Red Eyes on Tionesta Creek

Red Eyes on Tionesta Creek

5/12/13

  Looking out the French door glass it looked like a beautiful morning. The sun was shining in the blue, white clouded, sky and the white blossoms on the apple tree were in full bloom. I stepped outside, in my ‘T’ shirt, to put waders in the van and instantly felt the cold morning air over my entire body. What appeared to be a warm morning from the inside turned out to be a chilly morning on the outside. I hurried back inside and decided to tie a half dozen or so fresh buggers and let the morning warm up some.

  It was close to 10pm on this sunny morning when I arrived and parked at an empty campsite along Tionesta Creek. It was Mothers Day and the previous rain, the past few days, left campers to a minimum. In fact I didn’t see a camper or even a fisherman along Blue Jay Creek or along route 666. I dressed warm as the morning still had bit of a chill about it. The sun was coming up over the mountain and I was hoping it would bring good cheer.
 The Tionesta was flowing with a light brownish tint but was clear enough to see submerged rocks and boulders in the distance with polarized lenses. The wind was a bit harsh on the way over so I decided on my SAS medium-fast action Scott rod with WF5F line.

  Out on the creek the wind brought a colder chill that I didn’t expect. Within a short time sun gradually faded and put a dirty looking cast over the already tinted water. I decided to not venture too far from the van being that I wasn’t sure how the weather was going to develop. Within a half hour rain clouds moved over the tree tops and rain began to fall. My hands were getting wet and the cold wind just made them feel colder. I think the water was now warmer than the wind chill factor. I waded out to the van for warmer clothes and my rain coat.

  I bundled up adding a fleece pullover over top of my heavy weight Duo-Fold and polypropylene turtle neck. I donned my insulated Gortex Jones Cap and put on my Gortex raincoat. I lit a cigar, in the van away from the wind, before returning to the creek.

In the period of the next three hours I fished within Pennsylvania’s four seasons of the outdoor elements. First the sun shown down upon me like a happy summers day. Than, within minutes, the sky darkened and a light spring shower sprinkled rain drops upon the water and the spring like landscape. Soon after that a wintry hail storm developed. Hardened drops of falling rain dotted the water surface and bounced off my Gortex Raincoat sleeves. Intermittingly the wind gusts were sever enough, like an Autumn wind storm, blowing down loose tree branches and tree blossoms that covered the water surface.

  Trying to cast a weighted bugger into the sudden gusty crosswind was like trying to throw a cheap Styrofoam boom-a-rang. I had no idea where it would land and sometimes it returned towards me that I had to dodge the oncoming object. At times the water rippled with these gusts like small waves in a no wake zone after a boat had gone by.

  Within this continuous 3 hour sequence of abnormal weather conditions I landed one brook trout, missed two strikes and caught two drifting branches. I also had one rainbow, that jumping out of the water and feeling the extreme weather in my world, returned into the water and released itself into its calmer conditions below.

  When the rain started to fall sideways, from the strong wind, I turned my back towards it. It wasn’t long after that that I gave up and headed to the van. At the van for some reason I decided not to take off my waders or break down my rod. For some reason I thought, maybe, just maybe the rain and wind would subside and the sun would shine the rest of the afternoon. It was nearing 3:00pm by now and I wasn’t ready to quit.

  Driving up route 666 the sky did clear up and sure enough the sun shown reflecting its rays off a big cumulus cloud that blossomed over the tree tops. The wind died down some and the wavy water glistened with a pleasant welcome

I couldn’t resist. I parked along the road at a likely area, got my raincoat on and grabbed the SAS. Since I was still unsure how long this weather would hold out I left my camera in the van. I lit up a VS Bohemian Churchill and headed out into the water.
 Once I got almost mid stream I caught a rainbow stripping in a bugger. Thinking maybe I hit a hot spot I returned to the van and grabbed my camera. Returning to the water I started upstream a bit, in the shin deep riffles, and fished my way to the mid deeper section.

  About three quarters of the way across stream the riffling section widened out towards the far bank almost like a cove. The water here deepened and the current was much slower. A couple of weeks ago I caught a couple of brook trout slowly fishing it with a drifting bugger so I figured I’d give it another try.

  I cast upstream into the shallow riffles that emptied into the deeper pool of water. After a short mend, I kept my rod tip up, as if I was nymph fishing. The bugger didn’t go more than a couple of feet when the hook stuck and the fly line began to flow downstream of the bugger. I lifted the rod tip up quickly in hopes of avoiding a snag. When the line tightened and the ‘snag’ began to move downstream I knew I had a fish on. The fish swam into the deeper pool with a forceful tug. At first I thought that maybe it was a brown trout being it was staying deep and not fighting with the friskiness of a rainbow. I struggled with the fish as he used its weight and energy trying to keep its distance from me. Down stream, in the pool, I got it turned towards me and coming in my direction reluctantly. There were two submerged boulder, about three feet apart, in front of me the appeared to be the beginning of the drop off into the slow deep pool. The fish rose towards the surface and than I thought maybe a big brook trout from what I was able to see of it being shorter in length but with good girth. The color just wasn’t right as I looked on from a distance as I struggled with the fish. I got him around the first boulder and within better sight. As I was trying to get him between the two boulders he shot up creek and I could picture my leader rubbing on the second boulder and possibly snapping being I was only using 5x tippet. I raised the rod and the fish turned suddenly and it appeared the leader may have dragged the boulder. The line went limp; the fish splashed the surface water and disappeared. I quickly brought in the line and was surprised that my bugger was still on the other end. I didn’t see any marring on my leader or tippet. Hmm, I was beginning to think this wasn’t a trout at all.

