Monday, October 13, 2014

Elk Creek Weekend

Elk Creek Weekend
10/11/2014 10/12/2014
It doesn’t get much better!
 There is nothing that comes close to early steelhead fishing. The fresh, wild, exuberant steelhead that makes the run into a trout size creek each year is one heck of an experience to be hold. Just to see them staging in semi-deep holes, along shallow ledges or in a tumbling riffle gets me excited. To hook into one is an experience you don’t often find in a fresh water creek.
  The speed of a fresh steelhead that will rip line off the spool in a matter of seconds and possibly into your backing! The quickness of them in changing direction and the force is incomparable to any freshwater stream fish. The sight of a steelhead exploding out of the water within feet of where you stand, watching it display beauty and acrobatics is worth the sight if for only once in a life time. Its chrome sides glistening from the sun flashes before your eyes before its body slams back upon the surface. You better hold on because there isn’t much of a pause before it quickly dashes away constantly trying to throw the hook. Can you keep up with an onward charging steel right at you? Your hand winding the large arbor reel trying to keep tension on the line as you keep the rod up and flexed with the other tightly gripping the cork handle.
  You find you’re never sure when you got him tired out. As you get him closing in he turns abruptly for another try at escaping. You keep the drag too tight and he’s sure to break you off, too loose and he’ll take all the line you give him.
  Some come for the excitement just for the experience. Some for the meat in the form of smoked steelhead. Some come just to relax and hope for just one fight with a fresh steelhead.
You don’t necessarily need a hunk of sticky skein or live bait in the form of egg sacks. Sometimes just a single egg. Fly fishermen will use the same patterns they use for everyday trout fishing in the form of Woolly Bugger or streamers.
One on a Woolly Bugger
One on a streamer
Even a small sucker spawn will get a take and a wild ride to go with it.
One on a hand tied sucker spawn
 If you get the chance to hook into a buck hold on tight, he’ll bully his way, any which way to get loose. And if you get him to shore you can admire his colors and hooked jaw.

 The down fall is the crowds. You have to be patient and sometimes wait your turn to get into the right spot for that perfect drift. There are long pauses where you think it’s never going to happen. Sometimes it never does but when you get that hook up you know you’re in for some extended fun.
What more can I say? You won’t catch them sitting at home!

 The line stops and you yank a hook set. You feel the line tighten and before you know it all hell breaks loose. Your forearms tighten and you try to keep your wrist locked on the rod that is flexed towards the steelhead. The force and speed is too much and the rod starts to lower towards the fleeing fish as line peels off the spinning reel. The least amount of line in the water the better to keep undue pressure off the tapered leader and tippet from the escaping steelhead. The seconds tick by and you wonder how long it is going to take to get him close enough to land. It is as if the steelhead has no limit to its energy. Once landed you’re relieved. You accomplished the feat and you can now admire your catch.

There truthfully is nothing like it in my opinion. A 7 weight fly rod. 4x or 5x tippet. A few boxes of hand tied streamers and sucker spawn, and a very good drag system on a well made reel! Oh, and a few great cigars for me!


Wednesday, October 8, 2014

October Steelhead 2014

October Chrome
…By the time we got to the creek the fishermen, fisherwomen and children were lined up like dominoes along the banks. Its early season and the steelhead are just starting to make their way into the creeks from the mouth of Lake Erie. The abundance of these steelhead are still down low not that far up from the mouth. It brings crowds galore for those that can’t wait to hook up into steel.The deeper holes are encircled with fishermen within elbow length trying to hook into a steelhead by outmaneuvering one another. There are rods and reels of all kinds. I see, thick in diameter, short surf rods, undersized trout rods as well as spinning reels that are from lightweight to ocean ready. Aside from that the crowds are a little tamer than usual.

