We’ve experienced some decent rain this week and I was itching to fish.  A half an inch or more of rainfall has the capacity to bring in fresh steelhead.  Recently, I managed to free up two hours of fishing time and drove to a small tributary.  To my surprise, the water was clear and the flow low.  It looked like the creek hadn’t experienced any rain run off.  It never ceases to amaze me how localized our rainfall can be in Upstate New York.  Creeks near my house were brimming with water, while twenty miles away, this Lake Ontario Tributary looked like it didn’t receive rainfall.

Since I had geared up and was hankering to fish, I walked to a popular bridge hole.  With the help of my polarized glasses, I soon spotted a 2′ steelhead in the tail out.  Just the sight of that fish fining in the center slot made me glad I was fishing.  It’s funny how one fish can validate all the effort put into taking time off to fish.

I checked my fly (hot bead white soft hackle streamer) and visualized my approach, presentation and hook up of that promising steelhead.  I’d like to tell you that’s how things transpired.  But, my plans went quickly awry.  Have you ever had one of those days when your angling errors seem to compound?  Well, fishing that bridge hole was my comedy of errors.  It’s good to get your fishing ego humbled now and then.  After fishing that well known spot,  I sure felt like a rookie an hour later.  It all started when my careful approach proved not too careful.  I attempted to creep down the bank and stealthily move into position to cast to that fish.  Instead, I bumbled, slipped and noisily crashed down the bank to the water’s edge.  My studded boots weren’t much help in the fresh mud.  Once I slid to a stop, I recovered and attempted to hide behind a bush.  The water was low, clear and I was still trying to preserve a stealthy presentation to the fish.  At least the fish hadn’t moved, yet.

I estimated the length of line needed and roll cast my fly upstream of the target.  Except, my cast landed to the side and slightly below the fish.  My next cast was also off.  Around the fourth or fifth cast, I nearly hit the fish on the head and it uneasily swam towards some brush.  Being the stubborn angler that I am, I proceeded to roll cast again and lobbed my streamer directly into a tree branch on the far side of the hole.  Darn it!  I tied that fly, liked that fly and didn’t want to leave it dangling in a tree!  Why not wade across and retrieve it?  Besides, I’d already spooked the fish.  A quick scope of the trough and tail out didn’t reveal any other fish.  What did I have to loose by safely wading out and retrieving it?

I was able to safely wade across and grabbed my fly.  To my horror, I spooked another 3-4 steelhead that I hadn’t previously spotted.  They were tucked against a downed log or hidden against the ledge.  My carelessness just blew out several nice fish.  I cringed as I watched them speedily dart upstream, seeking cover in the deep hole near the bridge.  It certainly wasn’t worth retrieving that fly!  So, I waded back, sat on the bank and regrouped.  Perhaps those fish would settle down.  For the next hour, I cast half a dozen tiny nymphs and egg patterns (sizes # 12 to #16) with no success.  I dropped down to 6lb flourcarbon, discarded the indicator and focused my efforts on high sticking the hole with a dead drift, no additional weight.  Now and then I continued to see the fish.  They had no interest in my offerings, even moving out of the path of my drifting fly.  I’d blown the fish in that hole.  We all have off angling days and I’d certainly muffed my chances with those fish.  Next time, I’ll certainly think twice next time about retrieving my fly.