Neither of us were able to land a single fish at first and the Army Corps of Engineers decided to change the landscape as well. The customary horn sounded and signaled the reality that water would soon be rushing through the dam and the water level would be rising. Both of us began to make our way toward the bank on the northwest side of the lake which housed our escape route as the water rose. This was my first experience with the dam horn, but I took it seriously. My dad told me a story prior to my trip that included a fly fisherman who did not heed the siren’s warning. Ultimately, his waders filled with water and current carried him down stream. Boats dredged the bottom of the lake and eventually found him. My dad was there when they placed his rigid and water logged body on a nearby dock. This was not a fate that I was interested in.
At the time, I was under the impression that the horn meant “get the hell out of the water” and that’s what was on my mind. Busch informed me that if we stayed close to the bank where the current slowed, we could still fish. As long as the dam was only running one generator, the trophy area was fishable. If the corps decided to begin running more than that though, the day was pretty much over unless they backed the number of generators down later in the day when the water levels would drop back down. He said that we should try to stick around because the flowing water was like a dinner bell for the trout that called this stretch home. The current carried food through the bottom of the dam and stirred up the fare that lay beneath the rocks at the bottom of the lake.
We were told to put on scud imitating flies when this happened, and that’s exactly what we did. (This both was and is an excellent piece of advice for Taneycomo). With ice dubbed scuds dragging near the bottom of the lake and under strike indicators, we started getting bites. I’m not sure which one of us landed our first fish, but we were both able to get our feet under us and shake off the necessary nerves of the first day. Our goals for the first day were to land at least a couple of fish and establish a foundation on which to build in the days to come. The fish we caught were nice and we were more than happy with their size, color, and bad attitude. With soaring hearts and a general calmness now that the first day was in the books, we headed to camp to throw some groceries down our necks and a good night’s rest.
The next morning, we were up with the sun. Over the years, I have probably hooked and landed more fish early in the morning than any other part of the day. I’ve always thought that some fish are starting to become active as the sun sets, but more fish are still feeding when the sun rises. The percentages seemed to be in the fisherman’s favor in the morning, and this is what made getting up before sunrise easy.
As we reached the trophy area, the cold water met the warming summer air and fog rolled off the water. The combination of warm air and cool water was a real conflict in temperatures and made for a ghostly atmosphere. We attempted the same tricks as yesterday with little results. There wasn’t any water running and we assumed the fish got their fill during the night. Generators were running at night and that provided the fish with a mobile buffet line. We then began experimenting with anything and everything we had in our fly boxes. We started throwing everything at the fish that might have worked at the old haunts.
Our go-to fly quickly became the John Deere mini jig. This fly was nothing more than a small green jig with a green head, green chenille body, green marabou tail, and yellow eye. We both started getting some bites, and the fish definitely kept our interest. We landed some fish that were bigger than the ones we were used to at trout parks. Most importantly, these fish were ticked off from the moment they got hooked. I didn’t know what a “wild” trout felt like, but the prolific runs and aerial acrobatics sure made these bulldogs feel wild.
As happy as we were, we both felt like something was missing. Don’t get me wrong, we were happy to be catching fish. But like any fisherman worth his salt, we thought things could be better. It was beyond me how a few fish would strike at this baitfish imitation, but so many wouldn’t. My lure was probably drifting by hundreds of fish, but only one or two might actually commit to striking it. I loved catching some fish, but hated knowing that I could do better than what I currently was. (John Deere has landed rainbow trout, brown trout, bass, crappie, red ear sunfish, green sunfish, bluegill, bass, catfish, and carp since this trip). At this time though, Johnny was put on the back burner, and this was one of the best fishing decisions I have ever made!
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