Thursday on YWC, Day 1

5 Days in Clinton and Potter Country

Thursday on YWC, Day 1

 

 I had 5 days off for my Easter Birthday vacation. No other plans were made but to do what I love to do and that’s fishing, camping and enjoying myself. This year I selected Clinton and Potter County to enjoy my Easter/Birthday vacation, fish a variety of cricks, camp out, drink and eat!!!

On Thursday I made a quick stop at DuBois Harley for some needed parts and stopped at Featherman Creations shop in Penfield. The owner was very helpful and very knowledgeable in fly fishing and tying. He plans on expanding his fly fishing equipment and tying material as his business grows. After that I was headed to YWC in Clinton County.

  

 The water gushed through the narrow channel between the near steep bank and the high bank on the other side of the creek. The water gurgled, complained and splashed as it flowed over downed logs. It quieted some before banking off the steep cliff it flowed into. From there the main body of water flowed to my left into a long stretch that opened up into a softer pool of water. Near me the water swirled into a whirlpool but the rest of the stretch was calm except the riffles along the steep rocky cliff under the pines on the far side. My second cast landed my weighted bugger into the swift water before the cliff. I had a lot of slack in my line to make sure my bugger dropped deep before following the current along the rocky cliff. As the arc in my line swung it started to straighten at the end of the swing. I stripped it towards me slowly and I felt a tug as my line twitched. I quickly yanked back on the 4 weight, seven and half foot Powell rod and my first fish was tugging and scurrying about on the taut line. Once in the slower current he was less aggressive and came in handily. I went to take a picture but found that I forgot to reprogram the camera with day, month, year and time when I replaced the battery. I let my first trout swim free. I went back to the truck to reprogram my camera and returned to the same spot.

I spent about 5 minutes trying to coax another one. On one cast, after the swing the line leveled out down stream. I was slowly stripping my offering towards me letting the weighted bugger sink deeper before stripping it in again. I noticed on the one slow strip the floating line sunk a little deeper and I felt a little resistance. I immediately pulled back on the line and lifted the rod knowing there was nothing to snag on the bottom of the deep back eddy. The rod bent near the mid section and the fight was on. The trout gave a left head shake and headed towards the swifter current near the cliff wall. I countered with switching the rod to my left and let some line slip through my tension fingers. In the swift current he turned down stream and into the slower flow. It was a bit dangerous for me to wade down creek with submerged branches near my feet so I moved the rod upstream to my right. He took that as an encouragement and sprinted into the current as if I gave him a green light at a drag strip. I quickly stripped in long lengths of line down in front of me as the trout passed me by. He settled in a deep seam between the faster current and slower current. I quickly reeled in line while pinching tightened line between my left fingers and cork grip. Once I got all the slack line on the spool I gave him a tug to make sure he knew I was still here and then gave a sharp right upstream with the rod tip. He head shook and started forward. I reared the rod back and he followed. I stripped in more line with my free hand till we were hip to nose. I reached down and netted him. He gave a couple of flips in the net like a pancake being flipped in the air and then settled in the bottom of the net. 

 

 I waded and cast the bugger along the cliff in the same manner to the falls below without another strike.

  From above the falls I casted the bugger into the tail out and stripped it towards me. I hooked up with rainbows often enough that kept me busy. They were taking my bugger for a meal like their numbers being called at a busy fast food restaurant. I’d miss one now and then but that just kept me from bending over to net them and that was fine with me.

 

 After an hour or two of that I went below the falls and started to drift a San Juan worm and sucker spawn. I’d cast into the tumbling water that fell from the falls and drifted my offering by me. I picked off a few more on the sucker spawn.

 

  After a while I decided to wade and fish down creek. The water was shallower and riffled with rolling waves. There were pocket waters here and there but I didn’t have any takers. I returned to the truck briefly and got a snack and a stogie.

  Back at the water I decided to try some dry fly fishing though there wasn’t a fish rising. There were a few mayflies in the air but as I said I couldn’t see anything rising. I positioned myself in the tail out in shin deep water. I knotted on a spruce moth hoping something would rise to it. I made cast after cast in the softer current between the rough water flowing at me. Sure enough one fish rose and I was Jerry on the spot. A quick swift pulling back on the rod and the line tightened. The fish reared towards me and shown it’s colors as it rose into the air. It splashed down and headed deep towards the falling water. I turned it around pretty easily and it headed to the bank in the shallower tail out. A couple of skirmishes and my first dry fly catch was in the net.

