a fly, a fish and a reflection

Fall fishing in western Pa. has to be one of the most scenic times to fish their waters.
Peaceful creeks meandering through the colorful forest of Autumn foliage. A rustling of scampering wildlife on the dried remains.
A figure of a man in fishing attire, alone, casting a dry fly with a bamboo rod, nice an easy like.
A picture worth taking but the image is sufficient in this instance.
A friend of mine puts it in perspective from the fisherman’s point of view, the one in the picture.
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Spent a nice day on the LM creek today. The flow was outstanding. The rains brought it up nicely for a good fall outing. I took a 7.6 phillipson peerless (bamboo) for a walk with some tan caddis patterns in tow. The Steelers were up 3-0 when I lined the rod up and headed down over the bank. Steeler sundays make for empty creeks and great alone time. I managed to coax several browns and a couple brooks to hand before I packed it in. Dead drifting a few feet then a subtle twitch and skitter seemed to elicite some violent strikes. To fish bamboo with dry flies on a fall day such as this one is truly one of those pages in a lifetime that gets the corner turned down and book marked. The color plates on each fish seem a little brighter when the back drop is fall foliage with the sun beaming through the openings. One particular take came in a glassy yet breeze rippled tail out. The angle of the sun allowing a mirror effect on the water that made the caddis look like it was riding over tree tops,on past the maples, on past the oaks, bumping clouds as it began to defy the mend. Just as the wakes began to cheat the fly, an eruption blew a hole in the reflection. My wrist reacted before my brain, I KNEW this was going to happen, I wished it to happen, I willed it. The brookie came to hand. In my mind he must have been all white like a canvas, but after bursting through the color palate of reflected sky, and the colors of the leaves, he painted himself,every spot,every line...perfect.A masterpiece laid at the tips of my fingers as I unbuttoned the fly. I turned him toward the belly of the pool and he darted back into the painting.There are only so many times that our wishes come true, and to some ,a fly,a fish and a reflection are hardly a wish but to me it defines why I angle.There is such hope when water is flowing near by and occassionally that hope becomes the purist of reality. My thanks to the artist.
____________________________________~anadromous

'1 Fly' 2009

Columbus Day ‘1 Fly’ Event

This past Columbus day weekend I was involved in a ‘1 fly’ friendly competition. About 6 years ago a group of Erie steelhead fishermen got together and wanted to see how many fish they could catch with only using 1 fly in an allotted amount of time. Now in its 6th year it has evolved into an annual event with food, prizes and great comradery.
The rules are easy enough to understand. Starting at 9:00am and fishing until 1:00pm you have to only fish with the ‘1 fly’ you designated at the early registration. You accumulate points for each inch of steelhead you catch, double points for brown trout and ¼ point per inch any other fish. Restrictions are you must wade fish any of the Lake Erie tribs or lake shore. Once you tie your fly on you are not allowed to add leader or more tippet. If you lose your fly and are not able to retrieve it you are out of the competition but any points you accumulated to that point adds to your team score. You fish with a partner so he/she can still add points with their catch until time is up or they lose their fly. Rod usage is restricted to a noodle rod or fly rod. The ‘1 fly’ must be constructed of the usual material used in fly tying for fly fishing. Prizes are awarded to the top three teams as well as the biggest fish. This year two casting challenges were added.
This is a free event with limited entrees. This year we had about 45 teams. Donations are welcomed be it hand made or store bought. The grand prizes are custom made or restored bamboo rods and some times an old fiberglass rod gets put into the mix. Even door prizes may consist of custom made rods by participating fishermen.
My partner and I came in second place in team competition last year and I had the most inches of fish caught by a single member winning a restored 8wt. Fiberglass Wonderod. This year my partner and I didn’t fare so well, due to conditions, but during the 2 casting competitions I competed in and won the speed casting event. I had one minute to cast into 5 rings scoring points for each ring. I totaled 11 points for the win.
Here’s a short piece about the ’1 fly’ this year.

