The River We Had In Mind

By ten o’clock on the first morning, my brother and I were beginning to recognize the river we had left in June. The water was colder, and the valley wore brilliant fall foliage, but the fishing still had a familiar summer feel. We were catching plenty of trout. Most were six to nine inches long, with a few ten- to twelve-inch fish mixed in. The fishing was good. It just wasn’t what we’d imagined over the last few months.

We had planned this three-day trip back in the summer, building it around Columbus Day weekend. As a school principal, I don’t get many opportunities to take time off in October. Taking a day that week would let us extend the trip and get the rare chance to fish this river on a weekday. We had spent time here earlier in the year, until warming water sent us elsewhere in mid-June.

This stretch sits tucked away in a valley, reached by mountain roads. Instead of staying in an Airbnb forty-five minutes away, we decided to camp nearby. We wanted to be close to the water. In our minds, October would bring stronger flows, cooler temperatures, and the return of the fourteen- to eighteen-inch trout we regularly catch in the spring. We pictured mornings spent tightline nymphing and evenings casting October Caddis to rising fish.

We had thought a lot about what we wanted the river to be.

The temperatures were right, in the low-to-mid-fifties. The flows were somewhat higher than when we left in June, but the river was still a skinny version of its spring self. Its bones remained exposed like a ribcage. Through polarized lenses, we could see the riverbed beneath runs and riffles that had carried considerably more water earlier in the year.

If the larger trout were there, we suspected they were holding in the deeper, more concealed parts of the river. The smaller fish were certainly willing to occupy the feeding lanes and take a well-drifted fly. We both noticed the same thing. The calendar said October, but much of the river still looked and fished like summer.

The river didn’t care that it was hard for me to get away. It didn’t care how many flies I had tied or how long we had looked forward to returning. We had arrived with expectations built around a season and memories of spring fishing. The conditions in front of us were what we had to work with.

Our younger selves might have spent more time dwelling on the fish we weren’t catching. Somewhere along the way, though, we have learned to appreciate what is available. None of these trout would take us into our backing, but they were plentiful and eager. There was plenty of good fishing to enjoy.

I adjusted my approach. Although I never saw a single October Caddis during the trip, I tied one onto the tag and fished a dry-dropper, suspending a Jack Daniels nymph with a 2.5 mm bead beneath it. Skinny riffles, narrow lanes, and small pockets gave me places to work that rig. I had come expecting to spend most of my time tightlining. Now I had a reason to practice something else.

One morning, I even worked a streamer upstream, drifting it back while using the rod tip to make it swim and shift. As a novice streamer angler, I got considerably more action than I expected. I enjoyed tracking the fly and learning how my movements changed its behavior. That visual element is part of what makes streamer fishing exciting to me, much like fishing a dry fly. I left that morning knowing more than when I started and excited to try it again.

Disappointment doesn’t belong on the river. If I find it there, I need to examine the expectations I brought with me. Every small trout we caught could have reminded us of the larger fish we had hoped for. We could have spent three days catching fish and wishing we were catching bigger ones. I don’t get enough days like these to spend them wishing they were something else.

When the trip ended, I felt the familiar sadness of saying goodbye to my brother and goodbye to the river. I always wish there were another morning left. Soon enough, though, I was thinking about the next trip and how I might use what I had learned on this one.

Most trips don’t unfold quite the way I picture them. There are too many things I cannot arrange in advance. I can make the time, tie the flies, and arrive prepared, but I cannot make the river ready for the experience I want. It is almost always willing to provide something. This time, that meant smaller trout, good fishing, and a chance to learn. I was happy to take it.