Tionesta Caddis

 

Tionesta Caddis

4/30/22

 After a morning of turkey hunting I fished an area trout were rising the day before. The water had come down a bit overnight and was clear as moonshine. The sun was bright and it got warm in the afternoon while I was fishing. I expected to see trout rising to the black stoneflies but didn’t see any rising while I was fishing. I knew the area they had been rising, so I decided to cast a dry out there and see if I could make them rise. It took sometime to convince a few but I ended up making a few rise to my stonefly dry pattern.

  About 2:00pm I decided to head back to camp. On the way I stopped and fished a couple of spots along the Tionesta but quickly left without a catch. By the time I got to camp, around 4:00pm, I was pretty worn out and ready to rest. I still had my waders on and my fly rod was still in the back of the truck. After parking I went down to the crick just to see if anything was happening. That’s when the fun started!

  Recently I haven’t been fishing around camp because I wasn’t catching many trout for the time I spent on the water. They didn’t seem to want streamers and I only caught a couple on stonefly nymphs. It also gets fished often by bait fishermen so maybe the trout were just wary of biting. Anyhow…

  Looking over the water I saw 1 then 2 trout rising across creek. My heart started to pump a little faster and when they talk about someone getting a second wind, well those rises just put some excitement in this tired body.

  I got my fly rod out the back of the truck, put on my vest and grabbed a few cigars. I wasn’t sure what the trout were rising to but as I walked upstream along the bank, to get a better angle, I brushed against a tree branch. In doing so a bunch of small caddis flew from the branches. They looked to be around a size #18 or even a #20. I figured they were the little olive body caddis that loiter around this time of spring. I had a small box of imitations in my vest the same size. Though I had 5x tippet already knotted on the leader I figured I’d stay with that set up. If the trout won’t hit then I’d knot on 6x which I usually do for clear water conditions and such small dry flies.

  As I waded out I noticed these little caddis fluttering around the surface like a colony of bees around a flower garden. It was hard to see any of these tiny caddis on the surface, due to the glare, but the trout evidently found one now and then. I noticed a flat rock below the surface about a quarter of the way across the crick. It was a little deeper getting to it but once on it I was only thigh high deep. I knotted on one of my #18 olive caddis and pulled line out through the rod eyes. I had plenty of room for my backcast so my concentration was on any risers that so happened. It didn’t take long for a trout to rise to show me where he was at.

  The first rise was upstream to my left a good distance but manageable. I took out line with each false cast until I figured the distance. Forward I watched the line tight loop forward and then slap and splash water when the line hit the surface. This is when I realized that I was using weight forward line. Compared to doubletaper line the weight forward makes more of a splash then any double taper line I’ve used for dry fly fishing. (I would argue this point with anyone.)

  In this respect I have to change my forward casting stroke. Across crick with the current is no problem but upstream or downstream I’ll use a different approach. Normally with DT line I’ll back up my forward cast just before it hits the water so I get small S’ turn slack as the fly line lays upon the surface. In this way the dry fly will have more time and distance to drift drag free to the feeding trout. Sure I’ll have to be ready and quicker on the hook set but I’ve been doing this long enough I know how to control my line. With weight forward line I have a different approach. Though I’ll still want some slack for a drag free drift my technique is a little different.

  On my cast forward I want to make sure my fly is extended as far as possible from my fly line. This isn’t too hard casting forward just making sure the splash of the fly line isn’t over the trout’s head. Doing this I want to make sure the dry hits the surface first before the fly line. To do this I definitely make an overhead cast keeping the rod high on the forward cast, stopping short of full draw, and then slightly wristing the rod tip higher. This brings the fly line upward letting the dry hit the water first. I always figure if a trout is feeding it looks at the first thing that hits the water and if the fly line causes a commotion first the trout may never look further at my offering.

