Hospitality along the Ausable

PA. Fishermen in the Adirondaks (part 5)

___________Hospitality along the Ausable (fifth page)____
____________________June 13th___
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After fishing buggers and streamers in a deep section of the Ausable, without any hits, our guide, Pat, drove us downstream for the evening. He brought us to a section of the river he wanted us to fish at dusk. There was a good rush of water that created a falls on our side of the river. Water whirl pooled on the near side, then gradually slowed toward the bank and separated around a long thin strip of grassy island. He told us where he wanted Jeff and I to fish just before dark for the spinner fall.
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Jeff and I walked up the road and followed a path to the river that the guide had pointed out on our drive down. The water was clearer than the day before but still running horribly fast in my opinion.
I cautiously entered the river and took small steps keeping good footage, before proceeding, as I fished and waded downstream in the waist high water. Even with big dry fly patterns it still wasn’t easy following the fly bobbing and weaving in and out of the wavy water. Being near shore gave me little room to back cast so I was limited to casting from right above my head and forward. The strong current against my bottom half, along with the slippery rocky bottom, gave me little confidence of moving further out into the river without being one with the fish. Jeff entered the river about 35 yards or so below and I could tell the precarious looking river was having the same effect on him. It wasn’t pretty!
Pat showed up along the shore, and seeing I was uneasy about the conditions, offered me his wading staff which I took without hesitation. The staff helped somewhat but I still wasn’t going to venture out into the mass of boulder ridden white waters of the river. My fishing consisted of casting out, holding the rod high and follow my dry as it swept the water surface. The whole time, fishing in this method, I tried to keep good balance as water pushed against my waist and legs. My felt sole boots continued to search for stable rocks as the under current swept the fine sand and gravel from beneath them. Seeing a huge boulder in front of me, I skittered the hay stack March Brown across the current and into the smoother water before it. A fish raised and hit the fly and I was able to set the hook and keep my balance all at the same time. Calling out I had one, Pat slid into the chest high water and netted the 10” brown. ‘Oh well’ I thought ‘I was successful, time to get out of here!’
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As the evening started to fall so did the raindrops. Pat headed up to get our rain gear as Jeff and I headed to our evening destination. Jeff fished off the end of the island downstream from me as I positioned and repositioned myself in the knee deep water at the head of the island so I could cast into the breaking falls up to my right. Water ran off a few boulders and swirled into a moving whirlpool off from the main river flow in front of me. Casting my Wulff pattern, just below the falls, wasn’t easy to distinguish the path the fly was going to take. I found by a quick movement of my rod tip I was able to control the fly to either crease the fast running down flow of water to my right or make the fly move with a slower current to my left towards the bank and then flow between the island and shoreline. Every once in a while the fly would get sucked into the whirlpool and I wasn’t sure which way it would exit. With sprinkles and the gloominess of the sky I tied on one of my coffin flies. For the next 15 minutes or so I fished this into the waters before me, along with casting out into the main part of the wide river. On one cast to the falls, the coffin fly followed the crease of the fast water. I pulled the line gently to my left and the fly followed my fly line flowing with the slower current. I was taking in some slack while holding my rod horizontal to the water, just being lazy. A head/nose of a trout appeared a few inches behind the fly and was following it like a trout following a hopper before gulping it in. (This all happened in a matter of seconds but I replay it in my mind in minutes). With my fly line moving to my left, out in front of me, following the flow of the water and the rest arcing towards my rod tip, I was helpless. I watched the fish gain on the fly and then with a big splash it swirled back into the deep. With that swirl my fly disappeared and I really wasn’t sure if the fish took the fly or the big 180* turn and swirl of the fish in the shallower water, caused my fly to sink. I lifted the rod up and back on that instance and even had to pull back line with my line hand to take up more slack to tighten my line. The fly surfaced and dragged across the water towards me….

