Unfinished Business

July 8, 2009. It hadn’t been long since my three day Rappahannock River float but being summer I was eager to get back on the water. Getting to the trout stream, Mossy Creek, was high on my list. I had not been to the Mossy since a very cold and fruitless day in mid March and had never fished it before in the spring. Virginia had plenty of rain this spring and early summer so the creek was running at a good level and the dog days of August had not slowed the fish yet. Chuck sent out an email asking about July 8 and without even having to be asked Tracey put it on the calendar. A great wife is a priceless necessity in fishing – greater than any high-end rod.

So we were off to the Mossy. It was our usual 5:30 rendezvous at Chuck’s, then off to WaWa for donuts, coffee, and sandwiches for the day. Two and a half hours of chatting later and we were gearing up to take on Mossy Creek. We started with the upper section by the church. Both of us tied on a beetle fly. The sky was clear blue and the sun bright and getting brighter. We worked our way down the stream for what was a very slow morning of fishing. Going for such a long time without a strike, when I finally got a nice trout to rise, it actually startled me and I missed the fish. Working my way back up I tried the same hole again and missed the fish for the second time. It was like watching instant replay. Chuck had managed two fish on the upper section with his usual, “Fish on!” cry. I was happy for him but not surprised. He is very good at this. I didn’t catch any fish on the upper section, which seems to be what I am good at. On the walk back to the truck at midday I passed an older angler and asked how he was doing. He was even less experienced on the creek than I was and had the same morning results. “The Mossy is tough,” I replied and headed on. Walking back I found a small box of flies that I recognized. Approaching Chuck I said I had a present for him – my usual announcement that I have found something he had lost but didn’t realize yet. We had no idea at the time how important that fly box would be.

We had lunch and headed down to the lower section, dropped below the bridge and started working our way up the creek. Within minutes… “fish on!” from Chuck. Of course! The fish was in a tight spot so I netted it for him and took a few pictures since we were separated from each other during his morning catches. Frustration from the morning over took me and I called him a bastard. He knew I didn’t mean it. Later I apologized and he said not to sweat it – “I’ve been called worse by less,” he said. We spotted a trout in a feeding lane steadily sipping small insects floating down the stream. There was nothing easy about this spot. A dead tree leaned over the water with thin bare limbs branching out like several umbrella frames. To get a fly in that feeding lane would mean a cast somehow underneath those branches. I could get the fly in the water but not far enough over for the current to take it to the fish. The trout was so focused on feeding he was oblivious to my several attempts at placing the beetle fly. With the trout continuing to feed I kept up my attempts to cast under those limbs. Finally, after almost ten minutes of trying, the beetle landed close enough for him to notice it hit the water. The trout quickly darted over and I was certain he would let it pass. He didn’t. He took the fly and I set the hook. Chuck came over and assisted with the net and pictures. The brown trout was released and I was relieved. Chuck asked if he was still a bastard. He wasn’t.

We continued to work our way up the creek. Trout were everywhere and feeding aggressively. They were feeding aggressively on anything other than my flies. Mossy Creek gets a lot of fishing pressure and the trout see many flies. I decided to switch to a fly I thought was unlikely to be used my most Mossy Creek anglers – a pink San Juan Worm. I’m not sure, but I think some fly fisherman look down on the San Juan Worm as being too much like fishing with real worms, or “bait dunking.” I figured a fly that looked like a worm was no different than fishing a fly that looked like a grasshopper or beetle. So I tied it on and started getting action right away. The San Juan quickly hooked my best brown trout. The worm fly would later attract my third trout of the day – the most I had ever caught on the Mossy. Unfortunately, that number would quickly be overshadowed.

I cast the San Juan Worm toward a few nice fish and a large Rainbow pounced. I set the hook and was stunned by its size – easily over 18 inches and probably more than 20. I started stripping that hog in and working my way to the shore with my net. Chuck asked if I needed help. “I can get it, but it’s a big one,” meaning I’m going to want you to take some pictures. The fish pulled hard and wanted to run. I was afraid to give it slack so I kept the line tight and the fish close. The trout turned on its side and lunged to the other bank, breaking my line. Ughh… I was so close to landing possibly a fish of a lifetime and I broke him off. The worst thing is that I knew better! What do you do when the fish makes a run on light line? You let him run and try to keep him out of the brush. What do you not do? Try to horse him in. What did I do? Try to horse him in. And what happened? He broke the line… Chuck asked if I was ok and I said yes. I thought I was at least.

Shortly after that Chuck perfectly played, fought, and landed a monster 19 inch Brown Trout. What did he hook it on? A spider fly from his box I had found on the upper section. As I kneeled on the bank waiting to net the fish for him the magnitude of the fish I had broken off began to hit me. I netted the fish and took pictures for Chuck. It was a career Trout and I was happy for him. All I could do was imagine the pictures of that Rainbow Trout that was lost, but it was not meant to be. We fished till about 8:30, which is very late when you still have two and a half hours of driving to finish a day that began at 5:00 AM. I had fished my best day at the Mossy – three trout and one of them being my biggest Brown. But all that was lost in the frustration of losing that monster Rainbow. On the drive home it hit me: I am addicted to Mossy Creek. I have got to get back there… I have unfinished business with that fish.

Copyright 2009 Rick Ridpath