As we walked up creek, on the near side, a couple of fishermen decide to leave their spot and move up stream further. Deetz and I take their spots, along the narrow run, with enough space between us that we didn’t have to rub shoulders. Deetz started drifting an egg sack under an indicator with his noodle rod. Though I didn’t have much room I tried drifting a streamer in the small section allotted to me with my 9‘ fly rod. I came to a conclusion that I wasn’t going to get a good drift so I decided to knot on a sucker spawn. I noticed the guy right up stream was fishing with orange skein. Knowing well that skein will come apart in chunks I decided to fish with an orange sucker spawn being I was below him. I took out of my fly box an orange bead-head sucker spawn and knotted it to the 6lb tippet. I knew this bead-head would drop deeper faster being that there wasn’t much room for a better presentation.

  My roll casts were directed at the sharp ledge that ran along the run across creek. The water was dark there and it wasn’t clear enough to see any fish but I had my suspicions. There wasn’t anyone at the time standing above fishing close to the ledge so I had it pretty much to myself.
The sucker spawn dropped up creek a bit from where I stood and I snapped a small mend upstream to make sure my sucker spawn would drift down ahead of my tippet. In time the line arced as if something stopped the sucker spawn from drifting so I gave a good upward yank and the fight was on. The water boiled from beneath as my first hooked steelhead of the season was giving me the old headshakes trying to get loose. I held the cork grip tight as I felt the weight of the steelhead throbbing the end of the rod. He took line up creek for a short distance, stopped for some headshaking near the surface and than shot down creek.
“Coming down” I blurted to alert those with lines still in the water. He stopped momentarily and struggled below with the hook. If there wasn’t as many people lining my side of the bank I would have slowly followed him down a bit trying to keep sideward pressure. When there is such a crowed I’d rather take my chances on a wild one and try to horse him towards me. As he pulled and tugged harder I kept my stance as the rod flexed further and further. I had him coming to my side of the bank, still a ways down creek, when my tippet broke and the line went limp. I wasn’t too discouraged, we had a good struggling battle, and I was going to release him anyway.
  It wasn’t long before Deetz decided to head upstream some. I was pretty sure there was still a couple of more steelhead along the deep ledge and decided to stick around.
  My second hook up was an accidental snag. I didn’t let him get too far before I yanked upward with force once I determined it was a bad hookup. Once the egg pattern came flashing by, it came to rest safely. By now people were starting to take notice and soon a few more fisher people started to close in nearer to where I was casting. I continued on as before fishing the deep ledge.

The next grab was similar to the first. I gave a yank and felt another heavy load on the end of my line.
“Fish on!” I gave a yelp.
  The steelhead came to the surface nose first shaking and stirring the water like an inboard motor taking off with a skier in tow. Water sprayed as he arced downward to continue his rant. I kept a tight line, and grip, hoping he wouldn’t take off downstream as far as the other. We battled tooth and nail within 15 yards of each other before he decided to forcibly swim down creek. I didn’t have much choice but to give him line. I could feel the tightness in my forearms as I struggled to keep the rod upward as he spun line from the tensioned spool. He stopped his escape in an instant, rose to the surface again with wild tantrums that shook the rod all the way down to my grip. We were putting on a good show but it was time to start taking more control. I seen a huge net behind one of the observers and asked if he wanted to net the fish for me. He grabbed the net and started to walk along the bank as I backed up and forced the steelhead towards us. It didn’t take too much time that I got him close enough and the young man scooped him up.

 The steelhead was a solid catch and had to be at least 26” long or better. I asked the net minder if he wanted the steelhead. He was grateful for that and roped the fish after I got the hook out of its jaw.
 By the time I got back to my original spot a couple of older gents had already taken claim, across creek, high sticking their fly rods fishing the same ledge. Within minutes a younger man stood up creek and floated a pencil bobber into my drift time and again. I spent another 10 minutes trying to avoid being snagged by the casting idiots and then decided to move on up creek. I crossed to the far bank, and continued on.

