Fishing alone in the twilight sounds romantic. The low light and still air often lets you hear splashing, aggressive takes in the distance, well out of vision. Some nice trout are caught in these conditions, as large trout feed without a care of predation. Earlier in the season, large mayflies such as brown drakes and hexagenias hatch, bringing most every fish in the water to the surface. It can be wonderful.
However, trout aren't the only mayfly munchers. Recently, I enjoyed late night fishing over several nights. On one corner, a few bugs hatched and some fish began to rise. I stood thigh deep in mud and in the water as I stalked a nice brown trout. I waited for the fish to rise. THUMP. Something hit my rod. TWITCH. Something got tangled in my line. ZING went my fly line, being pulled upwards by something that had taken my mayfly pattern off the water and was flying away with it. Thankfully, it fell back down after what was it let it go.
I used to get a kick out of sitting on one of the local ponds, Mitchell, Ironside, Beaver, Fiesta, etc and watch as the swallows skim the water surface and hover to pick off sedges and midges. Watching them flutter and swoop is a lot of fun. Some nights the swallows would give far more action than the trout, and the swallows often were more fun to watch, frankly.
But back to the recent fishing and the aerial show. These weren't swallows, unfortunately. The sound in the air is nearly inaudible as they fly past. The radar like clicks and zips in their communication subtle. The eery, ghostly grey-brown flapping and swooshing past your left, right, left, left, left ear really gets unnerving. Yes, bats can do that to a guy.
One evening I watched the surface of the water, reflecting a silver sheen, come alive with heavy dimplings. It took a minute, but when one such heavy dimple landed, then another, on my hat, my shoulder, and my sunglasses, I was marginally grossed out. Bat crap! Bugger. It went from squirming and squeamishly trying to avoid a flying bat in the face to keeping my face down to avoid getting bat crap on my nose.
Another evening I was casting to a rising trout and as I stroked to lay the line, my rod smacked a bat. The next cast it happened again. 11 times that night I smacked a bat on a cast. There's a record for you.
Still another evening I had to stop fishing one run because bats kept getting tangled in my fly line. From where I was fishing from my rod tip could get no closer than 4 feet off the water and bats worked the grassy banks of the stream, flying into my tip slack. It happened literally every 10 seconds, to the point I gave that location up.
Then, last night, it finally happened. It all came together. I was standing in the water, hiding behind a branch watching a nice brown feed. I was off balance so I reached up to hold on to the branch as I secured my footing in the mud. As I reached up a squeak was followed by flapping wings. Apparently there had been a bat roosting or feeding on the branch somewhere. That'll get your attention. I began to cast to the trout. My first cast landed and a bat swooped in and picked the fly off the water. It dropped the fly. I cast again. This time I hooked up. On my back cast I hooked a bat and cast it at the fish. Thankfully it landed well upstream of the fish and I began stripping it in. "Now what?" I asked myself - half hoping the damned bat would fall off the fly because I didn't want to have to deal with that, and the other half of me hoping it would stay on the line so I'd have the coolest fly fishing photo to share here on the blog. I was just lifting the fly and bat off the water when it fell off. The bat did a funky bat crawl-swim to shore. Finally, I cast to the trout, who seemingly had been patiently waiting. We made acquaintances.
Amelia gets home this afternoon. I can hardly wait to take her fishing tonight. I'm sure it'll excite her senses. :)
