Water Works

by Bob Luck
​It was 56 degrees and sunny when my plane from Tokyo touched down on Monday afternoon.  “Perfect spring weather”, I thought as I got off at the Nicollet LRT station and walked back to the apartment I had last seen in January when I decamped to Asia for warmer weather and better food.
Tuesday’s weather was less than perfect.  Overcast, with a few snow flurries, a pesky wind from the Northwest, and a forecast high of 40.  “Maybe this lousy weather will bring a good Blue-winged Olive hatch” I told myself as I got into my car and drove to my friend Mike Miller’s farm on the Lower Kinni.  Mike was still down in Florida, but had told me I could go ahead and drive down his dirt road towards the river to avoid a long walk in.  I hesitated briefly when I got to the hill overlooking the river, but the track looked good, so I drove to where the road ends a few hundred yards from the river.
Nothing was hatching, so I worked my way upstream, tightlining a nymph with my Tenkara rod.  After two hours of casting practice, I picked up five fish in a deep run that we call the Otter Hole.  

The water temperature had warmed slightly, which may be why I was starting to see some action.  After stopping for a peanut butter sandwich and an apple, I continued to work my way upstream and picked up two more fish in deep water against a bluff, including a fat 13 incher that broke off my nymph when I tried to land it by hand because I was too lazy to reach for my net.  Only a few BWOs appeared, and I didn’t see a rise.  Maybe it was still too early in the year for a good hatch—or maybe neonicotinoid insecticides had something to do with it.  I hope it was the former, but fear it was the latter.  At 2 pm, I was cold and jet lagged, and the wind was picking up, so I retreated back to my car.  I started driving up the hill, and got stuck at a steep spot.  The warm weather of the past week had thawed out the ground—something I had failed to notice when driving down the road.  I’d like to blame it on jet lag, but the reality is that I have poor situational awareness at the best of times, and it only gets worse when I am heading to a trout stream.  After several successive passes of backing farther and farther down the hill to get a running start, I finally managed to get over the steep spot, nearly hitting a tree as my barely-in-control car careened from side to side, leaving some impressive ruts in Mike’s road.  When I called him to apologize, he told me not to worry about it, and asked me about the fishing, but I’m pretty sure he was making a mental note to never let me drive down his road again.