Winter Flyfishing for Suckers and Trout

With temperatures threatening to invade the 60 degree range Sunday, Andy and I headed to the driftless region of Western Wisconsin. Our last two outings there this year were somewhat disappointing, so on a hunch we revisited a spot we haven't fished in a very long time. It was a good thing we did - rivers change. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. Our faithful old spot had seen hard times in the last two decades - sand and silt had filled in the riffles, and the deep pools had all but disappeared. Now, however, things were looking up. A series of great-looking riffles and runs had been forged by the floodwaters of the last few years, and the landowner (who we had a great conversation with as we rigged up) had implemented a bank stabilization program that improved this stretch immensely.

Winter is still clinging to its supremacy down on the river, with shelf ice and snowbanks seeming to recede by the minute.

Andy got the ball rolling with this 14.5 inch brown trout, taken in a swift run underneath a ragged old willow tree. The landowner had recommended trying an orange scud, and Andy took him at his word. A fine fish from a beautiful piece of water.

Upriver, gravel bars were still covered in snow. I sighted some large suckers in a deep, slow, rock-studded channel. Try as I might, I couldn't get them to take. Andy, however, hit on the right presentation, and soon a big fish was thrashing and stripping line. After a gruelling fight, he landed our first sucker of 2016 - a thick, bullish fish with a silvery sheen. This was the best fish of the day.

What a great catch. One of the greatest things about this segment of the river is the chance of hooking into one of these drag-peeling monsters. I tried long and hard to land a sucker of my own, but it was not to be. Andy's sucker was carefully released to fight another day.

At the top of the sucker-filled run, Andy drifted a Prince Nymph while I flogged the water below, hoping against hope that one of the huge suckers would test my tackle. Before long, he was into a trout, and netted this chunky foot-long specimen.

With the sun sliding steadily toward the horizon, we began the long hike back to the access point. Passing the old willow run, I stepped in to make a few last casts. Seeing Andy's success with the Prince Nymph, I tied one on in a last-ditch effort to fool something worthy of a photo. A few tiny brown trout came to hand, but I still hadn't landed a respectable fish all day, while Andy had banked an impressive array of fish. Then something very heavy grabbed my fly and I suddenly had my hands full.

I thought I finally had my sought-after sucker - until the fish exploded cartwheeling out of the water, flashing his spotted sides. This fish absolutely tore me up, and tried to tangle me in every rock and tree in the river. I could feel the line scraping on submerged branches as the fish burrowed under the rocky, snag-filled bank. It made several blistering runs both up and downstream - I couldn't turn it or get it to the surface for nearly ten minutes. Then it was beaten, and Andy deftly slipped his net under it.

We taped this fish at 17 inches, on the nose, and slipped it back into the water. The Prince Nymph had struck again. After a quick high-five I stepped back in to land another foot-long brown, and then we headed for home. For an unplanned trip to an area we were unsure about, it was pretty spectacular. Between the gorgeous weather, the scenery, the great and informative conversation with the landowner, and the nice fish landed, it's hard to say just what the best part was. Naw, it's not really that hard, actually.

It was the fish.

Tight lines, spring is here!