2009 ‘One Fly’ Bits & Pieces

I crawled out of my van and stood in the artificial light that lit up the area around the pavilion in Foley’s Campground. The October chill in the early morning air was tolerable with heavy under-clothe and a sweatshirt. The moisture from the overnight rain lingered with the smell of dampness. Looking up, the outline of the grayish clouds was barely visible in the morning darkness against the drab dark slate blue sky. A line of people were already starting to form outside the pavilion for the 7a.m. registration. Figures of fishermen in all sizes, in bulky waders, looked like a bunch of Halloween clowns in baggy costumes waiting for their turn at the trick-or-treat door. Outbursts of greetings and laughter were a sure sign of friendship within the commotion of the waiting and handshaking anglers. As I walked among the ‘1 Fly’ participants I greeted and was met by unknown faces to well known user names. The once thought silly name tags were worth their addition to the event.
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Jack was greeting others also, while explaining the registration formalities. Debi was gathering food donations as Skip was answering questions and filling in as needed. Nymphus , dano and skeeter were doing their part to keep things moving along as schlemoc was handing out patches for a small fee. It almost looked like things were organized for the 80+ people in attendance.
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My partner, rippinlip, pulled up in his pickup and I went over to greet him. I gave him the scoop of my Friday expedition and scouting report. I showed him the flies the fish were hitting and told him a few more places I heard where the steelhead were holding at. In short we selected our 1 fly and got in line to register. After receiving my patch from schlemoc, my last year’s partner, I wished him luck and stood around long enough to hear Jack’s morning speech.
Upon leaving to our destination 4 people showed up that I didn’t see earlier. Texcobb99 and dream catcher appeared walking up from our camping area. Another pair, Loomis and fishrmn, stood near the pavilions if they just awoke from a ‘good night’ of drinking. Evidently they hadn’t picked their one fly for the event yet. Gathering his thoughts, Loomis went down to the off color brown stained creek. Upon examining he decided, with experience, that big and ugly was the way to go.
Rumor has it he went back up to the pavilion and tied the flies on the spot and then entered them. I also heard by the time they got to their fishing spot they actually didn’t start fishing until about ten. Not sure this is true but only they can confirm this.
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Rippinlips pulled his truck down the long road that led to the mouth of trout run. Lake waves crashed against the shoreline. The first choice of ‘1 fly’ fishing was not an option anymore. Texcobb99, dc and I did well fishing it Friday morning in small waves and calmer water but today the Lake Erie extreme weather warlock put an ‘enter if you dare’ condition upon the waters. With rippinlips 30+ years experience and my early scouting we headed for the vicinity of Uncle Johns Campground.
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Walking along the slippery gray mud along the bank of Elk Creek in felt soles was like walking in fresh poured cement. With rippinlip leading the way I carefully followed trying not to slide in the slippery mud he left behind or get caught up in the overgrown jaggers he pointed out.
A line of fishermen were already casting and drifting ‘what-nots’ against the far bank. We slowly moved up creek looking for a couple of spaces for both of us to fish. Rippinlip pointed out good holds but they were already taken by anxious steelheaders. We finally came to a good hole that I fished the day before with enough room for both of us being able to fit in. just before 9:00a.m. We got our lines wet and at 9:00 game on!
The fish catching was undeterminable in the dark water. I only saw one guy, upstream, consistently hooking up under some hanging limbs against the bank.
Oldbrowntrout and his partner showed up a touch later and joined in. Being in a precarious position OldBT casted up creek with difficulty in the slight breeze. Time passed and my fly line finally tightened and moved downstream. In the muddy water I thought I had hooked into a submerged drifting tree limb. I held on, letting line out not wanting to break off. The end of my fly line finally rose and I called out fish on. Within 3 feet on the guy downstream from me the fish showed himself just below the surface. It didn’t take long for the slow pulling fish to dive deep and with a headshake my fly came loose. I felt it must have been a foul hook not expecting a fresh fish to fight so unconcerned. When my line went slack I mentioned it must have been a foul hook. The guy who seen the fish said it was a good hook up and that he seen my chartreuse egg sucking bugger in the side of the fish’s mouth. I concluded that I didn’t to set the hook good enough since I originally thought I had a drifting limb.
#1 missed!!
Meantime OldBT was having trouble casting into the slight breeze and finally got snagged up right in front of himself. Working as best he could to save his one fly he pulled up a piece of plastic garbage bag. He diligently untangled the mess as the bag slipped through his fingers, submerged, and drifted downstream. Relieved, from the snag, he brought in his leader only to find the fly did break off and disappeared with the bag never to be recovered. For him the event was over but……. He tied on a tandem and continued to pursue steelhead.
My second hook up came with a sudden take of my drifting bugger. I set the hook good and the fresh steelhead headed for the far bank. In midstream he showed himself with a leaping display of mean headshaking flight. Pounding back upon the water he submerged briefly only to exit the water again in frustration. This time, upon his pounding reentry, my fly line went limp. 2 hook-ups and nothing to show for it but the thought of what could have been points on the score card. Rippinlip continued to work his white bugger at different depths and movement trying to entice a steelhead as Old BT moved in between us with plenty of room to spare.
Oldbrowntrout proceeded to put on a clinic patiently drifting the tandem set up and hooking up to steelhead after steelhead in the next hour or so. Rippinlip moved upstream for more promising waters while I stayed put being that OldBT continued to convince me steelhead were right in front of me with his continuous hook-ups. The event ended with rippinlip losing his bugger to his only hook-up and I not being able to encourage any more fish to take my offering.
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Back at Foley’s the food line was forming as we pulled in under the sunshine, brightening up the day’s event.

________________________doubletaper

Lost by a 'Goby' 2008

Lost By a ‘Goby’
2008

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With two steelhead already to our credit, the third was at the end of my 6.5 lb. tapered leader. Thoughts of maybe getting close to first place were already filling my brain. I played the fish anxiously but carefully to bring him at hand. Schlemoc looked on intently as the steelhead displayed both power and beauty as it went air-born. Then…..

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With only a few years steelhead fishing and my partner, Schlemoc, not holding a fly rod for the past 4 years, I felt our odds weren’t very good to become winners of the ‘1 fly’ event. I didn’t get in this for the prizes or bragging rights anyhow. It was to fish against others to see how I fare. 1 fly for four hours without losing it was a challenge I couldn’t resist.

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Dream Catcher and I went up Thursday evening in preparation for the ‘1 fly’ event on Saturday. My partner Schlemoc and I have been private messaging each other about which fly we were going to use. We decided one of us would use a woolly bugger while the other would use an egg or sucker spawn pattern. This way we’ll have both cases covered. My objective on Friday was to determine what colors to use. I had told Schlemoc that Dream Catcher and I would be scouting all day Friday.