  I let out line and roll cast into the center of the big pool a couple of times before deciding to shoot the line across creek. I heaved the line off the water and single hauled a cast that put the bugger cross creek where I could see the discoloration where the sandy shallows met with the darker deeper water. The bugger plopped into the water and I watched the fly line lay atop the surface waiting for the slow current to start the drift. Within seconds the line slowly pulled away and the fly line tip started to dip. I raised the rod tip for the hook set and felt the heavyweight on the other end. When he took off down below I gave a quick wrist jerk to make sure I had a good hook set before I let him take line. I had the drag set light for trout but this big boy was too strong for that. I tightened the drag some as the fish continued to take line off the spool. By the way it was pulling I thought maybe a big sucker but as I tightened my fingers for more pressure on the fly line, I felt him headshaking trying to release the hook just before he turned my way. My right hand tried to hold the rod steady but he had the power and force to continue to flex the rod towards him. We struggled a bit in the deep water until I felt he was tiring. I started to reel him in with caution but gave him a little line when the struggle got to strenuous. When I got him between the boulders and me I could see his red eyes and yellowish olive scales. He turned and shown me his opened round mouth than rose above the water and belly flopped right before my eyes. Without a net I struggled to get him turned around and finally lipped him out of the water. My biggest Tionesta smallmouth was now within my grasp.

 After releasing the big boy I continued to work over the pool from a distance. It wasn’t long before I felt another grab as I was stripping the bugger towards me. Another battle yielded another red eye.

  After two smaller red eyes I cast down creek at the end of the deeper pool and let the bugger drift some before stripping it in. I didn’t have to strip it very far before I felt the swipe and set the hook. The fish immediately went skyward showing me his lateral line. After a good lively battle I finally got a rainbow back in my hands.

  The wind started to pick up again and my belly started to growl for food as the rest of my cold body was wanting some warmth. I stuck it out a little bit longer and was rewarded with another red eye that put up a real good battle before I brought him to hand.

 With a smile on my face I waded out of the water and walked up to my van. I changed clothes and headed to the Kelly for wings and a cold Killians Irish Red draft…or two.
 What started out as a trout expedition in the most inclement weather conditions I ever experienced trout fishing, turned into a good ‘red eye’ fishing experience. Something I didn’t expect this early in the season. I have a new used 6 weight fiberglass rod I’ve wanted to try out for bass. Maybe I’ll have to return soon, in better conditions of course!!!

~doubletaper



 







Quiet Brookie Stream

 

Quiet Brookie Stream

5/11/13

 

Every once in a while I get an urge to fish my fiberglass rod. Overcast cloudy day, quiet brookie stream, why not?

.

 After an unsuccessful early morning turkey hunt I parked along a quiet trout stream and took a short nap. I was getting my gear on, after my nap, and a vehicle pulled up behind me and three guys got out of their vehicle dressed in posh outerwear from head to wading boot. They grabbed their modern 9 foot graphite fly rods and headed to the water. I put on my old faded fedora with the Harley hat band and donned my well worn fishing vest. I assembled my two piece Wonderod fiberglass fly rod and discovered I forgot my Martin Classic fly reel. I mounted on an England made Orvis Battenkill with wf5f doubletaper line and grabbed a few stogies. (Next to these guys I probably looked like an out of date bum without much skill.) At the van I watched as the three fished the deep hole. It wasn’t long before they started to fish their way down creek. I walked down to the water and looked over the situation.

The overnight storm put some color in the water and it was running at a good depth, better than usual. I knotted on a Woolly Bugger and twisted a lead strip a foot and a half above the bugger on my 5X tippet. I took my time, to put some distance between me and the three amigos, and lit a 10^th Aniversario Sinclair Robusto.

As the three disappeared around the bend I started to wade fish my way down creek. Standing in the middle of the creek I’d toss the bugger near the banks and let it drift through. In a section of shin deep water I made long down and across casts. I wasn’t sure how deep my dark bugger was getting so I switched to a yellow body, white marabou for more visibility. After a couple of casts it appeared to be sinking a few inches below the surface deep enough under the wavy current. I made a long cast down creek shy of the bank and let the bugger drift towards mid creek below me. I slowly stripped in the bugger with short methodical strips and not to my surprise a weighty pull was felt on the end of my line. I reared back and the fiberglass bowed into the midsection. As the trout darted and fought about in the shallow undercurrent the Wonderod flexed and rebounded as if keeping tempo of the dancing brook trout. Nearer to me I was surprised to see the silvery yellow spotted brook trout was much bigger than I expected.

 

 After the release I stuck with the yellow bugger and consciously fished my way down creek. I caught one more brook trout before I came upon the three amigos fishing in a deep long pool of water where dead falls laid and extended over the bank. The far side was a sloped bank that deepened quite quickly. Pine limbs overhung from the far bank trees making an over hand cast pretty difficult. They were doing their best with their long rods but I didn’t hear any excitement as if they were catching fish. I fished before them in the deep riffles of the mouth. I seen the flash of a trout as it swept after my bugger but it didn’t grab it hard enough for me to set the hook. I teased it some more but couldn’t get it to take. It wasn’t very long before the three gave up. In conversation I had told them I caught two brook trout on the way down and they asked me what I was using. I told them a popcorn Woolly Bugger, yellow chenille body and white marabou tale. (Sometimes I make up my own names for my flies!)

 After they left I had the deeper stretch of water to myself. Two brook trout fell for my popcorn bugger and I was only able to bring one to hand. I also caught another on a triple threat. After an hour there I decided to make my way down creek a little further.
  I passed a good hour away down creek without a strike before returning to the deep section I fished earlier. Without any strikes on a few casts of streamers, as a last resort, I elected to nymph fish. I knotted on one of my trusty Latex Caddis.
  With a loop cast, of my Wonderod, the caddis larva imitation plopped up creek. With a mend up creek I let the caddis drop deeper as the fly line flowed behind. I kept a good eye on the tip of my fly line watching for any drop or slight pull. Just in front of me my fly line dipped downward and I lifted to the hook set. The line tightened as the rod tip arced downward and soon the fiberglass rod was flexing with action. The trout rose with a flash and turned down creek with reckless abandon. I held the porous cork handle tightly in my grasp and felt every jerk and sudden movement of the battling trout. I got the brook trout near and the fiberglass rod arced deep as the trout flopped on the water surface before me.
 I continued to nymph fish in the same manner and was rewarded occasionally with a good quick skirmish of a hooked brook trout. After the last puffs of a Triple Corojo cigar I called it quits. I penetrated the point of the hook into the cork handle and made my way to the bank. Following the trail, between trees and brush, I made my way back to the van.

It was near 3:00pm. I had a commitment and had to get back home. I took my time though, enjoying a cold Grolsch, as I changed into street cloth. I drove up the windy road till I got to route 66. There I turned right and headed south whistling to a country song on the radio. What more could a trout bum ask for?

