Better’n Yesterday

Better’n Yesterday

5/14/26 

 On Wednesday, the guy the next campsite over, who doesn’t fish, asked me how I did fishing?  I told him about the conditions were kind of tough. On Thursday He asked me how I did? I told him better’n yesterday. 

 I’ve been going up to Potter County, to trout fish, for about the past 30 years. I go up to dry fly fish Kettle Creek in mid May when most of the mayfly hatches appear. If I just wanted to catch trout I’d stay at home. Mid May there are usually many mayfly hatches that I keep well entertained with dry fly fishing. This year so far it wasn’t to be so, yet! 

 Tuesday I set up my camper at Ole’ Bull campground. Wednesday I went to Kettle Creek to fish. The water was high, but wadeable, but the current was fast. Once I got thigh high deep it was kind of scary so I stayed knee deep. It was a chilly overcast day so there wasn’t any hatch to speak of or any fish rising. I did catch a few on Woolly Buggers and a Pink Sucker Spawn but for the 5-6 hours I spent fishing wasn’t an impressive day to tell a story about.    

 Wednesday evening it stormed and even hailed. I knew Kettle wasn’t going to be any better off then the day before so my plan was to fish a smaller mountain creek instead. One thing about mountain streams is they seldom get too muddy to fish. They may rise but they really don’t get muddy.

 I put my 7’6” 4 weight Powel fly rod together and snapped on a Woolly Bugger at my campsite and headed south to the mountain stream. After I parked along the roadside, I got my gear on and headed to my first stop on the creek.

 The air was much cooler along the mountain water. Green forest trees and grass lined the banks as far as the eye could see. Birds chirped in the background to the main resonance of the riffling water downstream. It was a picture worth mounting!

 Upstream, I was wading slow and easy as the water was flowing mirror clear. Reflection from the rising sun, when the clouds gave way, was throwing bank-side shadows on the surface water. I was making cross creek casts from a distance and trying to keep my silhouette not to be detected. I didn’t wade down creek very far when I stopped along the bank in ankle deep water. The creek was wide, within casting distance, and looked deep enough for trout to hold anywhere. The riffles and waves distorted my vision seeing through the water and I would imagine the trout had a hard time determining anything standing motionless. I’m sure they would capture movement and be wary so I stayed pretty much stationary and made slow movements. 

 I made a cast across creek and let the bugger swing down creek towards the deeper water just before the current flowed over rocks and boulders causing shallow wavier water. Almost at the end of the swing I felt a bump but it wasn’t very hard. I let the bugger dangle a bit, when it got to the end of the swing, but nothing grabbed it. I made another cast in the same manner at the same distance. This time, at the end of the swing, I felt a nudge and my fly line stopped arcing. It wasn’t like a hard hit but as if the trout saw the bugger coming and opened its mouth to let it in. I reared back the rod and the rod bowed but I didn’t think it was anything uncommon being the under current might have been strong enough to make it feel like a heavy fish. Bringing the trout towards me wasn’t easy but he didn’t put up a major battle. At the beginning it was if he had just awoken from a dream and wasn’t in full awareness of what was happening after his first breakfast meal. He had strength enough to keep his distance but wasn’t the head-shaking, rough and tumble fight I would have expected. Once across from me I could see he was a colorful rainbow and a nice size trout for this small mountain creek. He took off towards the far side as my 4 weight arced with the swimming trout. I didn’t force him but let him use up his energy fighting the current and my arcing rod. I got him near me and scooped him up. What a nice rainbow. 

Well, that was definitely worth a cigar. 

 I checked the bugger for any defects and didn’t see anything wrong with it. I made another cast across creek and near the end of the swing, wham, another strike. This nudge was a little harder than the last. I was bringing the fish towards me but he was putting up a pretty good fight, like the piercing of the hook hit a nerve. The battle was short lived though. When I got him closer I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was another nice size colorful rainbow. When I got him in the net I shook my head and thought “this couldn’t be the same trout I just caught?” No, this one looked a little chubbier. I mean, what’s the odds of the same trout striking a second time after he got caught and netted in a matter of 10 minutes? 

