Just Another Day

                                                                   Just Another Day

3/21/25 

 It looked like a nice day to go fishing looking out the truck window in my warm truck. The sun was shining and the visual signs of the park looked inviting. The thermostat, in the truck, read 39 degrees so I wasn’t too anxious to get dressed and go out fishing just yet. There were already a couple of vehicles in the lot nearby. I put on a tossle cap and stepped outside. The outside was cold and wasn’t as pleasant as it looked from the truck window. I walked down to the creek to have a look see. Looking over, from the bank, there were three guys fishing down creek. Two with a fly rod and one with spinning gear. Way up creek, at the big bend, were a couple of other fishermen. 

 The air was chilly but there was no sign of rain and the wind was light. Clouds moved slowly above below the cool blue sky. I fished the same area a week ago but now the water had came down and the flow looked less challenging. It looked like a good day!

 Back at the truck I was in no hurry to get started. It was around 11:00 by now but I knew, from last outing, the stoneflies didn’t hatch till around 2:30 or there after. While I was getting my fishing gear on the spin fisherman came to the parking area. He said he hadn’t caught anything and didn’t see anyone else catch anything. 

 Back, out in the water, it was like the trout just weren’t hungry. The next few hours I only caught one trout and a guy downstream only caught one trout before him and the other guy left. I knew there were trout around but couldn’t figure out what they wanted. Sure they might be lethargic and you have to serve them right in front of their face but I’m sure we had done that without a bite. It’s hard for me to believe they were waiting for the stonefly hatch come 2:00 or so. I mean, there’s times I wake up in the morning and can’t wait for dinner time at the local buffet restaurant but I’de have to eat something before hand!

 I was throwing food out in every direction. Tidbits of nymphs, wet flies, San Juans and meaty buggers and Streamers. It was if my offerings smelled like Pepe’ Le Pew and not even a stray cat wanted to get near it. I finally saw my first rise and being I wasn’t doing any good underneath I figured I’de practice my dry fly casting. I knotted on a stonefly dry and start casting it out. 

 Every once in a while a trout would rise but they didn’t want anything I offered them. There weren’t any stoneflies I saw yet but only these small midges. I watched one fall to the water making a commotion on the water as it skirted the surface till a mouth came up and gulped it in. It had to be a size 22 or less. I’m not crazy about tossing anything less than an18. Even tying 20’s or less is a challenge let alone trying to knot one on. That’s one thing I’ll never understand. Why would a trout refuse a hearty meal but take a morsel instead. Are they really that picky at times? 

 When a few stoneflies finally started to appear on the water a few more trout started to rise. I was ready for them. It wasn’t a full fledged hatch like the week before but there were enough risers now and then to keep things interesting. After catching my first on a dry a couple of guys walked the bank down towards me and entered the water downstream from me. I think once they saw me catch a trout on top, and saw risers, they knotted on dries also. 

  By chance one of the fellows called out my name. By coincidence we actually fished another creek the week before!

 

 Most of the rising trout were near the far bank or far enough away that I needed to make long casts. With the gusts of wind, now and then, it wasn’t easy to know where my dry fly would end up. This is why I use a fast action rod and weight forward line. Also I make more sidearm casts to keep the wind resistance down to a minimum. 

 We were catching trout anywhere between 8” to 10” mostly but one never knows until you get one in the net. 

 I made a long cast where one trout seemed to be feeding, at will, within my easy casting range. It took a few casts to get him to rise but he took the stonefly dry as it drifted into his zone. I reared back the long length of line and I hooked him. The rod bent good on the hook set and the battle was on. I knew I had a good lengthy trout by the arc in the rod and the strength of his fight. More than once he fought just below the surface stirring up the water like the Tasmanian Devil itself kicking up dust on his appearance. It took some patience but I got him in the net safely. Nice rainbow!

 Continuing casting to risers was a lot more interesting than drifting nymphs or streamers!

