Article byĀ Bob Long, Jr.
āI like Stockers. Yes, I do.ā
There, I said it.
Sometimes one wishes to āfess up, to testify.
Actually, Iāve always liked Stockers (here those are Rainbow trout stocked in rivers and ponds by the Illinois Dept. of Natural Resources). Even when I was in my 20s and early 30s, and possessed of an attitude that I was too hip, too snobbish and too cool for that sort of fish, I liked them.
I wouldnāt admit it in certain circles, but secretly, they were fun to catch, period. (They appealed to the child in me, I guess; the kid that simply liked catching fish, any kind of fish, with any kind of gear.) They were good to eat too ā Dad fried them up with potatoes and onions. In the 16 ā 20-inch range they put up a good fight in cold water, especially on my 0-and 1-weight Sage rods (told yaā – snobbish, hip, cool).
Admittedly, at times, the crowds fishing for stockers could be a pain in the ass, but the fish were so much fun. And close to my home in Chicago, too. No driving 225-miles to get to the āreal trout waterā up in the southwest corner of Wisconsin, called the āDriftless Area.ā I could have sneaked in short trips to Black Earth Creek, just west of Madison, Wisconsin, 180 miles from home, but in those ancient years it hadnāt been rehabbed as yet and the fish were teeny, tiny and not healthy enough to make it worth it.
So, when I wasnāt chasing big, olā steelhead and salmon in the Lake Michigan tributaries of Wisconsin and Michigan, I fished and enjoyed (secretly) the Stockers in Illinois. I would cast hand-tied, soft-hackle and wet flies inspired by Sylvester Nemes, small āSpringās Wigglers,ā tiny, size 12 Muddler Minnows, and my faves, size 12 Woolly Buggers (elegantly dubbed bodies only, right?).

āYou are wasting those pretty flies on those fish?ā, some of my āserious troutā friends would snort with derision, only half (at best) joking. I almost expected them to suggest a 12-step program for that kind thing.
In those days I was standing on the edges of fly fishing elitism; what I called the āwarm-water is the Devilās Water, look but donāt touch, touch but donāt taste, taste but donāt enjoy, enjoy but not too much,ā bunch. On the surface I allowed myself to be swayed by those āaccept no joy except in these limited waysā attitudes. Iād like to āBlame It on My Youthā (Heyman & Levant), but it was really just a form of āI wannaā be with the āIn Crowdā cowardice. So, for the most part, I went along.
Except for my secret, guilty pleasure; Stockers.
Today, of course, I joyfully and unashamedly fish the Rainbow trout stocked by the Illinois Dept. of Natural Resources. Only now I pursue them ā proudly, loudly and openly (I have stepped completely out of the closet) – with my 12-14-foot tenkara rods. Itās even more fun than before.




And, thankfully, Iāve lost the cool, the hip and the snobbish as Iāve aged/matured, although I admit that a slight air of vanity sometimes whiffs around me as I kick butt with my tenkara rod, amidst the Sages, Scotts, G.Loomisā, St. Croixsā, etc., as well as the occasional custom-crafted bamboo.
A few of those traditional ālong rodā guys look as if they are having fun, but most seem to be slumming ā wearing big, floppy hats, sunglasses and fake beards – fishing for these fish until the real things come along. Or when they catch a few, they downplay it saying, āToo easy. They aināt selective. Whaddyaā expect? Stockers.ā
So then, I wonder, why are they checking me out? Is it my ultra-long, weird looking tenkara rod ā with the associated downstream casts, and rod tip and fly jiggling techniques ā thatās drawing glances and looks from the āwestern-styled,ā traditional fly fishers. (āDead drifts? Dead drifts? I donāt need no stinking dead drifts!ā) Is it the fish Iām catching?
The glances are often of the furtive, sideways kind, or ones out the corner of the eye, or quick peeks stolen from under the brim of those big, floppy hats or the bill of baseball caps. Outright staring is, it seems, unseemly, so they donāt do that. And, they seldom say or ask anything. I donāt know why. They just give me looks ā ranging from mildly curious to openly annoyed. (āIt looks like a fly rod, but way longer than a nymph rod, and itās got no line or reel. Is that legal? What the⦠Wait, another fish? He must be in a good hole (as they inch closer and closer with each cast). Canāt be the guy, Must be the fly. āHey buddy, whaācha usinā?āā)
āUgh, I canāt stand the mob, the herd mentality,ā Iāve heard.

Well here in Illinois, during the 10-days to two weeks of catch-and-release fly fishing only, prior to the full open season, the crowds arenāt all that bad. It certainly isnāt the combat fly fishing Iāve seen on YouTube, or that will come at the start of the full catch-and-keep season. We fly guys usually give each other some room (enough at least so that the frustrated mutterings of āwhy aināt these stupid fish biting?ā remains basically private). Midwestern fly-guy manners?
HECK, Iāve seen worse combat fly fishing on many of the blue-ribbon waters out west (including cussing, throwing things, fist fights and malicious damage to cars). We donāt take Stockers quite that seriously here. Then again, we arenāt using hard-earned vacation time to fish, and no one is paying big time for a guide and lodging.
But, make no mistake about it, while they may be Stockers, after a couple of weeks of being left undisturbed by the public (the IDNR closes all fishing for them for two plus weeks right after they are planted, to allow them time to acclimate to their new environments ā at least a bit, before opening it to fly fishing only), you still have to know āsomethingā about fish behavior and how to present and manipulate a fly so the fish will take it. They may have been raised in the hatchery eating ātrout-chowā, but once in the water long enough they reject more offerings than they take. Many a fly fisher still ends up with only a fish or two to show for their four-to-six-hour efforts.
Mr. Dry Fly Guy humbled by a Stocker? āOh Joe, say it aināt so…ā

There are a lot of myths surrounding trout; the innate, high intelligence of wild fish vs the perceived Gomer Pyle, Village Idiocy of stocked ones, being one of them to me. Itās nature and nurture in my mind ā a complex interplay and mix of time, place and circumstances that govern behavior ā not a simple versus that I see as affecting and explaining fish behavior over the long run (granted, your experience and interpretation may be quite different than mine. I salute you). Heck, after a few weeks in the river, Iāve seen Stockers clumsily chasing caddis flies flittering along the surface, like eight-year-olds trying to chase down and catch fly balls in the outfield. I know they never saw those in the hatchery. Iām not sure what they think they are, and they didnāt manage to catch many, but they were trying.
Be all of that as it may, my statement remains. āI like Stockers ā yes, I do.ā
They are close to home, available come spring and fall, good to eat and fun to pursue and catch, especially with my tenkara rods and my, still, ever-so-trusty, Woolly Buggers (elegantly dubbed bodies, of course) and Wigglers.
Stockers. It must be the child in me.

Bob Long, Jr. is in charge of Chicagoās FishāN Kids Program which takes kids ages 8-12, teens, adults, seniors and people with disabilities of all types fishing. He also teaches many tenkara and fly tying.
This article originally appeared in theĀ Spring 2019 issue of Tenkara Angler magazine.
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Of course, there is something magical about catching wild or native fish, but I don’t mind catching stockers at all. Sometimes, I just want to catch fish and stockers can save the day. They’re still fun to catch!
I don’t mind them either, as long as they’re caught in places that don’t interfere with wild populations (particularly natives – although in many cases, that horse left the barn long ago).