Pretty White for a Fly Guy
So last night I met a few friends to hit the white fly hatch. Tim dropped me a message and we set our meeting time for 6:00PM. After fiddling with my fly boxes (which I do often) and making sure I had all my gear, I took a look at the clock which read 2:30PM… Hmmmm… what to do?
I figured hell, that’s plenty of time to get in some brown lining on my local creek before we meet up. I kissed my wife as she rolled here eyes at me and headed out. Summer always brings such a conflict for me. The temperatures have been ungodly hot and the humidity is off the charts. Stepping into a pair of chest waders is like boiling yourself from the inside. Wet wading sounds like the logical choice until you google a few stories about micro-bacterial infections, chemical burns, and trips to the emergency room. I think I’ll just sweat…. and sweat I did. I had to move my glasses down to the tip of my nose so they would stop fogging up. Yeah, it was frigging hot.
We had just had some rain so the water was still pretty off color but I did manage to jump two nice smallies which both managed to spit the hook out faster than my 10th grade girl friend and this bad boy who I am still not sure how he opened his mouth wide enough to eat my fly
So we finally made it to the creek with a few hours of daylight still intact and we suited up. I decided to once again put on my soaking wet waders despite our decent hike to the spot we were going to fish. Two words… SWAMP Ass… While we were in the car I had given the guys a few pencil poppers that I had tied for the Allegheny and totally forgot to put any in my box because I figured they would be a bit large for the occasion. Sean tied his on for shits and giggles. What ensued was pretty cool. He had fish literally knocking each other out of the way trying to eat this thing. He landed fish after chunky fish as Tim and I pretty much beat water.
As nightfall set in the hatch started to go off and it was pretty darn cool. It was near blizzard conditions and smallies started sipping our dry flies amidst the white chaos. I busted one really nice fish off and landed a few others that put up some nice battles. Anyone who has eve fished with me knows the one thing I never forget is my camera. I reached into my pocket to snap some pics of the thousands of white flies filling the air and the bass that were kind enough to cooperate and of course it was nowhere to be found. Unhappy is an understatement but I guess I can’t complain. I was fishing with good friend, good fish, and good karma.
I came home to Mrs. Brownliner who was still rolling her eyes at me wondering what would possess a grown man to want to stand in a cloud of bugs in the dark waving a fly rod for 8 hours. The only thing I could say was, “honey… It’s the white fly hatch!” insert eye roll here.
Good Luck and Tight Lines,