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Fly fishing Virginia
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Photo by Beau Beasley
It was one of those late winter days only found in the mountains of Virginia, where the weather goes from hot to cold like a quick flick of a switch. Sudden barometer changes do not often bode well for the fish, but there was a blue, cloudless sky and if you get out of class early it is hard to resist a short drive to stand in leaking waders with an eight and a half foot graphite rod in hand, flicking it back and forth most likely to no avail. The first hole seemed made for trout- good,shady cover, deep clear water with a strong current running down. Tying on a #16 Adams, I stripped out some line and laid down a first cast. It hit the water lightly, perhaps a bit too harsh, and I let it float down the hole. Nothing happened. Four or five casts later, I moved upstream to the next hole. Same pattern, same results. Then, looking up, I saw what seemed to be a monster shoot out of the water, flickering an orange glow and throwing miniscule droplets of water that danced in the sun. Judging the path of the current and the bank, I knew what needed to be done. I slowly backed up and crawled forward. When within fifteen or twenty feet, I slightly rose to my knees, which already ached from the hard ground below. The first cast was on target, and as it floated down I saw a dark shape come up and take the fly. Within ten minutes, I had landed three trout. Like the “Alder Fork” tale told in Aldo Leopold’s Sand County Almanac, what was great was not the size of my catch. In fact, I released all three. But the feeling of the rod pumping, the sound of the reel buzzing when put into action, and the adrenaline rush from needing to strike quickly and firmly- these are what make fly fishing enjoyable, even to the point of obsession. I do not remember now what each fish looked like. I am sure they looked as all trout do, with spotted sides and wild eyes. Instead, the image that sticks out in my mind is the bend of the rod and the way the grass grew up high on the bank as I sat on my knees.
The mountains of Virginia have an abundance of good trout water, from the high limestone streams of the Alleghenies, places like Smith Creek near Clifton Forge, where small native brook trout run in every pool, to the stocked streams of the Shenandoah Valley, like the South River or Irish Creek, where one can occasionally find the fifteen-inch rainbow. Fly-fishing in Virginia is fairly simple. One need not, to a certain degree, worry about matching hatches or setting the right drag. A 4-weight line with a good amount of leader tied to a Parachute Adams or Royal Wulff will usually get a fish to rise. On colder days or when nothing is on the water, you often have success with a small flashback pheasant tail nymph or Copper John. The most difficult part of fishing these areas is the frequent need for tight backcasts on small streams that boast thick cover on the banks. Another threat to your fishing may be from the flocking crowds of bait fishermen that hit the popular streams within hours of the stocking truck finishing its business. Thus, the following advice plays well on the Virginia streams: use stealth, cast accurately and with finesse, fish to the right spots, and, most importantly, find your own sanctuary and closely guard its location.
Like most of our wilderness today, trout streams require close attention. Were it not for the efforts of the state wildlife agencies and the stocking programs, there would be few opportunities to hook a trout in Virginia. To refer to Leopold once more, I brood often on the ways of trout and men. We really are quite similar; both eager to take advantage of any opportunity that might present itself. Yet, the question always arises- at what cost? The worth and value of a trout stream seems immeasurable and obvious when juxtaposed with systematic deforestation or the polluting forces of industry- the progress of man.
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