I have lost many fish in my young fly fishing journey. It is part of the hobby and adds to the challenge that I love so much about this sport. If you landed every fish you hooked, it wouldn’t be as fun. Because of this, I am relatively unphased when losing a fish. While I will always feel the instant disappointment when the weight lifts from the fly line, I am quick to laugh it off and continue fishing.
I lost a fish on a recent trip that hit me harder than any other fish in my memory. It was a special fish to me for many reasons, and to not land it hit me in an unexpected way. It is a fish I’ll be thinking about as the year ends and I reflect on the 2023 fishing season.
Though, I have a somewhat differing opinion on the situation than you may expect. Looking back on it, I am happy with how the situation played out. The fish won the battle fair and square. He played his cards right and took advantage of the mistakes I made, and I came out of it with a new experience to learn from.
Here is the story of a fish that left me heartbroken.
It was mid-July in the Greater Yellowstone Region. To me, this means the backcountry and Yellowstone cutthroat. Isaac and I had a long-awaited trip planned to target Yellowstone cutthroat in their native range. It was one of my most anticipated trips of the year. I was looking forward to targeting my favorite species, on dry flies, with a friend who has turned out to be one of my favorites to fish with. We both love this area of the world and to explore it together meant a lot to me. All heightened by the fact that life will be taking Isaac out of Montana in 2024, and neither of us know how many trips we will get together before that happens.
Going into the third and final day of the trip, we had been getting our butts kicked. I can’t remember a fishing trip in recent memory that challenged me like this. Missed hooksets, broken knots, fish spooked, and many miles walked made the first two days hard to swallow. Isaac was yet to land a fish.
It wasn’t all bad though as we had some amazing sight fishing opportunities to big cutthroat. The stuff you can only dream about. I was able to put a few fish to the net and we experienced some special moments together. We didn’t let the failures and mistakes get to us, rather embracing them. It made the whole experience feel much more rewarding.
I’m just trying to give you a sense of our mindset waking up Sunday morning. We had seen the potential this fishery had to offer but had been humbled up to this point. With many battles already lost, we had to bring our A game into Sunday to come out with a few fish to the net.
We made Sunday morning count. Isaac landed his personal best Yellowstone cutthroat while I landed another beautiful fish on a dry fly. It wasn’t easy, but our spirits were up as we continued hiking down the river looking for our next rising fish.
The second we both saw this fish rise, we knew it was going to be our greatest challenge of the weekend. A big Yellowstone cutthroat rising to PMDs and caddis. Positioned in the push (upstream of) a gnarly tree obstruction. Feeding in a slow pocket close to the bank. We had little to no back-casting room from the bank and plenty of debris to snag. Not an easy task.
From the beauty of this fish to the many failures that led up to this moment, this fish was special. It represented everything this trip was hyped up to be. Big fish, dry flies, Yellowstone cutthroat, sight fishing, hiking, and the scenery. It had it all, and to experience it together was very special to me.
It was Isaac’s turn and he prepared by taking some deep breaths as I rigged the rod. After slowly making his way into casting position, we watched the fish feed on the surface for a few minutes. An epic sight.
Isaac was about two-rod lengths upstream of the fish. He had a small window in the trees for a short backcast and a log directly in front of him that was inevitably going to catch his fly and fly line.
We both shook with nerves as he awaited his chance. This is what we all dream of as fly fishermen. A chance at a big fish on a dry fly. On a trip we only get to take once a summer, we had the opportunity to catch what would be one of the most memorable fish of the year. The pressure was high.
Both of us communicated and envisioned what would have to happen to get this fish to the net. A short cast that allowed for slack in the leader and a natural drift. A hookset that put the fly in the corner of the fish’s mouth without pulling the fly away and into the tree. An aggressive fight to keep the fish from breaking us off in the messy snag he was positioned above. The odds were not stacked in our favor, but we knew it was possible.
Isaac made the cast. Time seemed to stand still as we watched the fly slowly drift downstream to the fish’s feeding lane. The fish tilted his fins and turned toward Isaac’s fly. Both of us were silent as the fish opened his mouth. The fly began to drag just as the fish went to eat it. It dragged just enough to make the fish wary and refuse Isaac’s fly. Heartbreak number one.
After retrieving the fly off the snag directly in front of him, Isaac made a few more casts with no result. I realized we could wade to the middle of the river and fish toward the bank. This would give us a better angle at the fish and allow for casting room.
We slowly made our way into the river and positioned ourselves at a 45-degree angle upstream of the rising cutthroat. This positioning allowed us to make a reach cast and feed the fly first, rather than the line. It was imperative to get a reach cast over the swift current directly in front of us, while also feeding the line downstream to allow for a natural drift. Not an easy task, especially for two young anglers who have lots to learn when it comes to dry fly fishing.