 That was the big excitement for the day. I fished a couple of different areas along the catch and release section and caught mostly rainbow trout on buggers. Some of the rainbows were nice size and all the trout gave good lasting battles against the 4 weight.

 

I tried a couple of dry caddis but that wasn’t on the trouts menu. It got a little warmer and started to drizzle. After that I called it a day and headed back up to the campground along the dirt road and then to the main highway.

~doubletaper

Bows and Browns and a Crock

                                                               Bows and Browns and a Crock

5/16/26 

 I go up to Potter County to fish Kettle creek and surrounding water to mostly dry fly fish. 

 

 I set up my camper in Ole Bull Tuesday evening. Wednesday was an overcast day and the lower part of Kettle was flowing on the high side and the current was fast. When I tried to wade out thigh high deep the current was pushing my body hard as if my companions were nudging me, in this predicament, “you go first!” I was uncomfortable so I stayed in the water around knee deep. I caught trout on Wooly Buggers but really wanted to dry fly fish but the conditions were harsh.   

 The water was cold, the current was fast and the cloud cover over took the sky like a faded blanket. There wasn’t anything rising and the only activity above water was a few small caddis. To even try to drift a dry the trout would have to be Superman quick to snatch the dry before it passed by. I didn’t waste much time and packed up and drove up creek where the water was narrower and not so fast in the project area. 

 

 The water was still higher than normal but still kind of fast. Not seeing any surface activity, under the gray sky, I casted Wooly Buggers for a spell and smoked another cigar. 

 

 Wednesday evening and night it stormed and poured down rain. I knew the Kettle was going to be high and currently fast. So, Thursday morning I packed my gear and went to Young Womans Creek to fish.

 Friday I fished Kettle not so far down creek. I caught some trout under the surface but I was still itching to dry fly fish. With no rain the past couple of days, Saturday looked like my best choice. The sun was suppose to shine and after noon the temps were supposed to to reach in the 80’s. 

 I woke up early, had breakfast and drove down creek to my destination. I was first parked aside the dirt road. It was if I was there for the early bird special waiting for the breakfast bar to open. I took my time getting my gear together. I assembled my G2 Scott Fly rod with weight forward fly line. There was supposed to be little wind and this medium action rod is the best for presenting dry flies with easy smooth casts. I made sure I had plenty of caddis flies, March Browns and Sulfurs beside my usual stash. I grabbed a few cigars and looked up to the sky. There wasn’t any sign of rain and any clouds above were just streaks that moved below the blue sky like the spent fuel that trail behind a jetliner. The sun was already rising behind me. I felt like I had a front row seat wherever I decided to choose to stay for the morning session.

 As I waded out I was casting Woolly Buggers watching for any rises. I spent, maybe a half hour, before another fisherman showed up. He fished down creek from me. I wanted to get into the middle of the creek to fish the far bank. I caught a few rainbows on a bugger before I got to within casting distance of the far bank.   

 I saw a few risers but the only thing I saw flying around was small caddis.I knotted on a deer hair caddis and was casting to the risers and about. I’d catch a trout now and then but it wasn’t till near noon when the bigger trout were hungry. 

 There was a rise across creek within my range. I made a cast that dropped the caddis up from the rise and watched it drift into the zone. He didn’t seem to care. Maybe I had the wrong color? I tried another caddis shade but couldn’t get a strike anywhere. I saw a small sulfur and then a March Brown come off the water. Trout started to dot the surface but not big surface splashes. I decided to knot on a March Brown parachute. It was on a #10 2x long hook. That may sound odd but I’ve done well with trout rising to it on wavy surface current. “Give them something they can see” is my theory.

 My first cast to the riser cross creek came up and grabbed it with a hardy rise. I reared back the long length of line and had him tight lined. He put up a good battling fight all the way to the net. He was a nice size brown trout. 

