December 2024

By Zane Jacobs

One of my favorite things about fishing has to be the unknown. Once you get off of the pavement, you enter the world of maybe. Maybe there will be fish in the creek. Maybe those fish will be the ones you are looking for. Maybe and hopefully the creek still holds water. I think we all have expectations of what’s to come, but sometimes reality can fall short. On a few occasions I have had the world provide situations far beyond my hopes.

You can always start out with everything falling in line. You plan to fill your gas tank on the way to your destination, and that’s an easy goal to meet. You choose to satisfy your hunger without much cause for fuss. The path to the chosen spot is well known and partially paved. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. Anything can happen once you’ve reached your picked parking point.

For me it was Noontootla Creek right by Lovinggood Creek trail. My breakfast of donut sticks and a honey bun complimented my coffee well. I squeezed into my chest waders, wishing I had brought a thicker shirt. It was currently too cool for the thin hoodie alone, but I knew I would warm up. I always warm up fishing this section of the creek. I grab my boots and realize they are the wrong ones for the waders I brought. While jamming my feet into the cramped footwear, I hoped this was the worst of my woes.

Gear gathered, I take my tightly packed toes down the trail to the water. It is unbelievably low. I had never seen this creek this low. Determined not to be swayed, I ready my rod. A few casts produce a bump on the fly, a tug on the line, and an over enthusiastic hook set. A small fish shaped-missile sails past my right ear. On the forward swing I have my net ready and secure my trophy. A quick dunk back in the water provides a better look. I’ve foul hooked a 3-inch rainbow trout. Not at all a great start, but I know the fish are active.

For the next half hour, I do nothing more than work on my casting technique. Slowly wading up the stream targeting the best-looking areas. I start to get antsy and begin casting to any water that appears deep enough to hold fish. Trudging along I simply do not even see a fish, much less get to enjoy the act of tricking one. I finally make it to a hole I know to be quite deep. One glance is enough to bring on excitement. I quickly observe multiple trout of various sizes.

Suspecting the fish closer to the surface may already be weary of me I cast into the current and let my fly flow deep. Nothing. Again, I let the current take hold of the fly’s destination. Again, not even a look. I decide my color pattern may be the issue and swap my fly. I cast by a submerged log with high hopes. One fish shows interest, but ultimately chooses to go back to hiding. A second fish takes a look during the same drift and also thinks wiser of it. On the following cast no fish even glance. As the fly sinks lower, I see a shadow appear.

The size of this shadow causes a sharp breath in and raises my brow. I hold my breath in and body still as the fly gently falls nearer the now rising shadow. With one swift gulp my fly vanishes. The fish starts its descent as I swing the rod tip skyward. The connection is made and I see from the bend in the rod that I have brought the wrong one.

I struggle to relieve pressure on the rod while keeping tension on the fly. Now closer to the surface, I can tell the difference in size to the other inhabitants of the hole. The line sings as it slices through the water and mountain air. Breaking the surface with violent splashing, my foe ensures no other fish shall be caught from this area. Beginning to tire the fish becomes easier to get within netting proximity. Then it hits me. I’ve also brought the wrong net.

The 16-inch unexpected surprise! Photo by Zane Jacobs.

Very rarely do I catch anything over 8 inches in this creek. Knowing this I brought a small easy to handle net. The entire frame of this net is dwarfed by this spectacular brown trout. I know the net is roughly 9 inches deep and with the trout now inside there is barely enough room for my fly. Desperate to do the fish as little harm as possible, I dunk a hand in the creek and slip it out of the net. I have no way to measure its length. I lay it out on my forearm. The body stretches from fingertip to elbow. Final picture taken, I slide it back into the water. It hesitates for a moment and dashes back to the depths.

I simply must sit down after this experience and gather my thoughts. I curse myself for leaving my measure net in the car. It is without a doubt my personal best brownie, but I really want to know exactly how best. I never expected to catch a 16-inch trout (I measured my arm later). I certainly didn’t expect to be so ill prepared to do it. I didn’t plan to walk back to the car to switch nets and change rods either.

Happily, I was able to make use of the gear change by landing a 14-inch rainbow, followed by a 13- incher. I don’t really target big fish. I just go after fish. I won’t deny a big fish a wrestling match, but I also don’t look specifically for that. Even leaving expectations open, I have still been able to find the unexpected.