Cool Spring with the Demon

Cool Spring with the Demon

5/23/10

 After my grandson’s soccer game on Sunday I decided to take the new Hardy Demon rod for a walk on Cool Spring Creek in Mercer. It was near 70 degrees with the sun fully exposed shining down on this years fresh spring green leaves giving off a summer sun-shining day. The delayed harvest area was sure to be a good challenge to get to know the rod. With brushy bank-sides, narrow riffles and some wide sections for good casting distance I should know weather the rod is what I was looking for.
 I had used the new Demon rod briefly at a local stream up in Clarion and caught trout but the only 3wt line I had available was the doubletaper Sylk line I use for my Diamondglass rod. The Sylk line is a very soft limp line that works great with the fiberglass rod but was too wimpy for the graphite Demon. I got the 7’ Demon for the small narrow brushy creeks here in PA. I don’t know why but it seems most small rod manufacturer’s are geared to western streams or open forest casting without rearward hazards. Full flexed rods need a full forearm movement casting stroke and roll casting a weighted bugger with them isn’t easy or fun. I wanted a medium to medium/action rod with a quick recovery tip. One I can quick wrist cast but still have enough stiffness to roll cast a heavier bugger or nymph. The Demon seemed to fit the rod profile I was looking for but now I needed to get the right line for it.
 After talking to a couple of small rod owners they suggested on over-lining the 3wt with a 4wt line. This should give a little extra weight to flex the tip for quick, short wrist casts. Who am I to argue? I was about to give it a try with the Cortland 444 Fdt4 line I already owned.

 Standing in the creek, at the ‘Glory Hole’, the wide flat section of surface water reflects the full sunshine above. Bubbles, from the riffling water up creek, slowly flows with the slow surface current. I knot on a nymph to the end of the 7 ½’ tapered leader and roll cast it out towards the middle of the creek. After a few casts I tie on a dry fly and give it a whirl. I sidearm a beetle under the overhanging pine branches and finally flip out a bugger. The rod performs well enough, now it’s time to go upstream and catch some fish.

Cool Spring Creek has many downed tree trunks and branches for the trout to hide in and around. The creek has its deep holes but mostly runs shallow and narrow. Rainbows are the most dominate fish in the water, that I recall, and I figure the riffles, in this hot weather, are where to find them. The local Trout Unlimited has strategically placed stream diversions to keep the creek well oxygenated and good pools for the trout to hold over during the warmer months.

 I dip into the creek, down a muddy bank, up-creek from a nice flow of riffling water. Tying on an olive woolly bugger and casting out, I let it swing below and hang in the riffling current as I put a quid of tobacco in my lower left cheek. I bring in the line and add a strip of lead about 8” from the bugger. I slowly work my way downstream getting a feel for the rod with each cast. Across creek I spot a low hanging branch that covers its bank and shoreline. A limb is partly submerged and water threads its way through the thin branches and green leaves.
“A perfect place for a trout to hang out” I figure.

 I sidearm backhand the bugger towards the shallow far bank-side. I keep the rod tip up, not wanting to let the belly of the fly line to swing just yet. The bugger slides along the pebbles about 3 feet upstream from the branchy looking hideout. I watch the bugger as it starts to sink in the deeper slower moving water. I drop the rod tip and let the faster current start swinging the fly line and in turn the bugger begins to drift towards the branchy cover. As the bugger, beneath, starts to swing towards the faster current, following the belly of the fly line, I watch the line tighten and feel the tug. I side arm set the hook and the trout slices through the swift shallower water, downstream, towards my side of the creek. The Demon bends towards the middle from the fish’s struggle through the swifter current. Just below me the rainbow leaps and upon returning to the water darts towards the far bank. I lift the rod to keep the fish from entering the branchy snag. The pressure forces the fish to skim the far bank upstream. The rod tip flexes up and down as I play the rainbow to my net.

 I see down below the riffles it empties into a deeper pool along my side of the bank. I cross the creek and begin to work the longer stretch of deeper water along the bank. As the bugger drifts through I can feel hits but not a full take. Another swing through and I feel the light bump and set the hook. I handle the bugger caught perch for a picture. Another species on the fly rod for the PA. contest a few of us have going.

 I continue fishing my way down creek. After each bend of the creek, it opens to a new configuration of challenging narrow water. I pick off a few more rainbows hidden under bank-side debris on smack dab in the middle of a riffled run.

