When I first waded in to the river below Alligator Flats, I saw a fish rising in a quiet spot on the opposite side of the river, just across a strong riffle. The riffle proved a little too strong actually, since by the time I was knee deep, I was afraid I'd be swept off my feet. The river was much faster here than anywhere else I'd waded in the Trophy Waters, but you wouldn't know it watching from the bank.
I tried crossing at the head of the next riffle--same story. I finally made it across, barely, at the next riffle (crossing in the quieter water was out of the question, as it looked chest-deep at a minimum). The current was still strong, but the bottom was more even, without those little pockets that drop you a foot here or there. Not good when traction is critical. I realized then how little attention I usually pay to current when I'm wading. Most often, I'm wading downstream in smaller rivers with a gentle current. Trying to stay upright against that rush of water last Friday, with every muscle from the diaphragm on down fighting the current, I got a new appreciation for how big that river is. Only a slight increase in the river's gradient brings what a puny 6'6" 210 pound wader like me feels as a tremendous increase in its force. The power of earth and water, usually ignored until it threatens peril, or at least inconvenience.
Once I had crossed I was a long way from that rising fish I had seen from the access. However, other fish were rising some quiet water upstream. I made my way to them, and caught three rainbows in about five casts on my ant. I saw another riser a bit past midstream. He was out in another riffle, and I hesitated going after him. If the current was anything like it was below, I might not maintain my balance while casting. After the fish fed a few more times, greed or something like it got the better of my caution (this seems endemic to fishermen!) and I decided to give him a shot. I was pleasantly surprised to find the current much gentler here, and the water not much more than shin-deep. My first cast caught the feeder I had stalked. It was while I released him that I first saw the Alligator, staring right at me with mouth agape, as if to say "Fish here!."
I took him up on the invitation, heading back across and a little upstream, where a long, gentle glide was carrying along a steady parade of ants. I took a rainbow of about 12", then spent about 20 minutes trying to reach two fish I thought were bigger that were feeding underneath some overhanging logs. Only managed a good presentation 3 or 4 times, and those apparently didn't coincide with the trouts'' feeding rythmn. I could rehearse the casting travails I went through trying for them, but to cut it short, I'll just say that I'm no Lefty Kreh.
During the rest of the afternoon, I scouted a few other spots. While I caught a few more fish, I wasn't as impressed with these locations as I had been with the 'gator's lair, so it was back there for the evening rise.
Walking up there from the access, I cast a beadhead soft-hackled white fly pattern into the riffles, and caught two trout and broke off another. I actually had had a few nips doing that on the way down earlier that day. It's a technique I need to work with more. Made a serious mistake trying to cross just below the Alligator--I was up to my belly in about three steps. He only allows safe passage at or to about 100 feet above his position. As for the rise itself...I guess I could describe it as the previous night's experience inverted. There were as many flies on the water as there had been Thursday. The difference is that there were very few risers, though the few I saw struck quite readily. It's a toss-up to me whether that or having lots of cautious risers is better. I did catch three or four rainbows and had a few more short hookups on an emerger pattern, either fished blind or cast at one of the rare feeders. The best fish of the trip came while I did this, a 13" rainbow that leapt three times in his first three seconds on the line.
When the spinners came, audible rises ceased entirely, and my emerger drifted untouched. Walking back down toward the Alligator, I saw some gentle rises dimpling the water that had given me three fish in the afternoon. I tied on a spinner and again, I caught three fish in about three or four casts. Maybe the same ones that hit my ant some hours earlier.
I revisited spots that had given me some fish earlier, looking and listening for more feeders. When none came, I trained my high-beam flashlight on the Alligator's nose and began wading back to the access. Fifteen minutes later, I was pulling out of the Shell station in Mio, loaded up with gas and hot coffee for the drive home. And, obviously, some blog fodder.
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