With a Demon in my Hands

 

With a Demon in my Hands

5/17/14

 

  My plan was to head to Potter County and dry fly fish Kettle Creek and surrounding creeks. For the 4^th weekend in a row the rain during the week left the streams high and running fast. On Friday the water gauge spiked upward on both Kettle Creek and Young Womans Creek. Only getting about 14 mpg on my van I decided it wasn’t worth taking a chance driving all that way and find it wasn’t worth fishing. Instead I opted and took my chance on heading to the Black Moshannon State Park.

  I wasn’t in a hurry and arrived at the creek around 11:30 in the morning. The air was cold between the mountains in the valley so I dressed warm both top and bottom. I’m sure in town there were people wearing ‘T’ shirts but the overcast sky and the cool breeze that swept through the forest would be unpredictable down along the creek.

  I selected and pieced together my Hardy Demon 3 weight 7’ fly rod for the narrow laurel and hemlock lined creek. I grabbed my vest with an assortment of offerings and headed to the creek between the branchy young bare trees and shrubs. The tea stained water was flowing high and fast but along the banks it slowed some and slowed enough before log jams to get a well weighted streamer or nymph near the bottom. I knotted on a Woolly Bugger and proceeded to try and coax some wild trout to take my offerings.

  It wasn’t long before a sharp tug flexed the 3 weight and the fight was on. I forgot all about the price of gas and the minimal gas mileage on my conversion van. I forgot all about those ‘T’ shirt clad town folks enjoying the warmth given off by the blacktop streets by the occasional sun rays that seeped through the moving cloud cover. As I played the trout, towards me, in the on coming current I was in my own little world with no worries.

The brook trout showed its wildness with the darting and lively fight beneath the water and showed off its fancy colorful body in the net out of the water.

 

 It wasn’t long that another wild brook flexed the 3 weight and I gained confidence that there would be more to follow.

 With the overshadowing clouds I didn’t stray too far down creek from the van fearing it may rain. Within the next hour I was right and returned for my rain coat. After a brief shower the sky opened to sunshine and the warmth soaked through my clothes. I returned to the van to drop off my raincoat and lit up a Churchill. I was figuring on taking my time making my way between the tree lined creek down stream till I got tired or darkness arrived.

 I slowly waded my way down creek. My casts were sharp avoiding the overhanging branches and laurel. I let the Woolly Bugger drop as nearer to the far banks as possible with enough slack in the line so the bugger would drop deeper before being carried down creek. I adjusted the weight I used, adding or removing, lead strips or split shot depending on the swiftness of the current or deepness of the run. Some areas I felt looked better lies for trout I’d stick around a little longer before moving on. I was rewarded occasionally with yanking tugs or just kept entertained by the swiping misses.

 

 My cast, from the right bank toward the far bank, was spot on and dropped the bugger just before the over hanging laurel leaves. The bugger dropped deeper and began to swing down stream beneath the branchy leaves. The current pushed my fly line down creek and the bugger, on the end of the tippet, began to curve towards the middle of the creek. Once it reached its limit I twitched the rod tip and began a slow retrieve. Wham! A quick tug tightened the line and flexed the rod in a big arc, I had another trout on. The swift current made for a hairy struggle trying to get the fish nearer to me. I could tell by the weight and fight this wasn’t an average trout for this small stream. I decided to swing him towards my side of the bank towards the slower current than to fight him towards me in the swifter water. He surfaced a couple of times so I tilted my rod towards the surface water trying to keep him below the faster force of the surface water. Holding the 7’ rod high enough I got the nice brown trout netted. His dark spotted sides resembled a leopard with the addition of a few red spots towards the rear end.

 

 Within two more casts, a bit down creek, I had another. The weight of the fish felt the same as the last and as the fish surfaced I could see I had another nice brown trout. This trout was more reluctant to enter the net as the last. After a bit of struggling to get him to enter, the hook let loose and I lost him. I grumbled under my breath but knew that’s the way it goes sometimes. It wasn’t long after that I felt a cold breeze blow down from the mountain tops. The clouds covered any sun rays that bled through and I smelled the moisture before it even started to sprinkle rain drops. I slowly waded my way down creek looking for a path along the creek to escape should it rain harder.

