anticipation was high, but always with slight hesitation that it would be just another chub. The fish went airborne for a second, not usually characteristic of a chub; good sign.

It wasn’t until the fish was safely secured in the net that we could confirm it was indeed a brook trout. Hugs and high fives ensued; all of the childlike excitement of that first trout. This is what it’s all about.

 

 

We hiked back and headed into the nearby town for a celebratory lunch at a small bar that Cordell and I frequent after our trout fishing trips. The owner is a local lady who is always dishing out the latest small town gossip. We tell her we’d been fishing and an older man from across the bar asks where at. “We can’t tell you”, Cordell quickly interjects. The man goes back to staring down his Busch Light; the solemn look of defeat streaked across his face.

The events of the day brought back memories of my own first trout caught just over a year ago. I’m lucky to have been part of such a unique experience again; this time with a first time fly fisherman. These are memories that are not soon forgotten. There’s already talks about another trip in search of his second species; the brown trout.

 

 

I want to give a shoutout to my sister, Hannah, for supplying the best photos this blog has seen thus far. I think we’ll keep taking you along on these trips.