  It took a couple of casts but the trout wasn’t interested or wary cause of my first cast. No problem, there were others to catch. The other trout I saw rise earlier was downstream and to my right well within my casting range. Downstream casting is not much of a problem with weight forward line as long as you get the dry way ahead of the feeding zone before the fly line hits the water. On my second cast I was pretty sure it was drifting near the feeding zone. The trout rose and took it unaware it was attached to tippet, leader, fly line, reel and me!! I reared back and the line tightened. He scurried about tugging and jerking the line like trying to bring a rusted bucket up through a well banging against the side walls. #1 was in the net safely.

 

 A trout rose not that far in front of me as I was letting the trout go. I made a short cast just upstream from his last rise. He took my dry caddis like a cat lapping up spilled milk. I wristed a hook set and #2 was in the net.

  

 Every time I saw a rise I concentrated on the feeding zone and just about caught every trout that rose. I lost a couple before netting them but I was just as happy fooling these trout.

  I made a blind cast across and down from where I stood. Most of the trout was near the far bank where colder water flowed from the run off from the steep hillside. I watched as my drag free dry continued with the current toward another trouts feeding zone. Unexpectedly a trout purposed, at a 90° angle, at my dry that swam out from the far bank. I had plenty of slack in the line but my instincts took over and pulling line in with my rod free hand while quickly raising the rod with my other, made the hook set on time. This trout felt a little heavier as he fought aggressively to the net.

  Without seeing any more risers within casting distance I waded out towards the bank and moved upstream for the others I saw rising. The water was a little shallower upstream so I was able to still get out near the middle of the crick without getting waist deep. I tried for the trout that eluded me earlier upstream from where I stood but he was still being stubborn or still wary of my presence.

  I picked off a couple more trout casting nearer to the far bank with long casts. After releasing a trout I looked down crick and was going to attempt to try for the stubborn trout again when I noticed a small swirl on the surface before my intended target. If I wasn’t looking that way at the time I would never of known he was there. Occasionally a riffled swirl would appear on the surface from the undercurrent deflecting from its course around a larger rock on the crick bed but still well below the surface thus causing a disturbance to the surface water. What I saw was definitely a sipping trout rise. He was trying to be as casually inconspicuous as if he knew I was here but was hungry enough to take a bit of food off the surface like a grown man in a crowded room finger picking a bite of cheese on a charcuterie board. I grinned before I even casted to him.

  I let a nice easy cast drop my caddis way ahead of his feeding zone pretty much in the same direction he rose in. I watched my imitation drift like a caddis resting on the surface before taking off. I watched the unsuspecting trout sip it up off the surface. I reared back on the rod and the line tightened once again. He put up a good fight like it’s been some time ago that he was caught. I grinned the whole time I brought him to the net.

 The evening was turning cooler and I only discovered one more trout rising. For the heck of it I knotted on a #16 caddis and lighter wing color to make it easier to see cause of the water glare and just to see if that last trout would be fooled. The first cast out towards him revealed my suspicion. He took it with a healthy slap that caused a surface splash then just a conspicuous swirl. I reared back on the long length of line and another trout fought in the current towards me.

 

 As I stood thigh high deep in the middle of the crick watching for another rise a swarm of caddis started to fly upstream like a murmuration of starlings. Trying to swat one in my hat wasn’t easy as they avoided all but one attempt. When I did get one in my cap I carefully opened it up to find an egg laying grannom. I looked upon the surface water and never saw a trout rise again. It didn’t look like any of these grannoms were stopping for a drink of water as they were flying fast upstream as if they didn’t want to be late for a big celebration. I wished I knew where the celebration was!

With that I waded out and called it a day.

 ~doubletaper

 

 

 

 

 

 

Throughout the Day

 Throughout the Day

4/26/22 

 You ever have one of those days fly fishing that from the first thing you do just starts an aggravating outing? Like your better half waking up on the wrong side of the bed and aggravates you throughout the day. You don’t quit on her or leave cause you love her and just hope things get better as the day wears on kind of like trout fishing.