~doubletaper
 

 



 

 

 

 



Frisky Rainbows

 

Frisky Rainbows

4/27/13

 

There’s nothing like the experience of fighting trout in a fast current flow. When it’s a frisky rainbow, with acrobatic ability, it amounts to enjoyable fun.

 I had to work Saturday till noon. Every once in awhile a customer would come in and comment how nice it was outside, how sunshiny and beautiful. Every time I heard this, in the front of my mind I conjured up caddis fluttering about on Tionesta Creek and trout rising. I should have been turkey hunting in the early morn and be in the creek by now casting to trout.

I had everything ready to go fishing except to pack a cooler. When I got home I changed into fishing underclothes and packed the cooler. I ate a quick lunch, put my gear in the van, and headed north. The sun was shining and it was almost T-shirt weather outside. Driving by the Kelly Hotel and Bar I seen my friends Harley and stopped in just long enough to drop off some parts he had ordered. I didn’t even sit for a beer; I had trout fishing on my mind as if it was a scheduled event I just couldn’t miss.

 I was in the mood for big water fishing and already decided on fishing Tionesta Creek. The state just stocked the smaller National Forest creeks and I was hoping that would put less pressure on the Tionesta. I knew there would still be plenty of fishermen about with the warmer weather and figured a few that were coming in from turkey hunting would also hit the streams.

  I turned left on Blue Jay road and passed parked vehicles and fisher people along my way. As I crossed Lynch Bridge both sides of the creek were plenty of fishermen. I turned right onto route 666 and figured I’d just take my time and hoped to find somewhere not so crowded along the way. Again I passed vehicles pulled to the side and fisher people in waist high water casting lines. I came around a bend and started down the grade and was surprised to see only one truck at the streamside camp sight. I pulled into the next empty parking place and noticed no one was fishing one of my favorite fishing areas. It appeared I was going to have the whole area to myself for the time being.
  I put on my waist high waders and fitted my two piece SAS Scott rod together. I attached my Allen large arbor reel with WF5F line. I made sure I had plenty of cigars, put on my vest and was ready to hit the stream. I knotted on a Woolly Bugger and added a lead strip. I slowly waded my way towards the spot I wanted to make my stand. In the shallows I practiced making long casts to get a feel for rod and line. When I got to where I wanted to be in the over-the-knee water I lit up a Victor Sinclair Primeros.

 My first cast was long across creek and I mended upstream to let the bugger drop some before the current started to sweep my fly line down creek. Wham! The line pulled sharply narrowing the arc and I swung the rod back while pulling on the fly line to set the hook. The rainbow was frisky as it erratically fought within the fast wavy current. It zipped out and away before turning down creek with the undercurrent. The rod tip pointed towards the rainbow as I let him have some line while getting a feel for his strength and measuring him up for how I wanted to play him in the fast current. The trout darted left and right shaking his head trying to shake the hook loose. There were no major obstacles to get in the way; I just had to keep the trout below the surface so as not to let him get pushed by the top surface current. It wasn’t long before I had my first rainbow to hand, a nice chunky one at that.

 

Within three casts I had another grab and within seconds of the hook set the rainbow skyrocketed out of the water at least 2 feet above the surface. His twisting air-born body was wiry and wild. He slapped down into the water with a cannonball splash. He took off down creek away with speed but with the pressure of the bending rod tip section he turned my direction and swept just below me. Playing him in the current got too strenuous on him and as his energy weakened I brought him to hand.

 

 After another caught rainbow I had a light strike when the bugger got to the end of the swing. I missed the hook set but mentally made note of the location. On my second cast outward I let the bugger swing into that same location. A couple of twitches of the rod tip were too much temptation and I set the hook as soon as I felt the strike. The fight wasn’t as aggressive or erratic as the previous rainbows but was still a good playful battle in the current. Closer I was able to see a nice brook trout hooked on the end of my line. A few casts later, in the general area, I caught another brookie.

 It was almost too easy within the first hour of fishing. I was having fun and forgot all about not getting out till about 2:30pm. With rainbows and brook trout already caught my challenge was now to catch a brown trout. It’s not like I had some secrete weapon to target browns but just the thought would be challenge enough.

 

 For the next couple of hours I concentrated swinging buggers in the general area with quite a few more caught. After a couple of other guys started to fish the same area I decided to head down creek.

  In a shallow riffle I fooled another rainbow and it ejected it’s self out of the water like it was shot out of a cannon. It shook it’s snout from the time it went air born till it slapped back into the water. Within seconds it bounced out of the water its full length as if rebounding from a trampoline. It looked evident he was pissed as if he was caught before and didn’t think he’d be fooled again.

  After that release I continued on down stream enjoying another stogie. I concentrated my placement of the bugger near partially exposed boulders in the foot or so of riffles or in slightly deeper pockets. From a good distant I dropped the bugger on the far side of a rippling run behind a boulder. The bugger drifted and I missed the first strike. I tried a couple more passes but he gave up on trying to grab it. I moved directly across from the run for a different approach. I cast out in other directions to give him time to relax. From the side I cast up into the run and let the bugger drift along the seam as if nymph fishing. The fly line arced forward as if it got caught on the creek bed, but I knew better. With a quick down creek tug I watched a trout come out, from under the wavy current, and dart down creek to get away. He jerked and maneuvered about as I kept him under control. Closer to me it took a couple of attempts before I got my fingers on the bugger and released it from his lips.

 The sun was dropping slowly below the tree line and cast shadows across half the width of the creek. I moved towards the sunny side and worked the bugger near a downed tree trunk without success. I then moved to the shaded side and cast towards the bank beneath the bank hugging pines. After a bit, without a strike, I decided I had enough for the day. I was hungry so I waded out of the water and hiked my way back to the van.

 At the Kelly Hotel I had a dozen wings, a few beers and watched the hockey game. After the game I traveled north again back towards Tionesta Creek. That night I pulled my van along rte 666 near Mayburg and went to sleep for the night anticipating a good fishing day for Sunday.

