Last week, I got a text on my day off. It was an invite to spend the afternoon on the Yellowstone around Yankee Jim with Ethan. We haven’t fished much together this year, and I hadn’t fished for trout in almost two months. Responsible Me would have answered no, I have too much to do. Fishy Me said Hell Yes, and hurried to dig the fishing gear out of the random corners it had gotten to.
Even when there is a lot to do, and important work no less, sometimes you just have to get out there. Those spur of the moment decisions can really be the best ones.
We loaded up his old Jeep Cherokee and headed out. With rain pouring down and the sky filled with clouds, our hopes for a good streamer and nymph bite were high. But alas, but the time we made it down there the skies had cleared and the temps had climbed yet again. Such is life.
Normally I fish with just one rod. It’s fast and easy, and most of my gear is universal enough I can throw dries, nymphs and steamers with just some minor adjustments. Occasionally I’ll break out two rods, but not too often. But today, I went whole hog and brought it all out. I had a 9’ 6 wt rigged for hoppers, an 11’ 6wt switch for a double nymph rig, and my 13’ Spey for throwing steamers. I was ready for anything.
Full disclosure: I know jack shit about spey casting. I can do one half assed cast that at least gets the fly out there, but I’m sure it’s not pretty. At least I’m trying though. And I’ll learn it, one of these days.
For the next few hours, we plied the waters with all manners of flies and tactics. Our reward? A few smallish cutthroats, and a handful of whitefish. But we both agreed it wasn’t the fish that counted that day. It was the spur of the moment decision to get out and fish. Hell, that’s Local’s Prerogative.
