May 4th, 2019 is a date that has been circled on the calendars of trout bums across the state of Wisconsin; the official start of the 2019 trout season. Select streams in select counties have been open since early January (catch & release only) but now that has widened to include all streams within the state’s boundaries with their typical bag limits.
This year is special in the sense that it marks the first time since I began on this trout fishing odyssey, 4 seasons ago, that I’ve had the treat of making it out on opening day. Usually the onset of final exams would confine me to much less trouty areas during the first week of May, i.e. libraries. Since the season closed last October, I’ve been dreaming about making it back to my favorite stream. A slow, low gradient brook & brown trout creek meandering through meadows, swamps, and hardwood forests. This stream receives relatively little pressure throughout the season, but I’d been warned by a friend that it can be a madhouse on opening day. Heeding this warning, I made the 1.5 hour drive from Fond du Lac and arrived just after sun-up. I grew anxious on the final leg as I began seeing fisherman parked along the road downstream, but to my surprise found my favorite access point to be void of vehicles.
I rigged up and made the short hike through a farm field to the first stream opening. My breath was visible as the sun started to peak over the horizon. I shuffled through my bag for a pair of fleece gloves, a fortunate leftover from the winter season. Despite the cold temps and lack of any surface activity, I fished dries. I had to, I could never bring myself to fish this stream with anything less. The scattering of small brookies and a large sucker hunkered to the bottom of a deep run was all the action through the first bend.
It was on the second bend that I began to feel the opening day in full force. An unmistakable sound penetrated the peacefulness of birdsong and the gentle flow of water; the sound of human voices. My heart sank as I heard a splash from downstream gaining in volume. I cleared my throat a few times to show my presence. My worst fear was confirmed when two men and a canoe loaded with spinning gear appeared. Canoe, kayaks, and drift boats may not be a big deal in terms of spooking trout in the wide freestone rivers out west, but in the narrow and sandy streams of central WI it spells trout suicide. You may as well pack it in and head for the next access point as it will most likely take the trout upwards of an hour to let down their guard and resume feeding.
After the canoe had passed, I jumped out at the next opening and made my way upstream, hiking through the swampy terrain as fast as I could. If I was to make an upstream cut on the canoers before they spoiled the pristine meadow section, I had to do so quickly. I arrived just as they rounded the corner with about 100 yards of clearance between us.
I’m not accustomed to the pressure of an encroaching fisherman on a trout stream and to be quite honest it made me feel uncomfortable. My casts were rushed, drifts were stopped short in order to reload, and the runs I worked were sloppy and lacked thoroughness. I felt like I was simply trying to catch a trout as fast as I could before the opportunity to do so would be spoiled, something that is the antithesis to my general slow angling/numbers-don’t-matter philosophy.
Eventually, I made the decision to create a few hundred yard gap between myself and the canoe and push further upstream to a very secluded and productive stretch of water. Just as I’m positioning myself to work the first pool, I hear splashing behind me and my heart sinks once again. Two kayakers with rods in tow are approaching with speed. In a fury, I cast onto the pool as fast as I could, trying to get just one good run through before it was spoiled. My efforts were little use. The lead kayak actually paddled over the top of my line in a stretch of the stream that was barely 10 feet wide. These people have every right to enjoy a day on the water, but there are unwritten etiquette rules to be followed. The paddling on the shallow sandy bottom stirred the pool into a milky consistency. Frustrated, I turned and made the long hike back to the car.
Eating breakfast at my favorite place in town calmed me down and I decided to try one last access point as it was on the way back to the highway. It’s a flat and windy stretch through a grassy meadow and the bottom type transitions from sand to stone. To my surprise, I was the only car there. Surveying the air and water, I found myself in the middle of a full blown caddis hatch(!) with trout cautiously sipping the insects as they dried their wings near the shoreline. Shuffling through the various patterns in my box, nothing seemed to be the ticket. I tied on a tried and true parachute adams, size 16.
On hands and knees, I casted to a rising trout making confident slashes at a fervent rate. The visible take…the connection! These are the moments that sustain you through a long winter as a dry fly fisherman, all unfolding once again before your eyes in vivid color. The head shaking fight, the glide of the landing net and the feel of the trout’s smooth skin while you cradle it at the water’s surface. Beautiful.
As I made the walk back to the car, I couldn’t help but think that a day on the water as pressured and chaotic as opening day in WI is just a typical weekend in “troutier” areas of the country such as Montana or Colorado. There certainly are days that I pipe dream of living in these places, but today wasn’t one of them. I was filled with an appreciation for the general quietness and solitude I’ve been afforded throughout my 3 seasons as a trout fisherman in Wisconsin. Today was just a rare exception with a happy ending.
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