Monday, April 22, 2024

Birthday Outing 2024


Birthday Outing 2024


 Being I was moving to a new house I didn’t get to go out the opening day of trout in Pennsylvania. The water was high anyway from the constant rain the few days before. Fact is I didn’t get to go out at all the first two weeks cause I was still moving, packing and unpacking. Usually I’m camping along a creek during this time but??? Come April 21st I had to stop the necessary ‘moving in’ and take a day to fish, especially since it was my birthday. After a healthy breakfast I headed off to Oil Creek. Maybe a little later than I wanted to but the temps were still in the upper 30’s when I left. By the time I got to the creek the temperature was around 43. It was a bit nippy but I was anxious to get out.

  I slipped the sections together of my Icon 9’ fast action 5 weight rod. Made sure the tapered leader was at least 9’ long and knotted on a fast-snap and snapped on a Woolly Bugger. I put on my heavy Gortex fishing jacket, grabbed my net and a few cigars. Time had no future, as I was going to enjoy myself till the sun goes down or I run out of cigars!!

  I headed up creek and figured I would just fish my way back down near to where I came in at. By now I figured the fish were well spread out so I wasn’t planning on staying in one spot, casting out, hoping to find a pod of trout to fish to. The water was a little high so I couldn’t wade out too far but the color was pretty much perfect as far as I was concerned. It was pretty cold as I felt the coldness penetrate around my ankles and calves as I stepped into the stream. It didn’t take too long for the coldness to surround my feet like a tight fitting sock. I kind of got used to half my right hand being numb so I didn’t have to practice much to get a good cast out though roll casting wasn’t very coordinated.

  Hooking up with the first trout within the first few minutes is always a good thing. It gave my confidence that the fish were active enough to chase a bugger even in the cold water.


 I’d slowly wade downstream casting out and letting my offerings, whatever streamer I chose to use, drift down creek in an arc till the line straightened down creek from me. With weight on my leader, at times, I was sure to get my bugger down below the surface to the trout in the constant fast moving water.

  Feeling that tug, of a trout, on the end of the tippet was all that I needed to get back into my trout fishing zone. The stocked rainbows were active once I hooked one as the rod bowed and flexed with each hook up. They fought against the current as I slowly played them to the net slapping the surface water as I drew them near.


 Enjoying a cigar between my lips, a little sunshine now and then and hooking trout was like an enjoyable spring walk on a trail through the wilderness. I wasn’t expecting to catch a big birthday trout though it did often enter my hoping thoughts. But some of the trout I did catch were big and healthy enough to make me wanting more. 


  Every once in a while I’d hook into a trout that bullied its way beneath the surface. I just knew it had to be a brown trout. ‘They too liked my buggers’. The browns I caught looked as though they were hold overs from years past. Beautiful colors featuring tan bellies, covered with black spots and ruby red dots inside of silver halos. 


  As it got later in the day the air got colder. The wind picked up and it was a bit deceiving trying to cast against the wind to where I wanted my offering to land, but I managed at times. Sometimes the wind would blow my line upstream as it flew through the air. I would hold the rod a little higher hoping not to drag bottom and snag up after the streamers plopped into the water. Then, all of a sudden, I’d see my line start to straighten upstream with a slight tug and I’d whip the rod down creek, tightening the line and hook a trout on the down swing!


  All in all it was a good birthday outing. I got to enjoy myself, without people interruptions, catching trout and smoking a few cigars.


Thursday, March 14, 2024

March Brown Nymph


March Brown Nymph Tute

1. Hook #10 or #12 3906b Mustad (1x long nymph hook)

2. Thread; Brown 6/0

3. weight. .015 lead wire

4. Tail; Pheasant tail fibers

5. Rib; Brown Thread

6. Abdomen; Amber/Seal Fur mixed dubbing

7. Wing Pad; Mottled Turkey Quill Section

8. Legs; 1 Brown Speckled Hen Feather



1. Thread base hook shank and counter wrap lead as shown

2. Secure lead with thread wraps and flatten lead with pliers

3. Tie in pheasant tail fibers, behind lead to bend, about the length of the hook shank

4. Trim Fibers and tie in brown thread behind lead at tail


5. Dub abdomen as shown

6. Wrap thread, forming rib, around abdomen to front.


7. Tie in turkey section over abdomen as shown


8. Dub thorax right in front of wing pad only, leaving room for legs

9. Tie in Speckled Hen Hackle in front of dubbing

10. Make 1 wrap of hackle, in front of dubbing, forming legs and tie off. Trim any unruly barbs under and/or beneath abdomen