Friday at 7 a.m. D.C. and I hit the mouth of trout run. 3-4 foot waves were breaking against the beach. Dream Catcher fishing for steelhead is like me fishing for trout. If there’s a body of water that holds either we got to try it no matter the conditions. D.C. was throwing sucker spawn into the waves on his noodle rod while I was casting buggers between the swells. After about 20 minutes we headed elsewhere.

At Walnut we found a large pod of steelhead holding in a clear wide pool. Above them D.C. and I continued to try to get them to bite. Occasionally a few other fishermen would stop by to cast minnows, jigs and flies into the pool without success. I could have easily dropped live bait or cured eggs to them but I was on a mission. A brown woolly bugger (of all things) got the attention of a few steelheads but they wouldn’t hit it. My favorite largemouth and smallmouth fly was now a good possibility for my go to fly for the ‘1 fly’ event.

I started dropping egg patterns and sucker spawn to the suspended fish. A few took an interest on an orange double sperm egg pattern. D.C. tied on a small orange jig and ended up catching one of the steelhead. Just before we left he tied on his oversized orange flat fish and caught another steelhead. That evening we went to the Elk access area and I met up with Rippinlip. He gave me the scoop of what guys were catching steelhead on earlier. I did end up catching 1 steely on my hand tied brown bugger so my choice was finale. We also thought that the Elk access area was our best bet for fishing the ‘1 fly’. With the starting time not being until 9:00am might be a problem finding a spot for two partners to fish together though.

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Saturday morning D.C and I drove down to Girard park for the ‘1 fly’ event. It was like going to a Dragnet masquerade party without the masks. You sort of knew everyone but you just never got to meet him or her. Their names have been changed to protect their ‘innocence’! I met up with my partner Schlemoc and gave him my scouting report. We agreed I’d fish with my brown woolly bugger and he’ll fish with orangish/red color sucker spawn he had tied up.

We started our tournament across the rock wall at the Elk access area. The sucker spawn didn’t seem to be the right fly for the motionless water but my brown bugger wasn’t doing any good either. After about an hour we moved on down towards the mouth. We found a spot for both of us to fish side by side. Schlemoc hung in there adjusting his sucker spawn to different depth under his indicator. The sun finally got over the trees and I was able to see some steelheads about a foot below the water surface a good 2/3rds across the creek. I overhand casted to them and slowly stripped the bugger in. more than once a steelhead would follow the bugger. I finally got one to take the bugger and ‘FISH ON!’ The first fish of the day was a good one. People around me backed away and let me play the active fish on my 7wt. 9’ ½" rod. One gentleman asked if I wanted him to net my fish but I didn’t know the ruling and declined. After landing the fat steelhead at 25" (give or take 1/8") I explained to him and the others about the ‘1 fly’ event. They were intrigued no less and gave me room when I needed it. When I hooked into and landed my second steely on the brown bugger and measured him at 24" (give or take 1/8"), the game was on!

Jack had mentioned that 90-100 points should take first place through past experience. Schlemoc had more confidence than I that these two fish alone would be a big deal. I figured three would at least get us into 3rd place.

The fly-guy next to me tied on a black woolly bugger and in time started to hook up with steelhead also. He was fishing deep so now and then he’d snag up and break off, something I couldn’t afford to do just yet.

At a quarter to twelve I knew time was running out. We had to allow enough time to get back to the van and then get to the park by 1:00pm. I decided to fish deep despite the bottom snags. Schlemoc on the other hand was hanging in there like a real trooper even though he knew his fly wasn’t right for conditions but he didn’t give up! We watched as a few steelheads coasted in and lay suspended around and beneath his indicator. I remember watching a steelhead drop out of sight and the indicator twitched. Schlemoc reared back with his rod to set the hook. The line tightened and then snapped back fishless and flyless. Things happen, but now that put the pressure solely on me and it was about 12:00.

I decided ‘snags or not’ I’m fishing my bugger deep and slow. I casted out a few times. All at once I noticed my fly line tightening up on the drift and I had to make a split second decision. Was it a snag or a steelhead? I took my chance and lifted my rod to set the hook. The ‘snag’ started moving and ‘FISH ON!’ The other fishermen backed up and let me play fish #3, so I thought. Somewhere between the fish jumping out of the water and belly smacking the surface my line went limp. I quickly wristed the line towards me to see if my bugger was still on the end of the tippet. Miraculously it dangled from the tapered leader. Dream Catcher’s knot held true! Upset but not out I cast again into the deep depths.

With more time off the watch it was nerve racking to fish slow and patient. I felt the line again tighten up and set the hook hard! A fish pulled away with force and ‘FISH ON!’ Belly flopping and fighting the fresh steelhead gave it’s all. Surfacing I could tell it wasn’t a long fish but it was still points. The fly-guy next to me figured around 21". I fought the fish cleanly to the muddy bank. Schlemoc looked on as I measured the fish to exactly 21". We had 70 points so far and only about 15 minutes to fish.

Back out to the thigh high water I was getting ready to cast when the guy next to me hooked into one. Patiently I waited for him to get the steelhead under control. I resumed casting and searching for another but time ran out. Hurriedly we made it back to the van excited with our results of catching just 3 steelhead in the past few hours.

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Back at the check in I parked the van. Many of the fishermen and women were already back standing around. We walked up to the pavilion and there stood Dream Catcher.

"How’d you guys do?" he asked

"I caught three" I commented " how’d you guys do?"

I noticed his eyes open a little brighter and he said they got "0".

