Reflections: Fishing in Bad Weather

My local trout stream, Humility Creek, is normally knee-deep where I wade. On this watershed, an inch of rain translates into a foot of water, so a tropical storm can raise it six feet. I can sit in my cabin and monitor the creek’s level on the Internet.

Water levels and hourly weather forecasts are taken for granted today. You can jump into a stream, catch a few fish, and then be back in the car before the first raindrop falls. But it hasn’t always been this way.

Weather forecasting used to be an educated guess and weather maps were painted with a wide brush. Wary old fishermen still kept an eye to the sky and a hand on the Farmers’ Almanac. Even then, you occasionally got caught in bad weather.

For instance, when I was young, we fished regardless of the weather. Any information on conditions mostly told us how to dress and where to fish.

One hot July afternoon, Dad and I had gone to a deep lake in Virginia to troll for trout. Our plan was to drop lead lines down to the cooler water and entice the trout with spoons and Rebel minnows. Thunderclouds spotted the sky, which was normal for summer mountain weather. We kept an eye on the clouds and went out on the lake.

Being a mountain lake, the ridge lines fell off into the water at steep angles, wedging the trout into long, narrow coves where our lead lines had plenty of clearance to troll over any snags on the bottom. We could drag lines down one side of the cove and make a sharp turn when the flasher unit told us we were running into the shallows, then come back along the opposite bank.

The one challenge with trolling into these coves is that we had a limited view of the weather short of directly overhead. So when we felt a chill wind and saw a dark thundercloud creeping over the ridge, we realized the storm was already upon us.

We quickly hauled in our lines and ran out to the main channel to judge the coming weather. The water was already white-capping and lightning flashed close by. We decided to ride out the storm in the cove we had come from.

Our boat had a fold-up canvas top that we quickly erected and snapped in the plastic windows. We dropped an anchor off the bow to keep the boat away from the bank and then we hunkered down.

The wind kept intensifying and whipping up waves even in the cove. Sheets of rain blew against the windows, blinding us to a matter of feet. The pelting of rain and the roar of wind drowned out any words either of us muttered. The canvas top popped each time a gust drew it taut.

At one point we questioned our decision to wait out the storm. The wind gusts kept blowing spray across the boat and bounced us, moving the anchor along the bottom. The bank was a dark shape steadily approaching in the downpour as we were pushed toward it by the growing wind and waves.

Then, as quickly as the storm was on us, it was gone.

Coming out from under cover, we knew a bit about how Noah must have felt when the rain stopped, though our storm was shorter. We stretched, unsnapped the windows, shook off the rain, and stowed them under the deck. Then we folded the top down and pulled up anchor. Only then did we look up to the ridges and see the damage.

A mini-tornado had crossed the hillside in front of us, twisting trees on their stumps in a swath about 20 feet wide. Then it crossed the cove above us and hit the opposite ridge. The tornado continued to cut a path up that ridge as well.

We gave each other a look that acknowledged the close call, then set our lines and continued to fish.

Some lakes are more prone for problems in bad weather than others. For example, one small lake nearby is shaped like a turnip, with a large, open center and a few short branches where rivers run in. The only launching ramp sits on the southwest corner off the main channel. When a storm blows up, strong winds invariably blow out of the northeast. With the open water, waves run unobstructed across the channel and pound the launch ramp.

The ramp also has one other shortcoming, namely, if you’re taking your boat out, the stern is exposed to the waves. Dozens of boats have sunk at the ramp as a result of waves breaking over the back and swamping the boat while trying to trailer it in rough water.

What usually happens is the boat makes a run at the trailer and a wave or gust of wind blows the boat off track. When the operator backs up for another run at it, the stern is pushing into the waves and soon the boat is under water.

Some places invite trouble in bad weather more than others and it’s good to know which is which.

You might think small streams would be safer in storms, but that may not always be true. The hazards you face might just be different.

On one of those small streams I frequent, I once was fishing there with my daughter when a thundercloud popped over the ridge with little notice. In the gradual darkening, lightning flickered close by and thunder echoed off the mountains as deep as bass drums.

Realizing we wouldn’t beat the storm back to the truck, I looked around for some kind of shelter. The hardwoods rose through the canopy like natural lightning rods and I preferred to avoid sitting under them. A few dead trees looked on the verge of falling so we moved away from those. Looking downstream, I spotted a bridge so we broke into a fast clip and climbed underneath.

We squatted on broken rock knowing that should lightning strike, the jolt would be dispersed compared to sitting on a solid rock vein. The bank and bridge offered protection from wind and debris, so we felt somewhat reassured while waiting out the storm.

Wind whipped branches nearby and blew leaves like confetti while the thunder shook the air. The storm was intense and short-lived, the way thunderstorms tend to be. During the middle, you question whether this trip was a good idea and by the end you wonder what all the fuss was about.

It’s only after the trip ends and you’re driving home no worse for wear that you look at each other and one of you says, “Boy, that was stupid.”

And laughter fills the truck and the tension dissipates.

Bad weather still catches me on the water from time to time, even though technology has reduced the times I’m surprised. Now, I pick my windows of time and reduce the odds I’ll be caught in a storm.

Occasionally, the lakes and streams I choose are out of phone signal range anyway and part of the reason I selected them in the first place. Most of us fish, in part, to leave these intrusions behind.

On these earlier trips when I did get caught out, I’m not sure hourly weather updates would have caused us to leave earlier. We could usually see the storms and trusted our eyes more than an alert from our phones.

Besides, the fish were biting.

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Jim Mize survived his bad judgment long enough to write two award-winning books of humor and nostalgia for outdoorsmen that may be found at acreektricklesthroughit.com.

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