 You visit the creek you want to fish on a chilly drizzling morning. You dress warm and after walking through the forest you find the mountain stream high and stained. It’s waist high wade-able, so you have to be careful, and you know it’s the coldest creek in the North Western ANF in PA! After a couple of casts you feel the rod isn’t casting right. You find you missed an eye when threading the rod. You wade out of the cold water and make it right.

  You wade back in and within 3 backcasts you catch a thin twig branched off a 2” limb. You try your best to pull it out, scaring every living thing in the tree, but the leader just seems to wrap itself more around the bare twigs. You wade over and pull down the branch and untangle the mess. Once it gets free you notice a knotted ball of tippet and leader around the double uni-knot you use to connect the tippet to leader. While standing in the water you retie on and glad you’re the only one on the creek. You almost feel as if you never fly fished before though you’ve been fly fishing for more than 30 some years!

  After 15 minutes or so you start wading downstream casting streamers across and letting them swing trying to entice a bite. There looks to be a deep cut under an overhanging branch against the far bank. You set yourself up casting the streamer upstream from the branches and let it swing underneath into the deeper cut. A trout takes the offering as it clears the overhang. The trout fights angrily with forceful jolts as you play him closer. You’re just about to net him on the surface and the hook lets loose. The bowed rod reflexes and slingshots your streamer upward sending it to an overhanging limb to high to recover it from. You wade out and retie leader and tippet. 

 Downstream you finally clear the bank side brush and set yourself in the middle of the creek, crotch deep, able to cast to either side without back-casting interruption. You enjoy a medium body cigar as you hook and net hungry brown trout. Not too big but you’re catching trout and hope the aggravation and unexpected problems are all upstream and behind you.

 

  As you’re swinging the streamers you let out more line knowing the water downstream is pretty near waste deep though it’s too stained to tell. You don’t want to take chances wading down any further without seeing the creek bed. You add a little more weight before your next cast to get the streamer down deeper. Your third swing through the bump you feel and set the hook appears to be an unseen deep branch of some kind and it’s not letting go. You wade out and retie after the tippet breaks.

  You figure you’ll try nymph fishing. Maybe a San Juan worm, for attraction, and a stonefly dropper. You roll cast upstream and watch the fly line to detect a strike. You come to a long branched hemlock with a bough slightly breaking the surface water. You roll cast just beyond the bough and wham a fish grabs your offering. You reel him in and net the little fellow. You next roll cast in the same general area. A slight wind blows up creek the same time your tandem offerings on 6x tippet, is in the air. You see your offerings catch the breeze and is directed into the hanging hemlock bough. You wade out and retie.

 You end the morning in a noon day chill. Your insides are as chilled as an ice filled cooler. You can’t wait to get warm. You caught trout and, though all the hazards, wear a smile on your face. You didn’t break your rod and didn’t lose any gear except for the few feather and fur ornaments you left adorning the stream side limbs.

 You strip off your waders and try to ignore the cold wetness on your fleece pant leg and wet sock below your right kneecap. You put your gear away and sit in the warming truck till you feel the warmth on your lower limbs before heading back to camp.

 After dinner and washing dishes I make a glowing warm campfire. I enjoy the peace and quiet with no aggravation or problems. I relax with a RP broadleaf stogie and a Sweet Water BC Lager for the evening listening to the creek flow and birds chirping near by.

All is good!!

~doubletaper
 

 

 

 

 

 

44° and Sunny

 

44 ° and Sunny

4/28/22

  After a Wednesday high of 37° with snow squalls I decided to wait till Thursday to go out fishing. The expected temperature high was to be 47°, some wind but sunshine. When I awoke Thursday morning it was 32° outside so I decided to have breakfast and tie flies till it warmed up some by noon.

 

  Around noon I see the sun shining brightly outside the camper window while tying flies. I check the outside thermometer and it reads 44°. I walk down and check the crick and the water level has come down a lot and clear enough fishing should be good. I’m excited!