 

 Well that put a big smile on my face. I cast the moth a couple of times without any more risers. My stomach was growling for food so I returned to dry land and headed for the truck. Looking over the water above the falls it appeared it had dropped some. I figured I’d give it a couple more tries with a bugger.

  My cast was in the swifter current that exited the channel where I began my fishing when I arrived. In the same manner I let a lot of slack line out so the weighted bugger would fall deep. It skirted the rock cliff and leveled out far into the slower current. Something grabbed the bugger as if it wanted to rip the rod from my hand. I had a tight grip so that wasn’t going to happen. The rod arced into the mid section and I knew I had a good fish. It darted beneath the swifter current towards the cliff. From there it swam into the current with head shakes and weighted tugs. I held tight on the bent rod and let him scurry about and fight the arcing rod only giving him line when I felt too much tension on the rod. It turned down creek and some line pulled off the spool. I put a little more tension between my fingers and he turned up creek with a few more head tugs. He scurried about some more as I was bringing him towards me. Nearer me he gave a couple of trying escapes when I had the net in the water. I could feel the rod arc a little bit more but he was pretty tuckered out by the time I netted him.

 

  I held him in the water facing upstream until I felt a good tail swat and a push into the current. He swam away to be caught another day.

After dinner I took a walk up the road just to see the conditions near the bridge. There was a young fisherman nymphing the water by the bridge. We talked a bit before I headed back to my truck. Tomorrow’s another day. I was to meet Jeff Friday morning in God’s Country on Kettle Creek so I turned in early.

 

~doubletaper

Green With Envy

Green With Envy

Early April 2019

 

 When I got down to the creek I saw the water was of a greenish tint. Not too dark that I’ll have to get my offering right in front of their noses but clear enough trout should be able to spot my offering some distance away. The creek was flowing on the high side and kind of fast but nothing to be doubtful of. I looked upstream and down the creek and, except for the couple about 150 yards up creek, I was the only one on the water. As far as I was concerned everything looked promising. I felt excited as a kid that just found a frog pond on the property he now lives on.

  The water flowed in a washboard effect clear across stream and with the sun shining down made a diamond reflection that sparkled the small rolling waves. The sky was sapphire blue as far as my eyes could see with cotton like cumulus clouds drifting calmly and at times throwing shadows upon the earth.

  There was a constant soft breeze that at times blew a bit harsh causing tree branches that lined the creek to rattle and fallen leaves to scamper along the forest floor like a nervous pine squirrel in haste.

  Upon the bank I threaded the fly line and leader through the rod guide and eyes. I adjusted the reel drag till it felt sufficient. I knotted on a Fas-Snap to the 4x tippet and clipped on a weighted bead head Woolly Bugger. I added a couple of twist on lead strips to the leader to make sure my offering gets down in the water column. I stepped off the bank in ankle deep water and I was ready to have some catching fun like that imaginary kid at the frog pond. I waded out till I was about thigh high deep. I steadied myself and made sure I had a good foothold before my fist cast as the current kept an even push against my thighs. 

 

  I remember I had three strikes in the first 5 minutes or so and wasn’t able to hook a one. I brought in the bugger and looked it over. The point looked sharp enough but I honed it a little with the small sharpening stone I keep in my pocket for such occasions. Within a few more minutes I was hooking fish on occasion. They fought well and it was a real challenge getting them towards me in the swift current. Once near me I had to maneuver the rod and net to get the lively trout inside. I suppose it would be like trying to net a bat in a belfry while trying to keep balance on a step ladder. Every so often the trout stayed hooked and I was able to net such a catch. 

 

 I fished further down creek but wasn’t having any takers so I returned where I started out. I added a bit more weight and thought maybe it might just get a little lower in the water column. Also I figured with the sun being out for a few hours could have warmed up the water a few more degrees and might have gotten a few trout to be more mobile and hungry.