There was a faster rippling run that looked to have good potential. I was able to see a couple of tails beneath the rippling water and with no one fishing this section I took a stand. The nearest person was up creek a short piece but was concentrating in a deep flowing pool before the choppy water. I tried drifting the sucker spawn through the run but it was quite fast with lots of bedrock. The bottom was easy enough to see to mid stream but beyond that is where the water was a bit deeper with rougher current. It was time for streamer fishing.
  I tried a couple colors of my DT Triple Threats that didn’t produce a strike. I decided to go with one of my Goldfish color Threats and add a bit of weight on my tippet to get it down deeper.
  After a few casts I started to see fish move around. One such steelhead was staging a little further than rods length down creek. I flipped the streamer outward and controlled the drift to within a foot or so in front of the fish. There I twitched the rod tip a couple of times and then let it ‘swim’ in the current. The steelhead couldn’t take the temptation any longer and swam up and mouthed it. That’s all it took.
  With a hearty yank, the hook set and, the fish was on the run with my line following. He didn’t go far before he surfaced and head shook. He continued upstream as other fishermen pulled in their lines. I took a few steps along the bank and put a little more backbone into the rod. The steelhead turned and swam down creek a bit and settled on the opposite side of the creek with jarring tugs. It wasn’t long the hook unhinged and the steelhead was set free.

  I spent at least another hour or so drifting and swimming the streamer in the choppy flow. At times I was able to see some fish moving up creek. I ended up fair hooking 4 steelhead and foul hooked one that darted down creek with unnatural speed. When I followed it down is when I discovered the foul hook and jerked the fly rod upward and the hook came loose saving my streamer.

I had just lit up a mild stogie when Deetz returned and we continued to fish the section. While my head was turned talking to him I felt a nudge in my line fingers. Instinct took over and my right hand yanked the rod upstream while my left hand held line tight until I felt the set. I turned my head down creek and seen the boil in the water and said aloud “FISH ON!” Deetz was surprised that while we were talking and my head turned I caught the steelhead without looking in its direction. I told him I fish streamers so much that it’s instinct.
  The steelhead felt like it was tugging backwards with the current a second or two before it rose up and body slammed the surface a few times trying to spit the hook. I felt the vibration all the way down the 7 weight rod shaft as it flexed erratically with each forceful whipping pull. This one wasn’t as big as some of the others but she had lots of spunk and I could tell by the color it was a fresh fish right from the lake. Its back was gunmetal gray and its body was pure chrome that glistened from the sunlight. I struggled with her trying to keep her under my control but she didn‘t want to give in just yet.
 I had her just about straight across from me with the rod bowed and her struggling facing into the current. The reel drag was set perfect for if she tried to run again and if not it was holding tight as I had two hands on the rod waiting for her next move. She began to come closer, turned down creek but didn’t get too far before she turned my direction again. It wasn’t long after that we were posing for a picture, her chrome sides shimmering like Harley chrome in a custom motorcycle show!!

 After a bit we decided to walk up creek. Fishermen still lined the creek like dominoes where fish were holding. We fished the still water without success and continued on to the straight and narrow channel that flowed down into the big hole. Deetz found a gap between a few anglers and had enough room to drift his egg sack under his float as I watched. It wasn’t long before he had one on and I watched the fun.

 After that Deetz took off as we walked down towards the road. I continued to fish my way back down creek. I happen to see a few steelhead lying almost motionless beneath the rippling current where no one was bothering them.

  I looped a roll cast out and across and watched the fly line as the streamer swung beneath. I caught movement towards where my streamer should be and felt the swiping grab. Another steelhead battled with me, splashing, tugging, headshaking, peeling line off the spool but I wasn’t letting the steelhead get the upper hand. He had a lot of room to try his best to get away but I played him out until he gave up and my last steelhead came to hand.

I noticed more fishermen moving in to try their luck. It was about 5pm by now and I had my fun for the day. I waded out and walked down creek toward the mouth hoping to see some steelhead in areas that there weren’t any fishermen but couldn’t get an eyeball on any. I decided to call it quits and made my way to the van.

  My adventure for early Steelhead was a complete success as far as I was concerned!!