 I dress warm and put on my chest waders and boots before heading to the truck. I drive down stream and back up a short lane. I put on my Gore-Tex heavy rain fishing jacket and assemble my Allen Fly Fishing Icon 9’ fast action rod. I thread the F5WF line through the eyes and snap on a Woolly Bugger to the tippet and walk down to the crick.

  According to the truck thermometer it read 44° but, standing still, it feels like the wind chill might be below 40°. I can feel the coldness on my chapped hands and face. As I step into the water off the bank I can feel the flowing cold water around my waders. A slight chilled breeze whisks across my face almost bringing a tear to my eye. As I wade through the shallower water I think to myself;

“Why do I do this?”

“Why not wait one more day till it’s at least in the 50’s?”

“The suns out!” I say to myself.

I wade nearer the deeper section, make a stand, and cast a line…

 

~doubletaper

Tagging Brookies

 

Tagging Brookies

4/14/22

  After chasing rainbows the past few days, with a couple of brown trout finds, I decided to look for brook trout. I knew the right crick to do so. I’ve fished this section so many times in the past I have more good memories about it than looking through my high school year book. Though stocked I’ve found natives as well as older hold overs.

  The crick is in the ANF along a dirt road filled with potholes the size of small craters. The narrow crick is well stocked for the opening of the season and gets fished over pretty heavy. I never see many fly guys on the crick so it’s mostly a bait feeding stream. Because the season opened with cold conditions and high water I expected a few fish may have escaped the snelled hook bait chuckers.

 

  It was a chilly hazy morning with an on and off misty rain. The water was a little on the high side which was to my advantage. I figured the brook trout would be out from their hiding places along the undercut banks and looking for tid bits of food. The water was clear but with just enough morning light sparkled the wavy surface current to make it impossible to see the stony crick bed clearly. I have flipped over rocks and never discovered what the native trout or hold overs eat but they survive. I figured a short fat Woolly Bugger would entice them to gorge like a starving young man being offered a free sirloin!! I already knew that a white bugger was a favorite on this stream like buttered popcorn at the local movie theater.

  I spent a couple of hours wading the narrow crick and fishing streamers downstream. I hit all the deeper holes that current fishermen weren’t camped out near. I caught brook trout here and there as I went along. I caught most on the white Woolly Bugger but fooled a few on a pink sucker spawn with a couple of strikes on my Triple Threat streamers.

 After quite a ways downstream I decided to walk way up crick and fish between the mountain pass where few may have ventured. I was patient for about 20 minutes of nothingness but keeping a stogie between my lips enjoyed the peacefulness of my surroundings.

  I saw, within my vision, a big boulder jutting out from the forest bank. It looked much deeper in the shadow of the boulder out towards midstream and I had a good feeling there might be a couple of little fellows hiding deep. I slowly got within casting distance on the opposite side of the boulder. I made a short cast upstream, with a pink sucker spawn, and high sticked it near the boulder. I felt a bump but figured it was just that maybe my weight or spawn bumped against the boulder and hoping it wasn’t some unseen stick hazard. I made my next cast in the same path taking my chances that it would pass over the hazard if that’s what it was. The next bump was more than a slight bump. After my line passed by the boulder a trout grabbed it like a home run hitter waiting for a fast ball down the middle on a 3 and 0 count. After setting the hook he sped off like a left handed batter bunting for a single off a right handed pitcher down the third base line. He quickly turned, as if rounding first, and took off towards second base on an errant throw to first that skipped along the dirt infield. I knew I had a good hook set on him and I’m sure he knew what I knew and would have to fight to get unhooked or break my line. The 4 weight bowed good and I held on tightly with one hand as tensioned line slipped through my fingers of my other. He fought angrily with head shakes and quick jolts against the current. I was in water just above my shins though the water he was in downstream was maybe knee deep. I angled and extended the rod up crick some and he swam back over to the boulder. I took in line as the arced rod seemed to bounce like a long hemlock bough in a gusting windstorm. He then swam midstream and jerked the rod heavy like a kid pulling on his dads shirt tail for attention. I had him swimming up crick as I kept the rod level with the surface water moving it upstream with him. He swam towards my side of the crick and I held the rod higher wanting him to head towards me. I took in line and got my net out. He turned and avoided the net with a daring quick turn towards midstream with a tail splash that threw water towards me. I moved the arced rod towards midstream and had to let tensioned line slip through my fingers again like he was heading for third base after tagging up on a deep fly ball to right field. He held up in the current and we were both at a standstill. I tried forcing him upstream again but he was too heavy and wouldn’t move. After a bit I felt him gradually swimming up crick again teasing me like a runner leading off third base towards home. I wasn’t sure what he was up to but I was conscious and ready for his next move.