Around one bend I surprise two mallards swimming together. They quack a warning and take flight leaving a disturbed watery surface below. I catch movement from the corner of my eye. I turn and see a rabbit, sneak hopping through the underbrush. In the distance I hear training beagles start to yap breaking the silence of the otherwise quietness of the running creek.
 Around the last bend before the ‘Glory Hole’ the water looks to be running deep mid stream. Riffles start along the far bank and empties into the deeper running waves of water. This cross current causes a push of water to slap up against a partially submerged tree trunk that parallels the bank below me. I can see the bottom of the pebbled section of creek and stay close to the submerged tree trunk in knee deep water. I roll cast the bugger just below the shallow run and mend upstream. The bugger slows its drift until the fly line swings the bugger through the middle section of faster water. I let the bugger swing below me along the downed tree trunk but the water is too fast and the bugger rides higher in the current than my liking. I bring in the line and decide to tie on a white bunny leech for better visibility. I add an extra split shot to the 6x tippet I have knotted to the 5x tapered leader and roll cast out again. I let more line out, on the swing, to let it drift further down stream. After each swing I let the white leech hold up in the current, aside the trunk, before stripping the leech in. I cautiously move along the downed trunk casting out as before as I feel the water bouncing around my hip boots just above my knees.
 Heavy branches extend out of the water at the end of the main trunk of tree. A good amount of water channels between the middle section of the stream and the extended trunk branches. I cast outward and down and guide the leech into the channel of water. I let it hang there than start to slowly strip it in along the downed trunk. I feel a hard strike, the Demon rod arcs beyond mid-point and the fight is on.
 I hold the short 7’ rod to my left trying to get the trout away from the tree trunk and out of the faster current. The rod isn’t long enough to pull the trout more from its side than from straight on. He’s got the advantage and fights with vengeance beneath the strong current. My rod flexes with the fighting fish until the trout finally surfaces. His long maroon lateral line catches my eyes briefly before he rolls back beneath the wavering water.
 I know I have to keep him from going beneath the tree trunk but the rod just doesn’t have enough length to fight the fish towards the other side of the creek. I cautiously but hurriedly move into the deeper water towards the middle of the creek. I can feel the cool water rise above my knees and travel up my thighs through the light weight hip boots. With the fish still angrily fighting in the current below, I keep the rod tip up as not to put any more pressure on the knotted tippet due to the strong current. Still moving to my left the fish refuses to swim out into the slower water flow. He rises again, I suspect he is tiring under the rod pressure. Instead he surges beneath flexing the rod deep towards the butt. His intentions are for one last lunge beneath the tree trunk. I decide not to give him any more line for fear that if he goes beneath the trunk he’ll tangle me up for sure in any unseen branches.
 I hold onto the rod with two hands and angle the rod towards the far bank trying to subdue his rage. His will, his weight and the force of the current is too much for my 6x knotted tippet. The line snaps and the fish’s fight is no longer pulling on the end of my line. I reel in the line and find my lead strip is still attached but the split shot and the rest of my tippet is gone.
“That’s fishing” I shrug.
 I continue on towards the ‘Glory Hole’ in hopes of catching a few risers in the last hour of daylight. Two fellows have already taken a stance in the flat wide pool before I get there. I don’t notice any risers to any of the small midges flying around or dropping to the water. After a few tosses and strips of the bunny leech I call it quits and head for the van.

 I Turn off of  route 19 South onto the ramp leading up to I80 East. I get the van up to interstate speed and pull out a 5 ¾ X 50 Celebramos Macanudo. The mild tobacco should be a relaxing smoke for the rest of the drive home. I lite the end with my new double torch lighter that came in the 6 pack of cigars rippinlip had sent me.

Ya, I think, the Demon is just what I was searching for. It’s a keeper! A fine, brushy creek, short Eastern rod at that!!!

______________~doubletaper

I Felt the Demon Today

 I Felt the Demon Today

I sit in the dentist chair, helpless, like a fish out of water.

Like a fish’s fins to it’s body,

my elbows are clinched tight against my sides,

not able to reach the dentists neck!

Though the left side of my face is numb

I feel the pulling and tugging on my #19 molar

as if being the lure trying to be dislodged

from a sunken log attached to 30lb test line!

He wrestles the tooth like an amateur

trying to release a treble hook from a smallmouth,

his hand gripped tightly on the silvery instrument pliers!

I felt the demon today and cursed him!

I try sitting still not wanting him to lose grip

and rip my lip with an errant slip.

My eyes tear up as my buttocks tightens,

I swear my butt raises off the seat with the last upward tug!

I felt the demon today and prayed to God let it be over!

The ordeal ends and I am released to go.

Gauze fills my numb cheek

like a gob of red power bait in a trout’s mouth

too big to swallow.

I walk through the waiting room

trying not to wince in pain or show weakness,

like a trout released back into the pool with his buddies

trying not to look embarrassed

for getting caught in the first place.

I pull into the drive and there’s a triangular package

up against the side door, I try to grin

but feel no facial expression on my numb face!

I slide the green cylinder rod tube out of the cardboard box.

I slip out the rod sock and untie it.

Delicately, I lay down the four pieces.

There it sets, right from Hardy & Greys Limited.

I gently piece together the 7 foot Demon rod 

and grip the 3 weight in my hand.

(I may have slobbered unknowingly)

With no pain, I felt the Demon today,

I thanked God!

_____~doubletaper

The dentist said no strenuous activity for the rest of the day so i went fishing with the new rod.

Fishing in Jupiter

Fishing in Jupiter

May 10th, 2010

 Well, I was down in West Palm last weekend attending, my son, Giddeon‘s wedding. It wasn’t much of a fishing trip nor a streamside tale of caught fish but an enjoyable weekend none the less.

The Sunday wedding was upon the beach sand of the Florida coast with the reception in an open air pavilion up the stairs from the wedding sight overlooking the ocean. There was a cool ocean breeze, Sunday, which kept the pure sunshine rays from being scorching hot. The waves rolled in upon the beach and against some sandstone rock formations just up from the wedding sight. The wedding was wonderful and the beach and ocean setting made for an event to always remember.

 I did, no doubt, want to fish the ocean with my son but being with the wedding and all I wasn’t sure it would happen or be proper. Everyone else was leaving Florida on Monday to go back home but I elected to leave not until Tuesday in hopes of fishing some. I found out that Giddeon’s friend Adam, who drove up from Chattanooga, also wanted to do some ocean fishing.

 After the Pen’s game Monday, with the new wife’s permission, Giddeon called Adam and told him where to meet us for an evening of fishing.