I could tell by the expression on his face that he knew something I didn’t.

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We checked in with 70 points. I noticed there were a lot of zeros, a few 20+ and a 46? At about 12:50 we were in the lead.

About 12:55 two guys I didn’t recall showed up at the check in board. After they signed in I went over to the board and seen 70 3/8"!!! 1:00pm tournament closed.

Worm Waster and fishing coyote had won!

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Heck, I don’t even think my tape measure had 1/8" increments! We got beat by 3/8th". That’s .375, 9.525 millimeters. Worm Waster had caught a Goby that was 2 ½". A Goby?

I didn’t even know what one looked like. I heard of winning by a nose in horse races but to lose by a Goby???

___________________________ ~doubletaper

'East of Elsewhere'

East of Elsewhere
　
After sitting in the Periodonist’s chair for over an hour getting my gums cut, stitched and packed around my #30 molar I wasn’t in too big of a hurry to drive an hour and a half back to Clarion. When I left the office I was still a bit dazed from the 2 Advil and the bunch of Novocain shots i got before they proceeded with the crown lengthening procedure.
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I was also pretty sure some of the alcohol still lingered in my bloodstream, from the night before, were helping affect my brain cells also. I was hungry and thirsty being up since 5:45 am. to make the appointment by 8:00am. and the left side of my jaw was sore that the drugs didn’t reach.
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After passing by Wal-mart twice looking for a pharmacy to fill a drug prescription, something finally clicked in my confused memory bank that Wal-Mart had a pharmacy. I got the prescription filled along with two soft doughnuts and a bottle of some brand of cold milky looking coffee. Sitting in the parking lot, eating soft doughnuts and trying to sip cold coffee thru numb lips I was trying to plan out the rest of my day.
I was in my youthful territory in which I grew up. I knew of a lot of trout waters around the area and had a van full of trout equipment. I called work and told them ‘I wasn’t feeling well,” which I wasn’t. I told them “I was going to take the rest of the day off and visit with my mom since I was in the area“, which I had all intensions of doing before finding a trout stream. I called mom but the answering machine came on which I concluded she wasn’t home. I immediately called Mikastorm and asked him if he wanted to go fishing since I was in the area. He said he was nursing an aching back from splitting logs the past couple of days and couldn’t even get out of bed. I always thought that when a guy retires he takes things easy and leisurely so he can fish more!!!
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On my own now, I remembered Troutslammer told me where trout were gathered in a long pool in ‘east of elsewhere creek”. It is a small spring fed creek that I knew well. With a heavy canopy of hardwood trees and pines it kept the water cool all summer long. I got on the road again and headed north out of the Shenango Valley.
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The sprinkle of rain stopped as I pulled into the small parking area along the fly fishing only project waters. The overcast gray sky was turning blue and rays of light seem to dart thru the soggy forest giving subtle reflections off the glossy wet leaves. I opened the van door and mosquito’s met me like a bunch of blood thirsty vampires at a Grateful Dead midnight jam fest. I couldn’t feel the bugs actually biting but the gathering of bugs told me that if I don’t do something quick I’ll be quite itchy after the pain medication wears off. I doused myself with anti-bug spray and walked down to the walk bridge.
Two fish scattered as my figure overshadowed the creek. The water ran with a tinch of color resembling as if looking thru a glass of iced tea. I was hoping that the tinted water would be enough to hide my tippet and leader in the slow pool of water I was going to fish in. At the van I took out the short 4wt and nail knotted a fresh piece of 5X tapered leader. I figured once I get to the pool I can decide to either fish underwater with this or add a piece of 6x for top water dries.
Walking down the trail I passed on fishing the slow shallow and narrow water. I knew there would be plenty of fish below the falls in which I was headed and didn’t want to waste time getting there.
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Below the falls I stood on the bank and gazed into the water. When Troutslammer said there were lots of fish in the pool he was right. Some fish laid upon the bottom while other stayed suspended or swam around like a walk in the park. The sun was getting warm shining down upon me in my rain coat but the trees kept the sun rays off the water. I moved slowly as not to spook the fish beyond my vision. After taking off my raincoat I knotted some 6x tippet to the leader and tied on a red bodied black beetle. Casting was difficult due to the high bank and exposed roots behind me. I had sufficient room with a sidearm back handed cast but it would compromise my distance. It always seems I’m on the wrong side of the creek. I’ve thought about practice casting with my left hand but never found the time or gumption to do so.
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After a few casts the fish didn’t want any part of the beetle so I switched to a green bodied beetle. I had a few lookers but no takers. I convinced myself that black wasn’t the shade they were interested in so I tied on a #16 gray barking spider. Seeing a few rises, under the shade tree, across the creek I tried my best to cast the spider underneath the branches and into the water just off the bank. My spider fell short but a fish rose and checked it out anyhow. I was ready but he slipped back down below my vision and the spider slowly drifted under the tree and down the creek further. Keeping an eye on the spider I saw a head rise in the distance and take the spider. I set the hook and the trout stirred the water up scurrying up and down. The only thing I had to watch out for was a submerged rooted tree stump to my right about a few yards away. I managed to bring the brown trout in without damage.
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I continued to fish the waters with terrestrials and small midge dries. I wasn’t as successful as I wanted to but I did manage to catch a few more trout as time ticked by. The light breeze started to pick up now and then and in turn the leaves moved enough to brush against each other. Small dots started to appear on the water and this caused a feeding frenzy from below. I watched trout as they looked up to the water surface then rose and slurped something. Other fish darted upon the dotting of the water and sucked the unknown bugs from the surface. I couldn’t see what was falling so I slowly got out of the sun and walked along shore under the trees. I felt thin webs touching my hands but still couldn’t see what was attached. Taking off my sun glasses I looked more closely and small, I mean small, cream colored worms were falling or dangling from thin silk strands. When one of these worms fell upon the water it didn’t take anytime for a trout to pick it out and suck it in. I had nothing that tiny or cream colored. I went back and tied on the thinnest gray spider I had in my fly box. It just so happen by the time I got the thing tied on I could feel the wind pick up again. Trout started to rise and I flicked the spider just over the back of a nice size cruising trout. He turned quickly as my spider hit the water. He didn’t even take time to examine it, with the other trout on the prowl he mouthed the spider before any of his buddies got the chance. I whipped the line up tight with an evil grin as his head jerked slightly my way before he took off down creek. He fought as if embarrassed by being caught by the known guy fishing along the clear waters that all the other trout knew was there. He tried his best to shake loose but I played him out with patience. After releasing him he shot towards and under the falling waters like a kid finally being released from ’time out’ and still too mad to face his friends. After a few more catches my right jaw, tooth and gum area started to have feeling again and it wasn’t going to be pleasant if I didn’t get back to the van and take another two pills. .

