One of the most important lessons I ever learned about fishing came when I approached a trout stream, eager to wet a line and try to catch what has always been an exotic—and favorite—species to me. Growing up in the Midwest, we didn’t have waters that remained cool and aerated enough during the summer months to sustain trout, let alone salmon, so these cold-water species were always out of reach—and therefore extra desirable—to me.
After living and fishing everywhere from Vermont and California to the Florida Keys, I came home to raise a family and now live in the same trout-starved Midwestern state where I grew up. So when I get a chance to visit and fish in a place where trout thrive, it’s still extra special. Such was the case when, after a long hike into the canyon deep in the Rocky Mountains, I approached the “Blue Ribbon”-rated trout stream.
I practically stumbled into the fellow who was seated trailside in the shade of a juniper, silently watching the flow. He was clad in well-worn waders and fishing attire with a fly rod propped against his knee, and I apologized for my interruption and asked him if he had fished the pool before us.
“In a bit, perhaps,” he answered quietly, not taking his eyes off the water. “Watch.”
In a moment, a football-sized shadow emerged in the water from under the cut bank at our feet, tipped up and sipped something off the surface, and retreated to the depths.
I was about to comment on the size of the trout when the angler cut me short pointing to where a riffle spilled into the slack water, creating a line of bubbles that trailed a few feet downstream. As I watched, from time to time the bubbles seem to burst with splashes larger than their size warranted, as trout delicately slapped at bugs trapped in the line of foam from below.
“You take this one,” he said as the angler rose and gathered his rod to move up stream. “I like watching as much as I do catching, and there’s plenty more water to see.
“That’s the trick,” he added, seeming to sense that I was somewhat of a nimrod. (Perhaps my near-new waders and unblemished vest game me away). “Always take time to stop and study the water before wading in. If you’re patient, the fish will usually show you where they are and what they want to eat.”
He was right. I’d have stepped right in where that big trout was feeding, and never even would have noticed the subtly feeding fish under the bubble stream lining the seam that formed between the two currents. Despite carefully skirting its lair and knowing the fish was there, I still didn’t catch the football-sized brown, but I was able to fool one rainbow and coax the trout out of the foam before my rusty casting skills shut the pool down.
I never forgot the stop-and-study lesson, and apply it often when fishing from boat or shore. When approaching a bay in my pontoon boat, for example, I’ll idle in and shut the motor down to drift and watch the water. I’m listening also, for the delicate splashing sound of feeding fish or scattering minnows. Sometimes, I’ll use the bow-mounted electric motor to cruise until I see—or hear—something that leads me to productive water or gives me an idea of what the fish are feeding on at the time. On open water I’ll look for feeding birds or gulls resting on the surface, often over schools of baitfish waiting for gamefish I seek to push the minnows to the surface.
I’ll look for root-balls on the bank, dead giveaways for deadfalls that have toppled into the water and whose flooded crowns create fish-attracting cover. On man-made reservoirs I’ll scan the shore for signs of roads and fencerows flooded-over when the lake was filled, continuing into the water to provide structure for gamefish. I’ll look for windblown shores where the waves have pushed and concentrated baitfish and stirred up the bottom, creating turbid conditions filled with food where walleyes and bass and catfish congregate to feed.
When approaching a weed bed, I’ll turn off the motor to watch for dimpling or subtle fin-made wakes on the water’s surface and listen for the “pop” of panfish or bass feeding back in the pads. In a river I’ll look for the bubbles or debris lines that mark current seams, knowing that gamefish will flank under the water, searching the “edge” for food.
When in an area with other anglers in boats or along the shore, before I wet a line I’ll watch them too, waiting for the flash of a landing net, the sudden arc of a rod or the grunt of a guy setting the hook and wanting his peers to hear about it. Then I’ll watch them and try to determine what it is about their bait, location or tactic that has made them successful.
These are all factors that I had been missing before the wait-and-watch episode beside the trout stream. I realize now that if I simply power-in to my intended fishing area, immediately set up and start fishing, I may miss the subtle keys to where the bait and fish might be and why, signs that can spell the difference between a day of fishing or a day of catching.
[Tackle—Deck Boat Fishing1] Before breaking out the tackle and randomly wetting a line, take the time to stop the boat, turn off the engine and drift awhile to see what you can see—and hear what you can hear—which might help you decide where and how to fish in a particular area. Plus, the silent approach allows you to enjoy more wildlife while on the prowl for fish.
[Tackle—Binocs] A good pair of binoculars comes in handy when scanning open waters for signs of fish or bird activity. Models made for marine use, such as the H20 line from Bushnell, reduce glare, are fog and water-resistant and built to take rugged use aboard boats.
Dan’s Pick
Fuzion Electric Pontoon Boat
This 20-foot pontoon from Fuzion is offered only with electric power, so it’s quiet and perfect for stealthy approaches to the fishing grounds. Offered with a 15 horsepower Fuzion electric outboard, the boat retails for $19,500 from Griffin Leisure Boats. For more information visit www.griffinleisureboats.com or 613-731-1144.
The Fuzion Electric Pontoon for 2013 can be ordered with an electric outboard offering in either 10 or 15 horsepower.
