Are You Experienced?

Dates: March 20, 2010
Location: Warwick, Great Lawn
Air temp: 40s
Water temp: ?
Hatches: ?
Fish landed: 10ish (browns)

Present members of the Fly Anglers Guild :|: Upper Midwest Chapter, for this outing were:

Xan
Quickdraw


Sometimes the fishing gods offer you a sign.  Sometimes they offer you two signs.  Sometimes you ignore them anyway and find out for your damn self.  As Quick and I were setting up in the lot of the Warwick, a very nice lady was walking back to her car with her dog.  Seeing we were anglers of the highest order, she made some small talk.  After revealing that she was learning the ways of the long rod, she said very politely, "I'm not as experienced as you guys are, but I'd say the river is a bit high from what I can tell."  We thanked her for her input, but nevertheless strode off to the river.


As QD and I split off to fish the first run, a man approached me, and in a much less gentle fashion blathered out, "You'll have more luck catching a turd than a fish!"  Of course, I paid little heed and got into the river.  After realizing I couldn't cross safely, I stayed on that side and wasted some time casting into the flow.  After about 10 minutes, we relented and got the hell out of there.


So, we went to the Great Lawn.  The water was a tad low, and crystal clear, but fishable.  We walked up to the first bend/pool, and tried our luck nymphing.  A few hits, but no lands, kept us there a bit too long, before we relented once again and made our way upstream.  Our time fishing that area had allowed numerous anglers a chance to secure most of the best spots along the way, so further upstream we went.


Eventually, we reached the last fishable run for a long, long ways.  It was pretty small, you could stand in one place and get a drift through all the good water, but it was fast and a bit deep.  I decided to wet a line, and was rewarded with a fish.  Second cast, fish.  Not wanting to hog the run, I ceded the run to Quick.  

After a few fruitless casts, he got tangled up, so I jumped back in.  The fish just kept coming, a few being decent.

This went on for a bit until the run seemed to be dead.  We hiked back down, stopping to fish a pool.  With QD at the head, and myself manning the tail, this inequality of riches continued.  Clearly, QD had angered the fishing gods.  Some days they smile upon you, other days you shit the bed.  


The day concluded with more fish.  After we got back to town, we met up with Booter to watch the Fackin' Fly Fishing Film Tour (FFFFT).  There were many great flicks, a bounty of free swag, and a room full of "elitist fly fisherman" (I overheard a mouth-breather use the term outside the theater).  To him I say, damn right, ape fucker!