Wet Wading the Clarion River

                                                   Wet Wading the Clarion River

8/23/25 

 It was a warm Saturday morning. I had set up my camper at a campground in the ANF the day before just for a few days. I hadn’t fished for a week and was wanting to get out to the river to cast a line.

 I parked along the roadside and got my wading gear on, assembled my 9’ Compass fly rod and grabbed a few cigars. I figured, being a Saturday, there would be watercraft usage on the river. I was pretty far upriver away from the boat liveries and most easy access launches so I didn’t expect to be interrupted too frequently. 

 When I stepped into the water the water felt cool so I figured there was maybe a mountain spring run off upriver. It wasn’t like it gave me goose bumps but I knew, from the past outings, the water feels like warm bath water in the direct sunlight out in the open.

 I already had a Woolly Bugger attached to my tippet being the first long section of water I’de be fishing would be a section of wavy water that ran clear across the river. The radio stations claimed it might rain with a passing thunder shower but not till later in the evening. Weathermen and presidents are the only people who can be wrong more than 50% of the time and still keep their job.

 Looking up the clouds were slowly moving across the sky. They were bright white and puffy at times. Then looking up again they would turn grayish casting an unpredictable uneasy feeling down upon the river. It was like a mood ring on a women’s finger! You never know what her mood is until you looked at the ring! Above the clouds the sinister blue sky, pale metallic blue, was not too convincing of a beautiful day to be out. Even with the conditions so far I wasn’t to worried or prepared for a thunder shower. I donned my palm cowboy hat and didn’t  bring along any rain gear. Since I was wet wading I would just wade out and up to the truck in case of the first sign of rain. 

 On occasion a somewhat cool breeze would blow upriver towards me. It was if I could smell the moisture in its presence. The water was clear so the rocks and bigger stones stood out beneath like ice cubes in a glass of vodka on the rocks! Other than that the water was just about the shallowest I had ever seen it. This meant I would be able to wade out and reaching at least 3/4 across the river with my casts. The sunshine was already above unveiling the stream side greenery of trees and brush as if trying to brighten up the otherwise uncertain conditions.

 I waded to the riffling wavy water and the head of the water was pretty shallow. I casted out and held the rod tip up so my weighted bugger wouldn’t drag bottom and get snagged up. Usually I use a brown bugger fishing for smallmouth in the river but this morning I chose an olive shade I tie. Reason being I already knew trout inhabit the cooler and more oxygenated water I was starting to fish in. I’ve had more trout liking my olive color than brown thou I’ve caught trout on brown and vice-versa caught smallmouth on olive. 

 Slowly I waded further out and down into the wavy current casting my bugger across and letting it swing down river. I got my first take half way downriver where I casted the bugger on the far side of the wavy water that was calmer and looked deeper. A fish grabbed the bugger as if it drifted right into its mouth. Just enough of a stoppage of the line I saw and a nudge I felt that let me know something grabbed it. I reared back the rod and the battle began. He put up a good fight swimming into the wavy water and undercurrent. I had a feeling it was a smallmouth by the way it swam and jarred the line unlike a trout that darts quickly and tugs more frequently and fiercely. In the thigh high water I was standing in I got the smallmouth near enough to net him.

 

  Well, I stood my ground and decided to cast into the same area to see if there were any more around. It was if I found a small pocket of hungry fish waiting for food to pass by. I’m not sure what a Woolly Bugger is specifically suppose to represent but fish love them. Maybe a sculpin or just a clawless crawdad drifting beneath? I pulled out 3 more smallmouth around the same area. I knotted on a popper and tossed it out but didn’t have a take so I went back to the Olive Woolly Bugger and it was like it was the favorite meal of the day. I caught another before moving on. 

 I made a long cast across stream and watched the line as the bugger swung downriver into the wavy current. There was a lull in the wavy surface and I was anticipating a strike as I figured the bugger would enter. Without a strike I let the bugger swing downriver just below me and started to strip it towards me when I got a hard take. The line straightened as I lifted the rod back for a hook set. The fish darted across creek fast and strong enough I let it take line. I moved my rod upstream and he followed like a dog on a leash into the rushing current. There I moved the rod forcing side pressure on him. He eventually gave in, with the side pressure force, and swam downriver. We had quite a bit of a struggle before I netted a nice healthy rainbow. 