I blew it! Poof, it was like an illusionary magic act. Now you see it - now you don’t and all you’re left with is feathers as the dove disappears. It happens so fast that later you wonder if it happened at all. I stood there conjuring up what should have happened but didn’t.
I began to frantically cast towards the falls and surrounding area to raise the trout. Downstream I heard Jeff call out “fish on”. I continued to fish my coffin fly without results. Jeff on the other hand…..
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Later Jeff told me that he tied on the big white fly Pat had tied for us back at the shop. When he cast it out the first time, within a 2 foot drift a fish came up and hammered the fly and he set the hook. Pat got into the water to net the fish as he was fighting the fish out of the fast current. Jeff said he got the heavy fighting fish close to Pat but it took off into the fast churning water again. The second time he got it close to Pat, but somehow it threw the hook and was gone.
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After this had taken place Pat came up to me and told me about Jeff’s fish and told me to tie on ’his fly’. I tied on the fly in hopes that something different would fool the trout. It didn’t but I still fished it into the rest of the evening. Jeff hooked into at least two other trout but again couldn’t bring them to hand. I’m sure the rambling strong current had a lot to do with it!
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In darkness and rain Jeff finally walked behind me and said he was heading to the house. After a few more casts I followed. After changing into shorts and dry clothes I entered into the garage where Jan Betters and Pat were talking. Jan had invited us for beer and burgers after our day of fishing. She motioned and said “the beer is in the cooler” and “go inside and make yourself at home.” I grabbed a Samuel Adams out of the cooler and entered thru the garage door into the house. I looked down the hall and realized quickly there’s no way this is like home.
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I passed the doorway leading into the living room to gander at the many pictures and items lining the hallway. To name a few, on the right wall were framed oil paintings of singular flies signed by the artist. The one looked to be a Jock Scott and the another looked to be a Ghost pattern while the other may have been some kind of Scottish Loch pattern. On the left wall was a framed certificate of gratitude and Fran’s certificate of authenticity where he was inducted into the Catskill Fly Fishing Hall of Fame in 2008.
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Upon entering the living room more fishing crafts and articles graced the walls and surroundings. Jeff and Jim sr. were in a hearty conversation about fishing. Pat sat in an easy chair across the room and I sat down on a padded foot rest stool. A couple from Pittsburgh sat on my right who were friends of the Betters and were here visiting. Francis Betters sat in a cushioned chair with a blanket over his lap. He gazed out through the four-panel-wide sliding glass doors that relinquished the view outside. A well placed flood lamp, down by the river, gave off a soft glow through the sparse trees and wooden walk bridge that led to the Ausable. Rays of light danced off the breaking waters of the river where we were just fishing. Though he looked mesmerized by the exquisite view I’m sure he was listening to the conversations that surrounded him. I was in complete awe. Not just because I was in the presence of Francis Betters in his own home but the hospitality that was being shown to us, being that we were complete strangers. I have never been in the presence of a group of people that made me feel so welcomed so quickly.
As time passed, Jim Jr. finished cooking the burgers and Jan entered the room and let us know the food was ready. Along with the burgers were a few side dishes. Jeff and I sat at the kitchen table and had a good conversation with the couple from Pittsburgh. After a few more beers Jeff and I said our gracious good-byes and headed to Pat’s truck.
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On the drive back to our room Jeff and Pat struck up a conversation about hunting in general as I sat back and tried to again conjure up that big fish I missed earlier. At the room I took a quick ’box shower.’ Stepping into the living quarters, Jeff was fast asleep on his double bed. I hopped into the single bed and was asleep in no time.
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We had our clock set early so we could pack up and leave in the morning light. Jim Sr. had told us the state had stocked trout below the Cranberry Dam earlier in the week. Since we had to pass this on our way back anyhow, we decided to give it a try until noon. From there we were planning on hitting a couple of wineries before crossing the state line.
We always try to take all the advantages we can while we have the chance….
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________________________~doubletaper