  It didn’t take too long and the sprinkles became big drops of rain. I exited the creek and stood beneath the dense pine limbs that all but blocked the sky above. The rain fell with more abundance and the darkening of the forest around me told me this rain shower wasn’t going to just ’pass over.’ By the time I reached the road the rain drops had turned to hail. Yes, there I was walking up the road, without a coat or rain gear, being pelted by small stone sized hail. By the time I got to the van, which was maybe 300 yards away, I was pretty well soaked. I took off my outer clothes, started the van and warmed myself up till the hail storm blew over.

 

Putting on some dryer clothes I loaded my fishing raincoat with my fly fishing boxes and stuff and went back out hoping for some evening hatch. Well the hatch never came but I did manage a few more trout and caught a couple of unexpected chubs when I nymph fished for a short time before calling it quits.

 

 Sunday I awoke to sunshine and a bit warmer weather…and a cold. I dressed warm and decided to drive down creek a ways for newer territory. With the Demon in my hands and a good cigar between my teeth I managed a few more trout. Standing under the sun felt good as I watched for any mayflies or rises upon the small pool before me. I did try a couple of mayfly dries but it was more for casting practice than to really expect to catch a fish.

 

 

 



 Just another day enjoying the outdoors, spite the weather!

  ~doubletaper







Easter Rainbows

 

Easter Rainbows

4/20/14

  The generator was running to the two campers in the designated camping spot back from the bank. A human void, past evening, campfire smoldered giving off a cloud of smoke. Even the German shepherd’s lay lifeless in the early morning outdoors. The sun hadn’t risen above the tree tops just yet. Except, flowing around my neoprene chest waders, Tionesta Creek flowed around the same obstacles as it did over an hour ago. Sure it was a little nippy in the morning. I’m sure, from a distance, the few road travelers weren’t sure if it was my breath that rose from my mouth or the smoke from the stogie I held tight between my teeth. Sure, my hands were cold when I paused to think about them, but with each tight line and bending rod shaft I didn’t have much time to displeasure about it.

 I made calculated casts that brought the yellow section of line, behind the green front section, out of the tip top eye. I tried to cover as much water a possible with each cast and each step or two wading down creek. The white Woolly Bugger visibly shot through the air, under the morning blue sky, like a comet through a dark evening sky. The bugger, with lead weight, plopped into the wavy current afar as the line fell to the surface.

 The biggest percentage of strikes came in the form of swiping grabs of the swinging drift. Once hooked, this lead to challenging battles bringing in the erratic swimming/fighting rainbows from the lengthy distances. The moving oncoming current was enough alone to unleash a slightly pierced lip let alone the surface skirmishes or angling wrestling scuffles with the angered rainbows. The few percentage of short strikes I missed I made mental notes and after 3 or four casts elsewhere teased them again.

 

 As the sun rose above the tree tops this seemed to bring a glow to earth and a shimmering glisten to the water surface. As well, at the right angle, a sparkle to the rainbows!

 

 I paused briefly and lit up a Macanudo and turned to see if there was life yet along the bank. The neighbors has a flickering fire going as they stood or sat around it in their hooded sweatshirts or heavy jackets. I had already netted nearly 10 trout so far by then and it didn’t appear the strikes were going to stop any time soon. As long as I moved slowly and covered the water thoroughly outward I had a feeling it was going to continue. Occasionally I’d hook into a brook trout but they didn’t appear to have the skillful fighting as the rainbows did in the more open water.



 As the sun rose even higher I was able to visually see appearances of submerged boulders and flat rocks beneath the surface water. I was able to than make pin point casts to get my white bugger drifting in such areas for more hook ups.

 

 Around noon the air temperature started to warm up and a few stoneflies were dapping the water surface. The white bugger strikes weren’t happening and my stomach was suggesting food with an occasional growl. I decided to tie on a white latex caddis with a bead head Black Stonefly nymph as a dropper. By now I was in deep mid-stream water but I was able to cast cross creek to the shallower part of the stream near the more rock strewn areas. You would have thought I was throwing candy out to children from a parading Fire truck!! With a quick mend upstream, after the cast to make sure my offerings were headed downstream before my fly line, made the drift that more tempting and natural. The trout grabbed the nymphs like kids trying to be the first to grab the thrown candy while it was still bouncing off the pavement. This lasted for the next half hour until my stomach and dry mouth let me know enough was enough. It was about 1:30 when I returned to the van for a small bite to eat, something to quench my thirst and a couple more cigars to take with me when I returned to the creek.

