I haven’t passed along many fishing reports this summer but trust me, I’ve been out there. Not only that, but I’ve spread myself from bass to walleyes and everything in between, including trout. The weakest area of my fishing ability and knowledge happens to be trout but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

A week ago, I donned my boots and headed to a small stream close to my house. I tend to avoid the bigger, more popular streams because to me, trout fishing is a solo kind of fishing. I enjoy that part of it almost as much as reeling in a fish.

The afternoon was a little windy but blowing in the right direction: straight up stream. It allowed for maximum length on a cast while using a tiny panther martin lure. That’s important because I always say you have to outcast your presence. The smaller and clearer the water, the less movement you can get away with, meaning that if the fish see you first it’s too late, and catching fish turns into a game of just casting at fish.

I made my way downstream a quarter mile in order to cast my way back upstream towards my truck. The weeds were shoulder high in most areas and there was no recent sign of any previous anglers. Along the way I fired off a cast wherever the thickly guarded banks of the stream allowed. It was dicey casting with overhanging tree limbs and small landing areas for my lure. In spite of the challenges, I picked up a fish here and there and given my previous statement regarding my trout ability, I was okay with my results.

My outing really turned for the better when I slipped through the high brush and peeked through the last bit of cover into the stream. It widened out and a nice trough held a pile of finning trout. The problem was I knew the trout would spook as soon as I stepped into the open to cast. That was when the winds of nature smiled upon me, picking up quickly and briskly causing the once glass-like surface of the water to ripple almost to the point of small white caps. It was enough to give me the cover I needed to slide into the open and start casting.

The first cast landed 10 feet up stream from the school of trout. An instant later my lure stopped in the water and the first trout battle was under way. It was a great battle and the 16-inch brown trout fought its way back to where my boots were touching the water. I released the fish and fired another cast while the wind was still providing cover for me.

I could really milk the next seven casts in a row because it was the best stretch of trout fishing. Each cast landed upstream from the trout hole and each time my lure came over that trout trench I had another fish on the end of my line. What made it even better was that the trout weren’t cheapies either, they were all around 15 inches. For me it was a great run and I savored each catch.

All good things eventually come to an end. I knew the instant my luck ended and it was when I stopped feeling the breeze on the back of my neck. The surface of the water smoothed out again and I knew it was over. Or was it?

The question now became: do I leave after catching eight straight fish and end my day on top or do I make one last cast to try and catch just one more knowing that the second I move to make a cast the fish would scatter?  

I chose poorly.

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