 After that I had two other fish hooked but lost them in the strong undercurrent. Just before the bridge I caught two more small smallmouth. Downstream from the bridge the water was pretty shallow or at least looked that way. I waded out, as I casted, until I was pretty much standing in the center of the river casting towards the far bank but no where near it. I was in thigh high water minding my own business when I heard voices upriver. Low and behold, looking upstream, a group of tubers were headed my way. The first few pardon themselves for disturbing my fishing. The river was open all too enjoy so I told them so as long as they didn’t run into me there wasn’t a problem. We laughed as they kept their distance. The last two were headed pretty much right for me. It looked like a young girl with her father behind her giving her instructions how to avoid me. Splashing her feet and waving her arms she was able to stay a little more than a few yards from me. She said she was sorry and I assured her it wasn’t a problem. After they left, floating downriver, I continued my fishing with more confidence but that didn’t catch anything. I wasn’t sure if the commotion scared the fish and they went into hiding but I couldn’t conjure up a strike. A few kayakers paddled by before I waded to the bank and up to the road and walked back to my truck. 

 It was just past 2:00 and I wasn’t ready to quit just yet. I drank some water, locked the truck and decided to go back and fish the wavy water again. I lit up another cigar and stepped into the river again. 

 It was near the same area I caught the other bass that I got another grab. It was hard and meaningful. He fought below the surface like a trout and it wasn’t easy to get him near me. It was if he wasn’t letting go and swam and fought with hard tugs. I finally got him close enough to net him. The hook had just barely pierced his lip and looked like it would of come out if he would have made a jump for it! 

 I hooked into one more trout in the wavy current and a couple of smallies.  

 It turned out a better catching day than I would of thought. The fish wouldn’t take a popper but they liked my Woolly Bugger. On the way back to the camper I filled up jugs with spring water, off the mountain that ran through a well placed PVC pipe. Back at camp I feasted on smoked cheese, Genoa salami, Greek olive medley, wine and crackers. That’s how to spend a camping weekend!  

 Though I usually boondock, camping in a small Federal campground in the Allegheny National Forest, with electric, is pretty easy! At $15.00 a site, the price was worth it for 3 days. 

~doubletaper

Hot Gulping July

                                                               Hot Gulping July

7/29/24 

 It’s been a hot and humid couple of weeks. Earlier in the month it rained almost every day and we felt like we were in the rain forest. The past couple of weeks it’s been so hot and humid that we felt like we were in the Sahara desert. There’s no doubt the Pennsylvania weather is unpredictable but this is ridiculous! The camper thermostat averaged around 84º even with the fan going. The humidity has been unbearable inside and almost outside the camper. This morning it was 74º by 10:00 and I couldn’t wait any longer to float the river for smallmouth after breakfast.

 Outside there wasn’t anything I could actually call a breeze. It’s been so hot the tree limbs bowed downward as if they didn’t have enough strength to keep their wilted leaves up from the lack of water. The forest floor was bone dry and the smaller animals evidently were staying in their burrows underground or hidden in tree trunks keeping out of the sun. Birds were the only vocal noise almost if they were disgusted of the heat. I loaded up the float tube with my fly fishing gear and headed up river to put in. 

 On the tailgate I assembled my 6 weight Winston Boron rod and attached an orange popper. At the water I put on my flippers and waded the float tube out from the stony shallows. Once I sat down in the float tube the water was cooler but still much like bath water without the bubbles. At least I was partially wet and my lower body was out of the direct sunlight that was rising behind me. Floating it wasn’t long before I felt the direct heat of the sun rays upon my back. 

 For about an hour I couldn’t raise a fish to my poppers but I was determined to stick with surface poppers and not fish underneath. The water level had been pretty low and clear so I was staying along the banks casting in front of me and in back eddy pools and near tree debris. Occasionally I’d cast out towards the middle of the river but I was convinced, unless the water looked pretty deep, the fish wouldn’t be out in the hot sun sunbathing. 

 I made a few casts out from a sunken tree log and limbs. A fish rose and gulped at my popper and I reared the rod up and back once he went under and not seeing my popper. As the line tightened I was pretty sure I had hooked him. I felt him swim into the log jam and all line motion stopped. Somehow the fish dislodged the hook and the hook snagged on a limb beneath. I had to flipper my way to the hazard and it took awhile to get my popper back but I managed. I nipped off the frayed looking line near the popper and retied on.

 Floating down further I casted along the banks casting in under a shade tree. I watched as the popper fell to the surface in the shade of the tree. A fish surfaced and gulped the popper as soon as it hit the water. It was if he was a butcher’s dog waiting for a scrap of meat to fall off the butcher block. He went under and I waited and then set the hook. He wasn’t a big bass but put up a good short battle. 

