Some notes from the early trout season

Sometimes everything goes according to plan. Sometimes the plan goes kablooey. This is the nature of fishing.

Exhibit A: Last week the state Department of Energy and Environmental Protection (DEEP) put 9,000 — not a typo — trout in the Housatonic River (with help from students at Housatonic Valley Regional High School).

What does this mean? It means a lot of action, albeit in the form of catching fish that until recently lived in a tank.

I have often noted that while a trout has a brain the size of a dried pea (an observation first made in this form by the great Catskill angler and writer Paul O’Neil), a fly-fisherman, on average, has a brain the size of a big mushy cooked pea.

Plus the angler has a few hundred dollars’ worth of rod, reel, line, flies and gizmos.

It shouldn’t be a fair fight — but it is.

Sliding into the Elms section of the Housatonic last week, I established myself at a point where current and depth come together to create an ideal holding lie for trout — especially newly arrived trout who are still wearing their freshman beanies and asking the upperclassmen where to get a pass for the non-existent elevator.

Using a rig of three wet flies, I put a size 12 Leadwing Coachman on the bottom a) to help pull the whole thing down into the water column and b) because I like the Leadwing Coachman and have confidence in it.

My confidence paid off, as I caught and released half a dozen of DEEP’s finest rainbow trout in short order.

A fellow fishing downstream, without success, noticed, and when I took a break he clambered over to inquire.

I gave him a couple of the Leadwings and pointed him to the spot I just left.

Sure enough, he started catching fish.

And made me look like a genius.

This illusion was quickly shattered the next day, when the Leadwing Coachman was completely ignored in favor of a little caddis fly that was busting out all over the place.

There was a bit of a traffic jam at the Elms — three guys in really nifty inflatable boats that allow the angler to either sit and paddle or stand and fish.

And a couple of others who were just wading.

I decided to skip this festival and made my way downstream to where Carse Brook enters the big river.

Again the wet fly flies were mostly ignored (a couple of newbies fell for it).

Working against a robust flow (about 750 cubic feet per second), I got into position to fish a deepish flat right above the start of a riffle.

The wet flies were jettisoned in favor of three nymphs, fished in the Euro style, with a heavy caddis larva fly on the bottom.

A really nice holdover rainbow slammed it, and obligingly jumped a couple of times before streaking back and forth across the river.

And here I made a critical mistake. Instead of staying focused, I thought a few moments ahead — to how cool this magnificent, record-breaking, awe-inspiring fish would look in one of my patented “fish in the net” photos.

And the rainbow took advantage of this 10-second daydream to dive under a submerged log, make a sharp left at the big rock, and make his escape.

To compound the mistake, I then had to go to Salisbury Town Hall to cover a talk about … trout.

It’s been a good season thus far. I caught some fish, made a few new fishing friends, and didn’t fall in even a little bit.

Next time: How to creep around little brooks without going completely crazy.