 

 When the trout appeared to stop chasing the Woolly Buggers I decided to go to the darker side and started nymph fishing. Throughout the next few hours I nymph fished long stretches of creek. With the swift and greenish water my decision was to knot on a brighter sucker spawn for my top offering to attract a curious trout. If they weren’t interested in the bright spawn I had a nymph or San Juan worm for my dropper which could look a little more natural in the water. I had to change colors and nymphs often to get the picky trout to take but I believe it was my boondoggle idea that kept me busy enough catching trout now and then.

 

 Some trout were more active than others. The bright sun rays reflected off their bodies as they went air born but only for a split second before they plunged back into the swift current to do battle beneath.

 Come the early evening the bite really slowed down. The wind had picked up some and it was a bit more difficult to get my cast where I wanted it to go. With the sun still bright though, there were a few black stoneflies fluttering about. I figured maybe the trout, without sore lips, were keying on the nymphs. I knotted on a Picket Pin with a black stone dropper but couldn’t get a hit. After another fifteen minutes I called it a day and headed back to the truck.

~doubletaper

Fishing the Lee Side

Fishing the Lee Side

4/03/19

  Waves crashed against the mounds of ice stacked up along the shoreline spraying water in every direction. Gusts of winds blew in from the lake and distorted any casts at the time. The tall leafless trees that survived the winter, lining the creek, were now going to have to survive the fierce winds. Even the strongest tree limbs bowed and swayed with the gusts as smaller branches clanked together sounding like an old working corn conveyor feeding a silo.

 

 Nearer the creek mouth ducks swam and played upon the wrinkled water away from the calamity of Lake Erie.

 

 

  We spent a few hours with the boys casting into the darker deeper water that flowed along the bank. With sized boulders, overhanging branches and submerged limbs one would think steelhead would be holding waiting for food to pass by. It was if we were trying to hand out samples of brussels sprouts next to a green bean stand at a local farm market. We couldn’t get any fish to commit to take any of our offerings of the assorted colors we picked out of our fly boxes. 

 After the boys had left with Jack, John and I stuck around. We knew there had to be fish here so we decided to keep at it.

  John had swear he had a strike or two at times but wasn’t able to say for sure as nothing actually bent his fly rod. It wasn’t till I reared back, on a possible take, that a sure thing took off, spun the spool, arced the rod and pulled line through the eyes that shot some excitement through our veins. I stood with the butt end in my gut to steady the rod as I held the cork grip with both hands letting the steelhead fight both the reel drag and rod pressure. It shot up creek, surfaced with angry head shaking, splashing water about, and submerged in a matter of seconds. It then U-turned and raced down creek as yellow fly line cut through the water like a swift samurai sword through a cantaloupe.

  As I felt the energy of the steelhead subside I started backing up towards the bank while putting more tension on the line. The steelhead gradually came in my direction with more tugging and yanking of the line. When the fish got into the stony shallows it shifted on its side and finned away like a stingray not wanting to touch bottom. The rod bowed a little more but flexed back with the turning steel in tow. At the bank I dislodged the chartreuse sparkle spawn from the inside of its mouth.

 

  The second hook up was a bit down creek from the first. It took the dropper spawn and wreaked havoc like a confined rooster let loose in a circle of young hens. I could tell it wasn’t as big as the first but was a lot more frisky. It shot up and downstream and quickly came towards me during the skirmish. I raised the rod high and reeled in as quick as possible to keep a tight line. Near me it swerved to keep from hitting my legs and turned out toward the deep. Line shot out of the guides as the fish headed toward the mangled limb debris against the far bank. I lifted the rod, with my left hand holding line, preventing him from going any further. My knots held up and the fish quickly turned and unwillingly came my way. I landed him and released him unharmed.

 Well, after that catch I took out an Alec Bradley Sun Grown and made the steelhead fishing experience a little more enjoyable.

 

 There appeared to be a long lull in the action. John couldn’t buy a hit and I was trying to figure out just what the fish may want. I knew there were suckers coming in the creeks from the pictures I’ve seen on PA. Fishing sights. I decided a cream sucker spawn might just get more fish interested than the last colors we showed them. From then on you would have though I was passing out fresh sweet pea pods to the remaining food fair goers.

