A Lil' Silver Magic

A Lil’ Silver Magic

By R. W. Duvall

            My Dad had a knack for fishing.  It didn’t matter if it was bass, catfish, crappie, blue gill, or trout, he always caught fish.  Some said he had a gift, but he would scoff at and dismiss such a notion.  I think he was simply in his element when fishing.  For my Dad fishing was as much spiritual as it was recreational.  And like some enlightened Buddhist priest as he aged he grew to enjoy it more as his skills neared perfection.

            When I was a kid he taught me how to plug, worm, and flip for bass.  He showed me how to rig a goldfish when flathead fishing.  He shared with me his expertise, like how much line should separate the hook from bobber when floating a bait for trout or crappie.  The only time I ever taught my dad anything about fishing—that he actually used and bragged about—was how to spoon for Southern Utah trout. 

            When I was sixteen dad bought an acre lot in the mountains above Cedar City, Utah near a small village called Duck Creek.  It was and still is a beautiful place.  Although I never spent much time there until after college, trips to “the lot” were always special.  I took my sons for a week or two during the summers to visit with their “papa” and, of course, fish.  Near Dad’s lot was Duck Creek and Aspen Mirror Lake (it’s more like a big pond).  Within twenty minutes were Navajo Lake, Mammoth Creek, and the Sevier River.  Finally, Lake Panguitch was about an hour drive and considered one of the trophy trout lakes in Southern Utah.  We had plenty of places to fish.

            One late afternoon many years ago my two sons, Dad, and myself were fishing Aspen Mirror Lake along the rock damn.  Filled with mostly stockers, occasionally a couple larger holdovers could be caught, it was a popular stop for families during the weekends, but on this Tuesday afternoon we were the only ones there.  But the fish were not biting.  Not even a nibble on Powerbait or red worms.  This particular summer I decided to stock up on a variety of spoons and spinners for just such an occasion.

            I tied on a snap swivel (I know it’s a sin but for the part-time fisherman, swivels are as good as gold) and attached a gold bladed rooster tail spinner.  I started casting out.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glancing at me.  I cast a couple more times, waiting for it…waiting for it…waiting for it.

            “You’re not gonna catch nuttin’ on that,” he said in a matter of fact way.  I didn’t respond but kept casting.  And then it happened.  My pole bent double as a nice eight inch Rainbow slammed into the lure.  I held the tip high to keep him clear of the moss bed that was about three feet under water.  Twenty seconds later the fish dangled from the end of my line for a quick photograph.

            “Ummm…what were you sayin’ Dad?”  I said sarcastically.  He mumbled something about luck and baited his pole with a big glob of orange Powerbait.

            “Can I reel in the next one?” asked my oldest son, Jake.  I nodded my head and promised Zachary the one after that.  Sure enough, within ten minutes both had worked their arms reeling in trout.  By this time I knew dad was interested.

            “So what kinda lure you usin’?” he asked.  I showed him the rooster tail and popped open a clear plastic storage box full of a variety of spinners and spoons in different styles and colors.  He looked, didn’t say much, kind of grunted and went back to his baited pole.  I caught three more fish that afternoon, and he caught ZERO!

            To be fair, my dad is open to new things and ideas; it just takes him a little while to adjust to it.  That evening he took the boys to the little store at Duck Creek to get an ice cream.  I noticed when he got back a brown paper bag with a half dozen trout lures in it.  I knew not to push it, so I didn’t laugh but I really wanted to.

            The next day all four of us went to Navajo Lake.  Navajo is formed by a bowl-like ring of mountains and the water sits there like a cup full of soup.   It generally is a boat fishing lake, but during dry years or in the later months of the summer a levee appears that runs right through the middle of the lake from one shore to the other.  It provides great access to deeper parts of the lake, which is not very deep at about twenty to thirty feet depending on the water level. 

            It was late July, so the levee was running across the lake.  We got out and walked down it, stopping about one hundred feet from shore.  Dad and the kids were already rigged for Powerbait, so they stuck with that.  At Aspen Mirror I was using a light rig, a spinning reel with six pound line on a five foot pole, but for Navajo I brought a six and a half foot Ugly Stick rigged with a Bass Pro Shop spinning reel with ten pound line.  Another, larger, snap swivel was tied to the line.  I started out with a heavier rooster tailed spinner with red accents.

            Dad was the first to reel in a fish, but the bite went dead after that.  I kept casting, working my way toward the middle of the lake.  About thirty minutes after we arrived, a fish hit.  I had checked my drag earlier and this trout was stripping some line anyway.  I pulled in a nice fat twelve inch Rainbow.  I suspected there was a depression or hole about thirty yards from the levee.  I could barely reach it with the rooster tail, so I snapped on a half-ounce, silver Kastmaster. 

            I threw that lure out there for all I was worth, gave it a five count and then reeled it in slowly.  On the second cast a second foot long Rainbow attacked.  That was all it took.  Dad was already cutting his bubble bobber and hook rig off and tying on a swivel and gold Kastmaster.  We spent the next hour catching fish almost non-stop.  The boys had a blast reeling them in.  My youngest complained his arm hurt when we were done.

            That was the beginning of our love-affair with spoon and spinner fishing for trout in Utah.  Like every other method of fishing he had perfected, Dad played with the spinner/spoon approach and made it his own.  He would call in the summers bragging about the latest rod and spoon combo he had tried.  Not to say that we never bait fished again, but there is something different, something special about catching a trout on a lure, especially when you prefer to catch and release.  So the next time you are in the mountains looking to catch a Rainbow, German Brown, Cut-throat, or Brook trout tie on a lil’ silver magic.