11. Dub rest of thorax to behind eye leaving space to tie in wing pad.


12. Fold wing pad over thorax and tie down.

13. Trim off any ‘legs’ to your liking keeping even on both sides

Whip Finish and I add head cement to nymph head and wing pad
















Sunday, February 11, 2024

The Edge With a Bad Hand


The Edge With a Bad Hand


 Looking at the crick, from the bank, it had good color and not very deep off the bank. Maybe 2 feet visibility to see the crick bottom in the knee deep water. The deeper water was grayish green where nothing below is visible. There were already fishermen nymph fishing the deeper section behind the shop. There was enough room to slip between them but why make them uncomfortable when the rest of the crick is available without the tension? I stepped off the bank into the cold flowing February water. I waded out into the faster water that flowed and widened into the deeper section.

  Before I go on, this was only my second time out this year since the beginning of December. I had pinched a nerve in my right arm that left my ring finger, pinkie and that side of my palm numb on my right hand. This also left the rest of my fingers and thumb with less strength. Without going into detail I had all the tests done and diagnosis and the results is that it may take 2-3 months to heal. There is no drug or exercise that can hasten the healing process. I’m right handed. It’s a weird feeling. 2 days ago I was out fishing, since my misfortune, and found I can’t roll cast worth diddly squat and my overhand casting is awkward and I can’t make any long effort casts. I didn’t catch anything then but it was good to know what I can do with a fly rod in my hand.

  It’s late morning and the sun is shining through the wintry gray clouds. I was hoping for a lil stonefly hatch but it may be later in the day once the water warms up a bit. I knotted on a Triple Threat streamer and cautiously cast towards the far bank and let it drift down crick in an arc. The third cast I felt a pulling tug and quickly set the hook. My first fish was on. Not a big one but it felt good to catch a fish within minutes of wetting a line. It was a nice eager brown trout.


 With that, coming so quickly, I figured it was going to be a good fish catching day all day. It was about 1130 but I didn’t get a take until another hour and a half later. Hooking up to another brown trout down stream on a Triple Threat. 


  I did try nymphing in between that hour and a half without a strike. The other fishermen weren’t doing any better either. Only one guy was catching a fish on occasion but they were suckers. I’m not sure what he was using in this delayed harvest artificial lure only waters but whatever it was the suckers liked it better than the trout.

After that last brown it would take another 2 ½ hours before I got another hook set but it was a doozy. In the mean time fishermen would come and go like visitors in an art gallery. They would take time looking at the scenery, get bored and moved to the next area with more paintings. Finally get bored without any entertainment and leave.

  I waded back into the faster water where I caught my first brown trout. In those two and a half hours I got two short strikes that they wouldn’t strike again. It was if my imitation looked enticing but tasted like liver and they weren’t going back for a bigger bite. I waded down, as I was casting the steamer, stopping across from a calmer wavy current behind a hidden bolder beneath. This looked like a good deeper holding spot, behind the bolder and under the riffles. The sun was shining brightly and I noticed a few midges flying around. There was a bigger fly, maybe a lil stonefly that would skirt across the water but they were too far away to determine.

  When nymph fishing earlier I was using an assortment of bead head stoneflies, Zebra midges and other small nymphs that didn’t entice any strikes. I decided to knot on a weighted, non bead, Kaufman stone and above that a San Juan worm I tie with a bead. I lit a cigar and figured on just enjoying the warm sunshine and not get too ambitious about catching anything exciting.


  Trout are curious and I figured the bright red San Juan worm might attract an onlooker and after refusing the worm maybe seeing the nymph and taking it. It hadn’t rained in some time so I didn’t figure any worms got washed into the crick so I figured the San Juan would be more of attracting a fish rather than actually catching one on it. I made a short overhand casts, or a sloppy roll casts upstream, mended line, and let them dead drift under the wavy current.

  My stonefly was weighted and with the bead on the San Juan I thought would get my offering down to the crick bed for any lazy trout to see. If it didn’t work I’d add more weight as needed. I wasn’t using an indicator, float, bobber or what ever the term they use these days. I just watch the tip of my floating fly line and any unusual flow or dip I’d go for a hook set. About my forth drift through the tip of my fly line dipped in front of me. I quickly raised the rod, pulled in line to set the hook. Limp line shot up out of the water and tightened and the 9’ 4 weight instantly bowed into the mid section. There was a brief pause and then the line took off out towards the far bank and then turned down crick with weighty tugs. Line peeled off the tensioned spool and by the bend in the rod and the grip in my hand to keep the rod up I knew I had a doozy.