  Back on the water I started in the shallows with the stonefly and latex caddis. It wasn’t until I was near enough to get my line towards the far bank that I started to get strikes again. I decided to tie on a red bicolor San Juan worm as the top fly to maybe attract more attention and kept the bead head stone as the dropper. Fish after fish were hammering the stonefly nymph without more than a twitch now and than of the rod tip to give the stonefly a little more action. I even caught a couple of foolish trout on the San Juan.





 The neighbors waded out in ‘T’ shirts but only fished hardware for about a half hour before returning to clean up camp. I only seen one older gent get one fish to the net the whole time they were out there. In a matter of an hour they were packed up and gone. I fished in peace and quiet from then on. The sun rose high above and the outside temperature got as comfortable as an Easter spring day.

 Smoke rose from the end of my cigar. Ducks frequently flew within a few feet of the water surface with the creek flow on their way. The water glistened with sunshine and occasionally a Harley passed by traveling up the road from afar. I cast until my shoulder ached, from a softball injury, and couldn’t take it any more. I waded out and headed up creek towards my van.
  It was about 6:00 and still daylight as I pulled onto Route 666. I had a spot already picked out for the evening and night time rest. I pulled down the path to the more secluded camping spot and popped open a Straub Amber. Walking down to the creek the water was much calmer than where I had been fishing. It looked like a good section for tomorrow’s quest.

I opened up my camp table, fired up the Coleman stove and prepared Easter dinner. Just some chicken and noodles with hot sauce and pepperoncinis. Not much but I was pretty tuckered out by now and wasn’t in the mood for a fancy spread. After cleanup and my third beer I was ready to hit the sack. Tomorrow was another full day of trout fishing and I needed my shoulder to calm down and my rest. By 9:30pm I was dreaming of my birthday trout come Monday morning!

 

 

~doubletaper

 

Where You'll Find Me

 

 

Where You’ll Find Me

       4/19/14

The morning April air

  welcomes with a cool breeze

Lone pines stand among the

  dense bare branched forest

Olive laurel sprout from the forest floor

  up from the brown wintered leaves

Branches and limbs scatter the earth

  in twists and tangles

The drumming of a grouse is heard

  A turkey gobbles in the hollow

Amongst this forest

  back from the main roads

A creek is hidden

  It riffles and gurgles as it flows

And this is where you’ll find me

  Part of it all

~doubletaper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old Style Brookie Fishing

Old Style Brookie Fishing

3/22/14

 I fitted the ferrules together of the two piece Wonderod. I attached the old Martin Classic MC78 reel to the down locking seat and tightened the two locking rings. After threading the Cortland Sylk line through the small rod eyes I checked the leader and tippet for strength or abrasions. Seeing the leader/tippet was quite long for casting Woolly Buggers I trimmed a bit off to my desired length. I knotted on a white Woolly Bugger and added a little weight about a foot and a half up on the tippet. I grabbed an old baseball cap, a couple of cigars, vest and I was ready for some old school trout fishing.

The brook creek was running clear and cold. The water waved atop the surface as it flowed over rocks and around boulders. The flow banked off exposed tree trunks and rippled along the shallower pebbled sections. The sun filtered through the pine trees and glistened off the water. It was quiet, except for the soft sound of the flowing water, and a bit chilly but I was where I wanted to be, away from ‘it all.”



I lit up my first stogie and headed up creek to start my adventure. As I walked the bank I peered into the water to see if I could notice any brook trout holding near the bottom. When I got far enough I stepped off the bank and carefully stepped into the water not wanting to kick up much silt or dirt. With the clear water I knew my casts will have to be long, down and across so the trout won’t see me. I knew it would take a little time to get used to casting the soft action fiberglass rod so I took a few practice casts outward. I looked down creek, puffed on my cigar and began fishing the bugger down stream.
  It took awhile for my first strike. I was able to see my white Woolly Bugger as it swung from the far bank towards the middle of the creek. I let it waver there a bit and than twitched it now and than as I stripped it in slowly. I seen the light colored trout following it but wasn’t interested enough to grab it. My next cast I let it take the same course. I twitched it a bit more often as I stripped it in. Letting it ‘swim’ within my vision I saw the trout draw up and mouth it. I whipped the rod tip back with my wrist and the fiberglass rod arced downward. The lively brook trout scurried around in the shallow riffle splashing water about as he rose to the surface. I got him played toward the bank and admired his beautiful colors before letting it go.

