East Walker River

I started fishing around 2pm on Tuesday and didn't stop until sunset. I threw nymphs of all shapes, colors and sizes – then I threw dries. Big Rainbows were sipping the surface all over the pool I was standing near. It was frustrating.

The next day, I got up and went to the local fly shop – Ken's Sporting Goods – and got some advice and supplies. Jim Reid is the local Walker River guru, and he was very forthcoming with the suggestions. The most useful of the advice (that I don't think he would mind me repeating) was to keep the nymphs small. Size 18 to 20... small. Also, he said they aren't leader shy, so I used 4X tippet, and it was a good thing. If you want more details, be sure to go by his shop in Bridgeport about 3 miles from the E. Walker River.

I fished a couple of bends after talking to Jim, and got some strikes, but no hook-ups. Eventually around 2:30pm and getting fairly bummed out, I went back to the pool I fished the day before. Again they were sipping the surface, rolling and showing off their size, but I got only one half-hearted strike on a dry. Then I got the idea to use a big dry for an indicator. I tied on Dave's Hopper, and below that I dangled a #20 flashback emerger, thinking that the hopper would at least make them inspect the rig and hopefully hit the nymph.

About 3 drifts into my experiment, the hopper was pulled under and it was on! The first thing it did was to run straight upstream and take me into my backing in seconds. I had to resist the urge to clamp a hand onto my nearly smoking spool... instead I just touched it ever-so-lightly to give a bit more resistance. That seemed to do the trick, and she ran back towards me. Reeling as fast as I could, there was a moment of gut-wrenching disappointment when I failed to keep up with it, and there was slack in the line. Raising my rod tip as if I was high-sticking and reeling like mad, I ate up the slack quickly enough to keep her on. She wasn't done yet, rolling over right in front of me, and zipping off towards a dead-fall of branches near the shore. I steered her head by leaning over and stretching my arms out like Superman getting ready to take flight. The big 'bow stayed about 5 feet from me, I only had about one foot of fly-line past the rod tip, and we did a little dance. She rolled, I steered, she thought about breaking water, I crouched low and dropped the rod tip, we did this for a couple of minutes before she saw me and headed downstream like she was shot out of a cannon. I was hoping this was the last big run, because once again I was into the backing. This time, however, there was no mad rush back at me, just a steady pull as I gently starting dragging her toward shore. My wife – on our anniversary of all things – grabbed my net from the back of my vest and stood at the ready. The fish and I had a couple of small struggles, but it was clear, the real fight was out of her. I pulled her near the shore and my wonderful wife scooped up my prize.

This made the trip worthwhile.