Friday, September 12, 2014

Meanwhile on Tionesta Creek

Meanwhile on Tionesta Creek
 There was a steady breeze in the early afternoon. The white puffy clouds were moving along the sky as if the wind gusts were pushing them along. The creek looked inviting. The water flowed easily in the shallows, rolled with riffling effect as it narrowed and then rushed towards the outside bend. There it waved and tumbled near the bank till it emptied into a deep pool of water where submerged boulders laid beneath. The inside bend was calm, clear and flowed easy again.
My Woolly Bugger tried the riffling current. The first hook up was quick and hard. There was no easement in the quick current to guide my catch. The trout surfaced and the force of the surface current was too much as the hook found its way loose from the lip. The trout disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
  I cast out towards the deeper pool, after adding some weight. It searched for another trout without success. I moved to the calm water near the far bank and searched some more.
  Swinging and easing my strips I felt the swipe at the end of my line. This time I was able to gain better control of my catch in the slower current. It wasn’t long before my 9’ custom 4 weight fly rod was able to bring the trout to my net. A fine looking rainbow was captured.
Late summer trout are scarce in a stocked stream this time of year but the ones that are usually caught are much bigger than when in the early spring.
The breeze came and went as the smoke from my stogie showed its path and forcefulness. On occasion the sun peeked out and brightened the day. There were no mayflies about so I stuck with my Wooly Bugger searching for another hungry trout.
  The next trout took the Bugger as I stripped it in towards me. He flashed and turned outward towards the opposite bank. We wrestled until his strength eased and I brought another to my net.


 The afternoon was relaxing and calm. Seldom did a vehicle drive along the road disturbing the quietness of my surroundings. I had no where I needed to belong, time was on my side!!

 As evening came the sun moved behind the treetops upon the mountains. The sun rays bounced off the white clouds leaving plenty of daylight but shadows covered the bank sides. I lit another cigar and again continued searching.
 The long cast dropped my Woolly Bugger in the calmer water beyond the main flow of water midstream. Instantly I noticed the fly line dip below the surface quicker than expected. I stripped line back and reared back to take up the slack in hopes of getting a straight line to set the hook. I felt the resistance. At first it felt like I had a twisted heavy branch being pulled down creek with the current. I jerked the rod back enough just to make sure of the hook set. I felt the weighty fish arc with the line towards midstream, pulling and tugging wanting to take me down creek further. I knew right away this wasn’t a trout. It didn’t try to escape with speed but more trying to muscle his escape with weight and letting the undercurrent push him as he tried to stay at a crosscurrent angle. I gripped the cork tightly in my right hand with my left fingers tensioning the fly line as needed. Once I got the fish directly down creek from me I started to guide him towards me. As I brought him closer I held the rod with one hand as I undid the net from my belt and let it dangle in the water by the lanyard. The fish surfaced suddenly, splashing, trying to get away. There I seen he was a pig of a smallmouth. I reached to net him but he skimmed the surface water and headed back out midstream. I let enough line out, as the 4 weight flexed deep into the top third of its length, to settle the smallie down so I could get control again. I reeled line in until I had only a few inches of fly line extending from the tip top. As the rod arced the fish drew near enough I was able to scoop the big boy up.
“What a nice smallmouth”


 Was this to be my last catch?
 I fished for some time later making my way down creek some. I returned to the spot I caught the big smallmouth and decided to make my last few casts in the same area.
The evening started to cool as the sun lowered beneath the mountains making the shadows upon the water grow long. Even the creek water felt colder as it circled my hip waders. A few more casts I thought.
 I placed the bugger about where I had caught the smallmouth. I let the bugger sink a little longer before taking up slack and letting the slow current start to swing it down stream. I didn’t let it swing too far before I twitched the rod tip and started to strip the long length of line in with 3 second intervals. The line tugged, in between the strips, and I set the hook with a quick strip and yank of the rod. The force and speed of my captured fish took line quickly down creek. I knew this wasn’t another bass. Once I got him turned in my direction and calmed, I got him swimming in my direction with a lot of zigging and zagging. Once near he darted outward. I let him exert more energy hoping the hook wouldn’t come undone. Within time I got him close enough to scoop him up in my net. A fine rainbow completed the day.
 At the van I rewarded myself with a fine Nat Sherman mild cigar. I was surprised with the sweetness of the tip as I lit it.
Next stop was to be at The Kelly Hotel for wings and a couple of cold brews before heading home.




