Oak creek is a spring creek that flows down from Arizona’s Mogollon rim near Flagstaff. Twelve miles of canyon lead to Sedona before the creek takes on a slightly warmer temp and becomes a mixed fishery. Wild browns have thrived in this tourist haven for a hundred years, and even with all the swimmers and litterers every month of the year there are still some amazing fish that move up and down the canyon. About three years ago I chanced upon this large female in a clear pool right in the heart of one of the most impacted parts of the creek.(I’ll add that this fish is not protected by catch and release regulations).My quest to catch this fish began then and there, but honestly in all the times I went down to see if she was there I never had the chance to take one cast. This large fish scurried away at the slightest shadow. I thought long and hard about night fishing for this brute but I’m just too lazy I guess. Or maybe I was just holding out for the chance to really present a fly to her…..Anyway, all the stars aligned on the last day of January. It was warm and it seemed like all of Phoenix had decided to come up and try their hand at fly fishing. Walking down through the hordes of decked out Orvis advertisements, I pretty much gave up on even fooling a 10 incher. I was about to turn around and hike all the way back to the car, but I decided to go have a look for the big girl. There she was. On hands and knees I crawled into a fallen over tree in a thicket on my bank. The fish stayed put, about 20 feet out and 3 feet deep. For the next two hours I flicked tiny nymphs out to her on 6x with little bow and arrow roll casts. Many of these “casts” fell way short or over to her side. My knees locked up and my legs cramped. I had left my water and smokes about thirty feet away in my backpack. A small mayfly hatch was underway so I tried all my smallest stuff. The tree branches surrounding me made it so I had to get the fly into my hand after each cast and wiggle the knots back through the guides before flicking again.The water was crystal clear. The trout was feeding on something. It was a lot like my beloved LeTort, the stream where I learned to fish. I needed something a little bigger that would really get in front of her. I wasn’t using splitshot because of the spook factor. Any plop on the water could send her booking for cover. Finally I cut back and put on a nice long piece of 5x. I found a little tungsten head nymph I made up in the corner of my box. The fly shot straight into her line of sight and the fish charged. Her mouth opened… I’m not sure what happened but I must have missed. I didn’t really even react, just sat there with my jaw on the ground. Luckily she didn’t sense anything and resumed feeding a few minutes later, now even more actively than before. I, on the other hand, had just suffered a minor heart attack. I really wanted to crawl over and get my water bottle but I knew better. I would never have another chance like this. A few similar flies got her attention briefly, but I knew deep down what I needed to do. After about fifteen minutes I put the tungsten headed nymph back on. With my heart pounding through my shirt I made the toss. Without hesitation she pounced and I saw those big white jaws chomping. I stood up and pulled straight back like a strip set, but really slow. The giant beast did that slo mo head shake and then charged about 80 feet to the head of the pool. My custom built ********* 7-6-4 bent through the handle. My old Eagle Claw reel screamed like a banshee. Another run back down about 50 feet below me and I eased her into the eddy near my feet. I took off my shoes and got in to corral her in the eddy, having opted to leave the net behind. A few photos and a little video and she was on her way, no worse for the wear…..This fish was the culmination of hundreds of hours stalking a semi-urban desert trout stream. I went back a few days later to check on her after my release and she was feeding proudly in her pool, maybe a little less mysterious than before, but I was glad to see I hadn’t disturbed her too much. For those few fleeting moments we were connected by the line and the hook and the rod and reel. It was magic.
Posted: 05 Mar 2024, 12:22 • 