 I continued to cast out a March Brown #10 para. and the trout accepted it like a birthday gift. I missed a few, especially casting up creek, but I was hooking up more than I missed. The ones I was hooking up to were nice size browns and rainbows. They all put up good fighting battles. Some made it to the net while others came loose nearer me.  

 I surprised one across and down from me in the faster wavy current. He was feeding pretty regularly. I couldn’t get a good drift to him so I waded a bit downstream but keeping my distance. I made a cast and watched my March Brown drift within his eye sight. The March Brown drifted on the rolls of the waves and dips. The size of my MB he couldn’t miss as it drifted near. He rose with a big surface splash as if a coconut fell from the tree above. I reared back the line and the fly rod bowed towards the splash. I could feel the power in the taker as line peeled off the spool. I held on tight when all of a sudden he broke the water surface with a powerful leap in the air. His full body was exposed as if he was wanting to see who was on the other end. He came down with a splash and I could still feel him on the line. Within seconds he surfaced and rose again. This time twisting his body and shaking his head. The line went limp as he splashed down. He spit the hook the second time up like it was his first bite into a lima bean! I’m sure he’s not going to bite into another similar looking March Brown.

 I continued casting MB’s and caddis and hooking up but there were long dry spells in between.

 

  The temperature was rising and when the sun cleared the spotty cloud cover it shown down its hot rays like an over heating sauna room. Nothing was rising anyway and I wasn’t getting any responses from any trout that hadn’t been hooked.  

 I waded out and headed to Cross Fork for lunch. After lunch I went back to the camper for a short nap.

 It was around 4:00 when I arose from my nap. The temperature cooled down some so for the heck of it I decided to fish down creek from the campground. The spot I wanted was taken by a nymph fisherman. I moved down from him getting his OK that I was out of his range. He was doing well catching trout, underneath and an indicator, on whatever he was using. I on the other hand, having good noon time hook ups with dry flies, decided to stick with it. 

 I knotted on a Deer Hair caddis and made cross creek casts to the slower current on the far side of the main wavy current. The trout only had a few seconds to take my dry before the current would sweep it down creek. They must have been pretty hungry cause it didn’t take too many seconds to tick by before they grabbed my Caddis.    

 

 When I got back to the truck it was 7:00. I was hungry and played out. The nap might of gotten me a second wind but the last hour and a half took the wind out of me. I was tired, sore, and I was hungry. 

 I had heated venison stew in the crockpot in the morning and had a half bottle of white wine to finish off! 

~doubletaper

 

Dry Flying

                                                                             Dry Flying

5/05/26 

  Tuesday I decided to go bottomless. I kept my bugger box and sucker spawn box in my fly vest and carried my caddis boxes ready at all times. I drove up creek where I had caught many a trout in recent years on caddis dries. I parked, assembled my Scott Session 4 weight fly rod and lengthened the 4x tapered leader with 5x tippet the full length being about 8’6” the same length of the rod. I put my vest on and of course grabbed a few cigars.

 It was a cloudy overcast morning with a slight breeze and an occasional gust of wind. The sun was rising over the hillside that reflected its rays off the clouds above and down upon the forest and water. The weather people were calling for occasional showers with temps reaching into the 70’s. For now it was in the 60’s but I was hoping, once the sun was up above, bringing warmth, that a caddis hatch would appear. 

 The first section I fished I couldn’t get a take on my caddis dries. I was almost going to throw a bugger but promised myself to dry fly only. I waded out of the water and walked through the forest to the section of water I wanted to spend time dry fly fishing. When I got there, there was an older gentleman, with a fly rod, fishing from the opposite side of the creek. There was plenty of room between us to fish the wide section of water. My dedicated dry fly fishing went like this;

 There wasn’t anything happening on top of the water for awhile. I was casting a big #12 deer hair caddis in the faster wavy current and would cast a #14 caddis in the slower current. I figured that the bigger caddis, for the trout, would be easier to see on the wavy current. In time there was a few rises as small caddis were coming to the surface and fluttering off the water. Unless I saw a rise I was blind casting in different areas and making trout rise. 