  I happen to notice one trout just sipping the surface. If I wasn’t looking in his direction I wouldn’t have noticed. I made a cast up creek of his freezing zone with an arc in the fly line so the first thing the trout should see is the stonefly dry and not the tippet or fly line. It was if my dry fly was just resting and drifting on the surface like Daffy Duck drifting peacefully after fighting the wind. The nose of a trout broke the surface and sipped it in like a marshmallow on a cup of hot chocolate. I reared back the rod and the fly line rose off the surface water as quick as the chain off the ground when Barnyard Dawg chases after Foghorn Leghorn. The line tightened and another trout was battling beneath flexing the rod like a cat playing with a stick and string toy! He raced up creek like the Road Runner and then quickly turned down creek like Wiley Coyote being followed by a misguided Acme missile. We fought tooth and nail and I finally won out getting the frisky trout in the net. Another nice size rainbow. 

  As rises slowed down in front of me I noticed a few risers up in the shallower water. I waded up creek being careful like Elmer Fudd carefully and silently tip toeing to get within range of Daffy Duck. Once within casting range I made casts upstream. It took a few casts to get my offering within the trouts sight. The trout rose to it and I was quick enough to pull line back and set the hook. He was near as big as the trout earlier and scurried around in the riffling water. 

 

 

We fished together for the next hour or so until the trout quit rising. We each caught a fair amount considering the lack of many risers. Anytime we saw a rise we concentrated on casting to them.

 It was just another day in my life casting to rising trout and smoking good cigars.

 

  ~doubletaper

Lunkers on the 4 Weight

                                                           Lunkers on the 4 Weight 

                                                                       3/12/25

 The clouds in the sky looked like a bunch of puzzle pieces spread out on a powder blue table cloth. The morning air was still on the chilly side when I stepped out of my truck onto the parking area. There were already quite a few cars, which I expected, in the parking lot. The state had stocked the Delayed Harvest creek two weekends before and the shop just stocked Lunkers last Saturday with the donations from a fund jar they keep on the shop counter. The day was suppose to warm up to 50+ degrees around noon and sunny. I’m sure the  fisher people couldn’t wait to get out and do some casting after the cold, freezing weather of winter blues. I had fished the week before but wasn’t going to wait any longer for another outing.

 I decided to piece together my 4 weight Douglas 9’ fast action fly rod for todays session. I attached my Cheeky Reel with WF5F line. I knotted on a fas-snap to the tapered leader and snapped on a Woolly Bugger. I know some fishermen claim the fas-snaps don’t let the streamers move significantly but I catch many a fish using them and can change patterns quickly without shortening my tippet. Of course I don’t use them when I use nymphs or dry flies but using streamers I don’t usually do without.

 I put on my chest waders and felt wading boots. I put on my Eddie Bauer fishing jacket, grabbed a few cigars and headed to the creek to catch me some of those Lunkers.

 Guys were lined up along the creek. They were spaced out enough for casting room but I didn’t want to crowd anyone. Besides they were all nymph fishing with the rhythmic flow of casting upstream, following their indicators with their rod tips as the line flows downstream. Then with a high hefty roll cast upstream begin the process all over again till some one catches a fish of one decides to knot on another offering. If they ever have synchronized nymph fishing in a fly fishing competition I bet some of these groups of guys would come in the top three places in the event. 

 Being that I would be casting buggers and streamers I stayed up creek from these nymphers for room for my buggers to swing down creek. This left me starting in the faster riffles as the other guys were fishing the slower flow below. No matter, I was sure there were fish spread out along the creek. 

 I stepped into the water and immediately felt the coldness of the water around my ankles and legs. I waded out a couple of yards for casting room behind me and tossed my bugger midstream in front of me and let it swing. I added a little weight to my tapered leader to get the bugger down further below the moving current. I started to catch a couple of smaller rainbows on the bugger before I got a good test on the 4 weight.

