Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Evening on the Young Womans

Good Cigars and a Fly Rod
(Part 4 the end)

Evening on the Young Womans

 I stood on the sandy bank drinking a beer I traded for a half dozen dry flies. When I arrived at Young Woman’s Creek I met a couple of fishermen who were getting ready to drive up to Kettle Creek. The one guy said he did well in the lazy water I was looking over. He said he was using nymphs, though they both like to use dries but never could figured out what dries to use on occasions. They were from Altoona and came up north for a few days to relax and fly fish. In the conversation I showed them pictures of trout I caught on the Kettle and Cross Fork. They were interested in the flies I showed them I caught them on. I gave them about a half dozen but wouldn’t take any cash they offered me. When they offered me a beer, well, I couldn’t turn that down being I was down to one more bottle in my own cooler.
 Usually there are at least a couple of sippers beneath the overhanging branches in the shadows upon the far side of the creek. The one guy must have done pretty well for I didn’t see a rise the whole time I finished drinking the beer.

Back at the van I put my waders on and pieced together my 3wt Hardy rod. I laid my streamer box on the van floor, grabbed my last few cigars and straw hat. I sprayed my bare skin with bug spray and I was on my way.

 Upon the lazy water I sidearm cast a foam beetle under the overhanging branches in different areas but couldn’t make a trout rise. I figured they had sore lips already or scared to death. I decided to walk upstream a piece and work my way back to the lazy waters. When I entered the woods, along the path, I was met by those nasty pecker flies. Those tiny flies that dart in front of your face and pester the heck out of you. I tried to hurry and light up a Don Tomas Coronitas but before I got one lit one of them pecker flies flew behind my shades and into my left eye. Man was I pissed! I tried to do self optometry by rubbing my eye enough to tear up and than wiping my eye on a piece of toilet paper in hopes of getting the bugger out of the corner of my eye. Well that didn’t work at the time but I figured sooner or later I’d rub it out. Continuing on up the path, I puffed on the cigar and took mental notes of the creek flow and good pocket water along the way.
 I came upon a good section of water that looked fishy, went up creek and crossed in the shallow riffles. I tied on a chubby Catskill tied March Brown and slowly fished my way down creek. Casting upon riffles and against the banks I fooled a few slappers but only was able to hook up with two, one being a nice brown trout in deeper rough water run within the first half hour.


 As the evening progressed a few March Browns, small sulphurs and a few grayish mayflies rose from the waters. I didn’t come across any feeding risers but made a few more rise and hooked into a couple more. Casting my March Brown along a seam between the far bank and fast ripples is always a good bet sooner or later a trout would take notice. I learned to cast a few times in the same area before moving down creek. I figured a lone trout beneath just might not be ready for the first swift moving fly along the seam. The second time, it bobbles past, the trout are usually ready and willing to rise to it. It’s a quick wrist set upon the slapping rise with a good fight in the quick current flow.

 When I arrived at the lazy water I looked it over again but still no dimpling trout appeared. I tied on my favorite Gray Fox pattern and slowly fished it again. It was kind of disappointing I had no fish coming to inspect my fly but I didn’t give up hope.

 The sun just crested over the mountain top and the cool evening air began to be felt in the shadier areas. I rolled down my sleeves and pulled another cigar from my pocket. I lit up Cohiba Pequeno, though the pecker flies had abandoned me by his time, just for enjoyment instead of a smoky bug screen.
 I stepped slowly and cautiously positioned myself on the cement dam below the first ledge of water falls and sat on the heel of my wading boots to keep my profile low. The water fell again spilling over the wall ledge, I was on, and that crossed the creek before me. It bubbled upon entering the pool of deep water and riffled across the open water that was only about a few feet deep.

 The bottom was clear enough I could see the pebbly and submerged tree limb that lay on the bottom. I caught a glimpse of a riser in the slower tail out to my left but there was quite a bit of water I wanted to fish between us before casting a fly long line upon the clear water.

 The first taker rose quickly to my fly as it floated on the waves from the spill over. I was ready and got a good hook set on the riser. A short fight followed and I brought the beautiful brown to hand.

I continued casting into the riffles and aroused a few more trout. One such was a nice fighting small rainbow and soon was followed by a frisky young brook trout.

  I was having a good time creating rising trout to my imitations. Occasionally a trout would rise in the slower water upon the tail out to my left. I couldn’t get any to take my fly figuring they could see my tippet or didn’t like my choice of fly. I changed over to a Ginger Quill, on 7X tippet, and was able to make a few more rise to it that wouldn’t rise to my Fox Pattern. Casting into the riffling water again I got a trout to rise with quite a bit more splash on the take. My Hardy rod flexed a little deeper during the fight and I pulled in a pretty nice size brook trout.

 The long days fishing and lack of sleep was getting the best of me and I decided to call it quits. I had caught quite a few trout in this last creek of my two day outing and was quite satisfied. Back at the van I popped open my last beer and sat a spell on the cement wall, against the creek bank, enjoying the scenery.

 Somewhere out of Renova, heading up the road through Sproul State Forest, I reached down for my three finger cigar case. I found one last Arturo Curly Head Deluxe to keep me awake during my drive towards home. Nothing like a couple of good day’s dry fly fishing and ending it with a smooth cigar on the way home.


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