Essay by Chris Morrison
It was one of those rare warm December days. The sky was slightly overcast, the wind was non-existent, and the sun was warm on my skin. I had been preparing for this day, hoping that it would be precisely as it was.
I arrived at the creek at about 9:30 in the morning. The bugs were bouncing off the surface, thick like a blanket, floating and bouncing, completely unaware of the fate that hid beneath the surface for more them than could be counted.
I sat and watched for a few moments. I know this creek well, and I know where the big girls usually are, but I waited for them to show themselves to me; to remove the doubt and the guesswork, and reveal their locations. Slowly, I started to notice the small ripples and irregular breaks in the water’s surface as the trout sipped at the tiny flies that drifted by. With plenty of casting room all around, I extended my favorite rod to its full 12 foot length, selected a tapered nylon line that was just about as long and made of high visibility orange, and attached it deftly to my lillian.
I know these fish are smart. I know they have seen just about every commercially available fly presented in every conventional way by every traveling fly fisherman looking to test their skills on one of the most technical creeks in the area, but then again… commercially available was never my style…
I attached about 18 inches of 6x tippet to the almost-microscopic tippet ring at the end of my main line. I selected a specially tied fly that I had whipped together just the night before, specifically for this place and time. The fly was a simple pheasant tail variation. The design was my own, but the sakasa kebari style is as old as the rocks lining the bottoms of the ancient mountain streams flowing through Japan. Small size 18 emerger style hook. Pheasant tail fibers over-wrapped with small copper wire. Peacock herl thorax, and a light brown partridge hackle tied in to splay forward over an iridescent glass bead head.
The fly was light; perfectly weighted to ride the current just beneath the surface into the waiting mouth of a hungry, rising trout.
As I watched my first cast furl out in front of me, my heart began to race in anticipation. All thought disappeared. All consciousness faded away. It was as though the line had cast itself, the fly landing purposefully right on the edge of a seam, softly so as to avoid disturbing the surface, I saw the nose of a wild brown trout barely break the surface of the water, slurping at my fly in anticipation of a meal, only to be shocked by the simple feathers lashed onto a hook with nothing more than some thread and high hopes.
As I raised my rod to set the hook in the corner of the fish’s mouth, only one thought entered my mind:
Today is going to be a good day.
Chris Morrison
Chris Morrison is a resident of the eastern Sierra Nevada mountains of California where he spends the majority of his free time tying small kebari flies to cast into the small streams that flow from the mountains to the desert floor.
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I guess it’s just me but what rod was used? I like knowing what Tenkara rod, line and tippet was used . . . and anything else to make it a “good day.” FredSG
The detail and calm buildup made that final moment really satisfying. Definitely sounds like one of those rare, perfect days.