The weekend of May 2^nd and 3^rd was the spring outing for the Dubuque Flyfishers. Normally we camp at Lansing, IA, and fish French Creek and others streams near by. This time we camped in Highlandville and fished North and South Bear Creeks. Due to my "retirement" [job searching due to merger and reorganization], I went over Friday and arrived just at lunch time. A few other members had also arrived early and fishing was reported as good. After lunch and setting up camp, I hiked up South Bear to see what the section between the camp and Mestad Springs was like. Several years ago I and John Carl Miller had helped put in bank hides in this area. I was very interested in seeing how it had turned out. I hiked up about a hundred yards and found a beaver dam and a couple bait slingers. They indicated that fish were not biting well and that the spring was a long way off. I tried an EHC and got two 11 to 12 inch browns before moving on. I must admit that the trout were eating mostly something other than caddis [more on this later], but the EHC worked anyway. About 200 feet more up the creek was a riffle coming down to a large rock. There I saw what looked to be a 15" brown but I failed to impress it. Hiking further up stream brought me to another beaver dam. This one was ten feet high. Further investigation revealed that it had been there awhile s it was well filled in with silt. There were several trout rising on the far side and lots of toads doing what toads do this time of year. I continued my hike and came to a short patch of woods that ended at a pasture. I might mention that this woods is full of trout lily. Some in bloom, so the trip was worth the time even if the trout themselves weren't cooperating. As I entered the pasture a hen turkey raced to the top of the hill. It was turkey season and our main competition for camp space was turkey hunters, so I hoped I wasn't disturbing anyone's hunt. Once into the pasture I could see the road past the spring on the far side. This meant that the distance from the camp to the spring was only about half a mile. Distances and fish length get long easily in this part of the state. I searched the stream for rises and moving fish as I worked my way to the spring. I saw only two small fish and no rises. The spring was no better, I didn't see a fish. The water was refreshing as I got a drink and wiped my face and forehead with its cool wetness. Gary later mentioned that I should have hung a bead head right down by the cress and bank hides as the brook trout here don't come out from under cover much. I hiked back down to the second beaver dam and tried a leach pattern in the deep end. I got a follow but no more. I then walked around to the other side and waded out into the flooded bank. One needs to be very careful here as the beavers have tunnels everywhere and with the ground being saturated one could fall into a tunnel very easily. I tried an EZ caddis pattern [one would think this would be an easy pattern to tie but it isn't so I'm not about to describe it] and caught two 10" browns. I returned to the other side and tried the leach pattern some more. I tried slowing down my retrieve and was rewarded with a nice 14" brown. I decided that it was time for me to get back to the camp and meet the rest of the crew. A few more had arrived and more trickled in. The camp settled down that night with smores and turkey death calls.