Within a few cast it was a sudden stop of the indicator that drew my attention. I yanked back and the slack line on the surface quickly came off the water and tight lined towards the indicator. I gave a holler to John that I caught another. This fish was just as frisky as the last. Tugging, running and surface splashing trying to get free. When I finally got him to the bank I seen that the cream spawn was hooked right at the tip of his lower lip.

 

 I had caught a few more after that one before we called it quits. One looked to be an older drop back which was a lot more darker. I didn’t get to land any of the last 3 though. My line broke from the top spawn after one fight and the others were just able to unhook themselves during the battle.

Back at the truck we got out of our waders and couldn’t wait to get out of the windy conditions and into the warm truck. We headed over to the hotel to meet up with Jack and the two teenage boys he brought along from Kentucky. We enjoyed a meal with them before heading homeward.

~doubletaper

 

 

White Death

3/24/19

   I stood in shin deep water. My legs were uncomfortably cold up to my knees as if I just stepped out of a pool of ice. I had my fleece pull-over zipped up over my neck to fight of the brisk breeze. I had been fishing for hours under the hazy sky and chilly morning. The afternoon never appeared to warm up any. The sun hardly gave any warmth when it did shine upon me and those who took advantage of the good water conditions and near 50 degree estimated weather report by the local news team.

I stood just out from the upstream point of a small grassy and stone covered island. Behind me the shallow water flowed harmlessly against the bank and under small overhanging branches. In front and down from me is a good narrow run with enough depth that a trout or two could be holding waiting for some kind of food to drift by. The water conditions are a bit clear but not clear enough to see trout laying on the creek bed. With the rippling surface current the trout might not be able to distinguish me upstream from them.

 My go to streamer, when I’m wading down a creek searching for trout, is an olive Woolly Bugger. I can cover a lot more territory at a quicker pace than a nymph fishermen. Also, many times I’ll pick up a trout or two in shallow pocket waters that a nymph fishermen would be hard to nymph without constant snags. During the spring months I find that some kind of white streamer, most of the time, attracts trout more than my olive ones. I remover the Olive bugger and attach the White Death Zonker to the Fas-Snap and add weight to the leader to get the streamer down in the water column.

I discovered the White Death Zonker in a steelhead article. It’s a simple pattern with a rabbit Zonker strip. The rear of the strip is knotted down with orange thread at the bend leaving a tail of the rabbit strip. The rest of the rabbit is laid over a body of Mylar tubing and tied down under a black thread head. You can weight the hook shank with lead wire before installing the Mylar tubing over the shank. Dead drifting, under a sucker spawn or egg pattern, is suppose to imitate a helpless bait fish drifting with the undercurrent. Though I can’t admit I ever caught a steelhead with one I was hopeful a trout might be curious enough to grab it.

 I cast towards the far side into the calm shallows and let the Zonker swing beneath the rippling surface. After the swing I begin to slowly strip the Zonker towards me with stop and go motion beneath the faster wavy current directly down from me. Somewhere beneath I feel a bump through the line. This raised my suspicion that there might be a trout lurking beneath though it could have been my streamer bumping a rock or such.

  My next cast was the same as before with the same amount of line out. This time after the swing I brought the rod towards the island and slowly stripped the Zonker in the seam between the island and the faster wavy current. The line tightened and the 4 weight fast action rod arced to the butt section. I held the cork grip tight and though I felt the force of the take may have been enough to set the hook I gave a slight jolt back on the line to be sure. The trout scooted to the far bank and I had to let tension line slip between my pinched fingers not wanting to put too much stress on the 4x tippet. He tugged and swam about in the oncoming current as I kept the rod horizontal to the surface water and letting him use up energy. I pulled the rod up creek, after a bit, and he followed reluctantly with halfheartedly pulls and head shakes. Once upstream from me I had my net ready and backed him into it. He semi-folded in the net and angrily flipped and flopped inside, well, like a fish out of water. I followed the tippet with my fingers and found the White Death hooked into its lower jaw. With a quick down and upward twist the hook popped out. He darted off through the opening when I dipped the net in the water. 

 

  I checked the White Death Zonker for any damage or distortions. All looked fine and the thread wraps held up nicely.