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I gathered my raincoat and took notice of the fine looking creek and surroundings that I haven’t been around for quite a few years now.
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‘Great day to take off work’ I thought as I headed for home. A single cigar sat on the passenger’s seat as I remembered reading the rules for my oral surgery recovery!
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_____________~doubletaper

'Spiders & Snakes' on Young Woman's Cr.

‘Spiders and Snakes’ on Young Woman's Cr.

May 2009

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When I pulled into the camping area facing Young Womans Creek I forgot about the delay on I80 that made my arrival later than I expected. I forgot about wondering why the radio went dead half way up to Renova. I forgot about the $2,000 I’ll have to spend to get a root canal, crown extension and a crown for my #30 molar. I forgot about my problems of life in general. It was about 6:45PM I remember now, but I forgot about time, than, as I arrived at the creek.
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Turning the engine off I heard the tumbling of water over the cement stepped embankment that ran across the creek downstream a piece. I opened the door of the van and was greeted by gnats and flying insects but I ignored them. I heard the riffling of a strong current of water from upstream as I walked towards the flat stretch of open water. Standing at the bank I took in the scenery and was already reading the signs. Low hemlock branches reached out from the far bank wall of rock and shale casting a shadow below from the setting sun. In between the hemlocks one thin branch of a hardwood tree overhung the waters already sporting green leaves. Though low and reaching out limbs the possibility of casting a fly to the far shadowed bank was possible. I watched as small caterpillars hung from their string of silk from the hemlock boughs. One finally fell into the water and I watched it drift just under the lone leafy tree branch. A swirl and the caterpillar disappeared, I felt a shiver down my spine as I grinned devilishly.


Back at the van I assembled my 3wt. Diamondglass rod and Quest reel. My vest was already preset with the flies that I expected to use this weekend at Young Womans Creek and on the Kettle. I slid the box of woolly buggers out of the back pocket of my vest and laid them on the van floor. I put on a long sleeve button down and pumped bug spray on my hat and the back of my left hand. With this I patted my face and neck being careful not to get any on my fingers. I slipped on my vest and put on my shades and cheater specs. After putting in a chew and I was ready for some evening action.
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At the creek I looked out until I noticed another swirl under an overhang. Pinpointing that spot I looked at my fly patch and pulled off a black foam beetle. With about 8’ of knotted 6x leader I tied the beetle to the tippet. Checking for back casting distance, to which there was plenty, I gracefully started working my slow fiberglass rod, with false casts upstream, from my target. I splashed the beetle just hard enough on the water surface to take notice as I crouched down on the back of my heels. With the rod held outright I tried my best to pick out the black beetle in the shadows. A swirl appeared downstream from where I was looking and I missed the take. I waited before my next cast as I watched another caterpillar hit the water. This time, before the overhanging leafy branch, another trout took in the caterpillar. I slowly cast my beetle again but was refused. I reached in my vest pocket and pulled out my terrestrial selection. I showed the trout, ants and other beetle imitations, to no avail. I had one more imitation I had confidence in. First I knotted on a 7x tippet and then tied on a gray barking spider. I whipped the spider out towards the far bank and watched the gray speck as it drifted underneath a hanging caterpillar. With every split second the spider drifted I was ready with a split second reaction. A swirl and I yanked back the soft flexible rod to set the hook. I felt the hook set and the trout took off upstream in a hurry. On my feet I held the fish in check as my rod danced forward, in hesitations, from the zigzagging fish at the end of the line. The calm water was now active with ripples as I coaxed the trout towards me. Reaching down I slid my hand down the tippet and pinched the spider. Lightly shaking the hook the 7”appx. brookie released itself and darted off. Two more casts and I hooked into a trout downstream from the hanging branches. This one took me towards the far bank before I felt comfortable to change his direction with my light tippet. I released a 9” brook this time. For the next 10 minutes or so I failed to entice any more strikes and set my sights on the pool and riffling water below the stepped embankment.
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I waded onto the first shallow water ledge and sat on my heels. In the slower pool to my left one trout rose to some unseen bug. To my right water gushed over a cement wall and spread amongst the stony bottom that continued to flow downstream to shallower water. No risers appeared so I decided to nymph fish the slow pool. Tying on an albino stone, it didn’t take long for a trout to take. I quickly set the hook the second I seen the tip of my fly line jerk away. The rod bent slightly as the small brookie fought its heart out. Reaching over the ledge below me I took the brookie in my hand and took notice to its rich orange color on its lower fins and parts of the belly. This is what it’s about, the sound of the falling water, evening fishing on a small stream and catching colorful brook trout on a fly rod. I continued to fish the pool with the albino stone and caught a few rainbows and another brookie before I took notice to mayflies starting to emerge off the water. They were about a size twelve and could have been a Slate Drake or a Quill Gordon. Anyhow, I matched the mayflies with a #12 Quill Gordon and cast into the faster moving water. A fish leaped out of the riffling water after it. I set the hook and the rod danced again while fighting the fish through the fast moving water. I released a nice size yellow spotted silvery blue brookie after picture taking. With no other takers on the big fly I switched to a #14 Hendrickson. For the next 20 minutes this seamed to be the right dry to attract attention. Though few naturals were on the water and few rises after them, I consistently made the trout rise to my imitation. I didn’t catch them all but had a blast trying. Getting into dusk I tied on a red quill and produced two more fish before I felt it was too dark to being able to see and retrieving the hooked fly from the fish’s mouth quickly.
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Back at the van I lit a propane lantern and sat it between a ’y’ in a tree trunk. Being it was a long day at work and drive up I was hungry and exhausted. I resorted to eating a cold leftover grilled hotdog on a bun with mustard and washed it down with a Wacko Magic Hat beer.

