Wherever you go in the world, trout streams have a defining characteristic- clean, pure, blue water. But, no matter where you go, every stream is different. Some are large and forgiving, others are a few feet wide and extremely challenging, and then there's everything in between. Some are slow and winding, others are torrent and jagged. Some hold monstrous, ferocious fish, others have delicate individuals that define finesse. But they all are connected by that indisputable crystalline-blue water...
Every fisher-person eventually in their life comes to holds one of those streams above all the rest, be it because of the fishing, the scenery, memories had there, or even because they see a little bit of themselves in the moving waters. I've fished in quite a few different places: Yellowstone NP, Glacier NP, the Madison, Gallatin, Bighorn, Kinnickinnic, Rush, Root, Whitewater, and various others in the northern and southern tips Minnesota and southern Wisconsin. They are all beautiful, all hold great fish, have great people- but if I had one day left to live, I'd want to spend it on the banks of the shy and quiet Hay Creek. Most have never heard of it, a good majority Minnesota fly fishers have probably fished it a few times, but in my book- it tops all. For those who've never heard of it or have an idea of what a Minnesotan trout stream might look like, I'll try to explain why this creek tops the nation's best rivers in the west.
Hay creek starts from a good sized spring coming from the side of a large hill, hidden beneath a vale of deciduous trees. It zigzags through a small cow pasture lined by tall limestone bluffs, the valley is cut in half by a turn of the century railroad line and stagecoach road. Remnants of these can be seen by a few trusses still left standing on the edges of a few pools where a bridge once crossed over the stream and a huge concrete slab that was once a low bridge crossing the stream that had been ripped from its concrete footings and tossed down stream about 75 yards during a raging flood. After the cow pasture and picturesque valley, the stream runs along the side of a bluff and cuts through a forest that in the spring time is full of wildflowers and wild turkeys. It runs through the woods in a deep, shadowed valley between the bluffs for a couple of miles to another field of tall prairie grasses and cow pasture and eventually into woods again and snakes its way all the way back to Red Wing and into the Mississippi. Before this new field, the stream is patterns of riffle, run, pool, riffle, run pool and the deeper water is a bright turquoises blue. This section rarely ever sees fishermen except for the knowledgeable and determined and its where it all began for me, this crazy passion of mine.
Before spring break, school and life had been hectic. All I could wish for was to have a fly rod in hand, crouching on the banks of this little gem of mine- and a week of freedom was all the chance I needed to finally break loose, break away, and dissolve back into the realm of bliss I yearned for so badly. The very next day I was home from Ely, my best friend and I took a jaunt down to the stream and fished below the deep valley in the pasture.
We had it all to ourselves. It was mostly cloudy and cold, but it didn't matter- we were there and used all the time we had and honed our very best skills--- for Hay Creek demands excellence when it comes to it's fishing. One must refrain from waking too hard, moving their shadow over the water, and casting carelessly while there, for it's fish- though usually small- are smart and spooky as hell. More often than not, we crawled to the bank and nymphed without an indicator as to try and not disturb the weary trout, though they usually have the upper hand as the water is perfectly clear. As my dad told me when I was still the apprentice, "If you can see them, they've already seen you."
You might think, "That sounds like hell!?" Well you're kind of right- but its what I love.We spent four hours there with numb fingers, sore knees, and only landed one trout to show for it. But that's just how it is on Hay Creek, it's like what appeals my girlfriend to cross country skiing, "You have to ski up the hill to go down it." Hard work for the reward, but even though small- its well worth it. You can see the fish at the bottom of the pools, like an aquarium and you sit there drooling and rain storming to figure out the missing piece of the puzzle until it falls into place and a fish strikes. It's fantastic torture. While I was warming my hands I let Beau fish the pool I had stalked up on, "Just cast it at the bottom of the riffles, you want it on the edge of that undercut- in the bubble line." He did just that, and half way down the pool, as the fly sank to the kill zone, a spunky trout struck his fly. A few splashes and cheers later I netted the fish and we took a quick second to revel in his beauty. It was well worth the torture.
Come the end of the week, I happened upon the realization that my thirst hadn't been quenched quite yet. So a couple days before my break was over, I brought my girlfriend back to the same spot. It was a much more pleasant day, Gretchen bathed in the sun and I fished.
It was warm with little to no breeze, and we were all alone on the water again. From the previous trip I had remembered where some of the fish had been holding up in the deeper water, but with the bright sun, I had to be even more weary of my shadow and movements around the water. But this whole method to the madness inevitably slows you down in general. You sit along the water's edge and you're silent, still, and watching. Watching the water, the fish, the bugs, the things around you, the clouds and birds above. You breathe easy and say, "This is $%@king awesome..." and mean it in the best way possible. Things just figure themselves out or they are forgotten all together. That's the beauty of equilibrium. That's the essence of Hay Creek.
To be honest, I didn't move much that day. I really pretty much fished the same pool because I knew the fish were there in front of me. You see, on the Bighorn River at the end of the day and you got skunked or only got one fish, you're a little angry that you didn't catch more. In the Driftless, especially Hay Creek, I learned how to be humble. Though I fished in mostly one pool, I caught three fish and hooked probably four- that's a damn good day for my stream. Though I sat there all day looking at the pure, clear, clean water at the pod of fish at the bottom- I thought my ass off and figured out the puzzle. I started with my favorite nymph pattern, a bead-head pheasant tail nymph, couldn't tell you the size probably an 16 or 18. Fished without split shot or indicator and drifted it over the fish time and time and time again watching their reaction, learning the timing. A few fish would look up at it but none would strike. Stumped I stopped for a little while and waited for something to happen when, out of no where, there was a splash on the water and a gold streak headed back to the pod. "Emergers, maybe." Waited for the next clue, a little black midge skidded across the water in front of me. "I'll go with emergers!" I recast and let my fly sink until just in front of the pod, when I lifted my line slowly out of the water as it floated over them (like a bug going to the surface from the bottom.) Boom! An instant hit and the first fish landed. That was the first fish I've held in months, I was so excited I kissed the fish all over, released it, and ran over to hug Gretchen, absolutely wiggling with joy. She laughed and sent back to do it again, and so I did. That's a specific instance that many choose as their reason to fly fish- to figure out the equilibrium and to replicate it. For myself, there's very few feelings that I know to top it and I can perfectly recall every time I've seen it.
Did this become a fishing story? I'm sorry if it did. Hay Creek has a shy, calm personality that can bring out the innermost joy in anyone who gets to solve its daily riddle. That day was mine. I asked Gretchen what she thought about the creek, just as a bystander. "I love it!" she said with a smile.
"Are you just saying that to make me happy?"
"No, I actually love it, it's so quite and when you just listen to the rapids you can completely let your mind go blank and relax. It's beautiful here, the water is blue, there's no one around. I'd be a fool not to love it!"
"Cool." I smiled.
Yeah, I've caught twenty five inch trout on the Bighorn, scrambled over mountains to get to tiny streams brimming with fish in Yellowstone, seen epic caddis hatches and stonefly hatches on the Madison. But there's more than fishing on Hay Creek- there's a lesson around every corner, a memory at every pool and hill top, forgotten history locked away in the woods. Its the perfect place to escape and become one again- with yourself, with nature, with your God, or with whatever is going on inside you. I love Hay Creek- I can't get it any more simple than that. With in its pure clean water is a challenge and message for us all- not only with its fishing- but with everything that embodies it as a whole.
Where's your favorite water- and why?
To sneak in some advertising: If you want to experience Hay Creek for yourself- I'd be honored to show you around my home water. Take a look at the Guided Fly Fishing page for more info and prices.