  I couldn’t hold the rod up steady with my right hand, being half numb, so I had to switch the rod to my left hand for a stronger grip. I’m glad I had my reel drag set half decent. Though I cast with my right hand I also reel in with my right hand. Thus being the drag knob is on the left side so I wasn’t able to adjust the tension. I couldn’t hold, or play the trout with the fly line pinched between my right finger and thumb because I didn’t have the strength to do so. I had the trout coming towards me a few times but he took off each time. With 4lb tippet on my 4 weight rod I didn’t want to horse him in so I had to be patient and tire him out the best I could. During the struggle he swirled water just below the surface so I got to get an eyeball on the big rainbow before he took deep again. With my net attached to my left side I knew I had to switch hands again to net him. This meant I had to hold the rod high enough with enough strength with a three finger grip in my right hand. I also had to pinch the fly line against the cork handle with enough strength not to let the fish take off, taking line, if he decides he doesn’t want to be netted just yet. I thought all this out in my head. I knew the longer it took to tire the trout the more likely I’d lose him.

  When I finally got the fish close enough to net I switched the rod to my right hand and took out the net with my left. The trout took off like a feral cat cornered in a back alley. Line slipped through my weak pinching finger. I dropped the net and switched hands again to fight the fish and reel him in with my right hand. Once close enough I switched hands and was finally able to net the big trout. The Kaufman stonefly was just piercing the outer layer of lip skin that could of pulled out at any time. With my fingers I was able to dislodge the hook with ease. After a quick picture I tilted the net in the water and he left like an embarrassed shy young man getting rejected by a cute girl for the next dance at the high school prom.

 Any experienced on looker was probably scratching their heads why I took so long, switching hands so many times, to get the fish to the net.


  I looked at the time and it was 3:40. Normally I might have quit, being out so long, but I was planning on leaving around 4 so a few more minutes, and time really wasn’t a definite problem.

  I checked my offerings and they still were in tact with no visual problems. I made awkward casts and watched my fly line as before. Within 5 minutes, according to my phone photos, my fly line curved upstream and I set the hook. As before my line straightened and the fish took off as the 9 footer bowed good into the midsection. I had another biggie. Having just experience this I knew it was going to take some time to get the big trout in but I didn’t have to think this one out using my half numb hand.

  This trout came up below the surface more often and maybe just to see who faked him out with such an attractive imitation. This trout took the San Juan worm as each time he appeared I saw it hanging half out of his mouth. Though it appeared he had the same girt I think he was a little longer as I had a harder time fitting him in the net.


  It took a little longer unhooking the San Juan from his inner lip but I managed to yank it out OK. After a quick picture I was holding him up out of the net to show the bank-side onlookers the big rainbow. When I got it to the top of the brim the trout wiggled enough and I lost my grip in my half numb hand. It slid off the rim of the net and into the water. I guess it didn’t want to show it’s brawn physique to the spectators, being it lost the fight, and just wanted to disappear without anyone gawking at it!

  I took out my last stogie and lit it up under the sunlight. I continued fishing the same pattern and hooked up two more times to smaller fish. One I had on a short while before it came loose. The second one spit the hook as soon as the line tightened. Spitting it out like a sunflower seed husk after getting the kernel out of it.

  On the way home I smoked the stogie thinking about my accomplishment. Last May I broke my custom made 9’ 4weight fast action fly rod while casting a dry fly. The center section fibers split apart like a bow string. The only thing I figured, about two weeks before that I had caught a huge rainbow I fought and had a hard time bringing it up from the bottom in knee deep water. The rod was bent good and that’s when I think the weakness started. The motion of the overhand cast evidently continued to weaken and the rod section finally splintered. I looked around for another 9’ 4 weight 4 piece rod and I guess it’s not a popular model. I found a sale on such a rod from Edge Rod Company. That I understand they were designed/made under the supervision of Gary Loomis. Knowing that, I figured they had to be quality rods. That was the rod I was just using when I caught those two big rainbows. Casting this rod and bringing in the catch was no big problem, bad hand and all.



Wednesday, November 8, 2023

Good Friday


Good Friday


  The parking area was full up with lines of vehicles when I arrived in the morning. It was if I was late for early mass. I parked in the grass giving way to any other late vehicles. I’ve fished this area before, for steelhead, some years ago so I was sort of familiar. With all the vehicles though I wasn’t sure I’d find a pew empty enough not to be crowded shoulder to shoulder.