 I casted across the flow near the far bank a little upstream. I lowered the rod and let the bugger swing beneath the current. I felt a hard tug and that was all I needed to feel! I whipped the rod up and back pulling fly line towards me. The fly line shot up from the surface water and the tapered leader tightened under the strength of a healthy rainbow. While battling the rainbow in the quick current wasn’t an easy task. He was wild and strong. I kept a tight line on him but I wasn’t controlling his whereabouts. He tugged and yanked as he swam about. When he surfaced, at times, he yanked harder like a Doberman trying to yank his favorite toy from the owners grasp. My 4 weight flexed so deep at times I was worried so I had to let line out and even loosened the drag. Time again I had him coming towards me and he would just forcefully pull away taking line. Not that I finally convinced him to come in quietly but I was able to scoop him up in my net. He was surely one of the Lunkers that had just been stocked within the past 2 weekends.  

 By the fresh bruise on his lip I imagine he had been caught before. Maybe he got away from the last person and thought he’d get away again. He was wrong. I tilted the net into the water and he swam free. 

 After that ordeal and rod performance I was thinking that I should go back and get a 5 weight with heavier backbone? I didn’t want to lose my place and I figured what was the odds of catching more Lunkers? As time went on and fishermen moved out I made my way down creek to slower current. Sticking with the Woolly Bugger I was doing all right catching a trout now and then among the nymph fishermen. I noticed, except for one Lunker, most of the nymph guys were catching average size trout in the 8” to 10” range. No one else was using streamers so I just figured the bigger trout wanted more meat, than little morsels, so my streamers were effective with bigger trout.

  By noon and there after the sun brought warmth. Along with it its rays reflected off the water like light reflecting off high grade diamonds in a well lit showcase. The glare was pretty much unbearable I suppose if one wasn’t wearing polarized lenses. About 1:00 a small hatch of stoneflies started to emerge. The slight breeze was helping them scoot upon the water towards the far bank. Trout began to rise and me and a fisherman on my right were in the right spot to cast drys to the surface feeders. After he saw me catch a couple of the feeders he too began to fish drys. 

 As more stoneflies blew and winged themselves across the water more trout were feeding. Most within a couple of yards from the far bank. There was a couple fish feeding just under overhanging thin branches. I made a sidearm cast and my cast dropped my stonefly dry just under the overhang. This put my line straight across from me and with that a nice easy drag free drift into a feeding zone. 

 The thought process that goes through my mind with what I think is a perfect cast and presentation is kind of nerve racking. Will the trout take it? I’m oblivious to anything around me. I can hear the trout caught by the nymph fisherman to my left splashing but I dare not look. I see the splash, in the corner of my vision, of the dry fly the fisherman to my right just casted out but I’m not concerned in the least. I watch the elk hair wing, of my dry, slowly drifting on the surface. My fly line pinched between my left hand fingers with my right hand gripped around the cork handle waiting any second to yank the long length of line back to set the hook on the first take. A fish splashes at my dry and I yank back spontaneously! The long length of line tightens and a swirl appears on the water just a moment before a trout rises to the surface splashing wildly. By the arc in the rod and strength I feel within my grip I got a feeling that this catch isn’t the average size we’ve been catching. He swims towards me and upstream tugging and shaking. I wind in some line keeping the rod up though the top section bows and flexes down towards the fighting trout. He turns down creek, still swimming towards me, and I pull in more line. A 1/3 of away, the creek width, he decides to turn and swim towards the far bank. There’s no stopping or slowing him down. Line peels off the reel, through my tensioning fingers, through the rod eyes and out through the tip top. The guy beside me notices the arcing rod and comments I have a good trout. 

 Being the current is calmer than up in the faster current earlier, I’m quite more relieved about not over stressing my 4 wight. He put up a good cross current fight and battled all the way to the net. Another fine Lunker rainbow lays in my net. I notice he’s a bit chubbier than the last few. A quick picture for my blog and I let the rainbow swim free. 

