I usually don't fish the beaver ponds too much. I save them for special occasions when I need a mental detox. Just a day to go catch alot of easy fish. Beautiful, but not so smart ,fish.
Today was one of those days. Evening is usually best because it's cool, and you won't get soaked from the morning dew that's accumulated on every blade of head-high grass you often have to walk through.
I pop a couple of allergy pills (darned hay fever!) grab my 3 weight, a small fly box, hemostats and I'm out the door. My target pond is a sweet little one full of 8" cutties. I did well there last year, and I expect to do well there today.
I park at the logging road that leads to the stream the pond is on, and to my horror this is what I see......
Today was one of those days. Evening is usually best because it's cool, and you won't get soaked from the morning dew that's accumulated on every blade of head-high grass you often have to walk through.
I pop a couple of allergy pills (darned hay fever!) grab my 3 weight, a small fly box, hemostats and I'm out the door. My target pond is a sweet little one full of 8" cutties. I did well there last year, and I expect to do well there today.
I park at the logging road that leads to the stream the pond is on, and to my horror this is what I see......
last years pond is gone!
The logging compay who owns the land didn't appreciate the beaver's work as much as I did, and removed the dam. The grassy little creek bottom you see was all a very nice little pond. But that's just the way things go in the Northwest industrial forests. Timber production is number one, and protecting the culvert and road takes priority over fishing. But, the good thing is that the beavers will be back. This is the "beaver state" and the creek is good habitat. I'm bummed as I walk back to the car, but these beauties cheer me up......
pretty summer daisies
A quarter mile away in another drainage, I know of another beaver pond. (one of the benefits of being a fur trapper). This one is harder to get to, and the beavers won't be bothering anybody there. The pond is still intact, but it is a shallow basin, and just getting to the waters edge is a challenge. The rod is strung , the line keeps grabbing foilage as I wrestle my way through it. I clip my fly and reel all of my line onto the spool, this makes travel much eaiser. My rod hangs up on an alder, and I look back to see what it's caught on. As if to add insult to injury, I notice my tip section of rod missing! Gone..... Crap. It's like finding a needle in a hay stack. How far back did I lose it? I slowly and carefully start retracing my steps, I see a glint of silver in the trailside grass and amazingly enough, find the tip! Feeling relief, I trudge on. Ducking through stinging nettles, I finally see the reflection of water. The pond is there. I make my way to the dam and can see steady rises coming from the center of the pond. But there is a problem. There is no where to fish from. The entire dam and shore is lined with line entangling alders.
No way to get a cast through that...
I'd have better luck trying to cast through my screen door at home. Dissapointed, I half heartedly flipped my elk hair caddis out as far as I could. It was like bobber fishing with bait. Just watching the little tan fly float there motionless. I gave it a little twitch just to feel like I was doing something, but it didn't matter. Fish were rising steadily in the middle of the pond. All I could do was watch, which I did for a while, then retreated.
There wasn't much daylight left. But, I did know of one last little gem a few miles away. It was pretty small, but should hold fish. I drove that direction not expecting much, after all that had happened already.
I grabbed the little three weight and started ducking my way through the Douglas fir regrowth. I could soon hear the gurgle of the small brook. The dam was intact, and the beavers had been busy. They had raised the pond water level a solid foot from last year, adding a bunch of new trout habitat. I flipped my little partridge and orange soft hackle into the tannic stained water, and instantly I saw a silver flash slashing towards the fly. The little cuttie cartwheeled out of the water and did his best to dislodge the little iron.
There wasn't much daylight left. But, I did know of one last little gem a few miles away. It was pretty small, but should hold fish. I drove that direction not expecting much, after all that had happened already.
I grabbed the little three weight and started ducking my way through the Douglas fir regrowth. I could soon hear the gurgle of the small brook. The dam was intact, and the beavers had been busy. They had raised the pond water level a solid foot from last year, adding a bunch of new trout habitat. I flipped my little partridge and orange soft hackle into the tannic stained water, and instantly I saw a silver flash slashing towards the fly. The little cuttie cartwheeled out of the water and did his best to dislodge the little iron.
pretty little cuttie
His throat slashes and fins beamed scarlet in the fading daylight. He wasn't a big one, but they usually never are.
Its wasn't the metal detox, lots of easy fish kind of day that I had hoped for. Just the chance to see one of these little native cutthroats was enough. It's funny how a single fish can change a man's outlook, but that's what they do.... One was enough.
Its wasn't the metal detox, lots of easy fish kind of day that I had hoped for. Just the chance to see one of these little native cutthroats was enough. It's funny how a single fish can change a man's outlook, but that's what they do.... One was enough.
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