~doubletaper







 

 

 

A Beaded Zebra Saved the Day

3/31/13

 

 

  I woke up to daylight as I peeked out from under my sleeping bag. Normally I might have felt I was burning daylight but from the chill in the van I was quite sure it wasn’t above freezing yet outside. There’s been too many chilling mornings I felt I was better off sleeping in than trying to pursue inactive trout. Over the years I’ve found once the air temperature warms from sunshine the trout get a bit more active as do the bugs about the water.

As the van warmed up I lit the one burner Coleman stove, resting on an ammo crate I converted into a camping storage bin, and placed the tea kettle over the flame. Peering outside the sky was layered in grays and blues with a little brightness that filtered between. The weatherman predicted morning showers tapering off by noon with a possible high of 47 degrees. By the looks of the weather outside I believed him as I did that groundhog. I contemplated what to tie as I waited for the morning to warm. I had enough BWO’s and bi-color worms that seemed to be my fish catchers thus far. There always seems to be fish rising somewhere on spring and a lot of times they are rising to some tiny midge. I get frustrated when I can’t see my dry fly on the water so I don’t tie down below a #22. Even those and #20’s are hard to see on a cloudy day. I ended up tying a few Adams Para-duns in size #20 and #18’s as I drank a cup of hot tea and ate some instant oatmeal.

  It was slow going as I concentrated on my nymph fishing and not wanting to get too far from the van in case it started to rain. Saturday evening, under the sunshine, as I walked the road I noticed trout hugging the stony sloped bank below the guard rail, some in the 18” range. There was a good stonefly hatch during the day and maybe they were feasting on the stones making their way towards dry land. This morning I wasn’t about to fish from the guard rail. Besides looking silly I didn’t want to catch a jogger on a back-cast or a car antennae passing by. I made long casts, whenever possible, towards the roadside bank hoping a trout would take my San Juan or stonefly pattern before the crosscurrent swept it away. Letting my stonefly drift downstream, to my side of the bank, for my next cast a trout grabbed for the stonefly as it lifted towards the surface but I missed the hook set. I glanced down along the bank now and then and noticed there were a few trout mixed in with the suckers. I started to let the stonefly and worm pattern drift along the bank and low and behold I got a hard strike. The trout took me midstream into deeper water and faster undercurrent. The 4wt 9’ rod bent well and I let him take line as he headed towards the opposite bank. After a few jerks and underwater antics I got him coming my way. The colorful wild fighting brown was near my knees when the hook let loose and the surface flopping brown, once free, turned deep and scampered away like it seen a cigar smoke’n ghost!

  Within the next hour it started to sprinkle and I seen a few trout stirring the surface along the far bank. I knew it would be hard to see a #20 dry anything across creek on the wavy water. I tied on a #18 BWO Para-dun and started to cast up creek to the occasional risers. Even the BWO was hard to see at times with the dimpling raindrops on the surface but I kept at it. I’m sure I missed a couple of strikes from where I thought my fly was but I finally managed to time the hook set right and the #18 found a lip. He zigzagged in the crosscurrent like a wild bunny trying to avoid a clear shotgun shell pattern. The first trout came to hand and I felt triumphant like finding my Easter basket in a hard to find hidden location. After another hour of relentless casting and a little more nymph fishing the sprinkles turned to rain and the beads of raindrops on my Eddie Bauer fishing jacket started to penetrate.

  After a brief lunch it didn’t appear that the weatherman was going to be correct in his prediction. It didn’t appear that the drizzle was going to stop or the temperature was going to get any warmer. I had nothing better to do so I took the gadgets and fishing stuff out of my Eddie Bauer jacket and put them in my fishing rain coat and fanny pack. I put on a fleece pullover for warmth and donned my Gore-Tex thermal cap. I lit up a VS Double Maduro and went up creek to a section of water I don’t normally see anyone fishing. It could be because of the lack of back-casting room or the many tree branches that crossed the creek. I’ve had success there before and that’s where I was planning on fishing the rest of the afternoon.

  As I walked up the road, glancing over the guard rail, I saw a sipper, than another. From the road above I studied the water conditions, deepness and clarity. The middle section was quite clear and looked to be only a few feet deep. I couldn’t distinguish any trout lying on the bottom but I was sure they were there. Cross creek the water was calmer that widened and pooled under an overhanging tree in which a multi-limbed branch extended into the water beyond the clear section mid stream. The water up creek was channeled about 3 conversion van lengths which consisted of choppy water from flowing over and around rocks that created pockets and seams along its way. The faster choppy water entered the clear water section that calmly waved the mid section beyond and rippled the slower pool of water nearer the far creek bank.

  I went up the road a bit more and made my way down the bank to the creek. I carefully made my way along the bank before stepping into the creek trying not to disturb the water or kick up any stream bottom silt. There were sporadic sippers and a few quick risers about as if someone sprinkled chicken feed on the water from up creek. I couldn’t see any mayflies on or flying about the water in the drizzle. It was evident to me they were taking midges and since I can’t stand to dry fly fish without seeing my dry I decided to try to coax a few nymph fishing for a short time. Without any success beneath I looked on and studied the rises. The way some of the trout were coming to the surface I thought maybe they were taking emergers. Some of those swirls didn’t look like they were made by a mouth but maybe by a dorsal fin. Some of the trout rose above the surface quickly as if trying to grab an emerger before it lifted off the water.

Some of the guys I know that fish Spring Creek often fish with small #20’s and #24 nymphs and midges and I’ve seen their success. Without a lot of success beneath, the last couple of days, I decided to give it a try since I was by my self and no one was watching. I tied on a #18 Glass Bead Zebra Midge with a #20 down wing emerger as a dropper.

My first cast I rolled out a nice loop and mended up creek directing my ties towards the last riser. As my line swept downstream and straightened I felt a strike but wasn’t successful in the hook set. Continuing with the same technique I finally connected with a brown trout the grabbed one of my imitations hard and quick. The small brown trout fought erratically in the cold creek water like a chicken with its head cut off. I got it close enough to see it took the Zebra Midge just before it was able to spring free. It wasn’t but a few casts later that I connected with another brown on the midge pattern. It might not have been a good hook up but the small moving midge, in the wavy water, connected with the hungry misjudging trout.

 

With that strike I decided there was no need to have a dropper and clipped it off.