 It was dark as we entered the Jupiter Park parking area. From the parking area I wheeled a cooler of refreshments and carried the short ocean rod I was to use. Giddeon filled a back pack with a small tackle box and a few other needed gear along with long sleeve shirts. He grabbed the longer surf rod in the back of his truck and we waited for Adam to collect his gear and the small cooler of bait. I noticed his ocean rod was a bit thicker and longer than Giddeon’s. From the parking area we proceeded out along the cement pier walkway away from the beach. The railed wall to our left separated the pier from the man made inlet channel that connected the intercoastal waterway to the ocean. This is a wide deep thoroughfare for yachts and boats to maneuver easily to the ocean from their inner coastal docks.
 Out at the end of the pier I found the ocean wind was to be a constant forceful unkind bit of company through our late night dark evening. The dark cloud cover was only noticeable by a thin outline of dim light of the hidden moon. Looking out into the ocean white bubbly waves would rise, tumble and disappear before ever reaching us at the end of the pier. Nearer we would watch the undercurrent create a new set of waves that roared and crashed against the huge boulders that sat between the full body ocean and the end of the cement pier.
‘Even if we did catch fish,’ I thought, ‘it would be a challenge to get the fish up out of the darkness and over or between those huge boulders.’ I guess we still had to catch the fish first though before worrying about the outcome.
 I stood holding the shortest ocean rod as my son prepared the offering. He made a loop in the 30lb test line and connected a double eyed swivel to this. In the light of his headlamp I could see he was having trouble with this with his big stubby thumbs.
“I could do that with my eyes closed” I razzed him a bit.
 To this he attached a leader and then a combination duel hook. The hook shank of one of the big hooks was through the eye of the other hook of the same size. He reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a 6” to 8” long frozen sardine.
 There I stood watching, educationally, holding the rod while he baited my hook. It was if the roles were now reversed from his first days of fishing with me in his youth. He was now showing me what he had learned and now teaching me how it’s done. It brought back memories, that’s for sure!

 With a heavy round weighted sinker, I reared back the thick rod and stepped into my forward cast, letting go of the line. Line peeled off the spinning reel and through the large rod eyes. Somewhere in the darkness, upon the ocean, I heard a kerplunk. I waited a second or two before closing the spool and than reeled in some line until I felt the heavy weight upon the bottom of the ocean floor.
 “This is boring fishing” Giddeon commented as he sat upon one of the huge boulder tops against the pier. He knows well that I am a stream fisherman, liking the movement of ‘search and find’ that he even grew accustomed too in our trout fishing journeys together.

 The evening drew on as I watched the white waves appear and disappear in the distant sea. Waves rolled into and along the inlet channel constantly with no rhythm or pattern. Occasionally a big wave would crash against the huge boulders and a rush of water would rise into the air. The ocean wind would catch this rising water and spray a salty mist upon the pier.
 Other waves would tumble and roll shoreward causing a constant rumble to be heard. They would break just before the shoreline emptying their waters up against the sand bubbling and foaming. The final push of water skimmed upon the sandy beach then receded back into another small wave of water.

I’d watch my 28 year old son heave the heavy rod towards the ocean time and again. I watched when he baited his hooks with either sardines or shrimp. I eventually baited my own hooks when I needed to. I’d light up a Macanudo Maduro leaf Ascot from time to time and drink a beer as the time passed by.
 I either sat upon the wall rail or stood upon the cement pier on the ocean side of the rail keeping hold of my rod. Giddeon and Adam would maneuver around the pier and atop the boulders casting out and than relaxing waiting anxiously for a bite. Adam finally hooked into something big but it broke his line shortly after he tried to reel it in. Just after that Giddeon had hooked into a fish also. He had first thought he had a snag as he tried dislodging the sunken hook. The line all of a sudden went slack. He started reeling in the line when the line all of a sudden tightened and the rod bent and line shot out of the reel and rod eyes into the darkness. The line finally broke with the suddenness of it all. When he got the rest of the line in he could feel the abrasions upon the line and figured the snag he thought he had at first could have been a shark.
 My own fishing consisted of reeling in my bait where the sardine’s stomach was eaten out or I was just left with the sardines head on the end of the hook and no fish to show for it. I was told there were crabs in the water and most likely were feeding on my offering.

 We fished into the night until about 1:00am. The wind got stronger and the waves bigger. I looked at my son now and then wondering when he and Adam were ready to call it quits.


 I sit here now remembering watching my son Giddeon sit there upon the boulder, his baseball cap on backwards, as he looked out into the ocean. I remember watching his muscular frame and broad shoulders each time he would cast the heavy thick ocean rod. It brings me back, recalling, when I would watch his small boyish broad shoulder frame casting and sitting along the bank of a small trout stream here in Pennsylvania.

The time spent with him that evening wasn’t just about fishing at all!


_____doubletaper

Forecast: 100%Fishing

Forecast: 100% Fishing

 I awoke as the morning light found its way between the partitions in the curtains covering the rear van window. I lay in silence recalling the night before. I vaguely remember relieving myself as I watched bats flying around below the bright moon.

There was a chilling breeze in the air of the uncommon warm night for the last day in April. The sky was starless and the forest seemed too quiet, it gave an eerie expression of my surroundings. For some reason I remember setting a partially opened jar of pickled garlic on the van roof and laying three #5 silver shot shells next to my turkey twelve gauge before crawling onto the van bed. I clutched a whittled wooden stake beneath my pillow and must have fallen into a deep sleep from then on. It could have been from the combination of Advil, a Penicillin tablet and a few beers.

 My #19 molar had been aching and the dentist said I’ll need a root canal and a crown atop it. I spent two thousand dollars on my #30 molar last year saving it and wasn’t about to spend another 2 grand for this one. So I’ve been nursing the tooth until I get it pulled on Wednesday.