 Continuing on I got better at casting the rod and was able to sidearm the bugger underneath pine boughs or drop the bugger, down creek, spot on near fallen deadwood. Most of the takes were light but the soft tip reacted with a twitch with each strike. Playing the trout was fun as the rod flexed with every jolt or dart that the brook trout took.

 I made my way, easy like, casting about as I slowly waded the creek. I changed weight often on the line due to the many water levels I was fishing in. At times, in slower current, I had no weight at all on and just let the bugger skirt just below the surface. In the shallower water I held the rod tip up but used enough weight, up from the bugger, so the bugger would waver just under the surface mid depth.

  Stripping the bugger through the shallower water towards me the rod flexed instantly downward and, out of natural reaction, my wrist jerked the rod up to set the hook. The brook trout scurried beneath the wavy riffles trying to loosen the hook. I waded towards the bank and coaxed him nearer me, the ’glass’ rod arcing effortlessly. Another fine colorful brook trout came to hand.

Coaxing a trout out from under a downed tree is always a challenge. It’s better to see your offering so you can read the current flow towards the hideaway. Positioning the rod at the right angle to let it drift into the trout sight without a hang up takes patience and usually a few tries to get it right. When you get it right you can see the trout dart out and take your offering and if the timing is right the line will tighten and a rewarding battle will result!



 As evening comes to a close I get to a section I’m sure I can pull my last trout out. With an overhand cast I shoot the bugger towards the far bank. It plops just before the steep far bank. As the bugger starts to swing I let more line out of the reel so the bugger drifts further down creek before it completes its arc. The drift takes the Woolly Bugger under the extending pine tree branches into the deeper hole. As it drifts towards the shallower waters, still under a long overhanging branch, a trout appears following my offering. One small twitch towards the bank and the trout maybe thinks the minnow like imitation is trying to get away. He darts quickly forward to eat it and with a backward rise of the rod I set the hook. The trout tries to scurry for cover into the deeper water beneath the limbs but the arc force of the ‘glass’ rod holds him back from going too far. He shoots down creek and I give him just enough line for a quick run to use up more of his energy. I move the rod towards the bank and he follows with quick, short, jerking tugs. My last brook trout comes to hand.

I change into street clothe and take the last puff of the Cohiba before pulling onto the roadway. The two hours spent on the brookie stream, old school style, was quite rewarding!!

~doubletaper

A Bugger Kind of Day

A Bugger Kind of Day

3/19/14

 We stood randomly spaced in a line like participants at a turkey shoot only we were knee deep in 39 degree water and our weapons were fly rods! 

 

 When I stepped out of the van, within sight of the creek, there was a guy already with a bent rod playing a trout. Nearer the shop door I saw three other fishermen testing their luck. The fly shop owner said fishermen did well catching trout yesterday on a variety of nymphs. After talking a bit and spending 30 some dollars I went back to the van to suit up. I noticed the creek water had dropped from the week before with just a tinch of color. Enough to hide the bottom but clear enough that the trout should be able to see stoneflies atop the surface should they hatch under the cloudy sky.