 After a few more smaller trout catches, with my dry flies, the stonefly hatch peters out. I decide to wade down creek a little while before heading home.

 Further down below I’m casting Woolly Buggers in a deeper section of water before the flow enters upon shallower riffles. There had been other fishermen fishing this small section of water earlier and catching a few trout. I lit up another cigar and was just casting out to nowhere in particular. In fact my mind was far off thinking about the long drive home and what I was going to do afterwords. I felt a hearty tug as my bugger was about at the end of the swing. Instinctively I pulled line and twitched my rod upward. After I felt the rod arc again and the weight of my catch I pulled back the rod with a little more force to make sure the hook penetrated. Another tough battle followed. He surged in different directions throughout the small deeper section he was in. It was almost as if he was looking for a way out of a circus ring. Shallow water was upstream and the creek shallowed below the deep section he was in. He had nowhere to go but to try and free himself or give up and let me net him. He finally succumbed to the pressure and let me net him. 

  With that I called it a day and headed for the truck. There were still a few guys enjoying the warm weather casting and fishing. One such fisherman was doing pretty well catching fish while the others were trying their best. 

 Back at the truck I changed into driving clothes and headed out. I was planning on meeting my son Thursday at this same place. I already determined on using a 5 weight instead of the 4 weight. If there isn’t much of a wind, maybe I’ll take out my 5 weight G2 Scott rod?

 

~doubletaper

Medalist

Medalist

3/05/25

 It was a gloomy morning here in PA. Though it’s winter season the temperature was already 50 degrees when I left to go fish’n in the morning and suppose to be close to 60 degrees just afternoon. Oh, with a possible shower. It looked like a good day to go fish’n.

 I headed to Volant to the Delayed Harvest Area of Neshannock Creek. They had just float stocked trout the past Saturday and I was going to catch me some. After buying a pair of felt wading boots, at the Orvis shop, I parked the truck in the big parking lot and got my fishing uniform on. Let’s face it. You know a cop, a fireman or a soldier by the uniform they wear so I imagine it’s no different than a fisherman. With our waders, boots, fishing hat, vest and dark sunglasses who could mistake us for anything else? 

 I assembled my Scott SAS 5 weight, grabbed a few cigars and the rest of my fishing attire and headed to the creek. Just off the bank I saw a fisherman catch and net a nice golden trout. The water was a dark limestone gray color a bit on the high side by my standards. The shop guy said there was 2’ visibility but I wasn’t quite sure after looking at the water. I was able to see some boulders beneath the surface out in the middle but couldn’t see bottom. There was good current flow though so the conditions weren’t bad. I stepped off the bank into the water, with my new wading boots, and carefully waded knee deep in the oncoming current testing my footing. All was good. 

 Casting out a Woolly Bugger in the middle of the creek it didn’t take too long to hook up with my first trout. I netted a small rainbow who squirmed around in my net. That deserved my first cigar. As usual I doin’t smoke my first cigar until I catch my first fish.

 I continued on casting toward the middle and far side of the stream. It came to be known to me that the rainbows liked my Popcorn Woolly Bugger but the brown trout were interested in my Olive Buggers.  

 One such brown grabbed the bugger on the swing. It was just a soft take that I felt the take, between my fingers pinching the fly line, just before my fly line stopped its swing. I reared back and immediately the top section, of my 2 piece rod, arced towards the take as the line shot up from the water. I knew this wasn’t some small rainbow. I bit down on the cigar between my teeth a little harder cause I figured this was going to be a good fight. The trout stayed low not wanting to rise off the bottom without quick body maneuvers like a rainbow. It used its weight and tugs while we battled for superior control. I knew it had to be a brown trout. Once close enough I was able to net the hefty brown. I had him backed into the net like a fire truck carefully backing into the firehouse garage.

