The Grind

Spend any time on social media and you’re likely to come across the phrase “The Grind.” Whether it’s describing the grind of a desk job, or the grind of parenting young kids, or the grind of dating in a world that seems to no longer value face-to-face communication, it’s a nearly omnipresent experience.

Fly anglers use the phrase a lot. “We had to grind hard for ’em today, but we caught a few!” is a common enough refrain. I’m not a fan of it, particularly in fishing, because fishing is supposed to be fun, and rarely is “the grind” enjoyable. In a fit of irony, however, that’s the best phrase to describe this past week’s fishing.

Alex and I started out on a Thursday afternoon, fishing part of a creek neither of us had been to in months. We’d fished higher up in this drainage all summer, exploring sections of the river neither of us had visited before, and we’d neglected our tried-and-true spots lower in the canyon. The brown trout were on their redds, busy making the next generation of fish. We stopped and watched for a minute—watching trout spawn is as interesting to me as watching deer or elk during the rut—then proceeded down to a large pool.

The water was low, clear, and the sun was behind us, so we had to be careful not to throw our shadows on top of the few rising fish we could see. This pool is notorious for being tough to fish. To avoid drag on your flies, you have to stand in the tailout, which is close enough to some of the trout to spook them. You can’t cast from either bank because one is a line of willows, and the other is a sheer sandstone cliff that drops straight into the water.

I tied up a long leader, a small emerging midge pattern, and made a few casts before finally connecting with an smaller brown trout. Alex missed two or three, but did catch a big rainbow on a size 20 nymph he dropped off his dry fly. To get decent drifts, we had to throw big aerial mends and reach as far as our nine-foot rods would allow. It wasn’t easy fishing, and by the time we finished that pool, we’d caught four fish between us.

The next day we headed down to a tailwater that has a reputation for moody, unpredictable fish. Earlier this summer we fished it for an evening and caught about a dozen fish all over 16 inches long. It was the kind of fast fishing you read about, but never expect to experience for yourself.

We both hoped for a repeat of that day, especially since this river has a healthy population of brown and rainbow trout. The rainbows, we assumed, would be parked behind the redds where brown trout were spawning, and they’d be easy pickin’s for an angler throwing an egg pattern.

The browns were on their redds, but they were at it in a halfhearted way, going through the motions with the same zeal most of us go through our morning routine. The rainbows weren’t behind the redds, and they weren’t in the deeper, slower pools, either. We didn’t find them in the riffles, and I was starting to take it personally that I couldn’t find the fish.

Then, we made our way to a run split in two by a house-sized boulder. The faster water ran on its left, and there was a nice shelf right above the boulder that fed into water of medium depth, flowing at about walking speed. In other words, ideal water for fish any time of the year. The only problem was getting a drift from the left side of that boulder was impossible.

I crossed the river, going up to my chest and almost filling my waders, until I found the right angle for the drift. My flies landed on the shelf, dropped off it into the deeper water, and the indicator immediately shot under. I set the hook and felt a serious weight start pulling line off the reel. I hollered to Alex that I had “a good fish” on, and did my best not to lose it in the ensuing rodeo.

With Alex’s help, I landed the fish. It was the fattest rainbow I’ve ever caught from that river, with pale flanks and a deep green back. I held it for a moment, then let it slip away.

We’d been fishing for a few hours at that point, and my next fish wouldn’t come until just before we left that afternoon.

I walked back to the truck with a satisfied feeling, not unlike the one you get after a hard day of yard work or chores around the house. There’s a sense of satisfaction that comes from working hard to put nice fish in the net—from the grind.

On that day, the grind was undoubtedly worth it.