  All of a sudden he sprinted upstream in full view like a runner sprinting for home on a squeeze play. I stripped in line quickly and had the rod high as he passed by me. The force on the bowed rod was too much and he was right up crick from me when he turned downstream. He was out at the plate as I tagged him in the net. The big guy scrambled in my net as I lifted him out of the water. His wet body colors were vibrant and shined under the noon day sun.

 

 After I let him go back to his dugout I took a couple of lasting puffs of my cigar like a coach after a world series winning game.

 

~doubletaper
 

 

Somewhere out there

 

Somewhere Out There

4/11/22

 

  I parked along the side of the road and looked through the bare forest trees towards the crick. It reminded me of the front of a birthday card my oldest son gave me back when. Inside he wrote “Somewhere out there we find it every time.”

  I put together my 4 weight 7 ½ foot Powel fly rod fitted with a L. L. Bean reel with DT line. I grabbed a few cigars and walked down through the forest. The shallower narrow crick was now flowing wide, fast and deeper than normal this time of year due to the recent rain fall. It was only 39° in the morning but was suppose to get near 60° in the afternoon. Though I could have waited for it to warm up some, the sun was already rising within the blue/gray sky.

  Scraggly trees overhung the sides of the crick with branches warning of casting hazards. The flow of the current was of interweaving waves caused by exposed boulders and subsurface flat rocks. The clarity was good and with the much wavy current should hide my presence with long casts.

  As I set foot in the crick I felt the under current pushing against my lower legs. I felt the cold crick water instantly around my stocking foot hip waders and didn’t take long to feel the chill through the neoprene booties.

  Being the second week of the opening day of trout season, and the constant rain, I figured the trout, that escaped the onslaught of fishermen, should be scattered. I already had a streamer attached to a quick-snap and my plan was to fish my way down crick with long thoughtful casts. It didn’t take long for the first trout to grab onto the swinging Woolly Bugger. I played him towards me as he fought hard in the oncoming current. I was surprised it was a brown trout. (Most trout I ever caught in these waters were brook or rainbows.)

 

  I continued casting streamers side to side letting them swing. I gingerly waded the crick downstream walking over the unsteady millstones not to lose my balance. It was if walking in the children’s play room, in soft moccasins, over spilled marbles and wooden building blocks..

  A trout strikes the streamer just before the line straightens. I feel the strike within my guide fingers, holding the line, but also notice the curve in the fly line pull away. I pull back the line and wrist set the hook. The trout tries to swim downstream but I hold the line tight as the rod bows towards the trout. The rainbow leaps in the air like a fledgling trying to fly. Back into the current it wrangles with the line and disappears as I hold a limp line.

  It’s not easy bringing trout to the net in fast current. Trying to maneuver a hooked trout around exposed boulders and subsurface ones is a challenge in itself. Other times I can’t raise the rod high because of the low hanging branches. I continue to enjoy the day hooking trout as I wade downstream.

 

 

 I find myself pretty far downstream away from my truck. The sun is in full view of the water as it sparkles like a freshly waxed floor under bright lights.

  

 I call it quits, wade out and light a cigar. I weave my way through the forest downed trees, twisted branches and bent limbs. I notice deer scat and hoof prints on the softer forest ground. I travel until the mountainside doesn’t look so steep and start to climb following a well worn path. I’m surprised that, almost to the road, I’m only a couple of yards from my truck. I drop the tailgate and unload my gear.

