FLY FISHING AT NIGHT: MAJESTIC OR OVERRATED?
By A.M. Giacoletto
Six in the evening flashed on my phone screen as I walked into Dario’s house. He waited there with Connor in anticipation of our fishing trip, but this was far from a traditional day on the water; rather, a night on the water. The three of us were members of Montana State University’s Fly Fishing Club (a.k.a. The Bozo Trout Bums). A group filled with like-minded anglers who attended the self-dubbed “Trout University.” In our biased opinions, the name fit well because we spent millions of hours and countless days fishing southwest Montana’s abundant fisheries. I worked on a wildland fire crew at the time and found myself with two days off between fire assignments, so I felt the itch to catch a few trout. When Dario said “Meet at my house at six and bring a headlamp,” I knew we’d be fishing at night. Surprisingly, I never fished at night previously. After greeting the boys and walking into Dario’s garage full of tiny chickens, which he bred as a hobby, I shuffled my gear into his red Ford Explorer followed shortly by hitting the road.
Connor and Dario joked about blindfolding me and refused to reveal the name of the river until we arrived. I recognized the scenery most of the way while we flew past rolling hills transitioning into mountain ranges and the deep yellow, orange, and red hues of a Montana sunset glistening through the vehicle’s windows. Daylight faded while we rigged our rods and they finally revealed the name of the river. “Don’t tell anyone about this place…” I understood. I tied on an articulated streamer and they pushed mouse patterns – one of the more glorified modes to fly fish.
Night fishing was a task I often wished to try but I’d yet to experience, so I began casting with no clue what to expect. Splashy swipes from interested trout ensued on the mice within a few minutes, and Connor landed the first fish of the night. He released an average-sized rainbow trout that turned out to be the smallest we caught. Thus began a record-book-worthy fishing experience. Dario and Connor slammed fish after fish on mice, mostly large brown trout, and I caught my personal-best brown (at the time, I broke that record numerous times down the road) taped at 23 inches on a yellow streamer. At one point, Dario’s mouse pattern (better described as a rat pattern because it was the size of a work glove) fell apart from two dozen fish striking it, so I handed him my rod to hook a few more and that fly fell apart for the same reasons. I walked the gravel parking lot and peered up at the nearly full moon as the cool air flowed tingled my skin. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “night fishing is awesome.”
Perceived fishing success relies heavily on managing expectations. As a guide, managing my client’s expectations at the beginning of the trip is paramount in providing a quality experience because overhype sets up for potential disappointment if it isn’t met, and a reality we face as guides and anglers is there is only so much we can do to make the fish bite. “Bro!” some of you are no doubt shouting at the ceiling, “I’m a great fisherman and I catch fish the time.” I’m sure you do, but no matter how precise our casts, presentations, and fly selections are, the end decision for an eat is on the fish. We can maximize our chances at fooling a fish, yet at best we encourage the fish to strike rather than control their actions. Relying on wild creatures to behave the way we want them to every trip to the water is a recipe for eventual disappointment. This concept applies beyond guiding and fly fishing to all aspects of fishing (and life for that matter). Too often we allow our first experience on fishery to govern a baseline of expectations whether good or bad. I know numerous anglers who kicked ass their first time on a river and desperately hope to return with the belief they can recreate the same experience; vice versa, I’ve pitched potential trips to places folks had a bad experience and their response illustrates their questioning if a fish actually exists in the river. One day on a body of water doesn’t necessarily demonstrate the average, especially if it lands on an extreme end of the spectrum.
I fell victim to this concept after my first night fishing trip. I expected every night out to resemble my outing with Dario and Connor, so I soon experienced reality – we caught lightning in a bottle on that illustrious outing. Fishless nights weren’t uncommon in my night fishing attempts, with others producing solid success, but I never experienced a night to the level of my first trip in the dark.
Admittedly, I don’t fish through the night regularly. Guiding seasons in particular prevented the opportunity to fish until 3 a.m. when I had work early the next morning, and making the effort to fish in the off hours isn’t easy to pull off in the minutia of a busy life.
Expertise in night fishing operations is far outside my realm, and I know plenty of fishermen who make it a priority, so they’re better sources on the topic than me. I often pose the question, “Is fly fishing at night overrated?” The allure of such an activity goes beyond catching fish. Quiet nights on the water feel majestic and calming. Cool air, stillness, and little to no light cause one to experience a river they know well from a unique perspective. I continue to test and gather data points on night fishing productivity and my curiosity causes me to fish through the witching hours more and more. Perhaps one day I’ll replicate that Montana night from years ago. I certainly won’t stop trying.
