Applying the “kitchen sink” strategy to catch trout |

If you don’t use electronic devices, fishing lakes can be a “shot in the dark” as the saying “90% of fish are in 10% of water” is a truism.

It can mean fish may never see your bait. Trout streams are a different matter, however. Here, current-loving trout hang in or near cover such as deep holes, eddies behind rocks, fast-flowing lanes, wooded debris or undercut banks. Almost anyone who recognizes the habitat of trout can put their bait in front of the trout. That solves part of the equation. Getting these river dwellers to hit your hook can be tricky.

When Zak and Ezra Bunce, along with Ben Oliver and me, toss two canoes into the Pine River at Silver Creek Campground, we know where the trout would be, but could we get them to bite? While Ben and I sit in the back of the canoe, paddle back and steer our boats with pulls, Zak and Ezra throw spinners from the bow. Spinners with flashing metal blades imitate small fish drawn by the current. Zak is fishing a trout in a matter of minutes. A good sign and we hope it will herald a day full of fish by the river. But that was it. Nothing, no hits. We’re starting to switch baits. Zak ties up with a smaller weirdo, Ezra and Ben use imitation minnow baits. As Ben and I take turns throwing from the bow, Ben tries a fly while I switch to a minnow-colored Rapala. Our choices seek to mimic the trout’s natural prey. We get a couple of “follows” in which a fish chases after a bait, but then withdraws without striking.

Because the fish don’t cooperate, we become speculators who share our views on why the trout don’t bite. “Maybe they want bigger bait.” “Has anyone tried a spoon?” “This hot weather could slow you down and you just sit back in the holes.” To test this theory, let’s take a lunch break at a bank and try to work our bait more slowly.

Zak goes with a grasshopper fly, Ben hooks up a little spinner with a plastic worm rig. I switch to live bait hoping to get some action with a plump, fidgety night crawler. I drive it into a hole and let it sink to the ground. Nothing happens. With our slow-it-down strategy we fail again downstream.

I look in my tackle box. I feel like I threw “everything but the kitchen sink” at these trout. Then I see the “kitchen sink” of the fishing bait – it’s a Fire Tiger Rapala. Its orange, yellow and bright lime green color pattern stands out like a clown suit at a church service. No trout would ever confuse this with natural food, but I have run out of options, I take the Fire Tiger and tie it up.

From my seat in the bow I start to take cover. As our canoe comes into a curve, I throw the Rapala into the strong current in the shadow of an overhanging cedar tree. The stroke is quick and powerful and drives the tip of my rod into the river. I recover and feel the surge as the fish storms first upstream and then down. It’s been a month since I caught trout. While arguing with this fish, I wonder why it took me so long to get back to the river. When the fish is tired, I lead the brown trout to the net. It measures 15 inches. Perhaps we will begin to figure out the pattern – bright baits in shady water. Ben transforms into a flashy orange Rapala, the closest thing to my bait. We move back down the river and aim for shady water. I get a solid hit in a few throws. Enough to tell me it was a good fish, but not long enough to enjoy the fight before it’s gone. Ben takes a 30 cm rainbow trout. Then the landing appears. The journey is over. Were we just lucky in the last couple of corners? Were these light colored baits the right bait, or would the trout suddenly start biting and hit anything that was thrown in their way? As with most questions of this type, the answers remain elusive.

While we are loading the boats, we plan to swim on the river again next month. Will trout hiding in the shady water reach for our fire tiger bait or will they once again avoid our hook-shaped offers?

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