As we headed toward Urbana, the weather continued to be on our side, and it appeared as though no rain had strolled through the Mechanicsburg area as we flew down back roads lined with corn on both sides. As we got closer to the 36 Bridge Exit, some darker storm clouds were appearing faster than pigeons spotting a hippie sporting a loaf of sourdough. We got out of the truck and after tying up a Daddy Long Leg's dry fly on my 4 piece Redington 5 Weight fly rod, I headed into the deep abyss, into a waterway known to have 12-16" Rainbows, Browns, and Brookies. Deep abyss my ass, if you haven't been to Mad River it's a very difficult stream, that is never more than waist deep, and is a beautifully scenic river as trees create a canopy over top of you. As much as I love the thick forestry for blocking the wind from inhibiting my roll casts and dry fly fishing, it also can create some real misfortunes as snags occur on the regular. My buddy started about 50 yards downstream from me and was hitting a dry dropper, more easily explained as a large dry fly with 12-16 inches of tippet trailing behind it with a small nymph sinking below. A very effective strategy as two different flies can attract the fish, and when executed properly, can produce some big numbers.
As we waded upstream and hit some holes we were familiar with we struggled to get a hit. Like I had mentioned, Mad River is a difficult stream, and for a young fisher who hadn't gone more than a handful of times, it has given me some trouble. Still learning the stream, I had caught less than ten fish before this trip, but as my LM bass fishing became more productive in lakes and ponds, my confidence seemed to grow, and as I waded the crystal clear stream, with rounded rocks beneath my feet, this trip felt good. Then, all hell broke loose. Some fish were rising when we arrived around 530 PM, and although I tried to swing a dry in front of them, I had about as many hits as Nickelback has sellout crowds. I had zero hits in case you were wondering. And if you are reading this and are like, "dude's crazy, Nickelback is badass", well then I'm speechless, and actually kind of bummed that my blog attracted readers of your nature. Alright, back to fishing.
Fish were rising every now and then, and then rain started to trickle down. And within minutes, it appeared that literally forty thousand fish were rising all around me. It was either that, or an absolute downpour had sprung upon us. The thick brush did provide some cover but I headed to the bank where the overhanging trees acted like a raincoat, and I managed to stay pretty dry. Well damn, here I was an hour away from home, caught in a downpour in a trout stream, and I have no fish to make the trip worth it yet. So, I dangle out a few more casts and let the small dry drift down the rising river, the current a little too fast to make the fly noticeable or believable for any of the timid trout to strike. I headed back under the sheltered overhang on the bank and checked my phone. The storm wasn't stopping any time soon and thunder cracked in the back. The sky turned dark and it was time to call it a day. Saying I was frustrated is an understatement, pissed seems more appropriate. Two hours of driving for 40 minutes of fishing and a bad attitude. As much as I wanted to stay in the stream and slay the harsh conditions to slam a beautiful brook, the current had picked up and my makeshift waders, which consisted of some clearance boots from Cabela's and a pair of guide series water 'resistant' pants were taking a beating. As the water stirred up and the heavy rain made it tough to see the bottom, we ventured back to the truck. With both disappointment and water filling our boots, the journey back to Columbus was a quiet one. A new trip is being planned as we speak, and hopefully the results turn out better than this last trip. But the more I think about it, the more I seem to love it all. Out in nature, catching up with friends, wading in a beautiful stream with fish, birds, (and some big ass bugs), surrounding me, it was the perfect place to be. Although I hadn't been slaying Brookies and Bow's this time around, it was hands down better than sitting on my ass at home watching ESPN and hearing what cereal Lebron ate for breakfast or how many sheep Tim Tebow counted to before finally falling asleep and having nightmares of Rex Ryan and every single defensive back in the NFL. Life was good at that moment in the Mad. Escaping the suburbs and the summer football workouts was much needed, and Mother Nature sparked a friendly little rivalry that day. She won that battle, and to be one thousand percent honest, when it comes to the Mad she'll probably win the whole damn war. But I do know one thing, and that it's either I'm going to Get Fish, or Die Flyin'.
-Till Next Cast,
Cam
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