As I worked my way up around a bend a beaver spooked in the low light, wooshing into the water and sending small wavelets into the current, startling me. I hadn't seen it and it simply took me off guard. I was on my way up and focusing on the water ahead. It's a good thing I stopped, as a nice brown fed a rod length above me, three... four times. It was a simple flip of the fly to above the last rise and a slight twitch - the 19" trout landed a few minutes later. Curiously, the beaver wooshed again. And again.
Every fly fisher knows where this is going.
I sat and watched as the subtle current seam carried the mayfly hatch past a thick weed bed, a dead zone along a deep trough. I watched as a huge head popped up again, the yellow lips unmistakable. Beaver, no. The male brown was so large it couldn't help but make a popping sound, leave a white wake, and send wavelets into the stream. Every few takes it would charge into the current and slash at a bug before returning to the subtle rising inside the weed bed.
I lowered myself and cast below the fish, hoping to get it on a downstream cycle, also not wanting to over commit. "Protect the edge" I always tell myself and others. Work your way in from the outside edges of what is perceived to be the trout's feeding zone first, tempt the fish to come to you so you don't make the error of lining a fish by not knowing its cycle. Especially if it's slow water during a moderate or light hatch that allows for random takes. I listened to my own advice. The first cast at the lower, outer edge. Next, a little deeper into the perceived zone, but still on the downstream edge. Next, the outer edge of the seam above and let it drift into the edge. Again, a little further in but still drifting down. The fish rose again 2 feet in. Like so many trophy browns in New Zealand, it wouldn't commit to anything outside its zone. Cast again, 2 feet above its last rise, right on its line.
The lips came up with a deep yellow ochre. Then came the unmistakable sucking sound. Knowing its size, I used the old New Zealand adage - "God Save the Queen" prior to hook set, to allow the large fish to take the fly, turn, and drop back into the water prior to hook set. It really works on large fish, allowing the hook to be taken in so the hook set is firm, and not simply a light peripheral, or complete miss, on the lips. And I was on.
The fight went as most do with big fish. A measure of posture from each - followed by the other responding in kind. Moments of uncertainty as the rod throbbed with heavy head shakes. Once seeing the hook solidly wedged, however, I knew time was all that was needed. It jumped 3 times and made 2 unsuccessful runs at the heavy timber below us. Not today, my friend. Finally, it was in the net. Well, 1/2 of it anyway.
"Can I touch you to see if you're real?" and the percussion ran through my head in the dim light. More lines from the song "Have you been sleeping for all of these years? Is it magic that makes you appear?" Mood music, certainly. I'd been past this same run so many times previously, never seeing so much as a fish rise. But tonight... tonight the magic set in, magic that made him appear. Reality set in. It was a massive trout. I've fly fished Alberta a long time, since I was 5. 33 years now. I'd seen 30+" trout on the walls of a friend's house, caught on Rappallas and jigs. I always told a friend of mine, Steve, that I somehow would be disappointed if I caught a 30" brown on a streamer or nymph. He always asked me why - why be disappointed by something so magical? The answer I always came back to was that it would be so happen chance - so unknown - so random. To catch it on a dry fly, either by sighting it in the water or seeing a rise first allows you to engage with the knowledge that you are about to engage something special, something that you willingly participate in.
And there it was, in my net.
I've recently read the threads of the Alberta record brown trout caught - somewhere in the 21 pound class caught on spinning gear. Awesome. I've also read some interesting brow-beating discussion that the person killed the fish. Discussion ran between the purist that wants everything honored and released, and the opposite view where that kind of fish takes dedication and many years of hunting special waters to catch... and being legal, why wouldn't you want to mount the fish as a trophy of the accomplishment? I appreciate both sides. For me, a 21lb brown will never happen. I've always sought a 10lb brown on the dry fly in Alberta - that's all I've wanted to do. Back 15 years I always wondered if I would keep such a fish to commemorate the event. It wasn't even a thought until just now. There was no question, no thought of it. Last night, I simply held the fish, put a piece of tape around the rod where its tail (unpinched) came to on the rod. 30-3/4" when I got home. Let's call it 30", and most certainly 10 pounds. Was it 12? I don't know, I don't care. We've caught several 30+" New Zealand 10+ lb browns on dries and sighted. But to do it on the dry on my home waters... spectacular. All I know is that fish created a moment for me that I'll always appreciate. The view of the yellow lips coming up, the white wake, the pop, and being able to stroke a paused hook set was magical. I managed a photo before letting it swim away, its tail waving through the silver water as it disappeared.
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