  When I got to the water I looked down creek where I had fished before. I saw a few fishermen just before the bend that I knew flowed into a deep hole. I looked upstream and there was only one fisherman pretty far up, by himself, casting a fly line.

  The water, between him and I, was flat water but the leaves upon the surface showed there was some current flow. The section was wide enough, and with the slightly tinted water, there might be some steelhead that was somewhere in between him and I. I just had to find them. Being I was late for mass I decided to walk up stream, towards the fisherman, and fish my way to where I started.

  I carefully crossed the creek in shallow to knee deep water, feeling the cold water, to the path on the other side. As I walked the path upstream I kept an eye on the water trying to spot any fish. Once up, close enough to talk to the gentleman, I started my quest. I asked him if he caught anything yet and he friendly replied no, the fish weren’t biting. He mentioned ‘I should have been here yesterday.’

  I knotted on a Triple Threat streamer and proceeded to cast across creek and let the streamer drift downstream. Not knowing how deep the water was I’d add weight now and then. Slowly I waded down stream casting my fly line. Now and then people would show up and walked behind me or stop and fish here and there before the entrance to the creek. I didn’t see any of them catch anything and they moved on. About half way between the guy and the place I entered I got my first strike. I felt the slightest tug on the line, like what you might feel walking into a thin spider web, and I yanked back for the hook set. The line straightened immediately and took off like a bat out of hell, one might say.

  He took off upstream peeling line off the spool. The fly line cut threw the surface water like a Ginsu knife slicing threw a Big Jim Chili pepper. I tightened the loose drag a couple of clicks trying to slow him down. Upstream he came to the surface ferociously shaking his head before going back under. The sound of the splashing was heard far enough the guy upstream turned to see the commotion. The fish kept his distance swimming down creek in a hurry. I was able to reel in some of the slack line before getting the line tight towards him again. We proceeded to battle it out one on one. A couple of times I got him towards the bank before he broke me off and headed back to safety. Oh well, the fight was real, and though I was going to release him anyway, it would have been nice to land him.

  I stuck around the area casting out trying to fool another. Down creek I noticed a couple of fellows caught 2 steelhead not too far from where we entered the creek. They had been there for a while. After about 20 minutes they waded out and headed upstream. I was already casting my way towards the spot but kind of hurried a little faster to get there before anyone else.

  By now the sun was showing through the overcast sky but the water was still tinted enough not the expose the fish out further. The water didn’t look too deep on the other side, along the far bank, but on occasion I could spot a tail fin or two cutting the surface so I knew they were out there. A far cast, with a Triple Threat, out from the bank didn’t take too long of a drift to get a taker. The way the line took off it was if the steelhead swiped it like a Barn Swallow swiping a bug out of mid-air. He headed straight for the far bank and stopped abruptly, raised its head out of the water trying to throw the hitched hook. Not being successful, he sprinted upstream like the start of a race with a gun shot. Not too far he shot completely out of the water, forward, and his wet rainbow side glimmered in the sunshine. He plopped into the water like a mushroom anchor being thrown overboard. Once the rod sections bowed with a tightened line again he turned and swam down creek. He gave a couple of head shakes, as if to check to make sure I was still hanging on, as he swam. It took a while but I finally got him calmed down enough to get him to the bank safely. 


  It always feels good getting one to handle!

  It wasn’t too soon after that I knew I had a fatty on. This one wasn’t as quick and active as the other but its weighty body had the butt of the fly rod in my gut trying to keep leverage on him. The rod bent deep at times when he took off unexpectedly. He roamed around outward, as if he was looking for help, to help get him loose. He didn’t have any success with finding a friend to help im and I got him in to handle also.


 Less than 20 minutes I had a chromer showing off its skillful aerobatics in mid air with more moves than a trapeze artist. Each time she entered the sky she sparkled like being dressed in sequin under circus spot lights! 


 I must have been at the right spot for feeding time.

  I lost one somewhere out there after a hectic fight. I scored one more to my hand before 1:00. It was if bells chimed and brunch was over. 


  After that things slowed down dramatically. I tried everything from sucker spawn, Glo-bugs, wet flies and nymphs with only a quick tap or two I couldn’t hook up too. The best I did was with streamers. Others I talked to weren’t doing any better either. Most of the fellows commented I should have been here yesterday. “The water was cloudier and the fish were biting.”