 I was taking my time feeling my way near the bank. I made a long cast ahead of me out from the bank in a slow swirling pool. I gurgle It towards me in a stop and go motion. Another fish rose and gulped at it creating a splash. I reared back the rod and the line tightened once again but this time the rod bowed deep. The line took off through the guides on the arcing rod sections. I knew this wasn’t another small smallie. He swam out in the open current as if he knew that was his best chance of escape. I held on tight  tensioning the fly line between my fingers. He tussled with me in the open water before I was able to get him to swim back into the slower pool. He tussled some more beneath as the water swirled above. Nearer the float tube I was able to lip him. A nice specimen settled for a nice picture. 

 I looked at my phone and it was nearing 2:00. The sun was well above shining down on the surface water like a stove top light on a smooth glass top range. It was heating things up and so was the fishing. I’m not sure if the smallies all of a sudden got hungry or they were just snacking. It wasn’t as if they were rising out of the water at my poppers but just surface gulping with one inhale. Maybe the heat was effecting their motivation also until they felt the piercing of their lips or tongue? 

 I had caught a few smaller smallmouth not worthy of a picture. I also missed a couple hook ups. It wasn’t a banner day but it was cooler in the float tube than being out of the water.

~doubletaper 

Preoccupied

                                                                   Preoccupied 

7/22/25 

 

When I walked outside in the morning the temperature was 57º. I was planning on float fishing the river for smallmouth so I hoped the water temperature would be warmer than the outside temperature.

 I got to the river launch area around 9:00. I had my float tube already fish supplied and assembled my 6 weight 9’ Compass fly rod. I noticed there were a few wind knots in the leader so I looped on a new 9.5’ tapered leader. 

 I find a stiff butt and supple tippet is a good mix casting poppers I use for smallmouth. I feel the stiff butt section give the forward loop a stronger pull of the following thinner taper leader. The supple tip lays down the line and popper with a smooth landing on the water. For smallies I usually use 3X or 2X tapered leader. For largemouth I’ll use a heavier butt section and a stiffer tippet leader casting heavier poppers. Bass aren’t line shy so heavy line doesn’t scare the fish.

 To this I knotted on a fas-snap so I can change popper quicker without cutting the leader. I grabbed 3 stogies and at the river put on my flippers. The air temperature read 59º in my truck but the water didn’t seem that cold when I sat down in the float tube ready to fish.

 It wasn’t long that I caught my first smallmouth on a popper. He had me putting my fly rod butt in my gut for leverage because of his strength and the long battle. I knew he was a biggie. He wasn’t coming in easily and I started to chase him downstream to get nearer to him and bring in line. It was like a cat and mouse chase. Enough was enough and I got him to the net safely. He was a big ole’ river smallie on my account. 

  It was still early, not even 10:00, but that was worth my first rewarding cigar. 

 I took time to look around. With the sun up over the tree line I felt its warmth in the cool air. The water was practically gin clear and the lowest water level so far that I had fished this year. The thing about fishing the shallower water is that there is deep pockets here and there so you don’t really know where the big ones are. A lot of times they are in back eddies near the banks where boulders are surfaced or along the banks under the shade of trees. The gentle gusts of winds were in my favor coming from behind me. This helped with good long casts down and across the waters. The puffy clouds above moved slowly and at times covered the sun throwing shadows upon the surface water. I wasn’t sure this was helpful or not? The river was quiet without human interruptions. I suppose because it was a Tuesday. The past weekends there were so many people floating in colored tubes and kayaks, from an airplanes point of view, it probably looked like a bowl of fruit loops on the river. I took a couple more puffs of the cigar and continued on my way.  

 After a couple smallies and misses of small fish I got a real challenging competitor.

I was far enough from the bank but near enough to throw a good looping cast near it. I had a good foothold on the rocky river bed and was slowly stripping and stopping the popper my way. When it got practically straight down from me the water erupted with a smallie rising at my popper. I waited a second, after he went under, and yanked the rod back while holding the line tight. 

 There’s that second of doubt when you feel the rod sections bend and the slack line flings up from the surface. It’s that second of, did I, or didn’t I, that the line appears to straighten. You don’t know if the hook set or the popper will float back up to the surface? This time the line tightened and the surface water swirled. 