Tuesday, September 2, 2014

"Don't Count Me Out"

Don’t Count Me Out

  I look up and the sky is dull white as far as the eye can see. It’s like a painters canvas waiting for the artist to add color and beauty. The perception is, at this time, it isn’t going to happen. The rain falls from out of the pale skies in endless drops. Fallen raindrops spiral in the small puddles in the black driveway pavement. The day is gloomy and looks to be never ending.
“Looks like Jerry won’t be fishing today” I hear a familiar voice.
“Don’t count me out yet” I reply under my breath.

  I pack a cooler of drinks and put some extra clothes in my canvas duffel bag. Outside, in the light rainfall, I put the necessities in my raincoat including my Bugger Box, a couple of caddis dry boxes, nymph box and terrestrial box. In the rain I don’t expect to dry fly fish but one never knows. I piece together my SAS Scott rod and fit it with my Battenkill reel with weight forward line. I even knot on a Woolly Bugger. I make sure I have my camera and a few cigars and head north.
 As I cross the Lynch Bridge I notice one lone fly fisherman casting towards the roadside bank. I then realize that the rain had stopped. Down creek from the bridge a few people sit in lawn chairs overlooking the wide creek and a few youngsters are playing along the sloped bank where a few kayaks are shored. I turn right on rte. 666 and continue on. Sure enough campsites line the creek wherever possible. Tents of assorted colors are spread about the campsites with stone circled fire pits give off a cloud of smoke with a few flame flair ups. As I drive along the roadway I notice that the water is vacant of any human water activity. I can’t wait any longer to continue to examine my options and pull up to the guardrail leaving enough room to get my gear on.
  After suiting up I step over the guardrail and plop in the creek from the short sloped bank. It doesn’t take much time before I feel the coolness of the water around my ankles and calves through my hip waders. I light up a 55 sun grown and look up at the sky. The sky is now filled with stale blue clouds that only appear to move if I gaze long enough. I can hear a few birds chirping which gives me a good sign that maybe it won’t rain too long if it decides to start all over again. I can smell the wetness of the firewood smoldering in the nearby campsites along the creek. It’s peaceful and I’m the only fishermen in the vicinity, I like it!
  Once far enough from the brushy bank I start casting getting my timing and rhythm right. The water is pretty shallow as I’m making my way towards the deeper water beyond. As I am within reach of the deeper section I make long casts out and about. I move slowly and carefully upon the stony creek bed. I concentrate watching my fly line as it floats with the current while enjoying my cigar. I catch a flash across and down creek in what looks to be a deeper pocket.

 The water is no deeper than chest high this time of year and for now most of the water in this section might only get to be waist deep. The water is clear enough that I don’t need my polarized shades on to see through the water column. Besides that, as the humidity rises during noon time, having them on will only cause foggy lenses. I can already feel the heat beneath my raincoat.

  I take a few steps down creek and pull back for a long cast. I wait the extra second and cast the line forward with bugger in tow. The line straightens out in front of me and the bugger plops upstream from the deeper pocket. I take in a little slack and watch the fly line, upon the water, float with the slow current. I wait for a tug. As the bugger swings through the pocket I nimbly twitch the rod tip for a little more action. I feel a tug near the end of the arc and wrist the hook set. The surface water stirs down creek from the captured trout. He twists before struggling to take line further.
“He got a fish” I hear from the bank.
I give the trout some tensioned line, just enough to let him know he’s stuck. I move the rod up creek to my left and he follows as he tries to swim further out. I let the rod flex a little more towards him and he decides to struggle closer. I have my net ready as I lift the rod higher and he slaps the surface water as he enters.
“What is it?” I hear the questionable shout from the bank.
“A trout” I answer back.
“Looks like a nice one” comes a reply