  About 3:30 I called it a day and headed back to the parking lot. The air was getting chillier and the clouds moved in covering the sun. Along with that the wind picked up and the abundance of falling and the flow of leaves made it irritating trying to find water between them. I’ve been out since 7:30 and the spurt of fun I had was fulfilling enough I left on a good note like after singing the last hymn before leaving church!



Monday, October 9, 2023

River Trout


River Trout


  It was a beautiful morning outside the camper in the Allegheny National Forest. The pale blue sky gave way to steaks of red. It was if, by a painters stroke, brushed a crimson hue across the canvas. The Autumn colors of tree leaves were turning. 

  Colorful branchy leaves lined the river bank like colorful street streamers for a parade. The weakest leaves lay upon the stony bank like discarded confetti.

  Squirrel hunting wasn’t fruitful at all. The squirrels must have stayed in their hollowed out trees. It was still pleasant to be out sitting among the colorful forest. It was quiet and peaceful. A breeze would blow across the tree tops now and then and lifeless crisp leaves would fall from their branches, slipping off others along their downfall, causing the slightest noise like stepping on a dropped potato chip. Acorns fell from the oaks knocking on every limb they would hit on their way to earth and land with a thud. Some would bounce off of moss covered boulders, that were scattered around me, like pin balls off of bumpers. Chipmunks hurried along, stopping briefly, with mouths full. Some being chased by others causing a noisy ruffle as they scampered about.

  Fishing was slow but yielded a few trout. By the time I got out to fish, around noon, the sun was up full ablaze like an Arizona sun over an Arizona desert. It wasn’t long before I felt the sweat on my forehead under my wide brim straw hat. Every so often a welcomed warm breeze blew through me slightly cooling me from the hot sun rays.

  I was geared up, with my 6 weight fly rod, ready to hook into some river smallmouth bass. I waded down to the riffling water casting aimlessly with a Woolly Bugger. The water, ¾ the way across, looked somewhat deeper and I made a long cast. I thought I snagged a rock, just after it fell, as the fly line barely arced with the cross current. I twitched the rod back high trying to free the hook when it violently yanked back. The fish stayed low fighting it’s way against me as I played it towards me. It was to frisky to be a smallmouth and when I netted it I was right. A nice brown trout laid in my net. 


 It was no doubt a stocked trout, for lack of color, from years back that found its way to the river from the stocked mountain creeks. By its sandstone color belly I’m sure it has lived in the river for sometime!

  Casting out freely, as I slowly waded the riffles, I caught another. It fought just like the other so I knew it wasn’t a smallmouth either. It was almost identical to the first brown trout I caught and just as frisky.


  For the next hour or so I continued casting streamers and poppers without any noticeable strikes as I headed downriver. At times I would aim for drifting leaves testing my accuracy. If it wasn’t for the stogie I held between my teeth it wouldn’t have been as enjoyable.

  I waded back up to the truck but it was too early to quit. I drove downriver to test my fishing skills in another area I haven’t fished for some time. I caught more trout than bass there, but it wasn’t that far from the parking area and I wasn’t planning on wading downriver anyway.

  Knee deep I was casting a Woolly Bugger, while smoking a cigar, up into the wavy white water caused by a row of rocks and boulders strewn the width of the river. I thought I had one bump upstream but maybe it was just my imagination. I made short to long casts across river letting the bugger swing in an arc downriver for some time without a strike. For the heck of it I decided to knot on a nymph. Casting up into the wavy current, with the rod extended out following the leader. All of a sudden the leader curved up into the riffles. It could have been a snag but I lifted the rod for a hook set. Sure enough the line straightened and a frisky brown trout scurried about all the way to the net. Not a big one by any means but a trout no less.

  Another ½ hour trying to hook another was just time ticking away. I headed back to the truck under the hot sun thinking about a frozen margarita waiting for me back at the camper.

  I could have driven and fished for freshly stocked trout in a delayed harvest area not too far away. I might have caught some of them trout and even more than I did in the river but I’m sure it wouldn’t have been as pleasant.



Sunday, July 2, 2023

Morning Surprise


Morning Surprise


  I wade upon the stony creek bed, ankle deep, of Tionesta Creek. The only way to find trout, on these hot days, is to start out early before the heat of the day arrives. The trout will be in the riffling, tumbling water where it’s cooler and more oxygenated or in the shade along the banks.