 The sun moved directly behind my window and its sharp light ray penetrated through my closed eye lids. I began to feel a dull soreness in my molar and decided I should rise and get ready. I released my grasp on my Scott rod tube and swung out from under the blanket. I opened the side door quietly and gave a few yelps with my turkey diaphragm call. I listened for a few minutes and gave out another yelp after I stepped onto the dirt ground. Not hearing a reply I turned and noticed my jar of peperoncinis sitting on the van roof. I took it down and placed it into my cooler. I unzipped the shotgun case and placed it on the bed with three turkey loads beside it. I figured, while I’m fishing, I’d call now and then and if I hear a gobbler I’ll just return to the van and go after him.

 I was outside the doors getting my gear together when a truck pulled up beside my van. Two guys got out and hurriedly put on chest waders. they put on their vests and the one grabbed both spinning rods and they raced down through the woods to the creek. It’s about 7:10am now and no one else is around. The camps near by are vacant and I hadn’t heard a car go by while I laid in bed. “What’s the hurry” I thought?

 I was stringing up my 4 wt. fly rod when a white SUV pulled up next to my drivers side. A little after the SUV doors slammed I heard the sound of death chains rattling. It reminded me of the chains on Paul Newman in that prison movie down south. If someone would have said “yes boss” I would have lost it right there. I heard them rustling around in the back, the whole while the chain links rattled, until a rear door slammed. A fellow and his woman walked around my van towards the path that led to the creek. They said hello as I replied good morning. They kept their pace and disappeared through the woods.

 After washing down a soft oatmeal cookie, a Penicillin tablet and two Advil with a cup of Sunny-D I headed down to the creek. I was actually trying to waste time waiting for Jim to show up but because of the hurriedness of the four fisherpersons, I figured I better get a move on so I don’t miss all the excitement.

 I looked upstream of the long deep hole. The two spin guys were whipping spinners or such from the far grassy land into the pool. The fellow and his woman were directly across from them, sitting on the bank as if carp fishing, gazing into the water. I looked into the four feet of water before me, from above, and not seeing any fish walked down the path a little further. I dropped down the bank and tied on a latex caddis and started fishing. Within a half hour I turned upstream and seen Jim working his way towards me.
"Those four people still crowding the deep water above?” I asked
“There’s six now” he replied.
“Let’s get out of here and fish down below where I heard they stocked some breeders” I suggested.

 From early morning until noon we waded the creek trying to locate the big fish that would bite on our nymphs, buggers and dry flies. The water was cold as usual for this time of year and the fish weren’t that active to take our offerings. We didn't come across any breeders that we could see but I did manage two rainbows beneath and hooked onto one on a dry caddis but he got off somehow before I got him to the net. After a long walk we figured we spent enough time fishing the creek and decided to walk back to the vehicles, eat lunch and visit the Tionesta.

After lunch we hit a couple of spots on Tionesta Creek along the devil’s highway, rte.666. I managed three rainbows at the first stop with an elk hair caddis. We didn’t get any hits at the second stop so I took Jim to another, supposedly good spot, for us to spend the rest of the day.

 We noticed a few fish were rising as soon as we got to the water. A few grannoms and tan caddis were flying around so Jim and I both tied on dry patterns. I’d catch a trout now and then but very few in my opinion. In time a swarm of grannoms moved upstream along with what looked to be tan caddis and maybe a few stoneflies mixed in. we tried every pattern possible trying to find that magical fly that would get the trout to take consistently. Time and time again a swarm of flies would move upstream as we tried to match the hatch with dries, nymphs or wet flies but nothing was consistently taking fish. Standing on a flat rock for the past few hours began to make my lower back sore and I was getting thirsty and restless.
“I’m going to try one more pattern, grab a beer, sit on the bank and watch you try to figure out what the heck these fish want” I commented to Jim.
 I tied on an emerger that I must have tied some time ago. I casted it out about 20 feet in front of me and wham a trout rose like a dolphin and sucked it in.
"Got’m” I called out as Jim looked on.
 For the next hour or so, before dark, I continued to cast out that pattern and hooked up regularly. I’d dance the thing across the water or just let it drift on its own. Other times I’d pull on the line, after casting it out, making it submerge briefly before it would rise again, on its own, due to the poly top wing. Fish would hit it aggressively enough that a splash could be heard, or other times I’d watch them rise, mouth it and see them pull in anger at being hooked.

“What are you using” I recall Jim asking
“It’s got a pheasant tail body, a white poly down wing and a big dubbed gray head” I replied.
 I wasn’t really sure if I tied it sometime ago or if I got it in a fly swap. All I know it was the right fly at the time!
 Jim was trying his best to get a taker but they wouldn’t bite. I would have given him one but I had no more in my fly boxes. Jim’s a good sport, though he wasn’t hooking up, he continued to fling away and try different flies to get a hook up. Finally, as the sun sank below the hills and the light drew dimmer, Jim finally got one to take his dry. He ended hooking into a few more before it was too dark to see the fly. We ended the evening bidding each other farewell. He headed home and I headed to the Kelly for a burger.

 Sunday morning I awoke to an overcast sky. I looked out the windshield, down towards the creek, and already four guys stood fishing in the same place Jim and I fished the evening before. It wasn’t even 7 AM yet but they were out there casting their spinning rods. I got dressed and washed down a blueberry muffin, a Penicillin tablet and two more Advil with a cup of French Vanilla Cappuccino I had bought the night before.
By the time I got down to the creek one guy had left and there was plenty of room for me to fish between two of the others. They all were casting and drifting bait in the same area we fished the evening before. I asked one of the fellows if they seen any fish rise. “No“, he replied.
 Having an elk hair caddis on the end of my 6x tippet I casted out a few times in hoping to make one rise. Within five minutes a fish took my fly and I made sure the bait casters knew I had one. I netted a fine looking brown trout.

