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Information and story on Birds Along Trout Stream Fishing.
Birds along a Trout Stream From the standpoint of taking trout, one of my favorite streams has little attraction. But over the seasons, it is one I often fish be cause it has a beautiful, fascinating complement of birds. In late May, when birds are still busy with their nestings and young, this stream is well worth any fisherman's attention, even though he would be lucky to take more than four keeper-size trout during a day's fishing. I always select one spot on this brushy stream for eating my noonday sandwich. A small brook pours across the cobbles here, under a wide-spreading maple, joining the larger stream above a shadow-haunted sandbar. It is a quiet place, but one where there is always some woodland drama or activity that is, if I am perfectly still and wait patiently. Birds nest in that wide-spreading maple. Grosbeaks sing above the companionable chatter of the riffle. Once, while sitting here in the warm sunshine, my back to a small cedar tree, a hawk skimmed in over the alders. Two nesting grosbeaks rose to the attack like interceptor planes, their alarm cries sounding shrill and piercing above the forest. Cliff swallows swarmed out of a high granite escarpment and robins came from the bankside alders. When that frantic hawk disappeared over the trees, he was being followed by a swarm of angry birds. After awhile, they returned the grosbeaks to their maple, the robins to such secret places as they use for nest ings. There was singing again along the stream. Here, in season, a ruffed grouse brings her young for dust bathing tiny creatures looking for all the world like baby chicks, except for their cautious wildness. On those occasions when I have inter cepted them, they have given me very friendly entertainment. Down toward the sandbar through the protective weeds they come, the procedure always the same. First the old grouse steps out cautiously from the cover, her head cocked this way and that, as she looks and listens. Satisfied, she makes a low clucking call, and the chicks come scurrying out of the sheltering weeds. They go over the gravel bar methodically, picking up minute bits of tree pollen, and stray insects. After a while, apparently tiring of this, they select a warm spot where there is plenty of dried silt mixed with the sand, and they dust-bathe. I often wonder what becomes of those ruffed grouse families? This section is never hunted, yet they never seem to increase from year to year. Occasionally, I will flush a grouse and her chicks below or above this stream section, but the ruffed grouse population re mains very stable from season to season. They give this stream a touch of wildness that helps to make it a beautiful place to spend a day fishing, even though one's creel is invariably light. Another bird which is part and parcel of most trout waters is the water ouzel. As much at home in the water as a trout itself, it will walk on the bed of a stream, wings outspread to keep it on the bottom. Moving around under water, it searches the rocks and gravel for nymphs and caddis fly larvae the very food of trout and other fish. Water ouzel nests are usually built near waterfalls, or on rocks where spray keeps them constantly wet. Their construction of moss and lichen makes them so inconspicuous that they are not easily found by an angler unless he is very familiar with their nesting habits. One nest that I found while fishing a wilderness river was built only a few inches above the white water of a riffle. Long streamers of wet moss on a granite boulder had been parted, and the nest set on an outjutting of rock. Spray constantly wetted the moss, and the small aperture which the birds used in getting in and out of the nest was scarcely noticeable. When I fished up through this section of river, my attention was attracted by the tiny head and bright beady eyes of a water ouzel thrust through the opening in the moss. When I moved closer, the nesting bird flitted away, the disturbance of her wings almost closing the aperture but not so close that I couldn't see three small eggs in the nest. The singing of a water ouzel on a trout stream is one of the most beautiful of bird songs. Quite often, anglers will hear this shy cascad ing music above the sound of the water, without knowing what woodland musician is responsible. It is a rare song, as rare as it is beautiful. The bird selects a site near its nesting, and always close to the water for its singing. Here on a bright spring morning it will pipe the sun to the river. A most friendly bird found along trout streams is the tomtit. This brown, diminutive wren inhabitant of the forest is often seen flitting from fern to fern, examining each frond for insects. Its tail is held jauntily over its back, making it very easy to recognize, even if its coloring and small size were not a dead giveaway. Quite often, while eating a noonday sandwich, I have had a tomtit come for a visit. The first hint of his presence will be a low, cheerful call. Then I will see him grasping a grass stem or fern, examining me closely. If I remain perfectly quiet, he will eventually fly over and perch on my knee, shoulder, or hat. Then he will drop down to my sandwich for the feasting. There is a tumbledown miner's shack on one river I fish, which often serves me as an overnight camp. I can go to bed here, com pletely assured that I will not oversleep and miss the early morning fly fishing. I am sure to be awakened by a flicker drumming on a loose shingle of the cabin roof, before the first shaft of sunlight breaks over the mountains. There is plenty of time after I am awakened to build a fire, make a pot of coffee, then be off to the river. Once, while I was resting a pool on the Umpqua River, a ruby throated hummingbird came to my Royal Coachman fly. The fly was stuck in my hatband, and I was sitting on the bank waiting for things to cool dawn a bit after landing a steelhead. The humming bird dropped down to me in a scroll of velvet wings to examine my fly, then flitted away. But it returned at once, unable to make up its mind about this exotic flower. The second time it held steady (I did, tool) while it methodically proved that, despite its appearance, the Royal Coachman held no nectar. Convinced, it moved away to busy itself about the brilliantly hued salmonberry along the stream. These are only a few of the birds which have made fishing some thing more than just taking fish. There are many others. Unless you temper your fishing with a careful study of these streamside in habitants, you are missing some of the best of angling. After all, fishing is more than just taking fish. It is a way of life.
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