In 1979, I was privileged to travel to England in a pilgrimage to Hampshire’s chalk stream country and the fabled Test River. It was a pilgrimage in that I would be fishing hallowed water where much of modern fly angling techniques evolved. In our wanderings, my wife and I also visited Winchester Cathedral, where Izaak Walton, the author of The Compleat Angler, is interred. High above his stone crypt, a stately stained glass image of Saint Peter, dressed in a magenta robe and holding a large brown trout, tints rays of sunlight streaming in and down upon the historic cathedral floor. Winchester is unique in that its spacious grounds lead across verdant grass to the river, not urban pavement. I’m not aware that brown trout ever inhabited the Sea of Galilee, but our British cousins had taken a little liberty, and it tells of the importance of fly fishing in that sylvan region south and west of London.
At one time the British fished in coat and tie and believed it unethical, even heresy, to cast blindly to fish not seen rising. I went along with the traditions and, as a guest in a special place, prepared accordingly. We would fish a beat of the Test that was controlled by Dermot Wilson, a successful businessman and consummate authority on the dry fly. My ghillie relaxed the coat-and-tie rule on Dermot’s beat, but the ethic and challenge of casting only to fish seen rising continues to excite me. At the end of a day’s angling, I could say to myself that I did things well, and there were remembered images that I would carry with me beyond that day: swirls on fog-shrouded water, and crimson sunlight flashing off the scales of a twisting trout. David Starr Jordan was moved by something special when he first classified rainbow trout as Salmo irridius.
Later during that trip, I fished several famous English trout still waters with my stateside friend and mentor’s son, Jeremy Baker. We placed willow creels and burnished leather rod cases in the back seat of his Jaguar roadster and blasted through the countryside outside Glastonbury on what to me was the terrifying wrong side of the road. Every part of those days was exhilarating and imprinted those angling traditions permanently. Though we were not required to cast to visible rising fish on the lakes, the cultural imperative remained, in part, because these lakes and their biology lend themselves to fishing the rise, as was the case on the Test and nearby equally famous Itchen Rivers.
Therein lies the secret of sight fishing. You have to know which bodies of water and their aquatic biology lend themselves to this method of fly fishing. It would be quite boring and unproductive if you never saw a rise and didn’t get the chance to cast your offering at a wary target.
Rises can tell us a lot. Obviously, they indicate that fish are feeding and can be found in the upper water column. They may be cruising slowly and grazing on insects in, on, or just under the surface. Another possibility is that they are cruising several feet deep (or deeper), and willingly abandon the better temperature and oxygen parameters there and risk the dangers from above in the form of ospreys, hawks, and eagles in order to move up for food, then back down again for comfort and safety. Even though there may only be a few surface-feeding fish, that tells you that many more may be below in a reachable part of the water column.
A trout’s rise also will tell you what form of insect or baitfish is being consumed. How many times have you thought that you had this figured out, only to realize you were totally confused and asking yourself exasperatedly, “What are they taking?”
A sipping rise to a size 22 Tricorythodes downwing spinner is very subtle compared with the sucking in of an early season size 14 Callibaetis dun or the violent explosion of a ravenous fish on a Hexagenia mayfly adult. Mixed in can be the deliberate head, dorsal fin, and tail rise of a rainbow slowly cruising, not expending much energy, in a dense Callibaetis hatch or the dynamic swirl on a size 16 Blood Midge pupa trying to break through the surface. Once the bug has broken through, hungry fish may come out of the water to dive bomb that Blood Midge adult.
During damselfly hatches at Davis Lake, I’ve observed that satiated, glutted trout will at times rise to take only two or three damselfly nymphs in one pass before dropping back down in the water column. In clear water, several friends and I have noticed that trout will circle a descending water boatman several times before rushing in to take the bug . . . or your fly.
To further complicate matters and at the same time fascinate and frustrate us, fish will vary their feeding patterns on insects from minute to minute, hour to hour, and day to day. Last year at Frenchman Lake, we found one cove with hatching Callibaetis mayflies out of many that didn’t. On the north side of the cove, working fish would take well-presented Mercer Poxyback Callibaetis Nymphs fished a few inches below the surface. On the south and west side, they seemed to prefer soft-hackle emergers in the film and then, moments later, would want the nymph. The insects came off in small waves, with lulls and then flurries. Sometimes we had to switch patterns from nymph to emerger and back to cast ahead of fish and get hookups. It was an exhilarating day.
There’s another cove at Davis on the west side, not far from Jenkins, that often holds surface-feeding fish during the months when the Callibaetis are hatching. The problem is that the fish seem to stay just beyond the casting range of a good angler and rarely take a fly. Why does this occur in this cove over and over? Are the fish residents? Are these fish smarter? Perhaps we anglers are dumber and, blinded by paradigms, do not recognize what is going on.
This past spring, I fished with a group of eight at Henderson Springs, a private stillwater venue with five spring-fed lakes, gracious hosts, and a comfortable lodge in a remote location. Sight fishing there is always a distinct possibility. Sometimes it comes in the form of ant falls, Callibaetis emergences, midge hatches, or Hex hatches, and sometimes the fish will blow up on foam terrestrials such as my favorite copper-ribbed black cicada imitation or a hopper pattern.