  I took line out of the reel and started casting in the same manner as before. With each cast I let a little more line out to swing and drift down creek further. I was bringing the Zonker back towards me through the middle of the channel. The undercurrent and waves weren’t as forceful as near the island. I felt a sharp straight tug and my reaction was quick and instinctively. I pulled back on the fly line and rod and again the rod arced to the butt section. I knew I had another large trout on the other end. This one was more frisky and more energetic. He pulled, darted and changed directions more erratically. When it tried to surface I brought the rod towards the water not wanting him to surface into the forceful oncoming current. I had the rod in a big arc pointing towards him and slowly reeled in line when he gave me the opportunity. With the butt section in my gut and the way the 4 weight was arcing, if anyone was watching might have thought I had a whale at the other end. What made it look so extreme was that I was fighting the large fish in a fast undercurrent. I finally got the fish upstream and pulled my net out from behind me. He shot across the creek upstream a little more and I left go of the net, that was hooked to my belt, and quickly took hold of the line that was peeling off the reel. With a bit more tension on the line he turned and came towards me as I lifted the rod. With one finger gingerly pinching the fly line I started to reel in line till the fish settled down a bit that I was able to pick up the net without fear of another escape attempt. I scooped up the large rainbow and felt pretty good netting this frisky trout through the strong current and into the net safely.

 

 After getting the hook unstuck from his upper jaw I released him unharmed.

 

  Well that definitely deserved another cigar. I reached into my inside vest pocket and took out a maduro fuma churchill and lit it up.

  I fished the channel a bit longer but didn’t get any other strikes so I continued on down creek. I hooked up and missed a couple more trout on a small stonefly nymph and olive hares ear in a deeper stretch with a few other fishermen nymph fishing from the opposite bank. After a couple of the guys left one last fisherman and I talked as we both stuck around trying catch more trout. It was getting late in the day by now and I was getting a bit hungry. Besides that I was feeling a bit more colder throughout my body and decided to call it a day.

Back at the truck I packed up. I ate a granola bar and rinsed my mouth out before lighting up an Alec Bradley Prensado for the ride home.

~doubletaper

Three B's on Glass

Three B’s on Glass

3/15/2019

 

  The temperature read 50 degrees when I pulled along the creek. It was a bit chillier when I stepped outside than what it looked like through the truck window. The shade of the trees and the colder breeze let me know there was still a bit of winter in the air. As I put together the 7’ two piece Wonderod I listened to the riffling of water in the distant creek. I also glanced and heard the lifeless leaves skitter and rustle across the ground with the gusts of wind and sounding like the crinkling of closing a brown bag lunch. I attached the old Classic Martin reel to the rear locking reel seat of the rod and threaded the mustard color Cortland Sylk line through the small eyes on the blank. Having fished this small creek before streamers have been the most effective. With the shallow areas, stony bottom and conflicting current there is less chance of snags with a streamer. Besides that, brook trout love a moving object and a streamer is a lot more active in the water than a drifting nymph. I knot on a fast-snap so I can change streamers quickly and to this I clip on a white Woolly Bugger.

   

 At the waters edge I observe the creek. The water flows with a greenish gray tint in deeper section not more than about 6” below the surface. The sun and clouds play tricks upon the water surface. The water surface turns from a sparkling reflection from the sun rays, as diamond facets under light, to a shaded semi-opaque dull color when the clouds move beneath the sun. I look up towards the sky and tall branched tree limbs stretch uneasy as if inked upon an artists canvas of a precarious sky. 

 

  I look back into the riffling water and even through my polarized shades I can’t distinguish any holding fish from the creek bed in the shallows.

   

 I step easy like into the water not wanting to stir up a cloud of silt to be washed down stream with the undercurrent. With effort I try to cast the heavy streamer with the wimpy Fiberglass rod. The line makes an awkward loop, best as I can describe it, and the bugger plops into the water like an acorn. It takes me a few more casts to get used to the slow action of the flexible ‘glass’ rod but I get a much better feel and start placing the weighted bugger about where I want it to fall. I slowly wade down creek making long cast when possible. I keep the rod tip and exposed line in vision at all times watching for any sudden twitch of either.

The rod tip arcs slightly and, with my fingers pinched on the fly line, I forcefully wrist back the rod to set the hook. The fiberglass rod arcs towards the midsection and than eases up and flexes erratically with the playful brookie. I keep a firm grip on the cork while the brook trout scurries about and than bring it to the net.