 Most of the trout I caught on the dry were brown trout with a few rainbows mixed in. The brown trout were extra aggressive after being hooked. I caught some nice size brown trout that tore the caddis dry up pretty much unusable. 

  I was tying fresh caddis dries often replacing the beat up or drenched caddis from floating. Each new caddis I knotted on I would dap the body with dry fly gel before casting it out. When I caught a trout or the caddis wasn’t floating, my process is to dry off the caddis with my cotton handkerchief and then shake it in the bottle of silicone powder. Before casting it back out I would bend the deer hair or elk hair wing straight up for a better profile. When a trout rose to it I usually caught it though I did miss a few.  

 The fly guy across stream was fishing beneath the surface but I never saw him catch a trout. He wasn’t an amateur as he roll casted well and held the fly rod like he knew what he was doing he just wasn’t catching any trout beneath the surface. At times he’d sit on a rock and watch me casting my dry flies out and hooking up to rising trout.    

 When he sat on the rock and watched, most times, I would make long casts to his side of the creek. I asked him if he minded and he nodded his head no. I caught a couple on his side of the creek. 

I was biding my afternoon smoking cigars and casting dry flies under the occasional sunshine. 

 

 I was making easy casts when the wind died down and forced a cast across the gust of wind when I had to. (On windy days I use a fast action rod that cuts the wind a lot better than a medium to slow action fly rod.) My overhand arm motion was as uniform and consistent like the second hand on a grandfathers clock and as smooth as a well oiled grocery conveyer belt. When no wind was involved I had open loops leaving the caddis on the water with enough slack for a drag free drift being upstream, across creek, or downstream. When a cross-wind was involved I made quick and justifiable sharp closed loop casts to my target area. 

 I’m sure the other guy noticed I was dry fly fishing. He did mention that there wasn’t a hatch or nothing on the surface he could see for the fish to rise to. I told him “I make’m rise.” My theory is the reason trout aren’t rising is because there isn’t anything for them to rise to. On a day where caddis or mayflies aren’t about I still give the trout something to rise to. Sometimes all I have to do is see one riser which tells me the trout are looking up, as some would say. Fly fishermen won’t cast a dry because there isn’t a hatch going on or they don’t see any trout rising. Time and again I’ve watched guys walk down to the bank of a creek or river and look it over as if looking for rising trout or a hatch. If they don’t see any surface activity they walk away. No problem as far as I’m concerned. As my dad always commented “that’s more for me!”

 Near the far side of the creek, near the older gent sitting on the rock watching me, I saw a splash to the surface near the tail out of the faster wavy run. I made a sharp cast upstream from the splash, with my caddis, and watched for a rise. First and second cast didn’t happen. I waded upstream, along the bank, to get a better angle to get my caddis to reach the zone, dry fly first before the tippet. I made a looping cast and the dry caddis fell to the water upstream from my target zone. The bullet-head deer hair caddis wing was standing up like I wanted. As my offering drifted and bobbed on the riffling water a trout splashed to the surface. I quickly yanked the rod back and the line tightened and I swear 7 plus feet of the rod bowed towards the take. I called out “gotcha.” I could tell I had a heavy trout as we battled for supremacy. The whole time I hooked and battled with the trout the older gent watched me play him to the net. The rainbow was the biggest of the day. After releasing the hook from the side of its mouth I raised the rainbow for the guy across the creek to see. He nodded his head in approval. Being I fish mostly alone it’s nice to get an approval from an unknown fellow angler.  

 It wasn’t very long after that the older gent got up and walked up to his truck. I waded out and up the bank to dry land. I carefully walked through the forest upstream to where my truck was parked. I did make a few casts with the dry caddis where I started without a rise. No matter, I was happy with the results for the day.

 

~doubletaper

 

 

Surplus

                                                                             Surplus

                                                                  (Birthday trout of 2026)

5/04/26 

Surplus; An amount of something left over when the requirements have been met.

