Water Works

by Bob Luck
​My wife says I treat trout fishing like a job.  Just about every weekday morning I pack my lunch, load my waders into the car, give her a kiss and tell her the same thing that Black Bill told his wife before catching the state record stream trout on the Whitewater River:  “I’m going out to catch the big one”.  And sometimes I do, although nowhere near the size of Black Bill’s 14 pounder.  Last year may have been my best big-fish year ever.  I caught ten trout in the Driftless area over 16”, including two that were 20”. 
This being fishing, last year's success has inevitably led to this year's failure.  I have been catching plenty of 10-11 inchers, less in the 12-14” range than I usually do, and my biggest fish so far taped out at a measly 15”.  There have been a few opportunities:  I was fishing a bankside pocket on the Kinni in mid April when my nymph stopped.  I set the hook and saw a large head come out of the water.  Then…nothing.  Two weeks ago, I fished a cramped, brushy stream on a tip from Doug Moran.  On the second hole I had a swing and miss from a trout that looked close to 20”.  I reported this to Doug, who went back with his spinning rod and sent me a photo of an 18” brown trout—his personal best.  If I were a bigger person, I’d be happy for Doug.  ​

Last week I fished with Mike Rude and Jonathon Donager.   We stayed in Joe Slavec’s cabin on Trout Run, and Joe showed me a spot where he had caught a 22” fish on a dry fly a couple of years ago.  I got zilch.  The next day, Mike told me he thought my fishing had turned into a pathology.  “Two days' fishing is a big week for me, but from what I can tell, you fish practically every day.  It’s not healthy.”  Then he suggested we fish below the Bucksnort Dam, which is well known for holding some big trout.  And it did, at least for Jonathon, who caught a 16” fish on a Stimulator at dusk while Mike and I were trying to fool 8-inchers on size 20 midge pupa.
The next day we hit my favorite stretch of the Whitewater.  The trout were feeding on Caddis, and I was mansplaining to Jonathon how to dead drift a wet fly in fast water with a Tenkara rod to imitate the emergers.  I caught a couple of 11 inchers to impress him, and then walked upstream.  Jonathon approached the run I had been fishing and pulled out another 16 incher. 
​We headed out to dinner at Mauer Bros. tavern in Elba, where Black Bill’s trophy is mounted, along with other relics and a newspaper clipping describing his exploits.  If you’ve never been there, go.  The beers are five bucks, the fish fry is delicious, and the trophies and other sporting paraphernalia will make your head spin.
I promised my wife I would take a day off from fishing today so that I can catch up on some projects before leaving on a 3-day trip to Viroqua tomorrow. She doesn’t usually get out of bed until 9, so I snuck out of the house at 5 to hit Doug’s secret stream.  Thank God there are no mosquitoes yet, but the weeds have exploded in the last two weeks.  I crawled around for a couple of hours, got stuck in the mud, lost two flies and caught one 12" fish before surrendering.  I still don’t think it is a pathology, though.  When we visited Mauer Bros. we sat next to a guy from Illinois who had been hunting for morels all day long for 6 straight days.  Now that is pathological.