 

After catching another in the same manner it’s time to award myself with a cigar.

 

 The dark brown wrapper of the Maduro fuma looks bold. With a break in the wind I light the stogie and after a few puffs a glow forms at the foot. The aroma fills the air around me as the smoke dissipates in thin air.

 

  I continue to cautiously wade and fish my way down creek casting Woolly Buggers. I add or remove shot from my leader depending on the water condition. A surge of water flows against down tree trunks half submerged against the steep bank. I cast the bugger into the wavy current and watch as the current guides my offering into the slower water on the opposite side on the log jam. I slowly strip in the bugger without a strike. My next cast puts the bugger back into the wavy current. This time, as the bugger drifts with the current, I mend my fly line onto the wavy current. The bugger drifts towards the slower water but with my fly line in the wavy current, pulls my bugger towards the log jam. I twitch the rod tip as I stretch the short rod out in front of me. The take is a jolting tug and I rear back the rod and set the hook. The ‘glass’ rod arcs into the midsection and the trout tussles with the hook striving to get free. Line slips through my fingers with pressure as I try to slow the aggressiveness of the fish down. It makes a move towards the log jam but I’m already backing up on land putting pressure on the trout to come towards me and out of harms way. I can feel the pressure of my hand on the cork ease up and I start to reel in line as the trout swims towards me. Near the bank it squirms a bit but I’m able to net it safely. I’m kind of surprised it’s a nice looking rainbow.

 Being that the deep water along the log jam looks like it will hold quite a few fish I proceed with the same tactic. After my third drift under the log the line straightening tug catches my attention. This time there was some slack line flowing with the slower current. I quickly pull fly line in with my left hand and pull the rod over my left shoulder to take up all slack and hope for a hook set. The line straightens right up to the rod tip and the rod arcs towards the log jam. The trout tugs and pulls staying well in the deep water. After a couple of tugging head shakes it swims into the slower current. I raise the rod and it does a couple laps without much shenanigans. I net a brown trout. Pretty cool I thought, the three B’s of Pennsylvania trout. Brookies, bows and browns all in one day in the same creek.

 

 As time goes on I keep moving and casting Woolly Buggers about. I catch a brookie now and then and miss a couple with glancing swipes.

 

  I come to a deep pool section I have fished many times in the past. It usually holds quite a few fish. Making tricky casts outward between pine bows and letting the weighted bugger drift into the deeper water doesn’t account for any strikes. I try again with different colors and methods but still nothing. I move around the overhanging pine boughs and situate myself facing the deepest part of the pool. I make a couple cast down and away but nothing appears to be hungry, if any, in the tail end. I try my next trick, cast the bugger upstream and seeing if I can get a trout to take the bugger as it flows ahead of me downstream. I sidearm cast the weighted bugger as far as I could up stream and mid stream. The bugger plops in the water and I try to take up the slack as the bugger drops deep and drifts ahead of my rod. I watch the portion of my fly line floating atop the surface. The end of the line sinks just enough and straightens a bit that I either touched bottom or a trout took the bugger drifting with the current. I bet on the latter and pull line and rod down creek. The ‘glass’ rods bows towards the front of the pool as a trout dart against the current with line in tow. He battles in the large deep pool of water but there’s no escape and no hazards for his benefit. As long as I keep good tension on the barbless hook I'm sure to bring him in.

 

 I cover the pool pretty thoroughly adding weight. I leave a little more slack in the line at times to get the bugger down deeper. I also get some good casts under the heavy tree trunk, against the far side, that extends over the creek in which I’m standing under. I catch a handful of trout. One trout I watch swipe at my white Woolly Bugger, like a kitten swiping its paw at a teasing feather, near the bank just down creek from me. I miss him twice before I’m able to set the hook at the right second the trout mouthed my offering.

  My mind is made up that I had enough fun for the day and it’s time to call it quits. I take the time to light up another stogie for the walk back through the forest towards my truck.

  At my truck I listen to the creek murmur in the background as I put my gear away. The sun is in full view now and brightens up the surroundings. A few leaves skitter across the ground with the gentle breeze as smoke gently swirls and vanishes in mid air.

~doubletaper