Currant Creek's Dirty Neighbor

[LOAH]

Last year, I made an attempt to fish Red Creek Reservoir (Duchesne County) on a family trip, but ended up leaving after about 20 minutes without a bite. My wife and sister-in-law didn't even get out of the car and wanted to go somewhere else, so we hit Currant Creek instead. Ever since that day, I've had a desire to go back and finish what I had started.

One thing I noticed last year was the presence of some sort of forage fish swimming along the dam. The red stripe along their sides made me think that they were shiners, so I made a mental note to bring the trap next time around. If there's bait swimming around, there's probably something eating it, right? This perked my interest for the future...

Sunday, May 17th:

The first part of my day was already taken up by something else, but I got to Red Creek at around 3:00pm. The slightly off-color water (although MUCH better looking than the creek below) looked to be about 15 feet shy of the high mark, give or take a little. Nice place though:



As I unloaded my things and started pumping up my tube, two parties were leaving and one family was still sitting at the dam with reports ranging from very slow to skunked. They were using powerbait, so I hoped that a more active approach might produce a little better. Out in the middle was a fly fisherman in his tube. He didn't appear to have much going on either, but he was so far away that I couldn't really tell.

Once I had my rods rigged and everything ready to go, I grabbed my tube to find a little friend hiding underneath for shade. Looks like that time of year again. Better him than a rattler, I suppose:





Shoving off, the water felt cooler than I anticipated, which was quite welcome on such a sunny day. Getting further out, the view of my surroundings only got better:



My first hit came on my third cast with a brass Kastmaster and I watched the little fish catch some air while tossing my lure away. The bite was fierce enough that I honestly expected a much bigger fish, but from my angle, it appeared to only be about 12 inches or so.

A short while later, I spoke with the fellow tuber, who reported only a few strikes on a brown mohair leech pattern and only one small rainbow to hand. As slow as it seemed to be for everyone else, I was determined to have some fun anyway.

On the fly rod, I was dragging an olive sculpin pattern, trailed by a tiny black chironomid. The spinning rod was switched to a nightcrawler with some split shots a couple of feet up the line. The kastmaster hadn't gotten any action since that first fish, and trolling a worm allowed me to effectively work 2 rods.

It wasn't too long before I had a strong take on the worm rod, but I missed the hookset. The worm looked okay, so I kept it on while switching my fly setup, which hadn't even been bumped.

The water was a greenish color and I figured using a contrasting color might get more attention. A purple Pistol Pete (say that 3 times fast) would be my next selection, although its status as a fly may be somewhat controversial since it has a propeller blade above the bead. Anything to attract more attention was worthwhile to me, at that point. No dropper this time.

After casting into a small cove and beginning to kick away toward the middle, I got a mighty strike that stole the new fly. Such a pity that it was my only Pistol Pete. Fortunately, I had another bugger that was the same shade of purple, minus the bead/blade. Onto the line and out for a swim it went.

Right after casting that out and letting out a good length of line, I saw a fish jump way out of the water about 25 feet behind me and realized that my worm rod was dancing around in its strap. The fish was small, I could tell, but it thought it was much bigger, judging by the strong tugs and speedy charges it made. Upon closer inspection, I was right. Not very big, maybe a foot:



Although it was small, the fight made for a rewarding catch. My intentions were to bring home some tasty pink flesh, so onto the stringer it went.

Several missed strikes and some time later, my fly rod bounced and I set the hook to the most impressive display of aerial "aqua-batics" that I'd ever seen. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the little rainbow got 4 feet off the water several times. I'd even say that it spent more time in the air than in the water while I brought it in. What a blast! My gleeful chuckling likely echoed across the lake, although any possible witnesses had long since departed.



By now, I was right in the middle of the lake and a light breeze started to brush across the water. My best judgment told me to at least get near the same shoreline that my car was on, just in case. In addition, thoughts of trying a quickie at Strawberry started tugging at my brain, despite the fun I was having.

About 30 feet from shore, my fly rod jumped again and another exciting fight brought me my third and final rainbow.



Yet again, I was thoroughly entertained by the aggressive battle that it gave me. It was nice to see full fins and bellies on those bows. They were so strong, too! There were times when I seriously got concerned about a break-off on my 5wt rod. Unreal.

After securing that one to the stringer, I realized that my day had just taken a dramatic turn for the worst. In all of the commotion of handling that last fish, my fly rod had slipped off of my tube, unnoticed.



Oh, the despair of that moment when it all sunk in. It was nauseating and dreadful. It was especially bad since a similar episode had taken place at another time in the past with a spinning outfit I had.

Refusing to accept this idiotic move I'd made, I took note of where I was and retraced where I may have drifted from over the past minute or so. I tied on the biggest maribou jig in my box and slid a kastmaster onto the shank of that hook. A free-fall straight down told me that the water wasn't much more than 7 or 8 feet deep. Still, I couldn't see the bottom.

Staying within a designated amount of space to my suspected drop zone, I dragged the heavy gear across the bottom, picking up everything but a fly rod. In some spots my spinning rod even touched the bottom when held straight down.

Back and forth I went, adjusting my path ever so slightly with every pass. I recalled having a bit of line out on the fly rod before it went overboard, so my hopes of snagging SOMETHING seemed plausible, at least.

This exercise went on for over an hour while my mind toyed with the idea of taking a frigid desperation dive. Finally, I faced the reality of the loss and made the decision to call off the search. The heavy bottom dragging gear was brought up and I started to kick back toward the car, broken-spirited and wondering how I would explain this one to my wife.

Cocking my head backward, I checked to set my path to the shoreline when I did a double take at what seemed to be a desperate illusion at the time.

Could it be? Naw, I'm just imagining. No, wait...

IT CAN'T BE!!!

I couldn't believe my eyes. About 15 feet away (toward the car), what resembled the tip of a fly rod with some line hanging off was poking up out of the water.

IT CAN'T BE!!!

Getting closer, my despair blossomed into a manic euphoria.

IT IS!!!

Words really can't describe the overwhelming joy of this discovery. Imagine my relief as I kicked up to this sight after basically writing off my work-horse fly rod:



A moment I'll never forget. I don't know how, why, or what came into play to make my 9 foot fly rod stand on end in 8 feet of water, but I had been facing that direction for half of the time that I dragged bottom in search of it and I obviously didn't see it then.

A second chance, I've been given.

With the mind-numbing roller coaster I'd been on for the last while, and the afternoon growing long, it was time to call it a day to remember and get myself to shore before anything else could go wrong (this week, at least).

One more shot of the eye pleasing landscape and it was back to solid ground.



Leaving the tube to dry out, I scrambled across the rocks of the dam to check the trap I had set out before my float.

Before, I mentioned thinking the lake was full of shiners, but upon pulling up the trap, I realized that they were actually suckers. Pretty good sized ones, too. There were only 8 of them, but I'm sure they'll come in handy soon enough. I double checked the proclamation to make sure keeping them was legal and sure enough, I'm all clear.

I didn't get a photo until after i got home, but here's what they look like:



So the fishing wasn't spectacular, nor was it terrible, the fish were awesome and the scenery was nice. The day's events had taken their toll on me and I was ready for bed. The drive home was spent reflecting on my good fortune with much gratitude. I'm very lucky to still have one of my cherished tools.

Next week, my first trip to Flaming Gorge!

Happy Fishing, Humans.
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