The rainbow appears to be in fall colors. The gill plates are brightly colored red. Its sides are silvery and like a singular stroke of an artists brush a fresh coat of pinkish paint runs across its lateral line. Its fins are dark maroon, a fine colorful specimen.
I hold the trout up for the bank side audience to see. Three campers look on as I release the trout back into the stream.
  Without much hesitation I cast again out towards the last catch. As the bugger swings into the pocket I feel and see the line move with a swiping take as if the trout is going to make sure no other has a chance at it. The arc straightens towards the far side of the creek as the trout motors with the stolen bugger. The rod is already flexing and I only twitch the rod back a bit to make sure the hook is set good.
“He’s got another” I hear from my bank side audience.
  This one is a little more playful and aggressive. He shoots up creek and away. With my side pressure he turns just subsurface, enough to swirl the surface water, before heading back down creek. I try to keep the trout from rising to the surface by keeping the rod tip down. The trout swings to my right and I give him a little line as he enters through a riffling stretch of water caused by big beneath surface boulders. I raise the rod to keep the leader from dragging against the boulders. He continues to swim to my right until he feels more pressure from the flexing rod. I take in line as he swims nearer. I take my net out from my belt and get ready to net him as I try to get him under control. He surface splashes as I bring the net up with him inside.
The rainbow trout is an artists dream. It almost appears artificial. The gill plate is heavily marked in rouge red as if someone just applied the make up. Its lateral line is a sparkling crimson red, wet from the water and it glistens under the brightened suns rays. Its silvery body is speckled as if fresh ground black pepper was just sprinkled upon it. The fins are a soft maroon shade, thin and translucent.

With a twist of the forceps the hook dislodges from its mouth. I tilt the net and the fish swims free.
  I catch two more beautiful rainbows before a rise occurs, a little further downstream, still within casting distance from where I stand. The temptation is too real and I decide to try for it with a dry caddis imitation.
  The first cast drifts near enough to his strike zone but he doesn’t rise. My next cast I drop the imitation well within his sight. The dry drifts a half a foot and the fish takes the dry with an arcing splash. I rear back quickly and feel the rod flex. He struggles below and than heads up creek against the surface. I could tell he isn’t as strong as the rainbows so I don’t give him much line. Up creek he circles around me as I hold the rod in one hand while reaching for my net. The brown trout raises enough for me to net him quickly.

 The brown trout isn’t as fancy colored as the rainbows. Big dark black spots cover its dark olive brown body with a few deep orange speckles scattered about tapering towards the tail. I unhook the dry fly within his mouth and release the brown trout in the flow.
  I fish for about another hour slowly making my way down creek. I catch two more colorful rainbows before heading back to the van. By now my inner shirt is soaked from the heat that is being stored within my raincoat under the afternoon sunshine. At the van I put my rod inside and hang my raincoat on the rod rack. Its 2:30 so I decide to drive down creek to Lynch Bridge and see if I can catch a few more.
  Within a half hour of slowly wading down stream fishing the Woolly Bugger I am outmaneuvered by a big boulder I come across below the surface of the water. I was wading down creek with short steps when my left ankle came in contact with the submerged boulder. I was only in just below my knee caps when it tripped me up. I remember trying to raise my foot higher, as my balance was already leaning down creek. Not being able to find the top of the bolder or a sturdy place to steady my foot I went down on my side. I dropped the rod out of harms way and was able to break my fall with both hands without a scratch. When the water reached my neck I lifted myself up quickly. After grabbing my fly rod I pulled out my camera. Though it looked only slightly wet I was sure it had a quick good dunking being it was in my shirt pocket. I had left the rain coat in the van. I waded out to the van and wrapped the camera in a paper towel after taking out the battery and film card.
  Back in the water I fished my way a good piece down from the bridge. I caught two more rainbows and missed one before the rain continued long enough I decided to call it quits. I was pretty wet all around when I got to the van. It was a good thing I brought dry clothes. I quenched my thirst with a bottle of Busch Beer as I changed. By now the gray and slate blue clouds converged above and created an off and on drizzle.
 On the drive home I lit up a Marsh Wheeling Stogie. Except for the dunking of my camera it turned out to be not such a bad day after all.
“Never count me out” I mumble to myself!!