 

  I consider the in-season stocking of trout as surplus trout that the Fish Commission had left over in their raising facilities. Well, Friday they stocked about 8-9 buckets of these surplus trout in the creek out from my camper. The 2 buckets I did see guys throw in, as if feeding alligators at a zoo, were rainbow trout. This was around noon. I was told this was the first stop and was to continue upstream stocking the rest of the surplus trout in the creek.

 After the stocking, Friday, fishermen came and gone trying their luck. It was a cold and rainy day, and the fishermen didn’t stay more than an hour. Not that I was watching them continuously, but I didn’t see anyone catch anything and I figured if they were catching trout they would of stayed longer. By 3:00 I couldn’t stand it any longer, knowing that there were all those trout in the creek just out from my camper, I had to give it a try. I assembled my old SAS Scott 8’ 6” 5 weight fly rod and got my gear on. To get a better drift, and away from the bank fishermen, I crossed the creek upstream and fished from the opposite bank. I caught a few in the couple of hours, but it surely was slow going. The bank fishermen weren’t doing all that better either. I figured the trout weren’t accustomed to the colder temperature of the creek water as the water in the truck tank they came in. Maybe like being a newcomer at the factory picnic and too shy to participate in the activities.

 Saturday the trout weren’t all that active either. Again, fishermen and women came and gone throughout the morning and afternoon. I wasn’t sure how many were caught but what I could tell that not many as they didn’t hang around too long either. By the evening, I was fishing, from across creek, and another fisherman was fishing off the bank. We caught a share of trout but again the trout participation wasn’t all gung-ho.

 Sunday was a whole different story. I was out early, though it was in the high 30’s. The creek was in great condition with a greenish color and dropped some from not raining much the day before. There were actually flurries in the morning that came down drifting in the slight breeze like pollen while we were fishing. I was casting Woolly Buggers, from the opposite bank, as another fisherman was throwing bait from the camper side of the creek. He was catching trout one after another with just about every cast when he started. He commented that the trout were really hungry. If he told his friends he was catching trout, one after another, they might not believe him but I witnessed the event. As time went on I caught some on the Woolly Buggers but was no match to as many as he was catching.  

He said he was using shrimp scented salmon eggs. From where I stood the salmon eggs looked reddish.

 One thing a fly fisherman can’t imitate and that is flavor of our offerings. I figured that the trout that fisherman was missing, the salmon egg would have of either been eaten by the missed trout or drifted downstream and sure enough another trout had a free meal. I knotted on a pink-blood dot sucker spawn under a beaded Oregon Cheese sucker spawn. I started to fish down creek from him and my hook up rate increased.    

 After an hour or so later he commented that he emptied a bottle and a half of those salmon eggs. He said he could hardly feel his finger, from the coldness of air and water, and called it quits. He said he caught 30 trout. I actually believed him and he might have miscounted on the lower side!

 Monday, after turkey hunting, I decided to take a drive upstream. I was kind of tired fishing the same water, in front of the camper, catching the surplus trout. As I drove up the dirt road I was surprised at the number of parked vehicles along the side of the road in good fishing spots for a Monday. Anyhow, I continued to drive up creek until I got to a section where only one truck was parked up the road a bit. I assembled my new Scott Session 8’6” fly rod, made sure I had enough supplies, and headed down the path to the creek. I was ready for a long adventure. 

 I started off swinging a Woolly Bugger in the wavy riffling current as I was crossing and heading downstream. After a few casts a trout grabbed the bugger hard like a husky guy surprising an agitator, with a choke hold, trying to fool around with his trophy girlfriend! It was the hardest take of my Woolly Bugger since fishing the creek since setting up camp. My 4-weight bowed and pointed to the struggling trout as the trout scurried and tugged in the oncoming current. Bringing him up in the oncoming current was a task. He pulled and tugged until I got him in the slower current near me. There he stayed low and maybe tried to take a breather from his hard energetic fought battle. I wasn’t going to let him take a breather. I lifted the rod and he rose flipping his tail in anger, but I was able to scoop him up in the net.  

 This was only the second brown trout I had caught while camping along the creek. It was a dandy brown at that. I’m not sure he was just transplanted as surplus, but I would bet he’s been in here since the original stocking in March or a holdover. 