  As the drizzle of rain continued, fish kept swirling and slapping near the water surface revealing their whereabouts. I found that, as the midge drifted, if I twitched the rod tip I would entice more strikes and fish continued to come to hand. When fish quit rising midstream, a few fish were feeding in the slower pool down and across creek under the overhanging limbs.

 I reached my forearm forward at the end of my roll cast motion. A big looped formed and rolled out above the water. The line, leader and tippet fell gently on the water surface and the midge dimpled in the slow current across creek. The slate blue sky wasn’t letting up on the small drops of rain that fell upon my hat, rain coat and dimpled the water surface. Smoke formed and rose from the end of my half burning stogie and from my lips. I watched the fly line as it waved with the surface current. My wet hand gripped the wet cork grip on my 4wt custom rod. My left hand held the fly line, pinched, waiting for the slightest bump from the other end. I twitched the rod tip to draw attention to the #18 midge and than let it drift. A vicious strike resulted as I watched the water disturbance where this took place just under the surface. My left hand pulled back sharply as I raised the rod. The 9’ fly rod came to life as a trout darted and tugged on the other end. I stripped him in as he recklessly scurried about.

 

 The next hour or so was similar to this. As soon as I seen a rise I would drift the small midge in their direction. With a twitch or two brought a strike occasionally. Eventually I got too careless on a long roll cast and the Zebra Midge caught in a branch cross creek and while trying to get it loose we became detached from one another. Back in the slower section I used a #20 Zebra Midge. I only caught 1 more brown and missed 1 in a matter of about 15 minutes. I than switched to a #18 self designed BWO bead-head emerger that I felt might have been easier to see. I caught a couple more nice browns before all rises stopped for some time.

  I wasn’t sure what time it was by then but I was well satisfied and without the #18 Zebra Midge I wasn’t fishing with as much confidence. I climbed back up to the road and walked back to the van. It was about 5:30pm when I was dressed and ready for the long drive home.

When I got to Snow Shoe I reached into the traveling humidor and slipped out a Brick House Short Torp. The aroma of the outer leaf smelled sweet and well seasoned as I lip wet the outer wrap. I nipped off the torpedo capped head and charred the foot. The cigar aroma scented the confines of the van. The Havana Subido wrapper had a slight sweetness upon my lips. With each draw the Nicaragua filler tobacco was smooth with a delightful medium strength flavor.

  The windshield wipers swept the rain away as I headed west. Rock and roll played on the radio as my conversion van cruised down the interstate. Cigar smoke found its way towards the slightly opened window. After 3 days camping out of my van, a hot shower sounded good once I got home.

~doubletaper

 

 



 





Spring Creek March

Spring Creek March

3/15/13

  It was cold and windy when I pulled up to the empty camp. Even so I was anxious to fish for the wild trout in Spring Creek in central PA. I was wanting some dry fly action and I knew of no better place closer to home in March. The weather more north was to be even colder with a more chance of snow for the weekend. The past weekend a few friends hit Spring and informed me there was a decent hatch of Blue Wing Olives (BWO), it wasn’t hard for me to decide where I wanted to spend Friday thru Sunday.

 Arriving Friday at around 9:00am I hadn’t seen a soul along the creek as I drove up the road. The water looked inviting as it flowed with a dark green beer shade in the deeper sections. The weather on the other hand didn’t look so inviting yet but the weatherman claimed it was going to get warmer throughout the day.
I dressed extra warm in layers in hopes that the cold wind gusts wouldn’t penetrate through. I elected on my medium-fast action 5 weight Scott SAS rod and fitted it with doubletaper line. I figured with the tree lined banks I would be doing more roll casts than overhead casts. I didn’t expect any dry fly action till the sun came out and warmed things up but even with that I knew the SAS could handle any small dries I would toss out. Until then I decided to bide my time with nymph fishing and took out a VS Triple Corojo Churchill.

  Looking over the stained cold high water flow I decided to go with a beaded bi-color San Juan worm below an olive scud. I figured in the faster runs a worm pattern might look tasty and the scud should look natural in the slower currents. I slowly waded along the bank fishing my way downstream. Roll casting got pretty tricky with the tandem rig and the wind. After a couple of tangles, in which my flies got real friendly with my indicator, I started to concentrate more on my roll casts.
 Along the opposite bank water rippled at a little slower pace than in towards the middle. I cast up creek trying to get my offering in the slower pools, throwing a big mend upstream, before my imitations enters and flows with the faster current. I don’t spend too much time working seams as many of my other nymph fishing friends do but keep on moving at a slow pace.

Looping a mend up creek, against the wind, the fly line arcs on the water behind the indicator. As the line begins to straighten, down creek a bit, on the surface the indicator stops and drops slightly just out from a submerged boulder. My left hand strips in the slack and I lift the rod tip skyward hoping it’s not another snag. There is a slight hesitation as the indicator pops above the surface and my rod tip arcs down in the general direction. The weighty object moves away from the boulder and into the faster current that sweeps around in a waverly manner. Within the first 20 minutes I have my first fish on, I’m surprised and pumped. Within the deep flow of the undercurrent he tugs and pulls in a zigzag tussle as I keep a good hold of the cork handle letting him tire out against the current and rod pressure. He decides to swim forward, escaping the fast current, and I take in line quickly as he passes in front of me. He wrestles a bit more with the tight line before tiring enough that I get him near and get a hold of him!

 

  With this catch I got super sensitive. Every drop of my indicator I quickly and forcefully raised my rod for a hook set. After losing two flies to tight bottom snags and 1 sharp upward pull, that caused my indicator and flies in an unreachable tree branch, I become more skeptical each time my indicator dropped. It took an hour or so and a trip to the van before I found myself down creek in unfamiliar territory. Even with the sun appearing now and then the water wasn’t becoming any clearer on running any slower. Though I hadn’t caught another fish I still felt the water color was to my advantage. Through a straight stretch I changed patterns often but noticed no obvious takes. I lost my last beaded red/wine by-color worm and found the cheap chenille on my orange San Juan came undone to the tie in point. I did have more non-beaded ones but with the strong current and deeper water, I was fishing now, I needed something heavy to get it down. I decided to knot on one of my Depth Ray Stones and drop one of the unbeaded San Juan’s off that.