 So there I stood, with 4 other fly fishermen, casting nymphs and drifting them under an indicator. I was glad I put the extra fleece pull over on as it kept the chilling breeze from penetrating through my otherwise clothed body. The darken gray sky gave an uneasy feeling of rain. There was dampness in the air that might be a hint that a rain shower was coming our way or just the moisture in the air from the melting ice and saturated ground. A couple of gentlemen hooked up now and then within long intervals. Another fly fisherman showed up and positioned himself to my right. Within about 15 minutes he hooked up and continued occasionally for the next hour. I noticed that some of the fish, suckers and trout, were swimming sideways as he brought them in. He was using a tandem set up with at least 11 feet of leader/tippet under his indicator so I wasn’t too impressed.
  As the morning wore on I had seen 3 different rises to some unseen midges on the surface. I couldn’t resist and tried for them with a dry stonefly and an Adam midge without success. I went back to bottom dropping with a Picket Pin and a Hares Ear.
  I caught my first trout, a rainbow, on the Picket Pin. This got me thinking. The rainbows might start to be getting active as noon draws near. Taking the Picket Pin gives me the idea that they might not be just lying on the bottom or at least willing to rise for a passing meal below the surface. The rainbow I caught fought aggressively in the 39 degree water so they are quite active with a hook in their mouth. When the guy to my left decided to leave this gave me room to cast a Woolly Bugger and I didn’t think twice about giving it a try. On my third cast I felt a swipe. On my fifth cast I was playing a frisky rainbow towards me with a white bugger in its lip. He flipped out of the water three times, showing his size and acrobatic ability, before getting him to my net.

 

 The nymph fishermen kept nymphing, I kept with Woolly Buggers and the guy beside me brought a fish or two in sideways at times.
  Some of the strikes I got I could tell were short strikes. Others were swipes at the bugger as if to play with it like a cat swats at a wounded mouse. Occasionally I’d hook up and bring a trout in or lose it to an aggressive fight. During the third passing of a light shower it didn’t look as if it wasn’t going to stop. I waded out and went up to the van for a rain coat and a couple more cigars. I had a feeling, rain or not, the catching was only going to get better.

 Back on the water I started up from the big hole everyone had been fishing. I added a little more weight to the leader and worked the shallower riffles fishing my way down creek. A couple of kids showed up and filled the gaps between the other fishermen at the deeper hole even though it continued to sprinkle. I waded around them and continued casting buggers in the tail out and the quicker current beyond. I hooked up just after the tail out; landed a nice brown I caught near the far bank and lost another just before the bridge.

 

 The rain started to come down a little harder so I waded under the bridge to relight my stogie.
  Once I got down from the bridge you would of thought I was throwing bird seed to a bunch of cooped up chickens. I was getting fierce strikes, holding grabs and tailing swipes at my Woolly Buggers. The ones I did get a hook into put up fierce battles in the quicker current. I found trying to bring them towards me in the quickened current ended in lost fish. When I felt I had a good sized trout on I waded near the bank and brought them towards me in the slower and shallower current. Most of the fish I landed were only lip skin hooked which is why I figured I lost some in the faster current.
  The action didn’t let up for some time. I was happily alone and hooking into aggressive fish despite the rain shower under the dark sky. My stogie burned out and was too wet to relight so I doused it in the water and put it in my vest pocket. When the strikes finally stopped I decided to head back to the big hole.
  When I got within sight of the hole there was only one lone fly fisherman still standing. He was fishing the inlet current towards the big deeper hole. It was time for me to see if those trout wanted some meat instead of the small morsels of a nymph.
  It didn’t take long to land a rainbow out of the hole. Within 10 minutes the other fisherman left. I had the whole creek to myself. I worked the big hole and the tail out riffles pretty thoroughly with buggers picking up a few more trout. It wasn’t until I broke off on a back cast that I started to wonder what time it was. I checked my watch and it was about 5:15. I leaned my Scott rod against a slab of ice, that hadn’t melted yet, lying along the bank and proceeded to try and add a section of tippet to the leader I had left.
  The bifocals, on my polarized glasses, were wet and made my vision through them distorted. I looked at my Spuds lens cleaner cloth, hanging from my vest, and it was pretty wet. The front of my shirt was wet also. I wrung out the cleaning cloth as best I could and wiped the lenses in hopes not to impair my vision. I found, at the right angle, I’d be able to see the knots without much problem. I pulled out a section of 4X tippet and began the procedure in tying a double uni knot connecting the 4x to the leader. My finger tips were wet and chapped from the cold air from fishing in it all day. I didn’t have much feeling in my finger tips so being able to see the tag ends was very necessary. After making the first knot around the leader I started to wet the knot with saliva and kind of chuckled to myself as the leader/tippet was already wet. I pulled it tight and tied the leader knot to the tippet. I pulled both lines in opposite directions to clinch the knots and they came together in the form of two big rain drops.  
 I reached back into my back pocket and pulled out my big Perrine fly box that held my Woolly Buggers. I selected an olive bugger and used an improved clinch knot to tie it on the end of the tippet. With a short strip of lead matchstick I twisted this on the leader just above the double uni knot. I picked up the Scott rod and grabbed the wet cork handle. I was back in business and ready to go.
“Just one more trout” I thought, “maybe two!”