 Wading down creek, I wasn’t getting any nudges for a while. I was switching from different color Woolly Buggers to different shades of triple threats. I felt like a peddler at a bus stop trying to sell tofu hot dogs and no one wanted one. They didn't even want a free sample. I’d cast towards the far bank and let the streamer swing down creek. I was surprised I didn’t get a strike before I got to a deeper section of creek.

 Now, when I say deeper section of this upper section of the creek, I’m not implying that it’s over my head. Maybe waist deep at the most. The sun was nearly above but the forest leafy trees cast shadows on the deeper hole down creek from where I stood. I have caught many of trout in recent years, in this section, so I was expecting some action. Kind of like going into a well-known nightclub with loud music and aggressive girls that want to dance! 

 I was casting a Woolly Bugger down and across creek letting it swing in the slower current in the deeper section. I would lengthen the line after each cast, so the bugger swung down further. I waded a couple of steps down towards the hole but kept my distance. Another cast the bugger dropped near the far bank and I was watching the arc in the floating line when WHAM! A fish grabbed the bugger like a cop grabbing an unsuspecting suspect by the wrist. I reared back the rod for a tight hook set, but I do believe the way the fish grabbed the bugger he set the hook into his jaw himself. 

 The Scott rod bowed deep and wavered as the trout tugged ferociously on the other end like the suspect trying to shake the handcuffs loose from the cop's grasp. He turned and headed for an underbrush down creek and the Hardy featherweight reel clicked like the last 10 seconds of a time bomb. I held the line tight and moved the rod down creek and towards my side of the bank to keep him from going under the underbrush cross creek. Hoping my 5x tippet and knots hold tight, I coaxed him into the center of the stream. He followed with yanking tugs. Once out of danger I swung the rod level with the surface water across from me trying to force him to swim upstream. He tugged and tried pulling away but the torque of the arced rod was too much, and he swam up creek defiantly. Once, almost across from me, I saw a bright ribbon of red along his side like a crimson ribbon in a lighted museum display. I swung the rod downstream again trying to bring him down from me, but he held tight in the oncoming current. I lifted the rod some putting side pressure on him. My forearm tightened and my grip on the cork was tight despite my arthritic fingers. He finally succumbed to the pressure, turned, and swam down creek from me. Trying to bring him into shallower water wasn’t his idea of a better escape and swam back into the deeper pool of water. Again, I forced him up creek and when he got close enough to seeing me, I suppose, he didn’t like the circumstance he was in and darted away. Not wanting a bunch of line laying on the water I was reeling in line when he let me. 

 Knowing he didn’t like the shallower water near the bank I knew I had to net him in the knee-deep water around me. After a few more headshakes I had him down creek from me and was bring him upstream. He followed my lead till he swam up creek from me. I took my net out with my left hand and held it in the water with the line pinched against the cork grip with my right hand. Slowly I backed him up to the net as I raised the rod. He turned but it was too late for him to escape. He turned right into the net headfirst! 

 Now, I’ve netted some whopper birthday trout in my time. Though he wasn’t quite the whopper, I don’t remember one being as pretty. Under the sunshine his crimson sash seemed to glow. It was if he won the red sash in a beauty contest among his trout peers! Though it’s been a few weeks since my birthday I christened him as my birthday trout. He was just a late surprise present! I unhooked the bugger from his jaw and set him free. 

 I lit a Surplus stogie for a just reward. 

 I fished down creek some and caught one more rainbow on a Woolly Bugger. 

 I returned to where I caught the prize fish and caught two rainbows on a dry caddis. 

 I returned to my truck and headed down creek to a different area. I caught a few more trout on a Woolly Bugger.   

 With my back and arthritic fingers aching I called it a day and returned to the camper. It was a fine day on the water.

 Friday morning, I opened the door of my camper to go outside. Across the creek, in a tree, a bald eagle was sitting on a branch. I think he was looking for one of those surplus trout! 

~doubletaper