 Within 10 more minutes I hooked into a rainbow after a long cast beneath the far bank tree on an elk hair caddis. A few more later on and by 10:00am I was standing alone fly fishing. I took my position on a flat submerged rock I stood on the night before and casted my new WF5F line within the area before me. I’d shoot the line out and feel the thin running line pass through my fingers on long casts towards rising trout. Besides catching a few more on dries I found a few hungry for a yellow sucker spawn and even an aggressive rainbow took a triple threat.

 By noon 6 fishermen came splashing downstream to fish my area. They were polite enough to give me room and I obliged by not long casting into their casting range in front of them. In a half hour, with only one hook up, the six dispersed for lunch. I continued to fish till about 2’oclock and headed to the Kelly for wings and to watch the Pen’s play.

 It was about 5’oclock when I left the bar. With plenty of daylight left, though my body was tired and relaxed, I wanted to try for some wild brookies in a small creek I haven’t fished for many years.

 I took a drive up the long hard dirt road and found a single parking space for my van on the high bank from the creek. Down below I could see a couple of slow deep pools but it was the faster running water I was interested in. This is where the native brookies would hide, away from any stocked trout that happen to make its way up this far.

 I assembled the 7’ Diamondglass and put on a pair of hip boots. I don’t know why I put my fishing vest back on when I could have simply taken two small dry fly boxes, my lanyard of tippet and clippers, but I did anyhow. I was relaxed and calm as I walked downstream a bit to begin my journey fishing upstream.
 Fishing brook waters is something you have to prepare yourself for. It’s not for the impatient or one that gets frustrated easily. The going has to be slow and cautious. You try to be mentally aware of the overhangs and brush around you. You cast with preciseness and are always ready for the quick rise and strike of a wild bred brook trout.
 Slowly I cast the limp Sylk line up creek in tail-outs and around boulders. The tall hardwoods and high hemlocks block a lot of the light. Even so, the light that is upon the water is still frustrating in trying to follow the fly as it bounces and floats among the baffling glare the erratic moving waves create. The heat of the evening fogs up my polarized shades that they render them more troublesome than without them. I let them hang from my neck and squint my eyes in locating the fly. An underneath quick movement in a tail-out of a pool and I set the hook in time to hook my first rising brookie. It flexes the slow progressive action fiberglass rod into the middle as the tip dances with the brookies wild fight. I cradle the fish delicately in my hand for a quick shoot and release. It skitters off and disappears almost instantly.
 Continuing on I slowly move after each cast, side-arming, making looping casts, around jutting out bank boulders or straight shooting the fly and letting it fall into a small rapid force of water. High-sticking, to keep as much line off the back current as possible, and taking in line or backing the rod up, to keep the most amount of tension between me and the fly.
 A flash between two side currents coming together catches my eye. As long as the trout doesn’t turn to see me or any unnatural splash of the fly or line atop the surface gives me another chance at him. I’m prepared and cast the fly again, this time right in the center of the slower moving current. Another streak of reflection and I set the hook on the little guy. He doesn’t flex the rod as much as the first native brook but still fights like a mad Chihuahua at the end of a rope.
 I catch one more wild brookie on the elk hair caddis before my fine tippet and leader become entangled in a mess. I had my fun and caught enough trout to be satisfied with my results. I clip the tangled mess and put the knotted twisted tippet into my empty cigar butt pocket. I glance once more to my surroundings and bow out gracefully.

 Opening the side doors of the van I’m met with an unpleasant odor. The stench of wet socks, damp waders and sweaty clothes turns my nose and almost makes my eyes water. Evidently the two days of constant fishing and sweating in the cool mornings changing into heated afternoons, in the same clothes, has taken its toll. Even with the windows open during my fishing time has not filtered the smell but contained it in the confines of my ‘cabin on wheels.’ I take time to pack my worn clothes and socks into my two satchels. I put away my Diamondglass and Quest reel. I take a long drink of the left over, cooler cold, Mountain Dew and get into the drivers seat.

 Popping the top, off the test tube, I slide the Garcia Y Vega Crystal out of its glass protector. I’m sure the dark Maduro wrapped cigar will eliminate all discouraging odors within the confines of the van. I light the end with the cigar lighter and let it burn….

