As a fly fisherman and conservationist, keeping rivers, lakes, and ponds healthy and accessible is an important issue. There is one exception, however. Davis Pond here in Bozeman. I would be perfectly happy if it was drained and turned into, say, a parking lot.
Davis Pond was the first place I fished when I got back home. I’d heard a little bit about it, and it certainly looked fishy enough. First day out, didn’t catch anything. One lonely cruiser slowly made his way past me, close enough to reach out with the tip of the rod and touch him. Since he was pretty good sized, I got the false hope of “hey, this might be a pretty good place to fish”.
Not so.
Over the next four outings, Davis Pond continued to best me. Most times I would see fish either rising or holding right underneath me, taunting me. Yesterday was a prime example.
Friend Tracy and I had made plans to head down to Hebgen to fish ice out, but the weather and other obligations made us change our mind. Since he’s gotten an earful of the Davis Pond Curse at work, he wanted to help me break it. In true spring time Montana fashion, it rained, snowed, was sunny and beautiful and cold and windy all in the span of about four hours.
The only thing worse than fishing that pond and not seeing fish is fishing that pond and seeing fish. There was a hatch of large gray mayflies (I’m terrible with proper insect names, so don’t even ask) coming off in large numbers and the fish were just going crazy for them. We finally reached a point on the pond where the risers were within reach.
Have you ever fished dry flies in a body of still water? Surely there is some kind of system to it, instead of just casting it out among the rising fish and waiting. We both agreed that a) we suck at it, and b) it’s boring as hell.
Fly change after fly change followed. Fish rising all around your dry fly, sometimes even bumping into it as they take naturals, will get you talking to yourself. I knew it wasn’t the right color, but I tied on a large Green Drake pattern that matched the size and shape, and after a couple of minutes a head lazily poked up out of the water and inhaled my fly.
The Davis Pond Curse was broken! I was sure of it. My cheap ass, bright yellow Eagle Claw fiberglass rod (the best $12 I’ve ever spent!) bent double as the fish peeled line of the reel with abandon. He flashed under the water, and I knew it was a big fish.
Then he shook his head twice and out popped the fly. Much profanity followed. The Davis Pond Curse is still going strong. I have to fish that damn place until I catch something. Anything. It’s just a matter of principle now.
Damn you, Davis Pond. Damn You.