While some of our troop thought that they should get up with the turkeys and the turkey hunters, I take a more civilized view of such maters. I got together with John about 7:30 and we headed to the first bridge across North Bear and worked up stream. When we arrived at the bridge the parking area was almost full. It looked like we might have a lot of company. We headed upstream and came to the first road crossing. There is a beaver dam above the crossing and a riffle below. The tail out of the riffle looked interesting, so I let John try out the rising trout in the pond while I tried my leach pattern in the riffle tail out. I cast every which way and got no response. I did a final cast and started reeling in the line. At firsts I thought I had gotten hooked on the bottom but the bottom soon revealed itself to be a 15" brown. As I brought it to net it did a neat cartwheel and went free. C&R at its best. I went back up to see John. He had not connected yet. I tried my leach, but for a bunch of stalkers they were very wary of line. I tried the EZ caddis that had caught fish on Friday but only got looks. I tried 6x tippet and only got looks. I decided to let John continue while I went up to the riffle at the head of the pond. All I was doing is spooking fish in the shallow area I was fishing and John seemed to be catching one every so often by constantly changing flies. A chocolate brown HEN caught three rainbows about 12" and a wild born brown about 7". Then the run went dead. John wanted to stay and catch a couple more so I went alone upstream about 200 feet to the tailout of another riffle. There was a narrow run below so I flipped the nymph into it. The strike indicator got an immediate look. I cast again and missed, but tried again and hooked up to a nice fish. After an exhilarating fight I brought in a very nice 13 1/2 inch brook trout. My first grand slam. I tried a few more casts in the run and moved up to the riffle. One cast, one rainbow about 13 inches and no more. John moved into the riffle about twenty minutes later and hooked a brown about 18 to 20 inches and performed his patented Miller release, LDR to most of us. Moving on upstream, I worked gaps in the weeds and breaks behind rocks. One tree got a manicure so I could get my fly back. After about 300 feet I arrived at a nice hole that was occupied, so I sat down smoked a rotten old cigar and watched. This hole is very hard to fish with a fly rod because there is no room for a back cast. A roll cast was all that was possible and then only if you can get out into the water. I thought I was going to have to call in a tow truck as my fellow flyfisher couldn't get his feet unstuck for the longest time. We passed pleasantries and I found that the dark hendricks and black caddis hatches were already over. He had been up every weekend and had some fine fishing, but today it was very slow for him. I fished the hole a bit and waited for John. I didn't have a hit but noticed several rises and had a small trout run off about four feet with my indicator. We worked on upstream but found little. This section, between the first and second bridge, seemed shorter than I thought it would be. I was soon within sight of the next bridge and there were a lot of bait fishers working this area. I did notice that there is a nice natural bridge on the property back there. Maybe a site for a winter hike some time.
We returned to the beaver pond to see what we could do. John took up a position up from where he had been earlier in the day and I took his old site. The results were the same as before. The trout would take an occasional fly, but would never take it again. It is almost as if they tell each other. This same thing has happened many times when trout are keyed in on midges. It appeared as if they were taking just under the surface so I fished small nymphs on a greased line. Watching just a line on the surface is difficult, and I missed several takes. I finally realized that I had not checked stomach contents of any of the fish we had caught. Just then John hooked a nice one so I set down my rod and went over. One little suck of the stomach revealed our problem. They were eating nymphs about 1/8 of an inch long. Nothing that small in any of our boxes. I tried one twice that big and hooked a fish first cast. I got a quick release out of it, but not quite. Actually my fly had hooked another fly in the fish's mouth and this other fly is what came lose. There is a first time for everything. Then it started to rain, not hard but increasing, so we headed for the car.

Back at camp we waited for everyone to gather for the cooperative meal. Our chief cook fired up the wood and got out his cast iron pans and grill. Lots of potatoes and onions and mounds of butter. Some had saved fish so he grease up a couple pans for those. Many of us had brought brats, so we threw those on the grill. We had some asparagus and salads as part of a potluck contribution. We all ate too much and discussed our cholesterol and blood pressure to compensate. Eating soon shifted into fishing. Some of our group don't chomp at the bit much, they just head out. We ended up with about twenty participants this year. About twice what we have had in the past. Don Cox, our ideal retired member, gave us a report on his latest fishing trip, the Green in Utah. We all drooled at his pictures. Fish after fish and none under 15 inches. He also told John and I where to go downstream from where we had been.

John and I finally got going. We hiked downstream following the field road as we were told. Crossed the stream and went over the hill to the far side of the field to where a nice hole was supposed to be. We could not find it. We went further down, still could not find it. We headed back up stream and arrived at what looked like the spot he mentioned, only it was only half way down the field, not at the end. Gary's son was there with his companion. No fish. I caught a tree. I figured that even though they had fished it and that it was obvious by the fish parts that someone had cleaned house here recently, that I would work a nymph through the hole a few times. I did see one surface rise below the hole, but other than another tree branch, I caught nothing. I headed upstream trying to catch up to John. I fished two holes with no results. Finally, as I got back to the pasture, I saw John. This pasture area can be very good if fish are rising, but nothing was. I just crossed the stream and went to meet John at the bridge pool. He had no fish either, and was headed for the car. I just could not give up. I worked up through the pool, into the rapids and fished some breaks, but nothing. I finally walked up to the fence above the bridge. Looking upstream past the parking area, I thought to myself "I bet no one has cast up this way", so I did. I pulled the indicator back and let it drift down a slot through the weeds. The indicator and I jerked and I had a nice home grown brown about nine inches. At least I wasn't skunked. Time to go back to camp.

The evening was spoiled by rain. No camp fire, no smores. The "turkeys" weren't even active. It rained off and on during the night, but the stream was still clean in the morning. I had a Sons of Norway meeting to go to so I packed up and headed to Castle Rock in Wisconsin, where I could get in a couple hours of fishing before the meeting. Unfortunately, the Castle Rock area had almost an inch of rain and the stream looked like chocolate milk. I tried a big black streamer but got no takes. The food at the meeting was great though.