Letting go

It was a forgone conclusion that I wasn’t going to catch any fish.  I was trying to be honest with myself but it had been weeks since I had got my trout fishing fix and the pools, riffles, and waterfalls of Big Hunting Creek were calling to me.  They called in a deep background voice, more primal and subconscious than conscious.  But, for a trout fisherman, that voice once heard cannot long be ignored.  The usual summer drought conditions that visit the mountains of central Maryland every year area had extended themselves into the fall and the water was about as low as it ever gets.  However, it had rained several inches a few days before and the weather was a bit cooler, so I thought I would give it a try.  Now, Big Hunting Creek is known for the high degree of difficulty in catching its fish and the low water conditions compounded that difficulty by many further degrees.  Still, when you get the trout itch, you must, sooner or later, scratch it.  So, I set off early one morning with my Granger bamboo rod, 1930s Pflueger Medalist reel, a well waxed silk line, and absolutely no expectations of even seeing a single fish.

When you fish small streams, there is a sense of intimacy that you cannot achieve on bigger waters.  Big Hunting Creek, in contradistinction to its name, only rarely gets over 30’ wide as it cuts through the layers of Catoctin greenstone and schist in a series of waterfalls, boulder-filled plunge pools and braided riffles that are achingly beautiful.  It seems to scream “Trout live here!”.  You half believe, if you spent enough time here, that you could come to know every nook, cranny, and hole where a trout might live.  That intimacy is why I enjoy fishing these smaller streams.  Bigger waters too have their charms, but I learned to fly fish for trout in these small Catoctin streams and they will always be my home waters, will always be where I come back to.

I got to the creek after a short 15-minute drive from home. The day was one of those late fall gems, when the leaves were at their peak color and the air was comfortably cool without being chilly.  The diffuse light coming through the canopy was turned all kinds of shades of yellow, orange, gold and green by the leaves.  The water, though low, was still refreshingly cool and playful.  Even if I lived up to my expectation of not seeing a single fish, it was a good thing just to be on the stream and to enjoy the many beauties it had to offer.

Now, I know going fishing without the expectation of catching any fish might seem a waste of time to many, an eccentricity, perhaps, of older folks who can afford to go fishing pretty much any time they wish and have won their fair share of epic piscatorial battles in their youth.  However, I try to adopt the attitude that is called “Zen mind” by the adherents of that most ancient and wise philosophy. One aspect of “Zen mind” is letting go of the memories of the past, expectations of the future, and just being totally in the present moment, whatever that moment may bring.  In other words, just being rather than doing.  If your only goal is to catch fish, that singlemindedness and focus can blind you to marvels that are taking place all around you.  The gentle singing of the waters, the hum of the caddis flies hanging in the late autumn air, the kingfisher in the tree, all might be missed.  And if you do come home empty handed, you will count the whole endeavor as a failure which, to my way of looking at it, would be a shame.

I went through the solemn ritual of putting on my hip boots and vest and rigging up.  Sometimes, with all of the gear and equipment you need when you fly fish, that ritual almost makes me feel like a renaissance knight preparing for battle, or an astronaut getting ready for a spacewalk.  I try to let that mindset pass before I start fishing.  When I first get to a stream, I like to just sit on the bank awhile, taking in the environment and enjoying the moment without the pressure of having to be doing anything in particular.  This is the time to really look at the stream and figure out where the fish are likely to lay, where they will be feeding, where you will need to be to cast to them, and how you are going to get there.  Then, when you actually start fishing, you can just do it without having to think about what you need to do.  After the mental work is done, you can just relax and calm your mind before beginning the work at hand.

The early morning light shone through the autumnal canopy and where it struck the water, it illuminated spots of shimmering gold on the streambed.  In the low water conditions on that day, it was no surprise that no fish were rising.  Bumping nymphs along the bottom of the deeper pools would probably be about the only way to catch the wild brown trout that lurked in the depths.  However, that type of fishing does not really appeal to me.  Call me a dry fly snob if you wish, but fishing dry flies is always my first choice.  Fishing when I cannot see my flies is just plain disconcerting for me.  So, I compromised and tied on a dry dropper rig with an elk hair caddis dry fly and a little weighted Prince nymph on a 4’ dropper.  After casting to the likely spots in the pool with no result, I placed my fly on the hook keeper and slowly ambled up to the next pool.  A kingfisher flew upstream and let out a loud call as it passed, seemingly measuring my poor fishing abilities against his own.  It was very evident that he was laughing at me, and I’m quite sure he was having better luck than I.

Those who know the lower gorge of Big Hunting Creek know that, while it is very beautiful, it is also very rugged and difficult to traverse.  So you have to go slowly, gauging just where to put your feet for every step, especially if you are not as nimble as you used to be.  However, being unburdened by the need and drive to catch a fish, I somehow felt lighter was able to go slowly and really take in the surroundings.  Letting go of the need to achieve anything in particular, I felt a deep connection to the stream, rocks, trees and all the life surrounding me, exuberant in all its autumn ripeness.  I knew, deep down in the depths of my being, that I was a part of it all.  That connection, that feeling, once experienced, will make the brief adrenaline rush of catching a fish pale in comparison.  I think that connection is what is missing from modern life, and why our society seems sick at times.

I ended the day at the President’s Pool, so called because it is just down the road from Camp David and was where the presidents fished when they were there, if they were fly fishers.  That spot also holds good memories for me since it was where I caught a 15” brown trout on a cicada imitation during the hatch a couple of years ago.  But on this day it was no surprise that no trout wanted to show themselves.  I guess I just wasn’t “presidential” enough for their liking.  So, at the end of the day, my expectations of neither catching nor seeing a single trout were completely fulfilled.  And the best part of it all was that it was perfectly OK with me.