 The fish took off down river in haste taking line from the reel. He swam near the bank as if he was looking for an escape route. He quickly turned, after a bit, and headed back up towards my direction. I took in line readily. All of a sudden his momentum stopped but I could still feel him tugging the line. I couldn’t bring him towards me any more. I slowly flippered my way towards him to see what he may of got caught on. Sure enough, in about 2 1/2 feet of water, there was a sunken limb and he got the leader caught around a short branch. He was tugging at the line and branch. I was able to see the mishap and began to maneuver the rod tip in an attempt to free the leader from the branch. With him constantly tugging didn’t make it any easier. This took place about 12 feet from the bank. I got the line freed and the smallmouth swam over towards the bank before I was able to tighten the line on him. That warrior ended up tangling the line again in some branched twigs along the bank. Again I tugged on the line trying to free my leader but it didn’t work. Still the smallmouth was tugging furiously to free itself. I don’t know how the hook didn’t separate from his mouth? The water was shallower so I was able to feel my way along the bottom of the river bed to the twigs. I had the rod tip up as I reached down to untangle the leader and snapped the dried twigs from my line. The smallie swam down along the bank when I got the line free. I let him swim and just about pulled me down river away from the snags with him. Once I got down from the snags enough I got a foot hold and was able to reel him in without any further obstructions. It was as if he tried to outfox me by finding a place to get out of trouble. I was a little more patient and won out in the end. He was a hefty smallie about 16” or so and it looked like he had war paint on along his body. 

 Sometimes I wonder if any of these smallmouth have ever been caught before? If so or not, some of them seem to know how to try to get themselves out of trouble by looking for cover.

 Later on I was fishing the other side of the river. I stationed myself just upstream from a large boulder the was embedded in the bank that stuck out under the water. It jutted out enough that it was if it was a peninsula out into a big pool of lazy water from the main body of the river. I had caught smallmouth here before so I knew there had to be some smallies lurking about. The water pretty deep so when the popper hit the water I’d make off with a big splashing gurgle to draw attention and than gurgle it towards me a little bit easier. I made a cast around the jutting boulder, to my left, and the popper fell to the surface where I was just able to see it. I gave it a big gurgle and started to swim it my way. A fish swooped at it from the side as if he had talons grabbing a fish just below the surface. I quickly pulled the rod and line back.

  I found I was more successful with hook ups on fish that grab the popper from the side to quickly pull back for the set than from below it waiting a second or two. I think when I waited, when a smallie took the popper from the side, the line would actually pull the popper out of his mouth before he closed it. Unless I had a lot of slack in the line a quick hook set was more productive in this case.

 Immediately the line tightened and the smallie took It under. I thought at first he wasn’t a big fish so I held the line tight. After he took off quickly I found out he wasn’t small at all. Line zipped through my fingers so fast that the line cut a small gash in my finger like a paper cut. This was a deep slow pool with very little current for him to use to his advantage but he fought like he had some underwater super powers. After a good quarrel he started to swim towards me staying pretty deep. The rod was bowed down towards him and wouldn’t you know he made it under the jutting boulder below the surface water. The leader may have scraped the boulder before I was able to push off the boulder into the deep bay like pool. This put me downriver from the jutting boulder and smallie. I pulled the rod back and just above the surface to tug him out below the boulder. He swam out reluctantly towards me and then swam towards the bank. He was out of obstructing options and I wasn’t giving him anymore line. He fought deep for a while as I kept reeling in line inches at a time. Near the float tube I was able to lip him. Another nice smallie took a good picture despite his anger. 

 

 I caught one more in the same area before moving on. 

 After some turbulent wavy water it calmed into a wide section of water. I usually get some smaller smallies going for my popper near the stony bank side and under shade trees. I missed a few and caught a few before I reached my exit point.   

 I looked at my cell phone and it was a little after 5:00.

 On the drive home I figured I was floating around 7 hours. That meant I was sitting down for that many hours without standing. I hadn’t sat that long in my life without getting up for something to eat or drink. I guess it didn’t bother me though, I must have been preoccupied!

~doubletaper

Vintage Glass on Bass

                                                       Vintage Glass on Bass

                                                                   7/19/25

 

 I wanted to kayak and fish for smallmouth in the river. I decided to put together my 6 weight fiberglass Wonderod. I wasn’t sure how old it is but I’m pretty sure it’ll be in the vintage category. The cork handle is pockmarked from years of use and felt like the cork was dried out but not to the point of crumbling in my hand. The windings are still in good condition though the marking are pretty much worn but I’m still able to see the Wonderod, weight description and length of 8’ 6” on the butt section. When I was putting the two section together I noticed the ferrules weren’t very tight. I got out my duct tape and taped them together. Hey, like a well used vintage piece of equipment., sometimes a little fixer up makes it more useful. I lined the rod with WF6F line being I planned to use surface poppers. I noticed right off how much heavier it is than my graphite 6 weights I’ve been using. I brought a graphite fly rod anyhow in case I started aching from the weight of casting the glass rod. I don’t know how those old guys could fish with these old heavy fly rods all day?

