THE CASTLE RIVER
“Rain, rain, and more rain….” I said to my brother in dismay as I looked up from the weather app on my smartphone. My brother, Mark, was loading up the car with the last things we would need for three days of camping and fishing for native cutthroat and bull trout in the newly minted Castle Provincial Park in southern Alberta.
UNSTABLE WEATHER
It was early September, and the first blast of fall weather was on its way; the forecast showed temperatures near zero, rain everyday, and blustery conditions. However, both of us had taken time off work and had planned this weekend for some time— we weren’t about to turn back at the last moment. So early that morning we loaded up the truck with all the gear we would need, and a couple extra tarps just to be sure, and with that last fleeting glimpse at the rainy weather forecast ahead, we hit the road in search of trout.
A GOOD THING?
Despite the lousy weather forecast, there was a part of me that wanted to believe that the rainy forecast would be a good thing. It told me the rainy weather would keep away the crowds, cool down the rivers to a better temperature after a hot summer, and maybe, if we were lucky, it could lead to one of the first blue-winged olive hatches of the fall. This possibility made me cautiously optimistic as we neared our destination— however, I dare not speak these thoughts out loud for fear I would jinx them or be ridiculed by my brother. So, I inclined myself to and wait to see how things played out.
DAY ONE ON THE RIVER
That first day of fishing was challenging. It was overcast, windy, and intermittently drizzling. We fished a new section of river we had never fished before— a relatively remote section of a Castle River tributary that had limited vehicle access. Mark managed to catch several nice cutthroat trout on pheasant tail nymphs. The scenery was beautiful, and the sun even came out for a moment, revealing an impressive mountain peak in the background. We came across a deep, rocky slot carved into some bedrock that took us by surprise—after observing the run for a few minutes, we realized it was stacked completely full of large cutthroat trout. We counted over 50 fish, many of them over 20”. I had never seen anything like it. They were all stacked up, right there in front of us in a relatively unassuming run. However, not one of them seemed interested in feeding, and after an hour of trying dozens of different flies, we left that spot scratching our heads wondering what we had just seen.
A DAMP NIGHT AT THE CAMPSITE
We then retreated to the Carbondale River and our camp spot for the night. Large thunderclouds were threatening, so we decided to set up camp and sling a couple tarps up before we snuck down to the river for the last bit of daylight. We worked the water near our campsite, and in short order, it started to pour rain. We pushed on and it nearly paid off— after some tricky wading to get into casting position, I hooked into a large bull trout and battled him from the middle of the river in the pouring rain, trying to keep my balance as he ripped downstream. But alas, the hook slipped out of his mouth anticlimactically and my line went limp. I decided to cut my losses and head back to camp.
DISASTER!
The thought of warm fire and dry clothes was very tempting. We were almost back when we saw our tarp — sunken, with water pooling on top, leaking profusely out the bottom onto our campfire pit, all our firewood, and much of our gear. Devasted and confused, we rushed to mitigate the damage and salvage our gear. Thankfully, we had the second tarp and were able to stem the flow of water. After much effort and several fire starters, we were able to make a campfire, put food in our bellies, and regroup for the next day. While I was drifting off to sleep, the incessant sound of rain pummeling against my tent fly gave way to a softer, more gentle sound— and I knew that it had started snowing.
A WINTER WONDERLAND
We awoke the next morning to several inches of snow. We warmed up with warm breakfast hash and coffees before slipping into our frozen waders and boots and heading to a nearby tributary. Little did we know at the time, but that cold, frosty, uncomfortable morning would turn into one of the finest days of fishing of the whole season.
The morning began throwing nymphs into the inviting pools of the small tributary. It was cold, and overcast, but it did not take long before both of us had caught ourselves several small cutthroat trout. The morning went on like this— each bend brought a new pool, and each pool brought more fish— both of us had caught dozens of smaller cutthroat trout by lunch. Feeling satisfied, we decided we would go after some larger fish in the Carbondale.
THE RISE WAS ON
And that’s when it happened. We arrived at the first pool, and within seconds we saw a cutthroat trout rise. And then another. There was a total of four cutthroat trout, feeding aggressively on tiny blue winged olives. We rushed to tie on the smallest patterns we could—after refusing the first two patterns we threw at them we finally found an imitation small enough. I casted the minuscule fly over the spot where the fish was rising. It was barely visible, no more than a tiny speck on the still surface of the pool. Then I saw the snout of a large cutthroat break the stillness and engulf my fly in an explosion of power that had my rod doubled over and made my reel sing. After the long fight, I reeled in the impressive cutthroat, which was about 20”. As I netted him, he wriggled around and broke free before we could capture any pictures of him— but to this day it remains one of the most memorable dry-fly takes of my life.
GAME ON
And just like that, the hatch was on and we had the right fly. Both of us managed to catch several nice fish in short order. It was fly-fishing at its finest— large fish feeding aggressively on the surface in pristine, small mountain streams. And ever since that day, I try to make sure I am on the river during those cold, rainy days when the blue-winged olives hatch. Those days when everyone else stays home, and its just you and a bunch of hungry cutthroat trout waiting to slurp up your tiny dry fly.
THE SUN FINALLY SHINES
And as it turns out, the weather forecast was wrong about the next day. The skies went clear, and the weather was pleasant. We enjoyed an excellent day of fishing on the mainstem of the Castle River and basked in the sunshine. There was no hatch of blue winged olives on this day, but we were able to wrangle in a pair of excellent bull trout—one for each of us. It was a perfect end to a trip that was doomed from the beginning. A reminder that you should never stay home when its raining— you should always go fishing.