There’s something unique about the Driftless that I and many others have been drawn to. Opportunities abound, where waters boast a thousand trout per mile, where you can get lost for weeks working new stretches of water. A backdrop like this makes it a cinch to convert your everyday tackle chucker in to a fly fisherman. So when an opportunity to bring a buddy along for some camping and hopper fishing presented itself, I jumped.
What started as a boring casting lesson quickly became game time, as the mayflies began to hatch, one by one. Within the first few casts and spooked fish, he realized quickly it wasn’t quite as easy as pitching a jig. But it wasn’t to be this day, as the overbearing wind quickly directed our attentions to cold beers and brats. Hopes were high though as we settled in under the stars.
Waking early, we hurried to the creek, weaving up and down the valleys through a dense fog. As we parked and readied our rigs, tensions mounted and the cockiest bass fisherman I know was legibly nervous.
The day started slow, until we hit that perfect run – tall grass lining both banks, couple of boulders and just enough of a riffle to make things interesting. Then it happened. Time stood still – a perfect cast, the hopper hit the water, and then….all hell broke loose. Sixteen inches of brown trout came bursting out of the water, devouring his fly. It was a quick fight, all of fifteen seconds, before he came loose with a head shake. But that’s all the transition needed to be complete. As he stood there, hands shaking, we both realized he was hooked.