The Crooked

In general, I prefer fish that you have to see to catch, fish that are measured in lbs not inches, and fish that get your backing dirty.  But as I have said before, there is a certain magic in nymphing.  That split second when you know an unseen fish ate your fly but you don't know why you know...you just lift the rod and feel it bend to the cork.  

It was nice to be back in the saddle today.

The Crooked is a fun little river.  You don't go to the Crooked to catch big trout, but at over 3000 fish per mile, you pretty much know you are going to catch a lot of trout.  There really isn't much to it.  The trout are everywhere, so you just get you flies in the water and let nature take over.  I have fished the crooked three times, and today was the least amount of fish that I have caught there, but I still landed enough fish to have no clue how many I landed.  That is always a good sign.  I was rusty, but the magic of nymphing came back eventually.  Late in the day I cut the nymphs off and went to a double soft hackle rig.  There were some midges hatching but no rises, so I figured a swung soft hackle might be the ticket.  I waded to the middle of the river and cast first at one bank, then the other...letting the fly swing to the center of the river, then stepping down to repeat the process.  It was a simple, easy motion that let me stare at the canyons walls and feel the cold air on my hands.  The only interruption from the gentle pull of the river against my flyline was the rap, rap, rap of a trout smacking the wet fly.  Many trout succumbed to the venerable wilted spinach.

Tomorrow, the Deschutes.