Beating The Skunk

Every fly fisher is bound to experience the skunk now and then' it is an important aspect of our sport. Getting skunked will test your dedication to the sport. Ask any west coast steelhead fisherman and you will surely hear stories of months or even in some extreme cases years in which the dedicated angler fishes quality water day after day and simply does not touch a fish. It doesn't mean you're doing something wrong (unless of course you are STILL eating bananas in the boat), it is just unavoidable. Some days the fish are full (after a 3 day gorging of carpenter ants for example), some days you simply don't ever get a fly in front of a fish, and some days you just can't keep the line tight no matter how perfectly you fight the fish. The important thing is to not get discouraged, keep fishing, and you WILL eventually persevere.

Having just moved to North Idaho three weeks ago I was able to get very personal with The Skunk. Maybe I was being a dreamer, fishing for big fish, hard to find fish, float tubing in Lake Pend Oreille with a single dry fly probably wasn't the best option for ousting The Skunk and the streams have been swollen with runoff, another of The Skunks favorite conditions. I could have gone to a local put n' take lake filled with children and worms and found some fish, but there is no adventure in that. Instead, I suited up with gortex, a few maps, and copies of the regulations and began to explore with The Skunk riding shotgun. I drove hundreds of miles through north Idaho forest service roads, brush wacked through deep shrubbery until my waders began to beg me to stop. (I recommend the Loon UV Wader Repair) The first couple days The Skunk started peeking out and staring at me with its beady eyes from the far bank. I thought very little of it and continued to wade along happily swinging streamers and nymphing beads into log jams. I think though at some point on the walk back to the car I got sprayed, because for the next three weeks of fishing every chance I got the fish wanted nothing to do with me.

I had a friend when I was in school that had a hatred for skunks, I think he was sprayed once as a child and it stuck with him. The Skunk is not easily washed away with a quick shower. Once you are sprayed, you are marked for the foreseeable future. I remember how when he found a skunk he would actually chase it away, throwing rocks or sticks at it and following it into the woods. Come to think of it, maybe he liked the smell on a Freudian level, because his actions got himself sprayed many more times. This was my first serious skunk encounter, aside from the period of my life where I had yet to catch a fish. I was used to the 2-3 day skunking, but never before have I taken so many showers hoping for fish.

I took me a full three weeks to feel clean again. I explored creeks and rivers from 50 cfs to 50,000. I wouldn't say the weeks were wasted though' exploring new water is an activity that helps me feel at home in my new home of Sandpoint. I found places they I know will hold fish eventually, if I don't give up on them. But I had had enough, and loaded up on my day off to head to western Montana. I thought if I can't catch a fish there, then maybe it would be time to buy a spinning rod and some worms. Thankfully for my wallet, Montana treated me right.

I would like to tell you my first fish was a 5lb brown or a wild rainbow. That was not the case... but I did beat the skunk with a native fish. After fishing a dry dropper set up with no luck, I decided to get down and dirty. Armed with tungsten putty, a swivel, and a couple of copper johns in red and blue, I rigged to fish deep. The water temps where low and I found a bucket with no bottom in sight. I missed the strike on the first drift, probably because I had forgot what a strike looked like... on the second drift I connected to a copper flash from the depths, finally some feedback from the fish. I thought today might be the day that I can once again smell the forest and wildflowers along the stream as I prepared to roll cast 10 feet of fluorocarbon and metal back to the head of the pocket. Moments later, I had the smell of fresh Prosopium Williamsoni all over my hands. The mountain whitefish, generally one of my least favorite fish (due to their unexplainable desire to flop constantly while you try to remove the hook from their tiny mouth without your dropper embedding into your flesh), had finally brought me a great feeling of relief. The Skunk had finally decided to wander back to his den, and I finally was able to take fishing a little less serious for the rest of the day. Three weeks of stress from moving, getting used to a new job and a new home, and not catching any fish finally washed away. I spent the rest of the day exploring the river and probing its depths catching whitefish after white fish. The Skunk was really gone when I landed a small brown that was kind enough to pose for a photo.