Yet another one fly disaster

I have to stop entering these things. They end quickly, and they end badly. For readers not familiar with the concept, one-flies are tournaments run for charity, and each angler gets one fly, and on fly only. Not one pattern, but one fly. If it goes in a tree, falls apart, or has the hook break on a bad backcast that ticks a rock, you are done. The object is to get the most points before something bad happens, and you get points by catching fish, with bigger fish usually worth more.

This one was organized by Schultz outfitters in Ypsilanti, MI as a benefit for the Huron River watershed council (HWRC). This is one of the most progressive watershed councils in the Nation, and they do things that range from stonefly searches (stones are good environmental indicators) to helping the cities of the watershed adapt to climate change. They have real scientists and everything.

So we went to a fun party, and got up next morning to win, and win big. My fishing partner was my wife, and we had long discussions about strategy. We decided that since we were a team, I would go low and slow with an indestructible kevlar tied crayfish pattern, and she would go on top with a surface fly- a gartside gurgler. After mayhem, photographs, and getting acquainted with some new Huron River anglers, we set off bound for glory. I decided to fish in downtown Ypsilanti, where we used to joke that there was bass under every shopping cart. In part thanks to HRWC this is no longer the case, at least the shopping cart part.

Fishing sucked, at least where we were. First spot produced one rock bass and teeny tiny long release smallmouth. Departed for greener pastures at a honey hole that had given up, on average, a dozen prize winning bass each trip every time I had fished there. This was not to be the case that day, and after an hour and a half I was surprised by a single 9 inch bass that was a full inch above the minimum size for entry.. Feeling good about not finishing dead last, I worked down to the first deep run of the morning (the water was record low and pretty clear) and dead drifted Mr. indestructible crayfish down a slot. The line stopped, and I thought I was snagged up until the snag tried to jump and throw the fly. Not a 20 incher, but big enough so that when he jumped he could not get completely out of the water. Two runs, got him on the reel, and then of all things, the line goes slack. I reel in only to find a flyless leader with the telltale curlicue of a knot that has pulled free. I was done. I thought back to that knot, and had stopped mid-tie when someone asked me a question. The improved clinch knot turned out to be only a clinch, and a bad one at that.

I was disheartened and had to think hard about the real purpose of the day which was to benefit the river. HWRC is unusual in that they are an "environmental" group that interacts successfully with anglers. Very few environmental groups get along well with the "hook and bullet" crowd, but everyone I know loves them. That is saying something. Despondent, I reviewed the rules that allowed teams to share rods. I made my wife give me her rod and fly, and proceeded to be vindicated with a 12 incher, thereby securing me another step up from dead last. However, she figured out my strategy quickly and I was called out. We gave it our best shot, and after an hour in the 90 degree plus sunshine with only rare and desultory nosing of the topwater flies it boiled down to two choices: 1) drive 20 miles upriver to really good spot where they were sure to be biting and have a shot at placing, or 2) go to an air conditioned bar within sight of the fly shop HQ just down the street. Bar won, unanimous decision achieved in seconds.

Just wait until next year.