  It was a pleasant peaceful outing. Though a bit scary at times wading over uneven, and sometimes movable millstones, I caught trout.

 

~doubletaper

Last Wednesday

 

Last Wednesday

4/13/22

  I made my last cast with my Woolly Bugger. I watched it swing for the last time before taking two steps towards the shoreline. I was in crotch high water for the past 10 minutes or so about a couple of yards from land. I tried everything from sucker spawn, San Juan worms and streamers. I couldn’t get a strike on anything. I knew this was an easy place, off the road to get to, that every drive by fishermen would stop to give it a try like a busy street corner Newsstand. It’s an easy place for the fish commission to stock a few buckets full of trout also. Good flow of riffles flowing into a deep pocket of water. I was actually surprised no one was fishing it at the time.

  I had caught a nice rainbow early in the morning way up crick. He took a pink sucker spawn. He put on a good fight so, besides streamers, pink sucker spawn was definitely needed to be on the table. 

 

  I still had my right arm extended letting the bugger drag in the water downstream as I was taking careful steps, over the many millstones, towards land. I had weight on the leader so I knew the bugger was well underneath the surface. I felt a hard tug, hard enough my arm went towards the tug before I instinctively jerked back. I was still looking towards the bank when this all took place. I whizzed my head around and gripped the rod tighter. The top section, of the 4 weight, bowed downstream and I followed the fly line to see how far down this trout was. I could tell it was a heavy fish and staying well below the surface. I didn’t think it was one of these acrobatic rainbows I’ve been catching.

  He tugged and headed towards the faster current and I let him have some line but was depending on my knot strength and 4x tippet to hold him at bay most of the time. He scurried up through the wavy current away from where I was standing like trying to hold a beagle, on a leash, that just saw a flushed rabbit. He held tight under the current for a few seconds before heading back down stream just a short bit. My forearm was as stiff as an iron pipe with my elbow and upper arm trying to control the action. I was afraid to back up towards the bank being there were big uneven millstones between us. The trout started upstream again and close enough to the surface I saw a flash of his side minus the red streak. After giving him more side pressure he turned back downstream.

  By now I knew I had a good hook set with him staying hooked through the fast current and head shakes but the longer this went on the more chance something bad could happen. While he held steady I looked in the water behind me and figured, if I wade slow and cautious enough, I could get closer to the bank and force him out of the faster current into the slower deep water I was standing in. As I backed up I held the rod out without giving him any more line. He came towards me than made a deep move that caused the 7’ rod to arc nearly like a horseshoe magnet. I angled the rod upstream and let line slip between my finger and cork grip. With that move I quit wading towards the bank and made a stand. We had a few quick flurries between us and I had him within net distance once be but he took off like a scared cat seeing the animal control net.

  What seemed like an hour passed by was probably only a few minutes being everything was happening so fast at first. I began to bring in line tentatively ready to give him some line if he gets too rowdy. I got him into the slower deep current just in front of me somewhere deep. I took in line with the rod tip near the surface. I got my net ready, in my left hand, and started guiding the trout upstream from me raising the rod wanting him to rise from the deep. When I was able to see him I dropped the rod some putting a little slack in the line. Unaware to him I had the net behind him. He turned and as he tried to swim away he went head first into the net splashing like a frantic, nonswimmer, in chest high water. I had him.

  Carefully I waded to a flattened log along the bank and laid the net down for a picture. He held steady long enough and in short time to get a picture and get him back into the water safely.

 

 Heck, after that I awarded myself with a cigar. I didn’t care if I caught another fish the rest of the afternoon. I was as chipper as a teenager getting his first kiss after the school dance from the pretty girl and on his way home.

 After dinner, in the camper, I settled back and had a cold Scottish Ale from French Broad Brewing Co.

 

 Stockie or not, you still gotta catch'm and still gotta net e'm!

~doubletaper