Photo by Ron Sinfelt

From the pine-covered ridge above the lake I could see the dimples of rising fish. In moving outwards, each arc of waves caught the sun, sending its rays glistening into the mountains under the warm afternoon sky.

Early summer is marvelous for trout fishing in the Black Hills. The water has yet to warm enough to turn the fish sluggish, so you can go out right now and find fish feeding in the middle of the afternoon -- as I was lucky enough to be doing.

Down by the lakeside, I could hardly wait to get the float tube in. I strung up my fly rod and tied on a Pheasant Tail, one of the favorite flies of many of the best Black Hills trout fishermen. I cast out and let the fly drop down under the water surface. As I stripped the line in and slowly maneuvered the tiny imitation through the water, it didn't appear that anything was near it. A chickadee flitted by; the breeze died under the rising heat. And then the line grew taut.

When it comes to catching trout in Black Hills lakes, the hooking is one of the most difficult things to pull off; sometimes, most of trout that bite aren't hooked. The reasons for this are somewhat of a mystery, and often enough, hooking them's mostly luck. But it's just such unknowns that distinguish fishing as a sport and an art, not a craft.

This time the hook did set, and the trout pulled mightily before jumping completely out of the water. Flopping, its scaly body reflected the sun. It was a rainbow trout, the most commonly stocked fish in the dozen-plus trout lakes scattered across the mountains of the Black Hills.

The fish came close enough for me to drag it over the top of the water and get a wet hand under its slimy little form. (It's always best to wet the hands before touching a trout. Otherwise, you rub some of the slime off of its skin, which then becomes much more susceptible to infection. When trout exhibit "patches" it's possible that dry-handed humans handled them improperly.)

I unhooked the fly from this one, and it swam off quickly, not too tired out, but probably not all that happy about what had just transpired, either.

MANMADE FISHING
This type of fishing experience is extremely common in the Black Hills. None of the lakes here were generated by geology and hydrology; all were created by humans. But for the most part they fit into the mountains, seeming just to snuggle in the right parts of the lower ravines and hollows, as if they were quite natural, and anglers ply them regularly -- especially at this point in the year, as some of the finest lake fishing for trout is to be had right now.

The fish resource is at present in good shape in Black Hills lakes, say South Dakota Department of Game, Fish and Parks fish biologists. Part of that has to do with the big turnaround in recent years of Sheridan Lake, one of the old standbys in the Black Hills.

It wasn't too many years ago that Sheridan had been given up on as a trout lake, thanks to misguided amateur biologists stocking it with virtually every type of fish that can survive in South Dakota. The result was fierce competition for food among all species. A very frightened population of small trout that had to spend considerable amounts of time escaping the jaws of northern pike was consequently rapidly dwindling.

The northerns are still there, but the trout are doing much better. Biologists began stocking bigger trout -- big enough to avoid immediately becoming a snack for predators such as northerns and largemouth bass -- and anglers are now catching some creditable trout at Sheridan. Actually, they're some of the best average-sized trout ever to come out of the lake. The key: More trout are surviving to be caught by anglers.