__________________doubletaper

Sandy's Rainbows

Sandy's Rainbows

4/24/10

.
 After youth turkey hunting with my grandson in the morning I dropped him off home. I was planning on taking him and my granddaughter fishing but my daughter said they had friends coming over for the kids to play with. I ate lunch with them and then headed to do some fishing, alone.
.
….. The wind kicked up when I got out of the van along side the road near Sandy Creek. The sky was moving slow with dark clouds and there was a feeling that rain might drop by later in the day. The early afternoon was still a little chilly but bright, as the sun tried to show itself behind the grayish cloud cover. After waking up early and hunting the morning I didn’t feel like piecing together my 4 piece rods so a put together my 2 piece Scott rod, got my wicker creel basket and headed for the stream.
 I crossed the creek and walked up the old railroad grade. Just a little more upstream from where my grandson, Damon, and I fished the first day. I walked through the woods and stepped into the shallow waters along the bank. I fished streamers and a latex caddis as I slowly made it to the area Damon and I fished the week before. The going was slow as well as the catching. I managed landing two trout with a couple of misses. There were a few other vehicles where I parked, and though I didn’t come across many other fishermen, I was sure some already hit the deeper holes I was just fishing.
 A few fellows passed by and fished the 3-4 feet of water downstream from me. They nymph fished there way out from the hanging pine branches but never attempted to cast beneath. One fellow pulled a fish from a log jam, on the RR grade side bank, as the other two joined in for a few minutes and tried for more. After that, they climbed the bank and headed for the path and I knew why.
 Downstream from that log jam was a wide shallow area of water. Dry boulder tops peaked above the gradual moving water. Riffles and small pocket waters surrounded each boulder or water laden branches. It just wasn’t worth the patience to pick this water apart for what may only contain a trout or two if any. I figure most of the other stream wonderers go to the same log jam, looked downstream at the shallows and climb the bank to the path also. Well, when I got to the log jam I decided to take the challenge and methodically work the shallow stretch. 

 First off the previous waters were most likely fished over today or I would have caught more trout.
Second, if I was right, everyone else got to this point and skipped over the shallow stretch also. Therefore the fish, which I was sure there were some, would not be spooked and I would have a good chance hooking into some of these aggressive hungry trout if I fish it correctly.

 I tie on a latex caddis to my 7 1/2 foot or so 6x tapered leader. The water is clear but with good placement I could use the riffling water aside the boulders to my advantage. I stay a few feet away from the less used bank which gives me some room behind me for back-casts if need be. Other than that I can maneuver my overhead cast to drop the caddis from upstream, to any downstream fishy location.

….I move with stealth barely kicking up any mud from below my felt bottom boots. I pick my spots and, with down and across stream long casts, I lay the latex caddis just shy of any skinny riffle along any dry top boulder. Keeping my rod tip high, to prevent the line from hanging up on any surface snags, I mend upstream a bit making sure the caddis enters the run first. At times the wind kicks up and a breeze moves upstream so I angle my arm a bit to cast into the wind. The breeze holds up my line, above the water, putting an arc in it. This in turn causes my caddis to flow slower into the thin channeled riffling water giving any shallow holding trout more time to take my offering. I watch my fly line end where it meets the water. Any stoppage or sudden jerk I pull back and set the hook.
A rainbow shoots out of the water with the hook-set. I work the active trout towards me, around hazards and through the shallows. He flips himself out of the water again 10 feet in front of me and returns with a splash. I hold the rod high with my right hand and guide him to my left hand held net.

 I slowly work my way through the shallows as if walking on egg shells. My booted feet subconsciously feel for any loose or uncommon obstructions. My casts are of minimal movement, using my wrist more than my forearm, not wanting any sudden movement, by my part, to warn any trout of my intrusion. I pin point my angled cast, dropping the latex caddis between a sunken boulder and a jutting out surfaced rock. I watch as the white caddis sinks within the riffles. My fly line moves with the current a little beyond my sunken caddis. I set the hook and the flash of a rainbow skirts through the back end of the riffling shallows and turns downstream from me. His head surfaces as he sprays water with his tail fin. He splashes his way towards my net.

 I continue on as before, each cast being as precise as I can make it. My fly lands near danger and I quickly back-cast it up out of the water and redirect my next forward cast. I come to ankle deep shallow water but I roll cast into it anyway with my rod tip high while looking around and contemplating my next target drop. A submerged heavy limb extends from the bank. I drop the caddis inches from the limb and guide the line along its submerged structure. The caddis slows beyond the limb below a hanging pine bough. I draw back on the line to keep the caddis flowing downstream in front of my leader. I move my rod slowly to my left letting the caddis flow with the current. A sharp pull this time and I set the hook. Another rainbow flops into my net.

 …down below I come to a deeper wide pool of water restricted by a wall of human placed rocks and boulders. Water flows between and over the wall making a shallow run of riffles clear across the stream bed. A palomino is present in the deep pool as another fly guy nymph fishes from the opposite side. In time I catch two fish on the latex caddis and a couple on a yellow sucker spawn. The nymph guy catches a few also but the time spent is slow and tedious. My nymph fishing patience has run out so I tie on a bunny leech.
 Stripping and flinching it with my rod tip, I try to coax the palomino to take notice. He wants nothing to do with it but below and further out I catch a glimpse of a long dark fish holding near the bottom. On my next drift through the dark fish starts to follow my bunny leech for a closer look. I try to give the leech more movement with strips and rod tip action as the dark trout follows. Nearer to me I quit all movement and let the leech sink to the bottom for fear the fish will notice my actions before him. I watch as his long body curves downstream and he returns to his lair. I try three more drifts though with only a short glance from the big fish before looking into my fly box for another temptation.
 I tie on a heavy white wooly bugger hoping that the weight will drop the bugger down deeper, possibly into a safer feeding zone. After a partial drift I watch the bugger come into view but no sign of the fish. Two more swings and no reactions from beneath.
 I contemplate the situation in my mind. The big fish is either curious or hungry. He didn’t get that big by not being cautious. He had time to look my leech pattern over long enough that he must have felt something wasn’t right. The heavy bugger didn’t enthuse him at all so I figured he either seen them before and knew they were danger or didn’t like the bulkiness of it. I look into my bugger box and take out a cone head triple threat. It’s a pattern that the trout may have never seen and with just the sparseness in material and color to give a good minnow imitation.
 I tie on the triple threat and cast upstream, across and beyond my target, practically at the nymph fisherman’s boot. I let the triple sink, with an upstream mend, and begin to strip it in quickly, not wanting the big fish to get a good look at it. I see him follow with curiosity but the bugger’s moving too fast for his liking. Again I cast out, this time not as far out. I watch my line and when I think the triple is within his vision, I short whip the rod tip upstream with erratic movement. I strip in line again and again he tries to follow for a closer look. No chance!!
 I take a deep breath as my heart races and I watch circular rings form on the water surface from the sporadic rain fall.
 I cast once more towards the far side and mend upstream letting the triple drop deep. This time no extra movement or sudden jerks on my part, just a slow bottom drift like a dead minnow. I see the white belly of the triple come into view below the palomino. From out of nowhere I see an oblong fish charge my fly and witness the whiteness of his mouth opening and engulfs my offering. I lift the rod quickly and feel his weight. It feels good!!
 The pull on the rod, from below, tugs like a twisting turning branch in fast current. The energy of his head shakes and body jerks are transmitted through the line making the rod tip fluctuate. My line hand finger tips feel every vibration of his aggressive actions. I watch the elongated object as I feel his might. He turns and forcefully swims away as I let tensioned line slip through my finger tips. He wrestles with the line and rod, to free himself, exerting a great amount of energy. Finally, upstream from me, the rod force subdues his escape unexpectedly and again he aggressively tries to release the triple from his jaws with more head jerks. He turns towards me as I can tell he’s tiring quickly from his all-out bursts of energy. In seeing me he turns upstream with a quick bolt but I angle the rod upstream and horizontal making him fight the tip pressure from his side. He turns, this time, downstream and I guide him towards me. My shallow C & R net is too small for his length, I must bring him to the shallows to unhook him. He splashes as he reaches the shallower water than arcs his body towards the more open water. My rod tip is high and he completely turns around as the strength of the rod gives no more leeway to the tiring fish.