After my quick cold dinner I moved gear off the rear seat and pushed the button that turned the upright rear bench seat into a flat bed. Laying upon the sleeping bag, on the flat back seat, I listened to the rushing water of Young Woman’s Creek. In my tired state, with the darkness and knowing the gentleness of my surroundings, I fell asleep effortlessly.

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Morning came at 5:30am. Wanting to get to Kettle Creek before noon I woke up early and started it off with a hot cup of tea and a few packaged donuts. It didn’t take long, after looking over the enticing trout waters, to fish the morning on the Young Woman's. Not seeing any trout rising in the calm waters I went directly to the falls. Blue quills picked off a few in the early hours but closer to noon my tan body and quill bodied Hendrickson was again the favorite until the fish destroyed the hackle off of two of my imitations.

A group of fishermen arrived and I felt it was time to turn on the Kettle.

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On the drive up the twisty, stony, forested road, along Young Woman's Cr. I came across a ‘branch’ ¾ of the way laying across the sunny roadway. I veered somewhat as my left tire ran it over. I then realized it didn’t look that much like a branch as I passed. Slowing down and looking into the rear view I noticed the ‘branch’ was moving!!! Backing up and stopping I seen it was a snake, and from the rear of it, it was a rattler!! I quickly got out of the van and grabbed the digital camera. Not very good with a digital I did my best taking a few pictures. Holding the camera out in front of me and keeping an eye on the rattlers head I tried to focus on the rattle, head and body. I was hoping the pictures came out alright. The snake was moving through the ferns and brush so I hurriedly went back to the van to get the 35mm. camera! The snake stopped in a good coiled position with his head raised, looking away from me, as I snapped a few shots. I got back into my van and headed to the Kettle. Nature and I have got along for many years without any hazards and I was planning on keeping it that way!

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The afternoon at the Kettle was spent raising fish to Gray Foxes and Blue Quills and a few beetles thrown in until the downpour washed the thought of any more risers away. Sunday morning was spent fishing a few woolly buggers in the project area in the higher brown stained water from the rain during the night. Sunday, late morning and early afternoon, I spent trying to get fish to rise downstream from the town of Cross Forks. Not producing any Kettle Creek fish on dries I resorted to fishing bait, ugh, just to make sure there were still stocked trout left over in the ‘all tackle’ part of the creek. The wind kicked up and I was getting bored. With the thought of Young Woman's still calling my name I returned to her to fish out the remaining light of day.

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Again, alone at the Y.W. creek, I selected my 4wt. Powell rod. The air was cooler now, a bit overcast and with a slight breeze. Not seeing any risers in the calm water I walked back down to the stepped falls. A few Gray Foxes emerged with small sulphurs and a few March Browns. The few fish left without sore lips from Friday night or Saturday morn didn’t want anything to do with my sulphur or March Brown imitations. I ended up picking off a couple of small native brookies but it was the fish I caught on the first Ginger Quill I tossed in that I’ll remember best.

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Sitting on my heels I tied on a #14 Ginger Quill to help imitate the lighter yellowish flies coming off the water. My cast was in a seam of fast water extending from the gushing water over the cement wall. I watched the fly drift at a quick pace as I fed line out to keep the fly atop the water. From under, a fish rose taking my fly as it exited the water with a splash. I set the hook and stood up immediately with the rod high trying to keep my fly line out of the water as much as possible. The fish took me right into the fast under-current and than came back towards me. There was a visible submerged branch close to the falls with room for the fish to swim underneath. I held the line tight with the rod level as the fish swam towards the submerged branch. When he darted sharply and deep towards the submerged branch I lifted the rod quickly and the jolt was shocking enough that he swam over the branch. I kept the rod extended out from the falls trying to keep him from under the bubbling mass of falling water. He turned downstream as I tried to force him towards the slow pool to my left. He wanted nothing doing and continued to fight in the fast riffles spraying water with his quick tail slashing. He wasn’t giving up and neither was I!