 Continuing to cast buggers in the grayish water I would pick off a trout now and then. I noticed  a few other fishermen were doing the same whether they were fly fishing or using spinning gear. It wasn’t like we were catching trout one after another but with patience we’d hook into one.

 Switching colors now and then my observation got more truth than fiction. The rainbows liked  the Popcorn Bugger. 

 One rainbow took the bugger with a healthy grab at the end of the swing. It was if he was waiting for the bugger to stop its arc and settle down beneath the current. He swiped at it and I was Jerry on the spot and pulled back for the hook set. Right off I could tell it was a rainbow by the way it fought with tugs, head shakes and twists as it fought the line. It rose just shy of the surface shaking its head trying to throw the hook. Its silvery body displayed a pink stripe down its side like a sportsmen jersey. I finally got him settled down enough to get him to the net. A nice fat rainbow laid in the net with a Popcorn Bugger snack in its jaw.

  After that the bite started to peter out with just a couple of small rainbows teasing my bugger offerings. I tried nymph fishing but didn’t attract any hits. A few more fishermen showed up as the gloomy weather cleared and warmth finally was felt as the wind, carrying dampness, quit all together. I went around the fishermen fishing the big pool of water and headed down creek. In a shallow riffle, maybe knee deep at the most, I casted out toward the far bank and let the bugger drift in the discolored water. I was only about a couple of yards off the bank in the knee deep water. I let the bugger drift all the way straight below me about the same, a yard or so from the bank. I felt a tug and reared back. The rod arced good again and I had another good weighty trout.  Another brown fought in the knee high water right to my net. 

 My next brown was a doozy also. I was down creek a bit further to the next deeper hole I’ve caught fish before. I caught a smaller rainbow on my Popcorn Bugger before switching over to my Olive Bugger. I made a cast midstream and let the bugger drift as if I was nymph fishing with my rod following the drift down creek. I stopped my rod and let the bugger drift further on. The line all of a sudden sagged as if something grabbed the bugger on its way upstream. It surprised me at first but I quickly took in line with my left hand while raising the rod as high as I could to tighten the line and set the hook. The line straightened and I gave a hearty tug upwards to make sure the hook penetrated. Evidently the trout didn’t like being fooled. With a bugger in its mouth, and tight lined, he took off towards the far bank like a thief escaping the cops, putting distance between me and him pulling line off the tensioned reel. He then took line down creek in a hurry. With a couple of forceful tugs he turned and swam upstream 3/4 across the creek. Staying deep, I watched the fly line cutting the surface water as if not able to cut the surface as fast as the fish darted up through the undercurrent. I raised the rod high hoping to cut down on the surface drag the fish was putting on the long length of line. The trout tugged a bit more, flexing the 8’ 6” rod without much trouble before it swam down creek pass me. The water had cleared up some so I was able to see the football sized object pass me like an otter chasing something downstream. Down creek it pulled and tugged. I waded down some reeling in line while he fought the taut line. After a bit I had him coming nearer with my rod high in the air. He just about reached the surface when he dove back down like a dropped anchor that I had to let him take line fearing a bad mishap. The trout took off downstream again and line slipped through my fingers. We battled longer than I expected. He wasn’t giving up too quickly as he swam around, out from me, like he was looking for a place to hide. I played along being patient though I was afraid the longer we were attached the better chance he had to unattach us. I finally got him towards me and had my net ready. With my rod hand holding the line, pinched against the cork grip, I began trying to guide him towards the net. It wasn’t easy by any means. I could feel my wrist quivering with the arcing rod and force of the brown trout just within reach. He surfaced shaking and twisting. I reached out the net as I backed the rod behind my head. He slowly came near and I scooped him up. Wow, what a fish and a nice weighty brown. 

  After dropping the net and letting him swim away I felt like that was in need of a reward. I hooked the bugger to the hook keeper and reached in my jacket and pulled out an A. B. Medalist cigar. If they were giving out awards today, as if in a contest for most big trout, I’m sure I would have been in the running for a medal. 

