Jon Osborn
Wise old trout are as puzzling as the places they live. They spend the daylight hours sulking beneath undercut banks and among logjams, refusing to show themselves until the sun slips behind the cedars. It takes an eclectic kind of angler to meet them on their own terms — in the dark. Only fanatical fishermen are willing to wander trout streams at night, wading by faith rather than sight, casting flies into the gloom despite unspoken fears and overwhelming odds.
Mysteries deepen then, especially along rivers. The landscape changes at twilight, and the water looks more like a silver-gray suggestion than an actual stream. Fireflies flicker and flash among hemlocks and owls offer lamentations from the cottonwoods. As the sun dips behind the hills, the senses turn primal, trembling with anxious energy. In that nocturnal stillness, the imagination runs wild. Howling coyotes sound closer, and every unidentified crunch along the bank seems more menacing. The softer it is, the more the unexpected splash of a feeding trout assumes epic proportions.
These obese, butterball browns haunt sluggish stretches of untraditional trout water — and they aren’t the bratwurst-sized stockers splashing among the shallows by day. These are kype-jawed monsters with brilliant, ruby red spots and massive, fan-like tail rudders. They’re savages lurking along shadowy bends, waiting for hapless victims to flounder by; meat eaters looking to sink their teeth into something fleshy and alive. More bang for the buck, so to speak — or in this case, more calories per kill.
Pursuing these predators by starlight is more like hunting big game than fishing. “Bring enough gun,” cautioned author Robert Ruark, and night fishing for big browns is no different. Leave that frail four-weight and those long, wispy leaders at home; this is seven-weight, stout tippet country. Trophy trout don’t grow old and fat without reason, and they refuse to come to net without a fight.
Nighttime stacks the odds in the trophy angler’s favor, but it’s hardly a guarantee for success. On rare occasions, when all the stars align, the river seems to boil with rising trout, but often as not, only the mosquitoes are biting. After-dark angling is an all-or-nothing, swing-for-the-fences proposition. Either way, optimism is the name of the game. Night fishing isn’t trench warfare, but it’s about as close as it comes with rod and reel, and as the saying goes, there are no atheists in foxholes.
Three, tried-and-true methods are most popular for fly fishing at night: Mayfly imitations, mouse (or frog) imitations, and streamers.
With the warmth of spring, a grab-bag of night-hatching mayflies appear, including sulphurs, brown drakes, and isonychias. These morsels draw plenty of decent trout to the surface, but they’re mere appetizers for the main event: Hexagenia limbata. Everyone knows this legendary hatch is in full swing when boat-launch parking lots fill with empty drift-boat trailers. Hordes of anglers come out for the famed Hex Hatch, and even devoted bass fishermen set aside their spinning gear in favor of fly rods and oversized mayfly patterns. Be sure to bring a decent selection of spinners, emergers, cripples and duns. I’ve made a second career out of guessing the fickle nature of trout, but in the end, you never know what they’ll key in on.
Anyone who’s spent enough time around rivers has probably seen a mouse swimming cross current, cutting a tiny wake behind as it frantically paddles for the opposite bank. Hot summer nights with little or no moon are custom-made for swinging large, foam flies. Certainly, mice fall victim to brown trout, but frogs and large stoneflies also get eaten by these predators on a regular basis, so a deer-hair diving frog or a classic Houghton Lake Special work well at times, too. Either way, the point is to cast something toothsome and irresistible, whether mammal, invertebrate, or amphibian.
Lastly, there are streamers — feathered imitations of baitfish, crayfish, and leaches. These calorie-rich foods are what allow trout to grow fat and sassy. On gray, rainy days when rivers swell and turn to coffee-and-cream, streamers can work wonders. Nighttime is another great opportunity to swing slinky, articulated patterns downstream on the way back to the truck after an evening of fishing. The right pattern and the proper presentation can net a dandy.
Kelly Galloup is the undisputed godfather of modern streamers, and his innovative, articulated patterns are some of the best around. Kelly moved to Montana years ago, but he cut his fly-fishing teeth in Michigan and formerly owned the Troutsman Fly Shop in Traverse City. Some favorite Galloup streamers include the Sex Dungeon and the Nancy P. These articulated patterns shimmy and shake, and their spun deer-hair heads displace water, which is partly why they work so well at night.
Whether you prefer casting big, nocturnal dry flies, or swinging mice or streamers, one thing’s certain: groping along a river in the gloom is hardly for the faint-of-heart. It calls for guts. But the potential rewards are worth every hour of lost sleep, every ounce of nervous sweat, and every epic brown trout that comes to net.
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