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We fought a few more rounds and I finally got the rainbow to my hand. He was evidently a hold over. His distinguished deep dull maroon lateral line started thinly in front of his tail and widened as it reached onto its gills. Dark spots covered his upper olive, silvery body where as, below his lateral line, less spots were present upon his darker flesh tone upper belly. His mouth seemed big for only being about a 14” fish but he fought with the fierceness of a bigger fish in the fast water. ‘What a time to forget my camera’ I thought. I unhooked the Ginger Quill from the trout’s tongue and released the handful of fish into the pool of water below the ledge. I ended my fishing casting upstream towards the back end of the fast water before it spread out into the shallow water I was standing in. With a parachute Hendrickson I caught one small brookie and missed another.

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I relentlessly went back to the van, put away my gear and changed into driving clothes. The long ride home without a radio will get boring I was sure.

I lit up my last Cohiba Pequenos as soon as I reached rte.120 towards Renova. I figured the cigar should last until I got to I80. I also figured I had to sing my way home being that my radio didn’t work. Now, how did that song go by Jim Stafford?

____________________doubletaper

Three Winston's and a Bean

4 guys and 2 Forks (part 2)

Three Winstons and a Bean

7/24/09

The sun breaks through the early morning cloud cover above the Blue Ridge Mountains. Rays of light brighten the top portion of the pines displaying the rich green pigment of their boughs. The bottom boughs are still shadowed in a dull olive state. Rising vapors of moisture diminish in the air around me like the steam from boiling pasta water. I sip on a cup of hot tea as jets of water pulsate against my lower back and below my shoulder blades. Jeff had said soaking in the hot tub spa, that sat on the back deck of our rented cabin, would loosen up my joints and get me ready for a full day of smallmouth fishing. The spa thermometer reads 103*. It’s already 70+ degrees, at 7:00am, outside in Luray Virginia and I’m soaking in 103* water! Doesn’t make sense to me! I finish my cup of tea, turn off the jets and walk into the air conditioned cabin. ‘Heck‘, I think, ‘I was born ready to fish!’

My 2 sons, Jeff and I meet our guide, Jack, at Harry Murray’s Fly Shop/Pharmacy in the small town of Edinburg at 9:00am. After discussion we decide to fish the North Fork of the Shenandoah River until around 1:00 and then head over to the South Fork in the afternoon. After meeting Harry Murray we buy a few flies and poppers the guide suggests and head to the North Fork.

At the bank of the North Fork we look out over the water before getting our gear together. The clear water flows at a slow gradient meandering around small islands of Stargrass and surface rocks in shallow areas. The rising sun brightens the bottom of the of the river and exposes the 2 to 3 foot strands of Stargrass submerged and wavering in the slow undercurrent. Not being that wide across the river it looks more like an inviting Pennsylvania trout stream than a full blown river. Jeff and my sons notice fish rising upriver while I was noticing the shaded waters of the river in small coves under the heavy leafed trees along the far bank.
Back at the vehicles Jeff pieces together his 6 pc. LLBean 6wt. Rod. If there is one rod that fits Jeff’s casting stroke to a ’T’ it is this one. With this in his hand he casts smooth and graceful with less effort than any of his others. I piece together my few months old Winton 6wt. 9’ vapor rod. Jack takes out the rods the boys are going to use. They are Winston 9’ 6wt. Ascent rods over-lined with 7wt. Bass tapers. Not bad for a shop rod to use all day!

Back at the river the group, including Jack, head upstream to the tempting rising fish.
I have my sights set on the slow water coves and slowly fish my way towards them with one of my infamous olive woolly buggers. With a 9’ 3x tapered leader, as prescribed by Harry himself, I over-hand cast out into the waist high clear water. At the end of the swing, on my second cast, a bump is felt and I set the hook. The fish fights across stream, below me, and I bring him in through the current. I lift the fat 11” chub, I later find out they are fallfish, with my left hand and call out to the group upriver and show them the fish. Within 3 more casts I produce a 9” smallmouth that takes the bugger on the swing. By the time I’m within comfortable casting distance of the far bank I pull in two more fallfish and another small smallie. Hearing a frog croak against the bank, downriver, I feel it’s a good time to try a popper. I select a homemade cork popper that’s painted green with yellow spots. With its chartreuse tail and brown rubber legs I feel should give it movement enough to draw attention when I’m not pooping it. The Winston rod casts the popper nicely and it plops upriver below a small run of water flowing through a cluster of shallow rocks and stones. With a quick pull of line, to attract attention, the popper gurgles up some water as it flows downstream. A small surface splash and I pull back on the long extended line. I feel a small fish on the other end and bring him to my side. A 6” sunfish dangles from the size 10 hook. I shake the fish off the hook and proceed with my fishing. This time I cast under an overhanging branch and as soon as the popper hit’s the water a fish surfaces and attacks it. I wrist and strip set the hook and the fight tells me this isn’t another sunfish. I let the smallie fight along the bank shortly and then bring him across the current to hand. I release another 9“-10" smallmouth. Working the popper and the olive woolly bugger I continue to hook up with smallies and other fish and this keeps me in the general area.