  I didn’t catch anymore trout where I was so I headed back up to where I started. I kept swinging the buggers changing colors as I slowly waded down creek again. I caught one more decent size rainbow that wanted his picture taken, like a soldier at attention, as it laid still in the bottom of my net.

 He actually liked the Olive Bugger I was tossing out.

 The sky began to turn grayer up above and the wind started to stir in different directions. I looked up and it looked like rain was coming. I made my last cast without a strike, waded out and headed for the truck. By the time I got to the truck it started to rain. I took off my chest waders and put them in the truck with my new wading boots. All this time it started to rain harder and coming down sideways with the wind. I didn’t even have time to reel in all the line before it poured down like a fireman’s water hose. I quickly separated the 2 piece rod and slipped it on the back seat safely with the rest of my fishing gear. Kinda of wet, from the rain, I hopped in the front drivers seat and relaxed a moment before taking off. 

 It turned out to be a better day than I expected. I’m not sure those browns were recently stocked though they looked like they’ve grown up in the creek for some time!

~doubletaper

Little Wintry Fishing

 Little Wintry Fishing

2/26/25

 It was a cold foggy wintry morning. The cool water vapors, off the lying snow, rises into the warmer outside temps creates the foggy morning at 34 degrees. I packed the truck with my fishing gear and headed out to go fishing. When I got to the area, of the Delayed Harvest creek, I drove over the snowy ice covered parking lot and looked at the truck thermometer. It read 40 degrees. 

 I put on my hip waders, being this creek is a somewhat shallow creek, and cleated wading boots. Felt soles might clog up with snow and slide on the snowy ice covered banks so cleated soles are a must. I don’t think my hip waders shrunk over winter but lifting them to my waste they fit like a tight fitting corset! (Not that I really know what one wears like but I do watch old westerns.) I assembled the 4 sections of my 3 weight short Hardy Demon rod for the confined conditions I’d be fishing through. I fitted a new 5x 7’6” tapered leader to the fly line and knotted on a fas-snap. I grabbed a few cigars and put them in my Gortex fishing coat and headed to the creek. 

 The sky was a sheet of light blue gray shade with no sign of the sun to appear. There was no breeze so the 40 degree weather probably will stick around that temperature throughout my outing. Leafless forest tree limbs and branches hung over sections of the small creek like a horror movie picture. Their twisted thin twigs looked as if they would reach out and snag my casts if not careful. Because of the last couple days of snow melt the creek rose and with good grayish color to boot. It looked like ideal conditions. I noticed old boot prints in the snow and dog tracks. Maybe someone had fished the creek within the last couple of days or just walked their dog enjoying the wintry scenery?

 I walked upstream and down to the creek. I started with a Woolly Bugger slow and easy as I figured the cold water wasn’t going to get any trout real active to chase a fast moving streamer. I slowly fished my way down creek stopping at times in deeper water to drift a nymph or San Juan worm. For quite a while I couldn’t get a strike. I was pretty sure there had to be some brook trout somewhere? Either they weren’t hungry or just too spooky if they were fished the day before? The water was in my favor with the discoloration but not enough they wouldn’t be able to see or find my offerings. I wasn’t discouraged though as I really didn’t expect much participation but at least a tug would of made me feel a lot better. Even so, the peacefulness of my surroundings and puffing on a good cigar kept me in high spirits. I knew sooner or later I’d find a hungry trout. It was good practice thus far roll casting and placing my offering where I wanted it.