 I have to admit I’ve never done very well nymph fishing Spring Creek in such cold conditions as some of my friends have. Maybe I don’t spend enough time in a good looking seam as they, drifting my nymphs over and over again until a trout gives in. Maybe I don’t hold my tongue just right or nip on the right kind of Scotch while fishing. Maybe the brown trout just don’t care for long haired, cigar smoke’n older gents from the North East part of the state.

  Nearing a bridge I find myself hugging the bank in just above knee deep water. The run in front of me looks as though it deepens sharply beneath the bridge. I add a bit of weight just above the knot of my tippet connection and cast up creek a bit throwing a mend a bit upstream further. I hold the rod horizontal as the indicator passes by and dropping the rod tip some while following the indicator. Just this side of the bridge line something snatches the worm like the first green beer being slid down the bar towards a bunch of thirsty Irish mates. The indicator sinks fast and I knew instantly I had a good hook set. The take reminded me of how the big browns took a drifting worm imitation in the fast current of the Bighorn River out in Montana. The trout stayed deep and used the wide section of creek to wrestle, jerk and try to jar the hook loose. My left hand kept tension on the line and I brought him closer with every opportunity he gave me. Soon he was near enough that I lifted the rod high with my right hand and cradled him in my left. A portion of the San Juan hung out of his mouth as I cradled the nice wild brown within my hand. An olive yellowish hue ran along his soft belly just below a row of maroon colored specks that were haloed by a light bluish cast. The remainder of his silvery brown body was dotted with larger spots that were also within a halo of a light blue shade. The bottom of his olive fins were noticeably streaked with white. After unhooking him I let him swim away back into the cold flowing stream.

 

 I suppose it was about 1:30pm, while I was enjoying a Connecticut Yankee stogie, when I seen my first rise. It didn’t take another nymph fishing cast before I clipped off the tandem nymphs and added an extra piece of 6x tippet. I know the wild trout, in Spring Creek, can be very selective with body and wing color as well as size so I had a whole fly box full with a Chinese Buffet of BWO’s. I knotted on a CDC paradun and looked over the slow riffles of surface water for a minute. A slight breeze was steady with an occasional gust now and then. I let my eyes adjust to the dark surface water and began to notice the tiny BWO’s drifting down like a puff of cotton. Some of the Blue Wings fluttered and skated across the water with the breeze while others drifted, motionless, as if knowing their fate should they cause too much commotion upon the surface. I noticed three risers by now and decided to go for the one closest. The water was deeper there and after a few drifts through, without even a look see, I decided to cast out to the one rising cross stream nearer the shallows. There were trees behind me so I picked an opening between them and let go a long forcing cast cutting the slight breeze to get my fly cross creek. My imitation fell a couple feet within his feeding zone. He picked it off like a bird raising its head to peck at a crawling insect off a branch. I pulled back on the long length of line while lifting the rod. I felt the resistance and than quick jerks on the other end of the tight line. I had my first fish caught on a dry fly struggling on the end of my tippet and it felt grand. The small wild brown fought with courage but was no match for the five weight.
After another caught trout, shortly after the first, it was as if the other risers were aware of my presence. More fish rose though, to the BWO’s about, but became much more selective to my offerings. I changed body colors and pattern styles as well as hook size. #20’s were harder for me to see but I did raise a couple of the trout not rising to my #18’s. I’d go back to #18’s with just a CDC wing without a hackle and even an olive shade lighter on occasion. Fish were caught, some almost caught and some flat out missed. It got to be a bit frustrating at times, especially when I’d get caught up in a tree limb on my back cast, but I kept my composure and succeeded with another caught fish eventually. None of the trout were longer than 10”s but they were wild and frisky. When none took my dry I switched to a bead head emerger. On the first cast a brown whacked it like a rainbow grabbing a stripping streamer. I caught one more on the pattern before going back to dries. The cloud cover got to the point in which I found it easier to see my tiny dries without the use of my polarized shades. In time the wind died down, the air became colder and the rises slowed drastically.

 

 

  
 I noticed three inconsistent rises back at the tail end of the pool and elected to try for them. As I slowly waded within casting distance the two closer to me quit rising altogether. The one further out was still finding a few BWO’s and would rise to the lonesome drifters.
 I must have timed it right as my own BWO landed about a foot up creek from his last rise. He leaped forward at it as if he was afraid it was going to fly away. I pulled the slack line in immediately and lifted the rod high for a hook set. His tail whipped water along the surface and than arced his body and disappeared beneath. My BWO and line came back towards me in a wimpy arced fashion.
 As I was crossing the shallow riffles, mid stream, I caught a glimpse of one more rise against the rock wall in a dead pool along the far side of a run that streamed through between two half submerged boulders. A direct cross creek cast would surely drag the fly line down quickly along with the dry. I waded downstream from the rise and cast up creek onto the pool. My BWO sat there in the dead water just long enough for the trout to rise and he sipped it in. I’m sure he was spitting mad when he felt the hook point pierce his lip and the force of the tight line and rod swoop him out of his lair. I caught one more blind casting out in the middle of a shallow run before calling it quits. My hands were pretty cold, my back ached and I was hungry from the long day on the water.

  Back at the van I took out the Coleman stove and placed it on a bed of rocks. There I lit it and started water to boil in a pot. While waiting for the water to boil I changed clothes while quenching my thirst with a Labatt Blue, it tasted sooo good! When the water was boiling I plopped in a couple of already grilled beef wieners and recovered the pot with the lid. My quick meal consisted of the two dogs, corn chips, peperoncini’s, a couple of deer jerky sticks and a few home made cookies. I topped that off with a Cameroon figurado cigar while I finished another Blue. By than I was 8:30, I was alone, pretty whipped and, with nothing else to do, crawled into the back bed in my conversion van to dream about the fish I had caught and planned on catching the next day.

~doubletaper



 

 



Preparations for Spring Creek

 

Preparations for Spring Creek

3/16/13

  Hunters and fishermen do a lot of preparations before the actual activity, at least this one does. From wearing a favorite shirt each time out for luck, preparing a lunch a certain way or training bodily functions. Yes, I actually had a friend who, a week or so before hunting season, started training his body to go to the bathroom at 5:00am in the morning than at 7:30am or so from his normal routine during the work week. He explained to me how one’s body gets into a habit, just like expecting that coffee each morning or your body will go into withdraw. Nothing worse than starting out in the freezing cold early morning hunt and having to find a tree to lean on to drop a stool.