It doesn’t take too long before the group passes behind me to fish downriver in deeper water.
Jack stops by and we chat about fishing. He convinces me, easily I might add, to try a blue Harry Murray popper. I let him tie the popper on using a Duncan loop. Casting out into the cove and working the popper doesn’t produce any strikes. Jack finally gives up and suggests maybe going back to the popper I was using before he showed up. I show him the unattractive popper and tie this to my leader. Within 5 casts I produce a smallie at the end of my line.

Now I’m not putting down Harry Murray’s $5.50 professionally tied eye catching blue popper by any means. In fact the boys and I did catch a few fish later on it while blue damsel flies were roaming the waters. I was just proving a point that a 5 cent painted Trader Horn cork, when prepared to catch fish, eye catching to the fishermen or not, can still produce caught fish!

While Jack and I were talking we noticed Jeff pulling in fish almost one after another. He found the ’gathering’ and was catching smallies and fallfish with a Harry Murray olive Strymph. With the three spaced out downriver from me I noticed all were hooking into fish occasionally but Jeff found the real hot spot.

Near noon Giddeon and Jeff moved down river further and that gave me a chance to move into the deeper water. Jeremy hung around near me and we fished the far bank, still under shade, catching a few fish now and then. It also gave us some good father/son time to shoot the bull.

Around 12:30 the clouds finally broke up into small masses so the sun could beam its powerful rays more often upon us and heat things up. We broke for lunch around 1:30pm. Back at the vehicles Jack laid out a spread of cold cuts, chips and fruit. We elected to drink our beer with our lunch instead of his bought spring water.

Talking amongst ourselves Giddeon felt comfortable with the ascent rod. He enjoyed the action and liked the power it had to cast the heavy weighted streamers and buggers he was using. Jeremy felt the difference also but with his gradual easy casting stroke felt he would have been more relaxed with his own 5/6 wt. rod.

After lunch we packed up and followed the guide to the deeper faster running waters of the South Fork below a power dam for some fast action, quick current, and fish fighting fun!



__________________doubletaper

4 Guys and 2 Forks

View from the cabin

(A Shenandoah Experience part 1)

My sons, Jeff and I decided to adventure south to the Shenandoah Valley in July. As seasoned trout fishermen we wanted to test our stream knowledge and fly fishing capabilities for smallmouth in the Shenandoah River. We selected the North and South Fork around Luray and Edinburg Virginia. With a guide set up for Friday, out of the Harry Murray Fly Shop for some helpful instructions, we were ready for some river action. When we were off the river we brought plenty of venison in forms of burgers, roasts and chip steaks. A few bottles of home made wine with cheese and crackers as well as beer, beer, and more beer! Here’s how it went.

A Dose of the Shenandoah
July 23, 2009

Thursday evening, about 4:30pm, Jeff and I rolled into the small town of Edinburg Virginia after a 4 ½ hour drive from Pittsburgh in the ‘ol van’! We found Harry Murray Fly Shop/ Pharmacy on Main Street. We introduced ourselves to Harry and after a short conversation he prescribed a dose of Shenandoah River water to cure our smallmouth fever.
We followed the Tom-Tom over the Massenutten Mountains through the winding roads of Edinburg Gap. We found our semi-secluded cabin and emptied our non-fishing gear into our weekend retreat. We took a few bottles of our own prescribed thirst quenchers of La-Batts and Busch with us.
We found a Wal-Mart and bought our out-of-state fishing license. The girl was nice enough to scissor cut the computer copy of our licenses. Another employee showed up and he told us that night crawlers and certain rubber worms and jigs work well for catching fish in the river. Ya, right! He did tell us of a couple of places to try on the river though. We thanked him.
At the river we geared up with our fly rods and walked down a trail, above a small dam, as Harry prescribed for our evening exercise. Jeff wanted a little more exercise and proceeded up river. Looking over the water in front of me I decided to stay put and begin my fishing below the riffle run of wide open water before me.
Under the sunny and partial cloudy skies I began my smallmouth fishing. It didn’t take long before a fish tasted my olive woolly bugger. The fish put up a good hard fight in the fast deep current. I brought in a fat 10” chub looking fish and released him. After another chub fish I was beginning to wonder where the smallies were. Working the olive bugger in deep pools between the faster runs I finally hooked into a smallie. He fought across the bottom of the run and I brought the 9” smallmouth to hand. Looking upriver Jeff had a hook up too. My next option was to see how my home made cork poppers worked in these waters. Casting into the slow eddies and deep pools I popped the cork towards me and waited. My first catch was a sunfish but continued casts and working the popper produced those chubs and a few fat active smallmouth in the 7”-9” range. We fished into the evening with good success. I even found a few selective fish that took one of my orange Humpy pattern. Our fever was receding.
Back at camp we ate deer burgers and relaxed with a few beers while waiting for my sons to arrive.
My eldest son, Jeremy, was picking up my son Giddeon in DC at the Ronald Reagan airport. The flight was supposed to come in at 11:00pm. We got a call from Jeremy telling us the flight was delayed and wasn’t sure when he would get in.
When it was all said and done they arrived at the cabin at 4:10am. After welcoming my sons they hit their sleeping quarters tired and fatigued. At 10 minutes to 5 a cock crowed in the early daybreak of the morning light. My sons, nor I, were very happy.
We were to meet our guide, back at the shop, at 9:00am for some prescribed personal relief, the fishing kind!!
_______________doubletaper