Small Fish and hoppers

Contrary to what popular magazines would have you believe, catching big fish isn't as simple as a fancy new fly or an $800 fly rod. I own both of those items, but that's a testament to my obsession and bachelorhood more than it is a belief in those things aiding me in catching bigger fish.

That's not to say the right rod and fly don't matter, because they do. A good rod that can present the right fly as best it can be presented is a great way to increase your chances of a big one. But just because you own a Sage or a Winston with hand-tied flies from New Zealand doesn't mean you're going to be pulling out 25-inch fish every cast.

The time between big fish is filled with a bunch of little ones - or at least, that's how my fishing experiences tend to go. There just simply aren't enough big fish in the world for us anglers to catch them with regularity. Or perhaps, there are too many anglers. One can only speculate.

But if big fish were commonplace, that'd take away from the fun of saying to your fishing buddy, "This feels like a good fish" when you finally hook into something that tugs harder than what had been previously caught. So it's a good thing the big fish come more sporadically, especially for someone like me who's just not that great at fishing.

I spend a lot of time fishing. I don't say this to brag, but to make a point. Aside from my friends who work as fishing guides, I'm on the water more than just about anyone I know. I spend a fair amount of time horsing in "big" fish (for me, that's a trout over 20 inches) but I find myself tangling with toddler trout more often than not.

Because of the amount of time I spend fishing, I've learned to appreciate these smaller fish. It's either appreciate them, or get frustrated when they're all I catch. I don't want to be frustrated and upset while fishing, because life's too short to do that. So instead, I just enjoy them.

In recent weeks, I've found myself purposefully seeking out small creeks where the largest fish I've caught was a walloping 13 inches. Catching a whole mess of trout, even if they're 8-10 inches, on dry flies is just a blast. It's some of the favorite fishing I do.

One of my favorite streams, up in the Uintas, is home to a bunch of small cutts and brookies. They'll hit just about any dry fly that's presented properly, and they're bunches of fun on a 3wt rod. 

My appreciation of these small fish doesn't make me more of an angler than the next guy. I just think that we all put a bit too much emphasis on the cliche that "size matters" and that stopping to smell the roses (or catch 30 fish on dries in 2 hours) every once in a while is something this world could use more of. 

Now, to move on to the other bit of this post - hoppers! 

I got into my first hopper action of the year last weekend. I caught about a dozen decent fish, and they all smacked the same Chernobyl hopper I love to use. 

I sure do love hopper season. Always a great time! 

Any of y'all had hopper action? I wanna hear about it! 

Enjoying where you're at

So, the past few weeks I've been afflicted with serious bouts of fishing envy. Some of my writing friends are on trips to the Bahamas and Oregon, basking in the great fishing to be had in each location. Meanwhile, I'm stuck in Utah whiling away the days until I head to Great Basin National Park in a few weeks to do an article about cutthroat trout.

I've been complaining (to myself, because complaining about a job where you fish for a living falls on deaf ears, unless they're attached to your own skull) that I'm not the one in Oregon or the Bahamas, living the life we all want. It's true that just last month I was at Flaming Gorge on an all-expenses paid trip, doing the exact things my friends who I'm jealous of are doing right now.

I'm always pining for adventure. My desire to travel and fish as much as possible can't ever be sated; otherwise, I would have quit writing about fishing and gotten on to doing something reasonable with my life. So when I watch close friend go gallivanting from fishing mecca to fishing mecca, I get jealous. I'm not proud of it, and it makes me realize just how petty I can be at times.

So, in an effort to rid myself of these jealous feelings, I headed up American Fork Canyon after work on Wednesday for some dry fly fishing.

On the drive up, I realized I hadn't fish on a weeknight in nearly two weeks. I can't remember the last time I had such a dry spell, and as I tried to figure out what had kept me off the water for a fortnight, I honestly couldn't come up with a good reason. I'd had dinner with some friends, a couple meetings with people in regards to a book I'm writing, and grocery shopping to do. But surely that kind of stuff couldn't have taken up two weeks?

It apparently had, and as I rigged up my 7'6" 3wt Redington Classic Trout rod in the late afternoon sun, I felt like I was seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

The fishing was exactly what you can expect when up American Fork Canyon - small trout, eagerly hitting any dry fly, within reason, properly presented to them.

Nothing to write home about, surely, but still a decent tug on a light 3wt rod. 

I wrapped up my fishing in a few hours, and driving back, it struck me - I'd had a great time on that small creek, throwing at tiny trout. It didn't matter that I wasn't on the Deschutes or some salt flats, flinging flies towards trophy fish. I was enjoying myself in the moment, and that's what matters. Hell, that's why we fish. If you're not fishing to have fun, then I honestly can't fathom a reason as to why you'd stand in a river and wave a stick for hours on end. There are other, more productive, ways to spend time. But productivity, or reason, is subjective, and doesn't matter in the end. What matters is that you're enjoying yourself along every step of the journey you're on.