  A couple of my preparations, not necessarily for luck, but just a ‘habit’ is as follows. When my gramps and I would go deer hunting he told me to always carry a dime in case I get lost, I can call for help. You have to remember I grew up when there were phone booths outside every mini market or gas station and such. I kept the tradition only by carrying a quarter now even if there isn’t many telephone booths around. One thing I always wondered, but never questioned, was that I never seen a telephone booth in the woods, even if I ever would have been lost to make that call!

 I still pack a lunch during big game season of buttering both sides of the potato bun so my sandwich wouldn’t get stale. Heck, I’ve found salami potato bun sandwiches in the back of my hunting coat months later and the bread was as soft as a warm pancake, it looked like one also!

  When it comes to fishing I prepare myself for the streams I plan on fishing. I bring full flexed rods for slow calm dry fly fishing days. I bring a fast action rod for windy days and streams I know I’ll need long casts and medium fast as my every day creek rod. Different floating lines on their own spools help also. When I go fishing for a three day weekend I also bring some fly tying material especially when I’m not familiar with the waters or have been fooled before on such waters. So my past weekend trip to Spring Creek, near Bellefonte, I brought along some tying material to help from not being disappointed.

  Friday was a good St. Practice day on the stream. Though the underwater fishing didn’t produce many trout, the top water hatches during the day were more successful. Only problem was the fish WERE selective as usual and not all the trout were craving for the same size, shape, color of Blue Wing Olives. Along with the rearward tree branches that also consumed many imitations Friday, I was glad I brought along the tying kit.

  This brings me to Saturday’s eventful day along Spring Creek. I woke up in my van around 6:30am without setting the alarm. I guess going to bed at 8:30pm the night before, for the lack of anything else to do, made for a restful night and early morning. It was dark and cold in the morning so I wasn’t anxious to go outside just yet. As I warmed up the van I started to tie some BWO’s in a couple of different styles to make up for the ones I lost the day before plus a couple of different shades. I did this on the top of my cooler while sipping on a hot cup of tea and eating hot oatmeal. When it became light I was still tying without fear I’d miss something in the below freezing weather outside. I think it was around 8:00am when my stomach told me that I needed to excrete some waste. I put on a sweatshirt and headed to the outhouse behind the camp I was parked next to.

  It had to be just above freezing but without the gusting wind as the day before. The bare ground, bare trees and natural surroundings were of an early morning brisk spring day,, with a few falling snowflakes that gently drifted like goose down feathers. The first thing I noticed, after taking a seat, was there were no windows. Being it was a bit dim outside at the time I kept the door slightly opened. After my eyes adjusted to the dullness inside the second thing that caught my attention was the broom by the door. Now I’ve used many a outhouses in my hunting, camping and fishing adventures and I have to admit I never seen a broom in an outhouse. I mean who actually sweeps a rustic outhouse floor? Besides that there was the more common plastic lidded coffee container that I was sure that kept the ‘T’ paper dry and from being used as a rodents comfortable living quarters. Next to the seat bench, to my left, was some kind of magazine and a pump spray bottle of air freshener. The air freshener was of vanilla ice cream scent! Now, normally I’d expect to see pine aroma or some kind if outdoorsy scented air freshener. Anyhow I left the inside of the outhouse smelling like vanilla ice cream with a touch of chocolate chit aroma!!

 As a light offering of snowflakes fell I got my warmest clothes on and headed for the location I intended to fish. On the drive over, snow started to fall with more abundance as the morning sky brightened quizzically. By the time I got my waders and boots on the snow fall was getting quite annoying and started to accumulate upon the ground. With cold hands I assembled my two piece Scott five weight and with cold fingers knotted on fresh tippet and my double duo offering. By the time I headed up creek it looked like it was the middle of winter with a major snow squall developing. I wasn’t too thrilled with the situation but I had nothing better to do and I was going fishing! I really didn’t expect to catch much, in fact, 1 beneath would be just fine due to conditions, so I decided the morning just might be for picture taking and cigar smoking. I lit up a Sinclair ‘55’ sun grown and went on my way.

 

 I found an open snowy path to the water just beyond the snowy walk bridge and took it. The water was a bit high but had the perfect green tint to it. Stepping into the water I felt the temperature difference but it wasn’t too alarming. As I drifted my offering in pocket waters and along the bank shore I listened to the chirping birds along with the soothing sound of tumbling trout waters. Two ducks fed and played nearby as the snow thickened occasionally passing like fog. At times I took chances of taking pictures but after a spell decided not to take the chance as the fluffy snowflakes changed to overly wet flakes and at times small drops of hail.
(Notice the snow accumulation in the background)

 

 Along with the snow I developed problems with trying to roll cast the tandem rig with my gloved left hand while trying to keep my right fingers warm in my coat pocket. By the time I reached the van I had lost a couple of nymphs, a few feet of tippet with nothing to show for it except a few duck pictures. I stopped by, got a drink, put a hot-hand pouch in my right pocket and decided to work my way down creek.

  The snow decided to tease me as I got further and further down stream from my van. The only excitement was a trout took my drifting worm pattern, near the rocky bank, and struggled with me into the faster current. After a good enjoyable tussle he became free and I was thankful not to get my hands wet. After an hour or so playing in the water in the snow fall I headed back up to the van for another drink. After that I went back up creek and began to fish my way back down with different patterns. Each time I’d have to wipe off my bifocal shades to make sure my cold fingers were tying the knots correctly. This time when I got to the van there were at least a couple of inches of snow that had gathered about and the wind picked up. My coat was a bit heavier than when I started due to the thick moisture in the absorbing snowflakes that happen to fall and lay upon my coat now and than.

  It was near 1:30pm when I decided to drive back up creek towards camp. Aside the road I decided to warm up a bit and listen to the Pen’s game on the radio. I woke up a bit later and munched on crackers and cheese till the end of the second period. The sun was out and the snow flakes just about quit…..until I was about 40 yards from my van down stream.

