Written by 川橋 邑仁

It was after the height of summer when I decided to visit a river in an area I was unfamiliar with. On the way home from a family outing with our young son, we stopped by the river to check out some new restaurants. I had been curious about this section of the river for a long time. Even in this age of the Internet, I had never heard any rumors that the river was fishable or not, and I wanted to find out why. A dreamy angler might fantasize that the stream might be full of wonderful trout that no one knows about, while a realistic angler might think that no one is talking about it because there are no fish or no fish to be caught, and not pay any attention to it.

I parked my car and peered into the river from the bridge. Unfortunately, the stream was not very attractive. The water had dried up due to a large intake dam upstream, and small sea urchins were clustered at the bottom of the somewhat muddy and stagnant water, occasionally floating close to the surface and making small ripples. The angler in me, who had been having faint dreams, regained his composure and decided to think about my return journey home.

However, my son, who was waiting in the car, wanted to go to the bathroom. Fortunately, there was a beautifully maintained park golf course at the foot of that bridge with proper restrooms. I told my wife that I was going to take my son to the restroom to do a little fishing, made some simple preparations, and went down to the river. It was still light but the sun was about to disappear behind the mountains, and after an hour of fishing, I could get a general idea of what to expect.

The river was about 3 meters wide at its widest point. As we walked up the dry stream, we came upon a pool where a large tree had fallen over the river. As I stared at it, I could clearly see a black-backed fish stationary in the middle of the pool. It was probably about 40 cm in size. Casting was easy because of the dry stream. I pulled out a rod's worth of fly line, dropped the marshmallow beetle gently on the fish's head, and it slowly opened its mouth and sucked in the hook. The fish was a rain trout. The fish's strangely black back and thin, skinny body suggested the harshness of life in this stranded stream. It was a relief to know that there were fish in such a tough stream.

Ahead of the bend, we turned left and came to an open rapids. I stood at the edge of the rapids and looked at the surface of the river. Then, I felt something strange in my vision and stopped. I looked at the surface of the river and saw a big trout just out of reach of my fly rod. The trout was moving upstream slowly, taking food on the surface as it surfaced. After watching the trout head upstream, I climbed back on shore, this time being very careful not to make a sound. Looking down from the slightly elevated riverbank, I could see the big trout rising as it moved counterclockwise. I changed the tippet, which was a little frizzy, and checked the tip of the Marshmallow Beetle's hook. I dropped the hair hook on the nose of the trout and the trout sucked it in easily. 7 foot 4 glass rod was a little unreliable, but it was a small river, so I brought it into a forceful fight and the trout came right up to me. I learned for the first time that I had to support the frame with both hands because the instanet's frame would warp when I scooped up a heavy trout. The large, thick trout, which did not look like a trout in the narrow stream, was a rainbow trout. It was probably a female, judging from its gentle face. I quickly unhooked the hook and released it.

Curious about the trout, I went back to the same spot the next evening. From the riverbank, I could easily spot the trout cruising leisurely. Again, the trout sucked in my hook, retrieved it, and released it in the same way.

After a day of fishing, in the fading light of dusk, I watched until dark as the trout that seemed to be her slowly floated up, ate something, and returned to the current.

That fall, a record typhoon hit the area. The polar downpour changed the river forever. The next year, I visited the river with trepidation and found that the damage from the typhoon had far exceeded my expectations. There was no sign of it. That is exactly what it meant. And no matter how long I sat by the stream at dusk and waited, the shadow of the trout never appeared again.