The shakes crept back in as we watched the big cutthroat’s nose break the surface over and over again.
As Isaac began casting the nerves dissipated. He was in the zone and after a few less-than-ideal casts, he got in the rhythm. After a few good casts and the fish not responding, we decided to change flies. Galloup’ bent cripple is what we decided on, a fly that has quickly moved up the ranks in my fly box throughout this summer.
The intensity was high and pressure building as we knew we didn’t have many more casts over this fish before he got suspicious. Isaac got back into the zone and made some stellar casts. At the very end of what was a good drift, the fish ate. To our surprise, much closer to the log obstruction than we had seen him feed.
We had already talked through how the hookset should go, but this eat caught us both off guard. Neither of us expected the fish to eat his fly this late in the drift. Because of this, Isaac set the hook over his upstream shoulder, pulling the fly out of the fish’s mouth. He pricked the fish and hooked it for a brief second, but the hook came loose and left us both in shock.
Isaac is a level-headed guy, so it surprised me to hear him shout explicit words as he realized what had just happened—heartbreak number two.
As we talked through what had just happened, we watched the seam hoping for another chance. Fortunately, we saw the fish rise again. It was much more subtle than before, but the fish continued to feed.
It was my turn.
I laid a reach cast upstream of the fish landing the fly softly in his feeding lane. I fed a few feet of line to allow the drift to continue naturally. The fish slowly rose to our cripple pattern. I made a long, slow hookset over my downstream shoulder, which perfectly positioned the hook in the corner of the fish’s mouth. It all went down just like I had imagined it.
As expected, the fish went for the log. I put the pressure on and dug the rod into my upstream hip applying side pressure. Keeping the rod tip in or just above the surface of the river was just enough to turn the fish and force him slowly upstream, away from the debris. As the fish made his way upstream I walked downstream, positioning myself between the fish and the debris. It worked.
I had the fish exactly where I wanted him. Upstream of me, away from the log jam. I got the net from Isaac and began to bring the fish to the surface. Miraculously, it was all going according to plan.
I can relate it to what I would imagine falling off a cliff would feel like. At this point, I had made it to the top of the mountain. This fish was exactly where I wanted him to be. All I needed to do was bring him to the surface, turn the trout’s head, and scoop him on his way downstream. I have completed this maneuver many times before with big trout and it is very effective.
This is where I began to slip off the mountain and feel the rocks slide out from under me. When I simultaneously pulled the fish to the surface and anticipated with the net, I miscalculated the weight of the fish and the speed of the current. As I said before, this fish was hefty. I did not put enough pressure on the fish to fully bring him to the surface. When I began to reach with my net, the fish took advantage of being fully in the water and bolted to the bottom. This is when I started tumbling down the mountain.
I had lost my momentum and fell out of position. The big cutthroat took a bolt downstream and around my legs. I am now barreling down the mountain.
With the fish bolting toward the log jam, I tossed the net to Isaac. Thinking this was my last chance to net the fish, I put the hammer down to stop the fish and bring him to the surface. I am now clawing and reaching for rocks as I slide full speed down the mountain.
The fish came to the surface and splashed his way down into the log jam. As Isaac did his best to get the net under the fish, I felt all the weight release from the fly rod and watched the fish go into the abyss. This is where I crashed to the bottom of the cliff.
The final heartbreak.
My heart dropped. Instant anger, disappointment, and regret rushed through my body. Within a matter of seconds, I went from being in the perfect position to land the fish of the summer to losing him to the log jam. Left with a straightened hook and my mouth wide open.
It hurt. Hurt like no other fish I’ve ever lost. I made my way to the bank silently and began to walk downstream, lost with what had just happened.
After fishing the rest of the afternoon, we came back to that spot. The same big cutthroat had begun feeding, taking PMDs off the surface like nothing had ever happened.
We had lost this battle. The fish won fair and square. I felt no need to put the fish through more stress and try to repair my ego. It wouldn’t have felt the same. I found relief in knowing the cutthroat had won this time around. He took advantage of the mistakes I made and lives another day without seeing the net of an angler. Lots of respect for this fish and the many other fish that left us empty-handed on this trip.
I now sit with a big smile on my face knowing that big cutthroat is still rising in the same seam to this day. Happily feeding as he always has in his native range. This thought is enough for me.
This trip will go down as the most challenging fishing trip of the year. The trip I learned the most from, and potentially my favorite trip of the year. Not many anglers would say that after losing the fish of the summer, but that’s why I fly fish. The opportunity to continue learning and challenging yourself. This trip showed me how much I have to learn in this lifelong obsession.
And to the cutthroat that went through my legs and bent my hook straight, I’ll see you next year.