I noticed a few risers in the riffling water as it entered the calmer larger pool. I tied on a bit of 6X tippet and knotted on a CDC BWO. Casting out towards the risers I was befuddled by the lack of visual contact of my dry. The white snow on the hillside, beyond the road, mirrored it’s brightness upon the water that even my polarized shades couldn’t diffract. I tried playing vicinity, guessing were my fly was, but failed to connect 98% of the time. The one time I guessed right on the rise was my biggest brown of the day and on a dry fly at that!!!

 

  I crossed over to the road side to possibly cut down on the glare but the snowy bank, on the far side, yielded no relief. Getting frustrated I made my way to the road and hurriedly walked down the road where there was a good BWO hatch the day before. That pool was shaded more and also wasn’t as turbulent so seeing a #20 and #18 BWO imitation should be much easier.

  When I arrived at the pool another fellow was wading and fishing the near bank exactly where most of the trout were rising the day before. I crossed the creek in the shallows downstream and than took a position down creek from the guy on the opposite bank not impeding with his upstream casts. In a short time a few trout rose in the middle of the creek but it took my eyes awhile to adjust to the small winged imitation upon the water. After the guy left a few more fish rose but very few at that. Under the snowfall and changing of brightness under the moving cloud color I did manage a few more caught trout on my dry fly patterns. It wasn’t long after I got there that my back and body was feeling the effect of the heaviness of my water soaked coat from the absorption of the wet snowflakes. The air got colder as time went on and a light drizzle began. I had enough ‘fun’ for the day and waded out and walked back up to my camp-on-wheels.

While drinking a cold Labatt Blue I changed into dry clothe and put my gear away. I had planned to stay until Sunday afternoon but the weather didn’t appear to be much more promising. I have to admit the cold, snowy wet weather had gotten the best of me. Two days of wild trout fishing on Spring Creek had been moderately successful thus far so I decided to pass up the last day and head homeward.

When I reached the interstate I pulled out a Victor Sinclair Series ’55’ Cameroon. The darker outer leaf and the thought of a good Cameroon sounded pleasing. After the light up I tilted the Captain’s chair drivers seat back a bit, put down the armrests, and tilted the steering wheel down. With cruise control on and a fat Churchill in my mouth puffing away it was like guiding a cruise ship through calm water, with maybe a drizzle now and than as the sky darkened.

~doubletaper







 

Out of Towner's

 

Out of Towner’s

3/05/13

 Stepping into the thin layer of ice, along the bank-side, sounded like stepping onto an open bag of potato chips. The temps of the frigid water were immediately felt upon my calves and ankles. It wasn’t long before I felt the cold temp surrounding my feet. I pulled line off the reel and cast forward not thinking about the obvious.

 So, these guys from Erie wanted to do some trout fishing. It’s early March and the temps this way have been below freezing with snow still laying about on the shady sides of knolls. The weather man promised 40 degrees on Tuesday so someone suggested going down to Neshannock Creek in Volant and trout fish in the Delayed, artificial lure only section. 3 other guys responded and the plan was that they would meet me in the parking lot by the fly shop. When one of them said we’ll meet at 7:30am I had 3 immediate thoughts.

1. Its 16 degrees overnight and it’s not going to get much warmer at 7:30am
2. Because it is Tuesday there isn’t going to be many, if any, people gathered around the creek like it’s the Erie tributaries with an early morning run of fresh of steelhead.
3. These guys are crazy!

Though I live a little over an hour away I grew up fishing the Neshannock Creek even before the section in Volant became a project area. I felt obligated to be there to pass my info for these Erie out-of-towner’s. that night I had my gear packed at the back steps and set my clock for 5:17am.

The lighted flashing sign read 18 degrees as I traveled south down rte 66 towards the Interstate. After my, over an hour, drive I pulled into the gravel parking lot where the out-of-towner’s were already putting on their gear, breath was obvious with every word they spoke. The guys were anxious to knock the dust off their trout rods, evidently Erie guys get bored of steelhead fishing after a while. I slipped on a patch of ice as I exited my van but caught myself without falling. We stood around a bit talking before heading to the creek. Standing in the lot with the sound of the trout stream just over the bank became too much to ignore even under these conditions. There we lined up, with plenty of room between us, along a straight stretch and looked the water over before entering.

 Slush ice moved upon the flat water current like a bunch of plasma cells under a microscope. It was going to take accurate casts to get the streamer between the floating slush and then there is the likelihood of more slush hitting the fly line causing the fly to rise and drag. Other than that, the slightly green tint of the cold running trout stream was too inviting not to give it an early go.
  It wasn’t long before the conditions got the best of us. Fly lines, leaders and rod guides soon started to freeze up. Trying to cast the ice glazed fly line was like trying to throw a semi-stiff rope. Slush was hampering the drifts as our fingers stiffen within the coldness. After 10 minutes I looked up creek and the guys were on the bank discussing the matter, I walked up and joined them.
  In about an hour the sun split the cloud cover and started to rise above the tree tops. By then we were back in the water drifting nymphs as the plasma started to thin. As the sun hit the water in spots the trout seemed to ‘wake up’ and soon after that indicators dropped below the surface. Fly rods flexed downward with tight lines and frisky trout splashed upon the surface. Smiles began to appear on our cold faces and an occasional ‘Got One’ was heard among us. Along with the sunshine a few more fishermen appeared in the water along with fluttering stoneflies.
 By noon the 4 Erie guys decided to drive down to the end of the project area and give that section a whirl. I was pretty much alone now and decided to put on a streamer. Kevin showed up along the bank and in time got his gear on and joined me. Within the next 45 minutes the Triple Threat hooked 4 and missed just as many.
 The other guys returned a while later and we fished till about 3:30 as one of them had to return to Erie for work. It turned out to be a good trout fishing day with friends and to get us pumped for the spring season.

  After stopping at the nearby winery I met up with Kevin at Primanti Brothers for a lamb Gyro. After my departure, heading north on I79, I reached into my traveling humidor and pulled out the glass tube. From inside I slipped out the Fort Knox Centenario Aristocrat by Cuesta-Rey. The tightly wrapped cigar burned slow and smooth for the rest of the drive home within the confines of my warm van.

~doubletaper