John Walker and I (Pete  Drochelman) went to Tan Vat on November 4 because the state parks were closed and the weather was forecast to be great. The goal was to do advanced research on fishing variables to benefit the members of FATC. As many of you know, John is a scientist and I’m a … knucklehead, so I do whatever John suggests I do. 
It was a beautiful day with the air temperature reaching 74° and the water temperature at 40°. There was only one other car in the parking lot when we arrived mid morning. Before lunch we fished below Tan Vat and saw signs of fish but we couldn’t translate the “seeing” to the “catching” for quite some time. Neither of us had any luck drifting nymphs or midges so I switched to an olive green woolly bugger and caught a nice 14“ rainbow. We had a few more taps on the line that felt like strikes but I suspect might have been “leaf strikes” due to fallen leaves floating down the stream. 
We both experimented with smiling out of the left and right sides of our mouths but it didn’t increase our fishing productivity. I also tried decreasing my height by kneeling in the stream but the gravel was too painful to my knees so I quickly gave up that potential variable. We did see signs of beaver in the area which reminded us that we were fishing in the great outdoors rather than being at work or mowing the lawn. 
After lunch of peanut butter and jelly and roast beef sandwiches we gave it another try, shifting up even more variables. I contemplated wearing a Hawaiian print baseball cap, rationalizing that if trout thought it was a holiday from my apparel, they might lower their guard and be more catchable. I eventually dismissed wearing the Hawaiian print baseball cap due to low self-esteem. 
John, being a little bit more cerebral, added an olive Serendipity, size 18, as a dropper and immediately started catching fish. He caught 3 or 4, the browns all about 10 or 11 inches, suggesting to him they might have been stocked by the conservation department.
I fished above Tan Vat after lunch, experimented with a number of patterns with no action whatsoever. I waded downstream until I saw a patch of very clean gravel about 5’ x 3’ where 5 or 6 large fish were holding, chasing each other periodically. The clean gravel made me wonder whether they were spawning but being a card-carrying Knucklehead, I figured I would confirm that with John later in the day. 
I tried drifting everything imaginable right through that gravel patch with no luck. I swung minnow patterns of all sizes right through these beauties still with no luck. There had been Caddis and Mayfly hatches throughout the day, and I even dropped some dry flies on top of them to no effect. Finally, with my tail between my legs, I gave up and waded down stream a bit to fish some other structure. 
By this time I was swinging a beadhead soft hackle. On a last second “what the heck” whim, I decided to cast directly upstream into the clean gravel patch  where I had previously struck out, before I was completely out of range. Wham. “Fish on! Check that… big fish on.” As it ran upstream I was grateful I had hex screws on the bottom of my boots for traction or else I would’ve been water skiing upstream towards Montauk from the strength of this behemoth. There were some locals on a gravel bar nearby so I tried to remain as composed as possible so they would conclude I caught fish of this size regularly. After a heroic battle of twenty … 2 1/2 minutes, I had this monster in the net. The rainbow had strikingly red coloration on its gills and centerline and measured 17“ long and as thick as my waist… thigh… forearm. With great fanfare I released it back into the wild, contemplating that I caught one of the smaller fish in that clean gravel patch, proof there are many more giants in the Tan Vat section of the Current river.
Feeling content with my success for the day, I decided to wade downstream back to my car, and put away my gear. In one last conscientious effort to gather data, I decided to pull out my stream thermometer to see if the temperature had changed. I walked to the edge of the stream where the grass was long and curved over the edge, and dangled my thermometer on a string into the water. Being a card-carrying knucklehead… member of FATC, I didn’t realize the curved edge of grass on shore was a mirage and had no solid ground beneath it. Quickly I felt myself losing my balance towards the water and in one last desperate effort, I tried to reach down and grab two handfuls of grass to keep myself on terra firma. The handfuls of grass immediately tore away and I landed squarely in the middle of the stream on my back. At this very moment, John was walking across the stream towards me. I stumbled and sputtered my way out of the river, drenched to the bone, when I realized how good of a friend I have in John. He calmly said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.“ Its friends like these that I’ve met through the Flyfishers at the Crossing and I’m grateful.
Side note – I think I overheard the locals on the gravel bar nearby, who had witnessed this waterborne spectacle, say, “He must be a city boy.“ Ouch.
Side note 2 – Since I ate yogurt and granola for breakfast and peanut butter and jelly for lunch, I’ve concluded that peanut butter and jelly is a wiser choice if you wanna catch big fish. You’re welcome.