 I was pretty far down creek when I decided to return up to where I started. I waded out and through the forest upon the snow covered ground. By now my feet were cold and it felt like I was walking barefoot on a cold cement garage floor. I made my way to my truck and got a good gulp of cold water. I decided to just cast out Wooly Buggers and hope for the best. I wasn’t sure it had gotten any warmer but just maybe the trout were finally hungry for breakfast. I was pretty much where I started earlier and was offering olive, brown and popcorn color Woolly Buggers. I even tried a Triple Threat steamer but nothing was getting attention enough for a strike. They say in dark stained water to use dark color streamers. I decided, since none of the other colors worked, I’d try a pure white bead head bugger. There were stream improvements along the banks in sections for the trout to hide in shallower times. I was just drifting the white bugger near the log improvements not too far down creek from where I stood on the bank. I felt a bump and wristed the short rod for a hook set. It wasn’t like the trout grabbed the bugger like it was attacking it before it got away. It felt more like an easy take as if it was taking a slow drifting worm. Anyhow I had the trout and dipped the net into the water as I brought it towards the bank. A nice healthy brookie struggled in the net. After a quick picture I dipped the net back into the water and watched her swim away. I felt a lot better and hoped that the trout were going to be more enthusiastic about feeding. 

Hey, I thought, maybe white is the best color for the day!

  Walking upstream, and stopping now and then upon the bank, I’d cast the white bugger out reaching the far bank. I’d watch my fly line arc with the current until it straightened down creek. I would wait a bit, letting the bugger sway in the current before slowly stripping it towards me. 

Each time casting out I would watch my fly line with my left hand holding the fly line off the reel. My fingers pinched the line would give me notice if anything grabs my bugger no matter how light the take is before my line straightens. There was a flat big boulder 3/4th the way across creek. I roll casted a big loop placing my bugger upstream and beyond the flat boulder risking a snag. I kept the rod high to make sure the line didn’t catch the boulder. My idea is, that if the trout were holding cross creek this my get a sluggish trout to follow the bugger downstream until the bugger stops swinging. Then it will grab the bugger while swaying in the on coming current where it’s easier for the sluggish trout to grab it. Once the drift got around the boulder I lowered the rod tip and let the bugger drift deep under the waving surface water. The fly line continued to arc as the bugger drifted into the slower current. I was looking downstream for my white bugger when I saw the flash of a following fish. Once the bugger stopped drifting in an arc the line strained down creek and I held it there momentarily. I felt the take like the trout ambushed it with a sweeping grab. I reared back on the rod and my second trout was pulling and tugging on the other end. I stepped into the water to net the frisky trout. Another nice brook trout came to the net. 

  Fishing pretty far upstream the creek got wider and shallower. The water was clearing up. I decided to fish my way back towards the truck. I covered the water pretty good with the white bugger on the way up so I decided to cast out an olive bugger on my way back down. I made long cast towards the far bank, as I made my way, and let it drift in an arc down creek. I maneuvered my rod, as the bugger drifted, so my offering would flow between boulders. I missed a trout as it flashed and swiped at my bugger. I felt it strike the bugger but must have grabbed the marabou tail. I casted out again and again it swiped at the bugger but not nearly enough to reach the hook. I gave it a couple more drifts in the same area but he must of figured it was a trap and didn’t go after it anymore. 

 Continuing downstream, in the same manner, I got a good swift hard take as the bugger was drifting. I reared back the rod and felt the resistance. This trout was a little more aggressive and tugged to get loose. Nearer to me I dipped the net and scooped up a healthy brown trout. 

“Not bad” I thought. 

The olive Woolly Bugger was neatly pierced in its lip. 

 After letting the brownie go I continued on till I got close to where I parked without another strike. I waded out, hooked the bugger to the hook keeper and walked upon the snow to my truck. 

 Changing into street clothes I looked and it was 3:10. I was surprised it was that late in the afternoon. I started fishing around 10:00am. I guess time flies when you’re having fun. I put my gear away and finished off puffing on the stogie on the way home. 

It was a nice, though cold, outing. It’s nice to have a cutter while I’m fishing so the butt end of cigars don’t fray and come apart.

 ~doubletaper