Mountain
Run Off
3/31/2020
I
packed the backpack with supplies for the day and decided to go
native brookie fishing. I was into my 5th day camping
along the river and just decided to take a hike up the mountain and
bring the fly rod.
I
parked the truck along the road, grabbed my gear and headed up the
gated dirt trail. Bare trees stood up through the mountain laurel.
Looking up the cloudy sky was like a pale gray canvas color. If I
looked long and hard enough I could see glimpses of the light blue
sky above but the sun was nowhere to be found. More or less what the
weatherman called for. The air was a bit nippy but it was still
morning.
The
water flowed down the mountain at a good clip around big boulders,
downed logs and over flat rock shelves. Water gushed over near-surface exposed boulders causing small deep pools and rushed over the
rock shelves falling into plunge pools that weren’t very long in
length. The roar and gurgling of the cascading water was deafening to
the ear but a pleasant sound none the less.
I
really couldn’t call it a stream. When I think of a creek I think
of narrow brook waters. Because of the rain the past few days there
was a lot of run off water coming down the mountain and into the
river. This one particular run off appeared to flow all year round
so I just decided to take a hike and see if it holds native brook
trout. Heck, I didn’t have anything else to do being that the river
was high and muddy.
From
the trail the hillside to the run was steep but manageable. Once I
got down to the run I found an occasional narrow game trail that
followed along water. With the many downed trees and big boulders I
had to be careful as I traveled. Let’s face it, I’m not some kind
of mountain goat.
Along
the run I took off the back pack and assembled the 7’ 3 weight
Hardy Fly Rod and attached the reel with DT3F line. At a tail out I
laid a Humpy as close to the bubbling water fall as I could and let
it drift to the tail out. The pools themselves were short in length
so there was constant casting in the narrow runs before the water
flowed over shallower water than between more boulders and rock
shelves down the mountain. It was like watching an out of control
slinky uncoiling down an endless flight of a crooked stairwell.
It
took some time to convince myself that the trout, if any, weren’t
going to snap at a dry fly. I switched to a dark Cress bug and
dropped a bead head Hare’s Ear off of that. I hadn’t any takers
for some time but I was willing to bet there had to be some natives
in the run somewhere. I felt like I was in a maze trying to find the
right corridor to the food. I climbed back up the hillside when it
got too rough to follow the run.
From
the uphill trail I spotted a couple of big boulders the water flowed
over and between. I descended down the hill, through the mountain
laurel and found good footing along the waters edge. The water
converged over a submerged boulder ledge, gurgled and bubbled into a
deep plunge pool. It flowed deep for a short distance before
shallowing in the tail out and again over ledges and between
boulders. I added a little weight to the leader and nymph fished the
run extending the 7’ rod out above the water. I had to be careful
of the laurel and hanging branches as I could only roll cast.
I
would cast the nymphs upstream into the splashing bubbling water and
let slack out to get my offering down quickly. In the fast flowing
conditions it was hard to notice a strike so I would tight line as
long as possible and wrist the line up quickly with a little more
authority just before my next roll cast.
One
drift my line swirled into a back eddy as I was high sticking it back
towards me. I thought I saw a hesitation and wristed the rod upward.
The top section of the rod dipped and I felt a struggle through the
fly line. I brought the rod up and my first native brook trout
wiggled and tussled all the way to my wet hands.
I fished the same plunge pool a few more drifts without a taker. Above the falls there was another deep bubbling pool that looked promising. I had to just about crawl through the low hanging laurel and over loose rocks to get to the bank.
Casting up into the bubbling falls I watched my fly line as it
floated erratically on the surface. The fly line dipped and I wristed
the hook set. Another wild brook trout wiggled the rod tip section
and my 2nd native came to hand.
I
traveled upstream along the bank, where I was able, and fished the
nymphs in deep pockets and plunge pools. Time went by as I journeyed
along the run and through the forest. I believe I missed one take but
really wasn’t sure before I felt I had climbed far enough up and between the mountain valley. There was heavier bank side laurel and twisted branches
making the land along the water impassable let alone trying to fish.
I attached the hook to the hook keeper and decided to start my way
back down the mountain.
By now
the sun was high overhead and I could feel the warmth through my
clothing. The bare branched tree tops threw twisted shadows upon the
forest floor. Shed sized boulders, on the mountainside on the upper
side of the trail, where scattered as far as I was able to see. Moss
covered partial sides of the big boulders and broken limbs extended
over their sides in no particular order. Ferns appeared drably but
the fir trees about appeared to glimmer in the sunlight as an easy
breath of a breeze swayed their olive branches. Twigs were scattered
upon the forest floor of brown autumn leaves left over from last year
and through the winter months. Downed branches took on contorted
shapes wedged in between the boulders and tree trunks. The ground was
still soft from the rainfall so I listened intently as I traveled
down the trail. The cascading water was still within hearing distance
but not as deafening. Small birds fluttered from bush to bush and a
woodpecker could be heard knocking on hollow trees all the while I
walked down the mountain trail.
Within
sight of the road I glanced over and saw a nice lengthy pool of
water. I walked down to the run and found myself a good foothold upon
the rocks. Water splashed upon the surface and bubbled before
clearing up as it flowed beyond. I knotted on a moth pattern and
soaked it good with dry fly dope. I was hoping there was a trout
looking upward for a meal. Each cast I would fling the moth out
further than the cast before. Each time I watched the moth pattern
come out from the end of the bubbling falls and drift down into the
shallower tail out. I saw a flicker of a trout come up quickly for
the moth but he missed it. Two casts later I got the moth drifting in
the same location. This time the little guy grabbed the moth pattern
and I was Jerry on the spot and nailed him. He shivered and shook the
line violently as I lifted him from the waters edge.
Light
rain started to fall in more of a mist than raindrops. The cloud
cover took a darker turn. After a few more drifts with the moth I
switched to a dry Adams. Well, that didn’t fool anything else
either. I called it quits and headed to the truck.
Back
at the camper I put my gear away and cased the fly rod. I turned up
the heat in the camper and let it warm up inside while I got a
campfire going.
Mmmm!
A juicy venison steak over coals with zucchini noodles and onions sounds tasty
for tonight’s dinner. After that I’ll sit around the campfire
enjoying a stogie and a beverage or three.
It
turned out to be a challenging adventure. Though the rewards were few
it was well worth the exercise and entertainment.
~doubletaper
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