Sunday, August 24, 2014



How could any outdoor loving fisherman not love a tailwater fishery?
A river wide enough that even a novice kayaker or canoeist can maneuver outside a fly fishermen’s casting distance.
Standing in the tailwaters I roll up my sleeves and light my first cigar, a 55 Corojo perfecto. I could feel the cool morning breeze on my bare arms and upon my head through my woven straw hat. The dusty clouds move from mountain top to mountain top under the bright blue sky.
A few Caddis are already seen fluttering and diving near the water surface.
I tie on a Woolly Bugger and begin fishing while watching for any rises. I spot the first rise. I nip off the Bugger and tie on a matching Caddis imitation. 1,2,3 casts and a trout slaps at the caddis, the line tightens and the trout struggles in the quick current. The rod flexes during the struggle. The first trout comes to net. Not a big trout by any means but the chunky rainbow puts a bigger smile on my face.
The sun finds a gap between the clouds and more Caddis flutter about which causes more rising trout. Flycatchers fly from tree tops from one bank to the other, swooping down on the fluttering caddis. The river waves sparkle from the bright sun like wardrobe sequins under stage lights. Spotting my dry Caddis is at times difficult but the splashing rises are evident. More chunky rainbows come to net.

Time passes as I cast out into the open water time and again.
 Another cigar burns, another trout rises and another tight line and struggle resumes.

Ususpecting trout fall victim to long casts of Caddis imitations.
The workout of casting seems endless as do the trout!

Back at the van I quench my thirst with a cold sweet tea before lighting up a Counterfeit Cuban
for my long drive home.
The results of time spent is well worth my effort.
Another fishing adventure concludes with lasting memories!

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Make'm rise

Make'm Rise
“Watch this” I said loud enough for Randy to hear me.
“See that undercut in the bank, I’m gonna to put the beetle right in there”
“There’s gotta be one in there!”
  I made a couple false casts to get more line out. When I felt I had my distance I single hauled my back cast and bent forward at my waist as I started my forward cast. The loop unrolled and I let fly line slip through my palm enough to pinpoint the drop zone before pinching the line with the rod extended. The beetle fell under the overhanging curved root and into the darkness of the undercut. The white parachute, atop the beetle imitation, was very much visible upon the surface water…

 It's always a joy taking a friend, new to fly fishing, and teaching him a few tricks. I felt kinda bossy when I told Randy to stand on a certain rock and fish from that spot. The reason was that I didn't want him to get any closer to the trout, that I knew were there, and spook them. This also made him learn to cast further out than he has usually been. I could tell he was anxious as he was overpowering the rod with his backcast and forward cast right from the start. Newbie’s think they must use lots of power to cast further. Most newbie’s end up dropping their rod tip down on the backcast and starting their forward cast too soon. This will lead to problems of course and with too much force causes a backlash at the end resulting with the fly ending up only a foot or so from the tip of the fly line with the leader and tippet lying in a bundle. It took a little advice and instructions but soon Randy relaxed and got in his comfort zone.
 The trout on the other hand were a bit picky. There were short gusts of wind now and than that shuffled the leaves of the overhanging branches so we decided to use terrestrial imitations on top. The sky was overcast with the sun peering out occasionally making for a delightful day. In time we got them to rise to our imitations. After the first few catches though the trout were more wary of our presence but we stuck with it. From late morning to the evening we spent making trout rise where there was no evidence that any even existed along the bank.
It was a time well spent on the river casting to finicky trout. Changing our imitations was a must to put more trout in the net.
... Randy chuckled, as he watched and commented “that should do it”
The beetle didn’t sit there more than a couple of seconds when a swirl made the beetle disappear.
“Got’m!!” I shouted. We both chuckled out loud as the line tightened and the rod flexed more into the shaft.
The trout came darting out from the undercut and I could feel this wasn’t the norm for the day. He went straight up towards the colder creek water that flowed into the river. I watched the line slice through the surface water like a sharp fillet knife through fish flesh. He gave a jolting tug before turning back towards the river. A few more darts and his high energy exertion soon slowed to a controllable calm. The beauty of a brook came to the net.

Here's a good sample of some of the nice brook trout Randy and I caught on the dry and one on a Woolly Buggers when times got real slow.

one on a beetle
One on a hopper
Randy showing off his catch
This one chased a bugger

You never know when one will take a Humpy