~doubletaper

 

 

 

 

 

A Slow Day in March

 

A Slow Day in March

3/11/14

 With a few warmer days in early March and the stocking of trout in some of the project areas I decided to go fishing on Tuesday. In Pennsylvania there is no fishing in approved trout waters from the 1^st of March until the first day of trout season in April except for special regulated waters. I headed to Volant, early Tuesday, to meet up with a few friends and fish the Neshannock Creek.

 

 Arriving in the parking area I found blocks of ice lining the creek banks from the recent heavy winter freeze and thaw. The creek was flowing high and cloudy but fishable. The water was around 37 degrees in the morning though the air temperature was above forty and would rise above 50 in the afternoon. There were already fishermen out and about in the off color water when I strolled down to the creek just to take a look at conditions. Back at the van I took my dry fly boxes out of my vest, grabbed my 5wt and headed down to the creek to join the fellow fishermen. The most answered reply to anyone asking the question “How’s the fishing?” was “It’s a slow day!”
 The nymph fishermen were in the ‘cast, drift, follow, recast, drift, follow’ routine as I expected. A couple of guys with spinning outfits were throwing hardware out and about taking notice of the indicators the nymph guys were using. Though the water was cloudy and the trout possibly being in a lethargic state, I attached a Woolly Bugger and began to swing and dead drift it without an indicator. I figured, until I see the nymph fishermen starting to catch fish, I’ll stick with the buggers and streamers.
 A guy up creek caught a couple of suckers on sucker spawn. The first trout I seen caught, in some time, was a guy fishing a run with a stonefly nymph. I switched to nymph fishing briefly and without any success went back to buggers.
  I was down creek when I had my first strike. The trout hit the bugger so hard it busted off the 5x tippet just below the knot. And I thought the trout were lethargic! I knotted on a length of 4x tippet and continued with a white bugger. I noticed the two spin fishermen, throwing hardware, hooked into a couple trout which gave me a little more confidence to keep using streamers.
  Nearing noon the outside temperature warmed with the sun and I was hoping the water was warming also. The water didn’t appear to be clearing up any but it was pleasant enough outside that it didn’t appear anyone was leaving.

 It was a long cast towards the far bank. As soon as the bugger hit the water I mended the fly line up creek in order to let the bugger drop deeper before the current swept the fly line down creek. The slower current, where my bugger dropped, pushed my bugger towards a stronger wavy current between two near surface boulders. As the bugger started to move into the seam, between the boulders, I felt the hurried grab and set the hook with a sharp upward lift of the rod. I felt the heavy fish swim into the stronger current behind the nearest submerged boulder and continued into the rougher water down creek. I had a good grip on the rod and let some line slip off the reel as I waded back towards the bank. I was trying to get him into the slower current near my side of the bank but he was putting up a good fight in the stronger current. Once nearer to me I saw the white bugger on his lip. I scooped him up and finally had my first fish of the day.

 For about the next half hour I fished the white Woolly Bugger without a strike. I didn’t notice any of the nymph fishermen doing any better. I broke for lunch and met up with my friends. We enjoyed wine, cheese, crackers as well as pepperoni and peperoncini’s in the parking lot.

 After lunch I lit up a Romeo y Julieta cigar and headed back to the water. It was still slow going as I began a little up creek from where I started in the morning. After about a half hour I waded to the bank and started down creek. You know it’s a good cigar when a guy, just down creek, asked what I’m smoking because it sure smelled good!!
The water had risen some and more slabs of ice were floating down creek so I had to be careful wading. I continued with an assortment of streamer trying to cover as much water as I could. It wasn’t till a guy next to me was hooking up time and again on nymphs that I decided to change to the dark side. I tied on a weighted black stonefly nymph and a beaded black stonefly as a dropper. I ended catching two more browns before calling it quits, one brown I caught using an indicator and one without.

I wasn’t out of the parking lot before lighting up a Montecristo Classic for the drive home!

~doubletaper