 Sometimes there’s not much more a fisherman can do to revive a fish. Holding him by the tail, gently, into the slow current I wait for him to react. He tails out of my hand but within a few feet he body sides up. I try for a few more minutes to revive him to where I feel he will survive. When he wedges himself, nose first, between a rock and a submerged limb I have no choice but to take him home. That’s the way it goes sometimes. Looks like I’ll be eating trout fillets for dinner early next week.

On my way through Franklin I stop at Spanky’s Tobacco World and buy $20.00 worth of tobacco supplies. I slide the $4.00+ Fuente cigar out of the cellophane wrapper. The natural tobacco, of the Double Chateau, immediately enhances my sense of smell. I savor the flavor as I wet the natural outer leaf for a smooth slow burn. I lite the cigar and the distinct aroma fills my van as I head for home.

 Oh well, my birthday trout came three days late. Better late than never! : )

more pics;

__________________~doubletaper

Tipping the 'GLASS' 2010

Tipping the ‘Glass’

Birthday 2010

I decided to fish with my fiberglass rods for this year’s birthday. Just trying something different, I was hoping it could turn out to be something special that I could always remember as part of another fly fishing birthday excursion.

 There was a morning April chill when I crawled out of my sleeping bag to start the van to warm things up. The clock on the, AM only, radio showed 7:30 as the 318 Dodge engine came to life. No matter, it was Wednesday and I had no one to contend with. I opened the side van doors and the sound of creek water tumbling over rocks made the forest morning more pleasant. There’s nothing like waking to the clean air and pure sounds of the Allegheny National Forest. I put the single Coleman burner on a sawed off stump, filled the tea pot and got the flame going. While the water heated up I started dressing for the morning temperature.
 The kettle whistled and pressured steam blew out the spout hole just at the right time. The hot steamed mixed with the cold air causing a visual steam engine smoke effect. I had just gotten my fishing clothes on, gear together and set the breakfast table. I made myself a cup of tea and enjoyed breakfast in my nice warm van.

 

The morning choice

Trail-Pack 6 piece 5wt fiberglass rod. (Restored by Jack)

 Just out from camp, on the second cast, into the very slow moving pool, produced a strike but I wasn’t expecting anything to hit the bunny leech so quickly. I thought I had a good enough view in the three feet of gin clear water but the trout struck at the swinging leech just at the time my vision was impaired by glare. They’ll do that sometimes, you know?

 I didn’t get any strikes in the millstone shallow riffles as I slowly worked my way downstream. I eventually came upon a stout older gent with an 11 foot fly rod, neoprene chest waders, standing in water just below his knees. After he told me that a few fish were rising in the pool he was casting into, that was all it took to get me psyched for some dry fly action on the ‘red glass’ rod. I slowly waded to the opposite bank and observed my situation. The sun was still below the tall hemlocks and the blossoming bank-side tree on the opposite bank casting a full shadow over the wide semi-slow current moving pool. I had been roll casting with 4x 7 foot tapered leader. I knew this was too short for a clear day and clear water conditions. I knotted on a piece of 5x to the leader and a longer section of 7x to that. I might have got away with 6x but with the sun on the rise and the clear water I was afraid some of the trout would be line shy to the thicker tippet. I started with a #18 blue dun as I watched more than a few trout rise throughout the pool area.

 Overhand casting the 5 piece fiberglass rod felt like a beast but it casted the small flies well and with good distance even though I was using double taper line.

 I could make this morning adventure story telling long but the pictures show some of the nice brook trout I caught on a variety of #20‘s, # 18’s and #16’s dries. These are just a few of many I hooked into on dries stemming from blue duns, BWO’s, Adams, Adams parachutes etc. I missed quite a few but I blame this on the small hook sizes I was using and not slower reactions due to old age.

