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Modern medicine, little trout, present fishing option

By Ben Moyer for The 4 min read
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Ben Moyer

A stealthy angler casts a fly for wild brook trout. Many headwater streams in the Laurel Highlands harbor wild trout. Such places take effort to reach but are a pleasure to fish. Trout season begins April 15, except on Special Regulation waters, which are open to year-round fishing.

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Ben Moyer

Around here, wild trout, like this native brook trout, seldom grow past eight or nine inches in length. Pollution, warm water and stocked alien trout species confine them to small headwaters where insects, their primary food, are scarce.

I returned home one evening last week and proudly informed my wife Kathy that I’d “graduated to a half-gallon of milk.”

ThatĢƵ the maximum weight my doctor advised picking up with my right arm. But those 64 ounces are a big improvement. For the past two months, a cup of coffee was my upper limit. My upgrade is also opportune; itĢƵ time to think ahead to trout fishing.

I’m right-handed. I write, throw, shoot and, most importantly, fly-cast from the right. I’d injured that arm last October and have fished only once since, a couple of weeks after the mishap and before I knew surgical repair was needed. A friend and I fished the Smoke Hole region in West Virginia, well known to many local anglers. It was a great trip but my weakened right arm barely held up and I likely aggravated its already shredded bicep tendon.

Still, it was a mild autumn and we’d had a tip the fishing would be good.

It was.

We caught lots of trout and some weighed a good bit more than a half-gallon of dairy yield. All of them fought hard and long before their release.

So, now I’m beyond the coffee cup threshold but constrained by that half-gallon ceiling. Fortunately, thereĢƵ a trout fishing option that fits such a specification. It poses no danger of re-tearing a tendon by setting the hook in a 4-pound trout, but it has its own rewards. Until my arm gets back its strength, and even after, I can fish for wild trout. Around here they’re always small and my orthopedic surgeon would approve.

Wild trout have never seen the inside of a hatchery and nobody stocked them. They were spawned as eggs in the stream where they swim. Even those scrappy trout we caught in West Virginia last fall were stocked at some point by the state DNR or one of the private outfitters along the river. They were weighty and fun to catch, but they weren’t wild fish and we knew it. In our modern world, enjoying trout fishing is largely a matter of accepting a reasonable substitute for the real thing.

Around here, wild trout mean brook trout, our only native trout species. They are splendid to behold but if you caught one that weighed more than a brimming cup of coffee it would be a fish to remember. They’re small because they can’t live in warm or polluted water, and they don’t do well where non-native brown and rainbow trout are stocked in their midst.

So, although they once lived in most streams and rivers, especially in the mountains, they are now confined to headwaters at the upper reaches of watersheds, where the water is cold, pure and thereĢƵ not much to eat.

Despite all that, we are fortunate to have more headwater streams harboring wild trout than one might assume. If you follow any creek pouring off Laurel Ridge far enough upstream you are likely to eventually find wild, native brook trout.

If you do, you will find they are not hard to catch–provided they don’t see you or sense your presence. They spend their lives as potential prey for otters, raccoons, water snakes, herons, and even bears. Make one careless movement, even let your shadow cross the water, and the best you’ll do is to see them streak toward the nearest rock or log that offers concealment. To catch wild trout, follow this rule: Dress drab, stay low, move slow.

Don’t consider fishing for wild trout if you like the crowds so expected along stocked streams on opening day. Seldom–make that almost never–will you encounter another angler. And no matter how much you may enjoy the company of people with interests like your own, a day in the spring woods without competition is an enviable treat. Speaking of treats, there are little streams you can hike to and fish, anywhere between Uniontown and Ligonier, where in April wildflowers are crowding the banks, waterfalls are plunging, and if you saw a photo of the place you’d say: “ThatĢƵ got to be someplace exotic and far from here.” But it isn’t, itĢƵ mere minutes away.

I have eaten a few wild trout, “back in the day,” as they say, and they are delicious, especially fried in butter along the stream. But I never keep them anymore. I’d rather know they’re there, even when I can’t fish.

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