One nice thing about fishing this time of year: you're not likely to fish in a crowd. You might see a couple of others, and like you, they probably value their solitude as much as you do. You tend not to bother each other; the social exchanges are apt to be quiet, pleasant, and brief before you go your separate ways.
The solitude you'll find when it's not quite spring is reason enough to get out and fish.
Another nice thing is that despite the cold water temperatures that lull the trout into a semi-comatose state, they still have to eat. The bad news is that they don't eat as much and they don't eat as often. You have to fish deliberately, patiently, and persistently.
Done right, it's methodical and pleasantly engrossing. When the fishing becomes repetitive, it's almost a form of meditation. The mind escapes the boundaries of self-consciousness and is free to wander, free to take in whatever is there that is balm for the soul.
More good news is that the trout eat best during the most pleasant part of the day. If it's cold in the morning, have a second cup of coffee or an early lunch. As the day begins to chill off when you're out on the river, less than you might notice if you're sitting indoors and looking out the window, it's time to go home.
The thing that keeps a lot of hopeful-but-hesitant anglers off the river these days is not knowing how to prepare. You do have to specialize, but it's not too hard.
We know about changeable weather in our part of Montana; you need to dress for it with layers enough to handle sudden and unforeseen changes. Fingerless gloves or mitts and a hand warmer tucked into an inside pocket can make the difference between misery and pleasantly chilly. That nice 14-incher may take more time to revive than you think, and your hands can get cold!
Dark polarized and UV sunglasses are a must. So are lugged instead of felt-soled wading boots. Felt soaks up water and can freeze without warning.
Besides, you won't do much wading anyway.
The trout will be holding off the main current, in water moving no more than two feet per second, and you won't need to get more than ankle-deep. To find them, comb the water out in a grid pattern. Start close, make sure you get a good cast in, repeat it once more and then move your next cast out just a few inches.
Repeat until you hook up. When you've located where the fish are holding, continue to focus on that type of water as you move along the stream. The grid becomes narrower as you concentrate on the productive water.
The temptation to bounce a #8 heavily weighted rubberlegs nymph along the bottom might pan out, or it might not. Ditto for a single nymph under an indicator.
I find that too much splish-splash in my approach works against me. Sometimes you need weight to get down and nothing else will do; but it's more likely in low, cold, clear water that you don't need too much. Cast further upstream with a lighter nymph and let it drift naturally through the feed zone.
I often fish with a #14 or #16, sometimes #18 nymph, tied off behind a #8 stonefly nymph.
Trout are seeing stonefly nymphs all the time. They're in the system for two, three, or four years before they hatch. They're beginning their migrations toward shore to crawl out and hatch in succession.
The smaller bugs, baby stoneflies, caddisflies and mayflies are more numerous, and the slightest change in current speed can knock one off a rock and set it adrift in the current. A little bit of rain is all it takes. Those smaller bugs are far more numerous than the bigger stoneflies. The trout see more of them and eat them all the time. The smaller fly might get you more trout on any given day.
You might try one behind a #6 or #8 wooly bugger, brown or olive, fished on a slow, very slow retrieve.
Or fish that small nymph by itself, with a small split shot just a handspan above the fly and with very little or no indicator. Keep a slightly tightened line, and fish until a gentle tug interrupts your reverie.
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