 I launched in a flat section of water and planned paddling up river until I felt I was far enough upriver to fish my way back down to the launch. I got out a little later than I wanted to so the sun was pretty full figured up above shining down on the river, boulders and green trees that lined the water like a big ole’ flood lamp in the sky. The water was pretty much gin clear so I figured the fish should be able to see my poppers for some distance which means I’ll be casting as far as I can with the glass rod. 

 After missing a gulp early I was able to nab one in a back eddy near the bank. He came up as I was stripping the popper towards me. Instead of coming up underneath he grabbed the popper from the side. I whipped the rod back in a hurry and tagged him. He wasn’t all that big but he put up a good fight flexing the glass rod as I got him to me. The popper was stuck to the side of his mouth, like a lip piercing, and could have came out any time bringing him in 

  After that I caught one more nice smallmouth bass but got free when I tried to lip him out of the water.

 I was about 75 yards from my exit point. I was still concentrating casting along the banks most of the time but every once in a while I’d throw out towards the open water. I was dropping my anchor and then casting. When I covered the area well enough I’d pick up the anchor enough to clear bottom and let the kayak drift some before dropping the anchor again.

 There was about a 12” diameter branched tree log that Y’d upon the bottom of the riverbed out from the bank. The log was pretty deep but with the sun shining down like a spot light I was able to see it below. I wasn’t sure how deep the water was between the log and the bank. I know if I cast out towards the bank it was a risky situation if I caught a decent size smallie to get it from going underneath the log. I was anchored and decided to try it anyhow. 

 My first cast was on the other side of the sunken log but not quite near the bank. I gurgled it my way without a strike and was ready for my next cast. I whipped the rod backward and pulled line for my forward cast. I felt every movement of the heavy flexing glass rod while I casted. My popper fell near the bank and I started to gurgle it my way. A fish exploded up out of the water from beneath my popper like Old Faithful from the earth surface. I waited till he took it under, waited a little more and yanked the glass rod backward with authority. (I learned, because of the soft action of a glass rod, I have to really pull the rod back hard to set a hook on a bass). I felt the glass rod bow when the line tightened. The surface water was left in a big swirl as the smallmouth took off downriver apiece away from the log. I held the old cork handle gripped tightly as the smallmouth pulled and tugged the line. I had a good hold on the fly line with lots of tension when the smallie decided to turn upriver heading for the far side of the sunken log. I took in line quickly and lifted the rod as high as I could to keep him from going under the log. He fought just below the surface but evidently the arcing of the glass rod was enough to keep him from going under. Before I was able to get him over the second branch he had enough strength to swim down river some between the log branches. He splashed on the surface and then tried to go deep enough to swim back under the second branch. The glass rod bowed deeper as I struggled to keep it as high as possible. He disappeared beneath and I thought he got under the logs as I couldn’t feel him fighting much anymore. I whipped the rod down stream hoping to guide him that way, out between the open branches. I knew if I tried to bring him towards me he would have a better chance of getting stuck under one of the logs. I believe that move saved the battle in my favor. The smallie turned down stream and I got him cleared of the logs. I gave him some line hoping he would keep going away from the sunken log but Nooo’. He decided to turn and was determined to get under the logs again like a groundhog ditching back in his hole. I brought in line and kept the fly line tight between my fingers as I lifted the rod high and back. I watched as he cleared the top of the log and I had him coming my way. Having enough line in, to get him to the kayak, I reached for my net. I had him just beside the kayak and he splashed water about like a beavers tail in disgust. I reached down and scooped him up. The popper was embedded in his tongue. After a picture it didn’t take any time at all to unhook the popper from his mouth with my hemostats. He swam away in a hurry like a scared young kid leaving a spooky carnival haunted house!  

  About 50 yards from my exit I happen to cast out into the open water with the popper. As I was stripping it in, across the surface, a smallie rose and attacked it like a feral cat after a field mouse. It actually missed the popper. I let it sit on the surface and then went to strip it towards me when the fish rose again with determination to get it this time. In the splashing commotion I reared back the rod and the line tightened. Another good battle and I was able to lip him from the side of the kayak. 

 At the launch area I took my time emptying my kayak before dragging it up the path to the parking lot. The afternoon sun was throwing down heat like a blast furnace in a steel mill. My button down shirt was soaked with sweat and my palm leaf hat felt like it was a matted permanent fixture on my head. I couldn’t wait to get in the truck and turn on the A/C. 

 Well, what a way to end my fishing with the vintage rod than to smoke an RP 1990 Vintage cigar on the drive home! 

~doubletaper