Typically, we fish during the afternoon on the day we arrive, then a full day with two sessions, and then the following morning. That first afternoon, as we approached Frog Lake, occasional rising fish raised my adrenalin levels. Excitement caused by working fish always delays the time it takes to get your gear together and into the water, and you are bound to forget something, often the small box of flies tied just for the trip. At Henderson, you fish out of float tubes or pontoons and in a few places from shore. Insurance, as on many private still waters, doesn’t allow boats or prams.
On the water, the rises appeared to be prompted by a sparse Callibaetis hatch that came off midmorning and again midafternoon all three days. I chose to fish with a floating line exclusively to see if I could take cruising fish, and I took copious notes each day before I allowed myself a cocktail. Mark Henderson requires the use of 6-weight rods or heavier so fish can be landed and released in a reasonable time. Light rods result in worn-out fish from prolonged fights, fish that can’t be resuscitated.
It snowed the morning of our arrival and a blessed cloud cover and intermittent light winds were the norm for three days. Air temperatures never rose into the 50s, and we all took fish, but success varied depending on which lake you attacked and how you fished. I stuck with Callibaetis nymphs on a floating line and found that success or failure depended on casting and retrieve tactics that changed from day to day. At our evening cocktail hour, one of my colleagues said that I was a ninja fisherman. I took it as a compliment. Certainly stealth is a major part of my technique. I’ve taken survival classes from Native Americans in which we were taught about “sit spots.” If you move into an area of the woods, you will alert and stress all manner of creatures. Find a log or rock, sit still for 20 minutes, and the wild creatures will settle down and move back into the territory that you have disturbed. Your goal is to assume a oneness with your environment.
Many anglers have observed that fish are more likely to take a fly that is seen before the line, tippet, leader, and angler. Most of us avoid lining our quarry by casting over a fish. I try to position myself away from other anglers and their disturbances to that the fish will move toward me. I’m not being unsociable, I just think stealth is useful, particularly where fish see flies, lines, and anglers often and associate this in some way with danger and assume a heightened sense of wariness.
That first day, sparse rises suggestive of a Callibaetis nymph being taken just under the film pointed to where I might find a willing fish, but few trout came to my fly immediately after I had cast to a rise. Most takes came a third of the way into the retrieve after long casts, with the rise of the fly on the pickup for another cast, often hurriedly as I spotted another fish and was trying to lift and change casting direction. As this registered on my aging brain, I added three and a half feet of 4X fluorocarbon tippet to a 9-foot 3X leader and cast to the fish, allowing time for the nymph to sink, then initiated my retrieve, followed by a far-out, slow pickup. It worked, and I took a number of trout, but was it a fish whose rise I had seen and cast to or another, unseen fish that had taken the fly?
Moving an indicator with a suspended fly will cause a version of that same upward rise and induce strikes. Often, wind bounce and drift will be movement enough. Casting an indicator rig to a working fish will sometimes result in a strike as the fly settles and rises. The rising nymph during the later part of a retrieve using a sink-tip or intermediate line will suggest an emerging insect and produce takes, too — occasionally takes close to your rod tip.
Flat water brought fish up to feed on surface insects, but fish were more likely to take a fly in a slight chop or ripple. Perhaps trout are less cautious with the cover of broken water, but see insects better in the slicks. On other trips I have noticed that long casts to slick patches surrounded by ruffled water brought immediate strikes. My British friends also love to work foam lines.
When sight fishing on still waters, you need to decide where to cast to a working fish. Do you go right at it, or anticipate that the fish will move left or right and lead accordingly? We know that they likely will move in an arc, rarely in a straight line, often in a meandering fashion, rising periodically, then reverse just as you have launched a cast five feet ahead of the last rise. They also have a knack for moving just beyond your casting range. They seem to move left or right, and much less often back toward the caster and fly. Many fish “patrol.” Along a bank with overhanging brush or tree limbs, they can move in a straight path, but out in the open, their movements can be very random and irregular. Most anglers love cloud cover, and bright days on flat water are tough, but there’s an open question whether fish prefer a backlit, frontlit, or sidelit fly. I have seen fish exhibit preference for all three, and I line up and cast accordingly when
I am able to recognize the pattern, but I can’t say that any of the three is always going to be the case. Most things in nature aren’t that simple.
Dense hatches can be problematic: I’ve witnessed Blood Midge emergences, Hexagenia explosions, and Callibaetis hatches where there were so many bugs on the water that fish had a hard time finding an artificial among the naturals. One solution is to go with a contrarian fly. For me, a black AP Nymph in the midst of a Callibaetis melee has worked well. This is for times and places where thousands of swallows and rising fish let you know what is happening.
On the trip that I describe, though, hatches were light, and we used rises to lead us to areas of the lakes where there were greater concentrations of trout. That’s one of the great things about fishing the rise on still waters. The fish will actually tell you where they are and that they may be interested in what you have to offer them. The rest is up to you.
