Saturday Night's Alright (For Mousin')

Date: June 23, 2007
Location: Eagle & Club
Air temp: 70s
Water temp: ???
Hatches: too dark to see
Fish landed: 1 brown

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

Booter
TP
Xan


Booter and I headed to the EPB&G on an early Saturday eve to meet up with TP for a mouse excursion. At the bar, it was decided that we weren't gonna fuck around. We plotted our war path, and it would be a late night. The evening would take us from Eagle, downstream to the Club. After parking a car at the Club, we drove to Eagle and began our way down.

We started fishing in the slow, wide area not far from the bridge. While FB and TP were throwing streamers, I made my way through the bog to give a few runs downstream a good nymphing. I lost sight of the two while the last rays of sunlight left the Wisconsin farmland. As the darkness settled in, I decided to wait for them to catch up, not wanting to wander too far off in the night. Minutes past, then some more. After a good stretch, just standing in the stream, I got impatient and decided keep going to the boulder field, the first prime mouse spot.

Of the few times I've gone night fishing, the boulder spot has presented the greatest possibilities. Big fish feed there. Under the red glow of my headlamp, I tied on a mouse and began to tempt those possibilities. Action started immediately. Two casts, two tugs, though no fish hooked.

The tricky part of fishing meece is in how the fish react. Sometimes the trout will tug on the prey, trying to drown the artificial critter. Other times, they will slap it with their tail (this is just from what I've read. I can feel resistance on the fly, but it's too dark to know what in the hell is going on). Sometimes you'll get lucky and the fish will try to inhale the mouse pattern.

On the third or fourth cast, I felt a tug. I waited a few seconds and gave a hardy strip set. A HUGE splash erupted in what seemed like ten feet ahead of me, but my line came back and there was no mouse, or trout, on the other end. The fly had broken off, due to a bad terminal knot.

Not long after, Booter made his way down. I told him of the one that got away. He told me of the quick-mud that sent water into his waders. The reason they had taken so long was a couple trips back to the car and the sinking and watery feeling Boot had gotten trying to negotiate the bog.

Not long after, TP joined us, and we fished the boulder field with much opportunity but little success. I was able to land my first fish on a mouse, with the large hook impaling the fish's snout.

We headed toward the Club, with Boot and TP fishing one of the larger pools on the way. We eventually got to the big pool behind the Club. Here, TP found his Walter of the night. A 19" trout, with sharp teeth, tried to devour the fuzzy little mouse.