The day started out simple enough; I gathered my gear and headed to Saguaro Lake for a day of largemouth bass fishing. After arriving at the Butcher Jones Recreation Area, I worked the shoreline with a large streamer fly. Two things quickly became apparent: it is difficult to cast large articulated streamers into the wind; and a wet Game Changer weighs approximately as much as a small school bus. My casting efforts soon turned into gently lobbing the massive fly, as I feared the stress of attempting to cast this monstrosity would prove too much for my poor little 8-weight. After covering whatever water wasn’t currently occupied, we decided to move to the fishing piers, where big bass would occaisionally herd baitfish. Upon arriving at the entrance, however, we were greeted by a roadblock; the federal government had shut down. With the leaders of one of the world’s most powerful nations acting like small children, we moved on to plan B, and headed for the Salt River below Saguaro Mountain Dam.
Once we reached our destination, it began raining. Elizabeth elected to stay in the car and read, but I was determined to fish, and headed down to the river. On the way down, I ran into a fellow fly fisherman leaving the water. We talked for a while, examining each other’s gear and trading stories, while discussing the finer points of high-stick nymphing and dappling dry-flies. He had seen success with a small Adams, and it was then that I realized that my dry-fly box was sitting on the end table, where I had sworn not to forget it this time. So much for that. I continued down to the river, and saw trout rising with abandon. I sighed, and tied on a small streamer, thinking I could perhaps annoy a trout into striking. On my first cast, I was greeted by a small bass, which had been my intended target today anyway. I happily landed the little fellow, and slipped it back into the water, where it promptly swam to shore and beached itself. I gave the confused fish a push in the right direction, and it swam back to the head of the small pool and disappeared. Hearing talking and footsteps behind me, I turned to the sounds and saw a group of wild horses heading straight for the run I was about to fish, with several excited tourists following close behind. The horses crossed the river, and I decided to stay put, knowing that my chances in that spot had been ruined. As I continued fishing, I heard a small commotion, and noticed one of the tourists closely following three of the horses, carrot in hand. The horses seemed very nervous, and I shook my head, thinking I was about to witness a lady being kicked across the river by a skittish mare. The horses maintained a safe distance from the carrot, however, having probably never seen one before; that woman was very lucky. I turned back to the pool and continued casting. The rain started coming down harder, triggering a small trout to grab my streamer. As I fumbled for my net, I let a bit of slack into the line, and the trout wriggled free. I soon hooked another, which went berserk; it tailwalked across the pool, swam in tight circles, and flipped into the air multiple times. I’ve never seen such an acrobatic fish. Its antics proved to be a good tactic, and it was soon free of the hook. Trout: 2, Me: 0. The rain was coming down fairly hard at this point, and I decided to call it a day. It wasn’t a bad day though; because even soaking wet and troutless, I was still out in nature, taking everything that was thrown at me with a smile.
Arizona Fly Rodder 