Big Patience in Little Cottonwood

 There really isn't any discrete way to tell when you've become a good fisherman. One day you walk up and pin every fish in the river, the next, you can't seem to sight fish an eight-incher. So much of day to day fishing relies on variables we as fishermen have no control over. When the day is almost over and there is nothing to show for it, questions start popping up. Was there a cold front that passed through? Did this stretch get hit by someone ten minutes prior? Did that child walking on the path just spend five minutes throwing rocks at rising trout? So much of these unknowns can be all but mentally overwhelming when the fisherman can't seem to connect. Such was the case at Little Cottonwood. Rico had never fished up the canyon, and Bow wanted a taste of gin clear water, tall pines, and big granite boulders. He was excited to see how the runoff changed the structure of the stream, looking for new and different pockets. They tied on size 18 Humpys and Royal Whulffs, imitating the grasshoppers and ants surrounding the stream.  

With the water low and clear, they approached a shallow stretch downstream and away from the bank. Looking for any movement, they finally spotted a slow bulge in the surface: a plump rainbow taking an ant from the surface. Bow made first cast and buttered the Humpy down the middle of a small run. Frozen with anticipation, they watched the bushy dry bob downstream without a single rise. Bow cast again, but still, nothing. On his fourth try he was able to whip it under an over hanging bush, rewarded with a subtle sip of his fly. Reacting just a moment too late, Bow missed the trout and gave Rico a go. Keeping a low profile, he crept a bit upstream to the top of the run, placing his fly in the pocket water adjacent to a boulder. A few anxious seconds passed by, when a plump rainbow came up and snatched his fly. Once landed, Rico and Bow marveled over how fat the trout was, despite hearing the stream was unhealthy. They continued up, hitting pocket after pocket, run after run, but the trout just didn't seem to be there. Looking in the usual and unusual places, Bow took his time walking upstream. He spotted a small hole in the shade of a cottonwood, and sat down to observe. Along the back side, water slowly picked up speed before it cascaded over a few granite stones, making it a smooth, rounded overflow. Bow looked a little longer to see sporadic bulges-but no fish- in this smooth part of the water. His trout sense tingling, Bow went to his knees to get a few casts in. The water below made a drag free drift almost impossible, but once he managed three seconds, a thick, pot-bellied Rainbow swallowed his Humpy. Feeling much better landing his first fish, Bow continued upstream, taking his time. When he took a break to meet up with Rico, his fish count was one, compared to Rico's three. They continued up, but Bow headed into the woods to get a different view. Feeling too much pride to ask, Bow looked on as Rico hit the same holes he had prior. Rico stayed at each hole longer, throwing cast after cast. With half the holes hit, he would end up landing or rising a trout after 10 minutes. They continued on, looking for familiar holes from last season to hold more sizable Brookies. A stretch of three deep pockets appeared, again they looked for signs of trout. A few minutes went by without a rise, so Rico and Bow leapfrogged each pocket. When they met at the final hole, neither had pulled any fish downstream. A little flustered, they joked at their skill, or seemingly lack thereof. They came to the end of their path and spotted a few feeding Brookies under the surface. Staying very aware of their profile and fly placement, they were each able to fool one more fish before calling it a day.
 They headed back, letting intuition and the smell of burning brakes guide them to the road. Despite scratching their heads from seemingly missed opportunities, both Bow and Rico were pleased to see the health of the stream in a stable, prosperous state. Bow read a number of passages on the Little Cottonwood, painting a morose picture. The canyon suffers from the tailings of mining from the early 1900's, as well as hugely fluctuating water temperatures and levels. Despite this, all trout caught that day were exceptionally plump, and spotted in high numbers throughout the stream. It is considered a "put and take" fishery, as it is stocked with smaller Rainbows. However, Rico spotted trout 1.5" and under in some of the slack water to the side of the stream. Trout this size aren't mature enough to be planted, indicating the trout are replenishing their own population. The current condition of this stream is much better than expected, with many tubby trout taking terrestrials with alacrity. However, the nature of the streams size and location make it extremely sensitive to angling. This in mind, Bow only ventures through this area once a year in September. Also being the time of Oktoberfest at The Bird, they wasted no time spending the rest of their day deeper in the Canyon, for a cold stein and a game of Cornhole.