A True Fish of a Lifetime — Brown Trout Ben

My alarm sounded at 5:30am asking me the Shakespearean question of to fish or not to fish? I roll over to my phone and check the weather for the day as well as some USGS water gauges in various locations. A rainy day with clouds abundant and rising water levels spelled out my destination for the day. I have been fishing a new creek over the past couple of weeks and have been there solo every time I have gone. Part of what I enjoy about fly fishing is the problem solving aspect of it, with every new creek and watershed comes a new rubix cube to solve. Although I was tired and not looking forward to fishing alone, the allure of a creek that hadn’t been solved yet was too great and I headed out the door.

Another driving force of the day was that I had gotten some new streamer patterns from Brandon from Panther Branch Bugs, check him out if you haven’t already. When I hit the water I threw on the new streamer, cinched it down on 15lb maxima, and hit got after it. My current streamer set up is a bit janky to be honest, but it's an absolute workhorse of a rod. It is a TFO mangrove 9wt with some busted full sink line that is calico patterned from the broken outer material and inner core material. I like to use over weighted rods because they roll cast my heavy streamers with ease which helps not tire me out over the course of a full day of fishing.

Fast forward to the last bit of the day, I had worked my way pretty far down the trail I use to access this creek. It had been a good day already, I had caught a couple nice wild rainbows, a 15in brown, and a mature brown that was just shy of 20in. Usually I would have left already but I find when one big fish eats, the chances are the conditions are right for other bigger fish to be feeding so I had pressed on with the mindset of anything else I caught would just be a bonus. I was approaching a promising looking run when I heard the call of a large osprey and looked overhead as it flew by, a good omen perhaps. I had made it to a section of the creek I had only been to once before. There is a bedrock structure under the surface of the water that funnels the main flow into a “v” shaped run where each line of the V represents the two main currents pushing into the riffle below, and the negative space above those lines being a soft spot. Below the start of the run is a large riffle that is probably 3 feet deep and 20-30 feet across until its shallow tailout. I had already worked the back portion of the run and hadn’t moved a thing. The upstream jig retrieve had been pretty effective all day so I moved up above the “v” shaped pour in. I casted slightly down and across from myself and allowed the streamer to sink as it moved into the main flow. Once I had the depth I wanted I started to jig upstream, bisecting the V and bringing the streamer into the calmer inner portion of the V pour in. One strip, two, and then it happened.

It’s a cliche but it all seemed to happen in slow motion. A large golden shape appears behind my streamer. With one pass of its tail it closes the distance and its gaping maw of a mouth opens and my entire streamer disappears. I knew it was a big fish, but due to the depth of the water I did not really understand what had just eaten my fly. I set the hook by using a hybrid sweep and strip set that I did to the side of me hoping not to pull the fly out of its mouth as I was positioned upstream from the fish. What could have only been milliseconds seemed like minutes as I waited for it, the positive feedback of a fish on the end of my line. I felt the fish, at first the fish seemed unphased by being hooked as it slowly swam across to the other bank. I thought that I had not gotten a good hookset on it due to me being above it when it ate. With that in mind I gave the line 3 hard stripsets in an attempt to either drive the hook in deeper or simply to quell my anxiety. That's when things got serious. The brown took exception to the increased pressure and took off directly downstream into the riffle below. The immense strength the fish had was nothing like I have ever felt before. In no time the fish was pulling drag and across at the other bank downstream of me trying to find and undercut to break me off on. Jumping from rock to rock I headed down towards the main flow in an attempt to regain some position on my opponent. I’m almost even with the fish when it takes off again towards some undercut rocks, I counter by increasing my drag which must have been comical to the brown as I would have to increase my drag two more times during the fight before it had a noticeable any effect. After a lot of running and never taking my eye of the fish I had finally gotten behind it. Again and again I would get it close to me only for it to make another insane pull away from me. The fish starts to hold steady in the middle of the riffle, a sign that it is tiring. I move my rod parallel to the water forming a stout C-shaped rod bend. Now the fish is fighting me and the current. The next time I got it close to me the fish broke the surface for the first time. The net comes out and I try in vain to net the immensity that is at the end of my line. This would happen at least 3 more times as I would get the fish within netting distance only for it to not fit well enough into the net to seal the deal. Typically, the longer the fight goes on with a big fish in a creek the chances of me landing it go down. This thought drives me to go for broke on the next attempt. I spot a calmer portion of water that will serve as my next net attempt and position myself below it. Pressure pulls the fish into the softer water just above me, I crank the drag down a final time so that when I make the final pull it wont let line out. The head of the brown breaches and I see eye to eye with what I have been searching for over the last several years. My net plunges under the chin of the trout and I push forward and down with the net, and for the first and final time the fish fits into the net.

I have caught some good fish in the past, fish I had considered a fish of a lifetime. Nothing compared to this fish, nothing. I knew immediately that this was by far the biggest fish I had ever caught both in length and overall weight. I didn’t yell and scream out in victory or joy. I was completely silent, utterly dumbfounded by what had just happened. Although rendered truly speechless I couldn’t have been happier. I shoved the long handle of my net into the soft bank to keep the fish in the water so it could rest while I set up the camera. I set my camera up on a small Joby tripod and since I was alone I had already set my camera up for timer shooting beforehand. I snapped a few photos hoping they were in focus, which hardly any of them were, and hashed a mark on my net handle that marked the length of the fish. Keeping the fish’s health in mind I hit record for the release and watched it swim off smooth and ethereal. A true Appalachian myth, one we all want to believe in and strive to deduce its validity swam from my brief reality back into legend.

I truly can’t express how much this fish means to me. I decided pretty early on that my niche in this sport was finding big fish in small water. Everything I have done in my fishing career has been in an effort to find this fish, a true giant by any waterway standards. The Southern Appalachians have some of the cleanest, coldest water on the East coast. I had convinced myself that this fish existed somewhere within the labyrinth of creeks that serve as the veins of the High Country. I was overwhelmed with gratefulness, awe, and a deep sense of validation. Although I would I preferred to share the moment with a friend there is a silver lining as a result of catching it alone. Sometimes I wonder if I could have caught that fish without someone to net it, or if I was using someone’s streamer or rod setup. Not this time, I was alone and fishing my speed, my way, my gear, and in water I had found on my own. Frank Sinatra would’ve been proud, cause I did it my way. I had done it, finally. In my last blog I talked about how I usually fish with my friends and how we have turned streamer fishing into a team sport which increases our chances of success. Although I was fishing stag on this day, the day, I didn’t feel alone. I have learned something from all of the people I have fished with over the years and I had to use every bit of that shared generational knowledge to find and land this fish. Whether it was my Dad teaching me how to trout fish when I was a kid, one of the members of my fly family, old fishing buddies, or even someone I fished with only a few times, they were all there in a way for the skills and lessons shared by them allowed this moment to come to fruition. To all of you past or present, thank you for everything.

The term “fish of a lifetime” gets thrown around rather haphazardly and I am guilty of using it too liberally myself. This is different though, I may truly fish the rest of my life and never out do this fish. To catch a wild brown trout of this size, in a creek no more than 30 feet wide on public water by myself is truly absurd. If I never come close to outdoing this moment I will be just fine with that. However, the gravity of this moment is not lost on me. Out of respect for the fish and for our water I will take this moment on thankfully and humbly as a challenge. I will strive the rest of my life to showcase what our small water can produce and I will try my hardest to experience another fish of a lifetime. That's what drives us all as anglers, the thrill of the unknown possibilities of the next catch. Until next time.

Doesn’t do the size justice but a nice view of everything