Will I argue that tenkara fishing is fly fishing? No. I think it’s an irrelevant argument to have anyway. I see it this way: tying flies that imitate insects, casting a line with accuracy, and keeping a dead drift is missing just two elements of traditional western fly fishing; the reel and the fly line. And if we’re being honest, these two things are almost entirely unnecessary when dead drifting dry flies on small creeks and mountain streams.
The day before I’m scheduled to meet my guide, I send him an email as we were in the midst of Japan’s first typhoon of the year. I spend most of the winter swinging flies for steelhead on the coast so I’m no stranger to heavy rain, but I’ve never seen anything like this. We receive over 6” of rain over the course of a day. Yusuke reassures me that all is well, but I still have my doubts.
“Yes, Yesterday was so heavy rain. Tomorrow is no problem. Friday will be rain again, so you are lucky men.”
After meeting Yusuke, we make the 3-hour drive from the bustling city of Tokyo to a river without a person in sight. A stark juxtaposition for a relatively short drive. Yusuke’s English is very good for a native of Japan, but there’s still a bit of a language barrier. The 3-hour drive passes quickly as we have a lot in common between fly fishing, bass fishing, and a love of remote places.
“There’s no one fishing today, very rare. You are lucky men.”
I let Yusuke know that I am interested in fishing the traditional method of tenkara, and he seems very surprised. Even more so when I pull my own rod out of my bag. Yusuke lets me know that he hasn’t guided anyone fishing tenkara for months, and only does so once a month at most. Western fly fishing has recently become the primary method on these tiny Japanese streams for both foreigners and guides, but I’ll soon find that there’s still some old school tenkara masters hidden in these mountains.
As we walk up to the first run, I’m filled with anticipation. It’s the 30th of May, my brother’s birthday. We celebrated his birthday at midnight the night prior and into the morning so I’m fairly hungover.
“Walk like Ninja, kudasai” I hear Yusuke say behind me.
I get low, almost a bear crawl, as I’ve read much about the spookiness of these wild trout in the gin clear water they call home. I spot a few fish working a small run before making my first cast and figure this will be easy. A few delicate casts in without any interest in my fly, and I realize these fish likely saw me leaving the parking lot. I switch to an emergent pattern that is well known throughout California, - Mike Mercer’s “Missing Link.” It’s in between a dry and an emerger, and I’ve found very few fish who can resist it. Within a few casts I’m hooked up to a Yamame, my primary target species. The Yamame is a beautiful native trout to Japan, otherwise known as a Cherry Salmon or the “Queen of the Mountain Stream,” the landlocked cousin to the larger sea-run Sakura Masu. They look a bit like a cutthroat or rainbow trout, with a very unique set of par marks found only in Japan. I take a few photos and send the small fish off, elated to have finally found the fish I’ve been daydreaming about for years.
Our other target is the Iwana, a Japanese species of char that is similar to the brook trout. There are stocked rainbow trout in these rivers, and Yusuke says we’ll mostly catch rainbows. I let him know that I have no interest or desire in doing so, and he has a laugh at that in agreement.
A “Shaku” trout is any wild trout in Japan that exceeds 12” in length. These fish typically live only 2-3 years, so it is rare to find a fish of this size. I’ve read of these fish in my research leading up to the trip but have kept my expectations low in regard to the possibility of tricking a Shaku.
As we approach the second run of the day, I spot a narrow slot between two giant boulders that’s about 6” wide. Yusuke had told me that Iwana prefer living under the big rocks, so I try my best to land my fly in the tricky slot. There’s a thick spider web that continually grabs my light tenkara line and leader, and I can’t get a drift between the rocks. After a few fruitless attempts, I give it one last shot with a heavy-handed cast that breaks through the web. My fly drifts a few inches before being inhaled by a larger than average fish. As I come right to the fish, I can tell it’s a Shaku by both the weight on the rod and Yusuke’s reaction. I’m holding tight and praying to the fish gods that my tiny western fly doesn’t pop loose. After a quick fight, Yusuke nets a beautiful Shaku Iwana. He’s more excited than I am, and that’s saying a lot. We take some photos of the fish after admiring its size and beauty. The Japanese equivalent of a brook trout that’s covered in war scars. As the fish swims off, Yusuke shakes my hand and we celebrate with a Japanese cigarette. I’m not a smoker, but when in Rome.