  While wading down creek, to where I want to fish, I look around at nature and the hard woods of the ANF. The abundance of green that crowds the creek banks is of more greenish hues than one can imagine. Green leaves of Oaks, Maples, Beech and Birch trees, among other trees, flutter with the slight breeze at times. Even the Hemlocks and pines appear greener than their olive colors during the colder months. Looking down creek misty vapors, in a haze, linger over the water where the hot sun hits the open cool creek.

  The sounds of warblers, warble within the forest like a bunch of high pitched women at a social gathering. In the not to far distance a crow caws out as if in frustration, like an old raspy woman calling out for her husband and children to come in for breakfast while it’s hot.

Once settled in shin deep water I cast out a Woolly Bugger in water that doesn’t appear to be any deeper than knee high. A fish pulls line and I set the hook. Fighting it in the riffling current makes him feel stronger than he actually would be in calmer water. He shoots up creek in shallower riffles and then turns down creek with the current. The rod tip bows with the tightened line and leader that follows the fish. I hold the fly line between my fingers feeling every sudden turn and head shake of the frisky fish. Easily I play him and net the trout.

Well, that didn’t take too long,”

 While casting out for another a trout rises within the riffles. I waste no time snipping off the bugger and knotting on a dry caddis. The splash is no more than 3 rod lengths away. I make a soft cast upstream and watch the caddis bob up and down on the small waves. My second cast is a little further out. Within the trouts sight he rises with a splash not wanting the caddis to pass him by. A quick wrist and pull of the slack line and my second trout is scurrying about like a scared chipmunk looking for cover. I get the trout turned towards me and scoop him up in the net.


  While trying to fool another I notice the shade on the water, from the hillside trees, slowly moving towards the bank as the sun rises higher. The humidity increases also and I’m thankful for the slight cool breeze that touches my face from the rising mist of the cooler water.

  It takes time but I make another rise, hook him, and net a smaller brown trout. The humidity increases with the rising morning sun as I feel a bead of sweat drip down my spine. It is still early and there is still shade and deeper water along the far bank. I knot on the Woolly Bugger and cast it towards the far bank. The slow current carries my bugger down creek. One cast my bugger plops within two feet of a big exposed boulder that’s anchored in the bank side dirt. I notice my fly line doesn’t drift to far before the line curves upstream towards the boulder as if snagged. I lift the rod and the line slowly starts to move up creek along the bank. I quickly grip the cork tighter and yank back the long length of line. The line tightens and the rod sections arc towards the bank. I watch the leader slice through the surface upstream. Line peels off the reel spool as I hold the rod at an angle towards the fleeing fish. My grip tightens and I move the rod butt into my gut for leverage. All of a sudden a smallmouth bass explodes out of the water. He rises, full body, into the air twisting and wavering his body like a wind sock in a swirling wind storm. He plops back into the water in belly smacking fashion and takes off upstream. I try and keep the rod skyward to cut down the resistance of the fly line as it cuts through the water surface.

  Upstream the big guy turns and swims with the current down creek. I’m able to reel in some line as he passes between the boulder and me. Continuing down creek I can’t hold him from swimming any further as the rod sections bend deeply. I leave go of the reel handle and let him strip line off the tensioned spool drag.

  At times I get him closer but he has enough strength to pull away taking line with him. As much as I want to get him in the net quickly I’m powerless against his strength against the 5 weight rod and 4x tippet to horse him in. We tug against each other like two strong men trying to get the other across the defining winning line. Eventually the strength of my fly rod and my patience wins out and I net the nice size smallmouth!

What a morning surprise.


 Well, though it’s only 9:30 that deserves a cigar. I take a H. Upmann fuma from my pocket and cup my hands away from the slight breeze.

  For the next half hour I nymph fish the riffles and catch a small brown trout on a wet fly. I fish a bugger also but noting wants to sample it. I hear a fish splash upstream and turn my head quickly to see an expanding swirl. I knot on the caddis again and wade into position to get a good cast to the vicinity. I cast out and let the caddis drift into a calm within the riffles. A fish splashes on my offering and I’m quick with the hook set. The fish strongly fights and battles in the current trying to get free. I get him nearer enough and net a nice speckled brown trout.


  For the next hour I try to coax another but the activity shuts off like lights on a vacant, time restricted, park playground.

  The sun is in full view above as if in a painting of a farm scene. The painting has a bright sun depicting a glow in a blush blue sky, minus the rooster and weather vane. My Columbia PFG shirt is wet with sweat from the humidity and not from any action. There isn’t a breeze to be thankful for and without cooperative fish, I start to wade upstream and call it quits.