 Dry fly fishing ’till noon catching and releasing brook trout continuously!! What a good start of a birthday!
 I went back to the van for an afternoon break. I wasn’t sure what time it was because when I’m catching fish I don’t pay attention to time anyway. I had nowhere to be anyhow and I was where I wanted to be at the time being.

Afternoon D-light

Diamondglass 7’ 3wt.

 Back on the water I nail knotted a fresh 9 foot 7x tapered leader to the 3wt. Sylk line. To this I tied on a BWO parachute because the wind picked up a bit and a few small creamish flies, they looked like moths from what I could tell, were flying about. I felt the white parachute might raise some fish and the dark olive body should show up well beneath the bright sunshine that now stood overhead.
 To a fly caster the wind will hamper ones casting ability, but when you’re fishing in clear water with slow current, the riffling that the breeze makes on the surface is a blessing in disguise.
 With the sun beaming down the riffling surface should hide the leader and tippet well. The fish won’t have as good of a look at the drifting fly so I felt with the breeze now and then; my odds were more favorable with than without. When the breeze would stop I was able to cast cross creek under the blossoming tree where I would get a rise more often than not. It was a far cast and much easier with the other rod but with concentration and correct timing I was able to get the dry there. I also was able to reach the far tail out where there was more surface activity than nearer to me. When a breeze kicked up I cast nearer and occasionally upstream, where again, the line shy trout might not notice my line above their heads. All in all I casted in the direction the wind permitted and continued to make trout rise throughout the afternoon.
 Casting the 3wt Diamondglass was quite a bit different and more relaxing than the 5 piece. I could feel the rod load more distinctly with the weight of the Sylk line and leader on my backstroke. The slow action had me stopping longer than I normally do but it felt good. On the forward cast the rod gradually moved forward with my gentle arm speed. The limp Sylk line looped forward with the leader and dry following. I watched as the fly gently fell to the water like a natural mayfly as the straightened line fell quietly upon the water surface. Quite often a fish would rise to the fly as soon as the fly hit the water almost as if they could see the fly gently falling to the water.
Here's a few caught on the Diamondglass rod

 Another few hours of dry fly fishing produced many more fish and fatigue in the one year older joints. My casting shoulder and arm were felling heavy. I was also feeling the lower back aches of ’Loomis Syndrome’ (inside joke) and my finger joints were feeling the dry aches from arthritis. I was plum tiring out! For giggles I tied on a latex caddis and casted out to visible trout. They attacked it like woman to a chocolate buffet dessert table. It wasn’t challenging but I was just curious. I left the pool and fished the riffles, below the pool, swinging a bunny leech pattern. A couple of quick strikes produced fighting fish but the stirring activity soon made the other trout wary of my presence.

 I climbed the opposite bank and headed towards the van, leaving the pool fisherman-less, quiet and with still a few subtle rises.
 At the van I laid the rod upon the back bed. I took a long drink of cooler cold tea and made a sandwich. The clock showed 4:05. Wow, what an afternoon! I pulled out and headed for Clear Creek State Park for the rest of the evening.

My evening with Shakespeare
5wt Wonderod

 Still my favorite 'glass' rod. Maybe because we're old pals from being together for so long. I like the short Wonderod for small creeks but not afraid to take it to tame bigger fish in bigger streams. Tuesday evening, after work, we went down to Mill Creek for a pre-warm-up before my birthday. We caught a few brook trout in the low water conditions. I decided to end the evening with another visit with my pal.

I pulled into the parking area amongst 3 other vehicle. I lit a cigar and headed to the swimming area for a look see. An older gent was casting to visible trout in the slow creek channel that led to the swimming area. He was stripping a streamer with no results. I met another older fellow at the wooden crossing bridge holding a new looking fly rod. He said there were trout about but they weren’t having any luck.
“I think they want bait” he commented.
 I crossed the bridge to have a look see at all them trout. The water was very clear making the trout easy enough to see suspending above the muddy bottom. There was practically no surface current as a 3 foot branch slowly floated atop. The guy across stream continued his efforts, casting and stripping in a streamer, with no results or questionable followers.
 Back across the bridge I came across the fellow with the new looking fly rod again. He sat tying on a caddis dry to his long leader.
“well, might as well get your rod and try fishing” he suggested
“ That’s what I was planning to do” I replied.
 .
 I took out the 5wt. Shakespeare Glass rod and pieced the two sections together. I lit up a cigar and with my fly gear on again, headed for the water. I crossed the bridge and stood upon the bank looking upon the conditions. I tied on a good length of 6x fluorocarbon and tied on a #12 latex caddis to this. I roll casted out to the trout and the ones nearest the dropping caddis and line scattered like cockroaches upon being surprised with daylight. A few trout, away from the scene, swam over to see what all the commotion was. One took the chance and mouthed the slowly sinking caddis. I whipped back the long length of line, the line tensioned and the rod flexed forward, for about a second or two. The line quickly went limp and the rod tip straightened as I watched the hooked fish take off with my caddis. Bad knot tying, grrr!
 After the old guys left I re-crossed the bridge to the more open casting area. Playing around for another hour or so I hooked into 4 fish, one actually being a brown trout. The going was real slow and the boredness of it all got the best of me. I tipped my ‘glass’ rod towards the water and headed back to the van. 

 

 

  At the van I took the time to pack away the two fiberglass rods and dressed into my riding clothes. I lit up my last Macanudo Ascot as I drove around the parking lot. Out on rte. 949 I headed towards home.
What a great Birthday memory, I thought, ‘one to never forget’
“Something special!” that’s for sure.

_____________________________doubletaper