Speaking of “when in Rome,” lunch time comes before I know it. We’ve already tricked many Yamame and Iwana, without a single rainbow trout in the way. I’m on cloud nine as we make our way up the canyon and arrive at a small lodge/fishing shop/restaurant. It’s commonly frequented by hikers, but today we are the only visitors. It’s run by a family that has been serving hikers, fisherman, and Yusuke’s clients for many years. We walk in and take off our shoes, exchanging them for slippers. Within minutes the table is covered with food, much of which I have no idea what it is. With every bite I take, I ask Yusuke what in the world it is that we’re eating. It’s considered very rude to not eat and finish any food served to you in Japan, a bit of a nightmare for someone who grew up with a bit of a food phobia. When in Rome.
We work our way through a variety of dishes that seemed far more foreign than the already wild list of dishes I’d eaten that week before being approached by an old man who must be in his 90’s. Yusuke tells me he’s a tenkara master who fished the river every day of his life, and I immediately wish I had worked harder on my Duolingo lessons that could have armed me with the skills necessary to hold a conversation with him. It’s quickly apparent that he is in charge of the tiny fly shop located here, and I can’t imagine there’s another fly shop in the entire world that’s more remote than this. I’m entirely unable to understand his words, but I pick up on his hand gestures and body language enough to know that he lost a big fish today. I take a look over his arsenal of rods, some of which have clearly not been moved in decades, before Yusuke ushers me out to begin the second half of our day.
It’s one thing to fish with a tenkara rod and western flies, and another to use the traditional kebari style flies and techniques. Kebari flies have a reverse hackle, which gives them a pulsating action when the rod is pumped with a subtle action. When I say subtle, I mean subtle. The technique is deadly effective when done right, and will scare every trout within a square mile when done incorrectly. I’m very motivated to utilize this technique successfully, and with a bit of help from Yusuke I am finally able to trick a Yamame into eating my fly as it dances just under the surface of the river. A far cry from the “dapping” or “cane poling” that tenkara fishing is so often compared to.
By this time on our trip, I’ve began to run out of clean clothes and am currently wearing a shirt that says “Tokyo” which screams foreigner, but Yusuke loves it and makes it clear he wants a photo of a fish next to the logo. Every fish caught in the second half of the day gets its photo taken next to my shirt, with Yusuke grinning the entire time. As we near the end of the day, we approach a breathtaking waterfall. Yusuke had been using a method of nymphing that seemed more akin to dredging a big river, so I took the opportunity to teach him the dry-dropper method. He seems genuinely excited to learn about this, but after a few casts he realizes he’s left his net a ways down the river. He leaves me alone as he hikes back to retrieve it, and I revel in the moment of solidarity in a corner of the world that would be near impossible for me to get to alone. I land a few more fish under the waterfalls, and feel immensely fulfilled with admiration for this country, its people, food, and fish. Yusuke arrives a few moments later and I utter “Tokyo?” - knowing that I need to get back before dark to celebrate my brother’s birthday amongst friends.
Driving back to Tokyo, I was telling Yusuke that our group had not yet been lucky enough to get a view of Mt. Fuji due to all the weather that week. He’s scanning the sky for a break in the clouds before making a hard turn down a side road. A few minutes later he parks and tells me to follow him. We walk down a trail towards an observatory tower. Upon reaching the top, we’re greeted by an amazing view of Mt. Fuji. I sit there in awe for what felt like forever, but it was probably five or so minutes before the mountain was again obscured by clouds. On the walk back I thank him profusely for the amazing day on the water, and for going the extra mile for the view of the mountain.
Without missing a beat, Yusuke says “Today, you are lucky men.”
To book a trip with Yusuke, contact: https://www.troutandking.com/eng/tokyo.html or follow along @bassinheaven on Instagram.
