PIKE NATIONAL FOREST — In a picture-postcard setting with the sweet scent of pines wafting down the hillside and the pungent aroma of willows after the rain lifting above a meadow strewn with long-fallen timber, the rise rings of a trout rippled across the surface of an ancient beaver pond.
While untold generations of beavers had worked the old pond, countless successions of trout had thrived beside them. They had tempted, always challenged and at times rewarded the efforts of fishermen, young and old, and they had cast their spell.
Though other waters may have larger fish and their own sets of challenges and rewards, smaller streams and beaver ponds have charms that keep even the most seasoned of anglers coming back.
They begin with the setting, invariably in scenic mountain terrain. They include the splash of colors, of the surroundings in late summer, and especially the fall, when aspen leaves have turned, but also of the fish — brook trout or cutthroats, the perfect complement to the autumn gold.
For many fishermen, the allure of a small stream extends to the unique difficulties of approaching the water, then properly presenting a fly.
Small-stream trout are not accustomed to seeing many fishermen and tend to be more skittish than their counterparts in heavily fished waters. They may dash for cover at the sight of a fisherman or a shadow on the water, and certainly from the disturbance of a sloppy cast falling onto the water.
Beaver ponds can be particularly frustrating. Trout that were rising often scatter from a careless step into the water, maybe even the vibrations sent out by walking along a marshy shoreline. Rise rings on the surface might instantly be replaced by the mini-wakes of fish darting away.
Once disturbed, the fish will disappear for a time. The angler, muttering to himself, must either wait for them to return or move on to the next pond, hoping for some newfound stealth, possibly even crawling on his knees.
Whether small stream or beaver pond, an angler, once in position, still must get the fly to the fish. Surely as the sun rises in the east, casting will be difficult to impossible.
The banks are sure to be lined with back-cast-grabbing branches that went unnoticed during the approach, however stealthy. Overhangs will conspire to catch any forward cast that managed to escape the background brush, and beaver ponds will have weathered, fly-catching sticks standing in the water right next to where a trout is rising.
Make just one sloppy cast, and . . .
In tight quarters, short, precise casts are the rule. Dapping the fly with a long rod — in effect hanging it from the rod onto the water without casting — can be a useful approach along many brush-lined creeks.
Small-stream trout as a rule are not especially selective. They readily come up for standard assortment of dry flies, including an array of patterns designed to suggest terrestrial insects. Nymphs and old-fashioned wet flies also work well.
In keeping with the surroundings and the relatively small fish, smaller patterns fished on appropriately fine leaders tend to be more effective. The tradeoff is losing more flies in the brush than with a stouter tippet. As a rule, leaders on creeks should be somewhat shorter than on larger streams; longer leaders might be more productive on such beaver ponds where casting them is practical.
Adventure and discovery also are among the attractions of small-stream fishing, whether remote or close to roads. Creeks and beaver ponds are found in every mountain basin of the state. Most can be located on national forest maps, and many are described in various fishing guides.
Small streams can challenge, perhaps humble, the experts, but they also can reward beginners. Many fishermen grew up fishing creeks and beaver ponds and learned many of their angling lessons from small-stream trout.
It still holds true, and while one generation returns to its angling roots by the old beaver pond, another may begin to carry on the tradition.
