Fishing in Cold Weather

The new year has come. My resolution is to use my iPhone less. More doing, less not
doing. I used to watch a lot of sports on T.V., that was until a friend pointed out that if
you watch, you exercise less. “You should be doing sports instead of watching sports.”
So, this means more fishing!
Roger advised that he recently fished one of our favorite N Carolina mountain streams,
and the delayed harvest was producing a lot of fish. “My arms were really tired out, fish
everywhere”
Three days later, on a Thursday, we set out for an hour drive from upper East TN.
Temps had fluctuated, trending warmer for a few days- 40’s. Through the mountains, we
noticed some snow. Roger talked about the conditions and where he expected the fish
to be. “Most likely they will be hunkered down and you will have to slow down your drift
and put the fly right over its nose”.
Now the stream appeared next to the road, we were processing then Roger spoke “I
really did not expect to see ice on the water”. More processing “I wonder what the water
temp is”.
Two fishermen had just exited the water before we started. Good gear with waders and
camo hunting jackets, one used a spinner and rooster tail, the other with a flyfishing rig.
They looked cold and defeated, avoiding eye contact and conversation.
I usually don’t ask “how was the fishing” because most people lie. Some generous
souls will give specifics on where the fish are and what they used, but most don’t. You
sure can ruin some good spots giving out too much intell. Wayne, a longtime trout
fisherman, who taught me how to fly fish would say when questioned “we caught a few
of moderate size” and move on.
After we geared up and walked to the water, the thermometer read 36 degrees. I had
good socks on with merino wool leggings and fleece warmup pants then the waders.
The water edge had 1-2 feet of thin ice. No hesitation, we were in and on the prowl.
From the bridge, near where we parked, fish were seen. I noticed a decent hole in the
dark areas under the bridge. Had to be careful casting with a 10’ 4’’ rod. A couple of
blind casts (sighter not visible) later, I picked up a piece of ice stuck to my nymph. I
paused for a second and remembered on the ride that Roger had guided a guy recently,
who had poor eyesight and could not see the movement of the sighter. Roger told him
to count to five, then set the hook. This worked well for the man trying to learn tight line
nymphing. Guess what- I counted to five- boom a fish.

Over the next two hours, we both worked the stream meticulously but no fish. We went
through our algorithms of nymphs and areas of the water column seeking but not
frustrated. This is living! We said “it sure is beautiful here, and laughed at each other.”
Roger went ahead to an area with a long run with a deep hole. While leapfrogging him, I
spotted 4 large fish suspended at the start of the run in 3-5 foot of water. I casted an
egg and one chased this but did not take. Holy Moly.
Enter Roger, with a two-fly rig, pink head egg lower and small nymph with a little flash
on top. Many fish later, we grinned and said “you know, my feet were freezing, but I sort
of forgot about them”.
I moved upstream to a long run with moderate depth. My casts were now in the flow.
More and more fish, twelve to fourteen inchers mostly. Then a monster appeared,
biggest white flash in months. As I worked the fish, bright rainbow colors appeared. My
internal commands – enjoy, savor, keep tension but not too much, check the drag, if the
fish pulls- you don’t, if the fish doesn’t pull - you do.
During this magical time, I worked the rainbow to within 5 feet of my net 4 times, only to
watch a powerful thrust back into the flow. At least 10 minutes, maybe 15, into this
struggle the trout just waved goodbye and broke the 7x line on my 2wt rod. Suddenly
my vocabulary expanded with a loud word, I suspect this was involuntary.
I had a flashback to a tuna sport fishing boat in Costa Rica, we had a monster yellowfin
on. Unfortunately, the reel was a spinner not a baitcaster. My 30 year old son, my 28
year old daughter and myself were trading turns trying to land this tuna. No captain’s
chair to sit in, but we gave this are all. In the end, Marie and I were gassed and done,
David fought on to the point that we saw the large white body within 15 feet of the boat.
Then pop, it was gone. We had fought for an hour. And guess what, that same
vocabulary was heard. We were beaten and frustrated. I looked at David and said “that
tuna kicked our ass, it deserved to swim on”. All around the boat, a chorus of yep with
some smiles.
After a moment to regroup and retie, my memory was cleared. That trout kicked my ass.
Now refocus to watch the sighter and keep out of the brush. More fish kept coming.
Soon the hour was noticed. My feet were truly cold and I had not had food in 5 hours.
Roger said “dang, I can’t believe what time it is” we had been in the zone, wading and
catching and not wanting this experience to end.
On the ride home, we talked about what makes a good life. We thought of our families,
what our parents and grandparents taught us, our first ever fish as a young boy,
accepting imperfection, thankfulness and food.