Same Time Next Year Day 2

 

Same Time Next Year (Day 2)

3/02/22

 It was hard for me to not go back to the Davidson River, in North Carolina, for another go at the rising trout. No matter how technical I had to be with trying to fool these picky, wary trout with a dry fly, I wanted more. It’s not very often I find rising trout in Pennsylvania in early March so I woke up, had breakfast and headed to the river a little earlier than I did on Monday.

  The weather was to be warm and when I got to the river it felt like it was already in the 50’s. The morning was bright with the sun still rising behind the tall narrow leafless trees upon the mountain side. I parked in the same spot as I did on Monday, got my gear on and walked down the same path to meet those same trout. I was excited. Though it took some time to fool a few trout a couple of days ago with an assortment of dry fly imitations, I felt I wouldn’t need to go through as many patterns to get them to rise this time.

  I started fishing nymphs from the riffling wavy water fishing my way down to were I fished over the rising trout on Monday. I just couldn’t wait to get to the spot even though I didn’t see any risers just yet. Within casting distance I stopped and searched for any rises in the shadows of the hillside trees.

  Water flowed calmly and undisturbed along the far bank, under olive laurel shrubs and down into the next riffles. The sound of the riffling water flowing over exposed boulders was all to be heard like spigot water splashing over dirty dishes in a stainless steel sink in a quiet morning kitchen. The water appeared to drop some but was still as clear as spilled ginger ale on a brown counter top. There were already tiny minuscule midges about almost as if floating in the air like the fuzzy dandelion seeds in a soft swirling wind. I didn’t want to disturb the water with nymphs or throw a big old Woolly Bugger to let the trout know I was back. I figured I gave them a day of rest yesterday and hoping they weren’t too wary this morning.

  I stood there, almost motionless, not wanting to attract attention and not wanting to disturb the water. I tied on a #18 CDC BWO trying to wait patiently but it didn’t take long for my patience to run out and cast though I hadn’t seen a rise. For the third time I watched the visible CDC wing drift downstream into their feeding zone. I watched a trout rise up and inspect my dry. I anticipated the take like watching a mouse sniff the peanut butter on the lever of a mouse trap. The curious trout turned away and disappeared knowing as if something wasn’t right or maybe he didn’t like my breakfast offering. At least I knew one was interested. When I saw a rise down stream I was more hopeful. I was tossing the CDC BWO out in no specific one spot trying to get a rise. I wasn’t going to give up! During one drift I noticed a swirl and my dry disappeared. I quickly wristed the rod back. The line tightened and my first trout of the morning was fighting like a scared rabbit caught in a snare trap. I netted a fine looking rainbow. ‘One down and more to show’ I thought.

 

  I continued to try and get one to rise to my BWO. It didn’t take long that I started to see a few small BWO drifting or fluttering about. I heard a splash upstream and turned in time to see the expanding rings of the swirl upon the slow moving midstream current. I made a back cast over my left shoulder and daintily let the BWO imitation sail through the air towards the swirl. It fell softly upon the water and wasn’t there for more than a second or two when a trout rose and snatched it up like the last kid, running through the kitchen, snatching a warm chocolate chip cookie on the wax paper. Another nice rainbow entered my net.

 

 I noticed there were more risers more often upstream from where I was standing especially along the far bank. I tossed the BWO out a few more times without a strike. Downstream, just before the riffling water, I saw a couple more rises. I waded down within casting range. A trout was rising quite often to anything that looked like a meal on the surface I suppose. Maybe there were a couple trout competing for the few tid bits that showed up in their path. I made a long cast down towards them with a #18 Adams. A fish grabbed it as soon as it hit the surface water. I yanked the rod back in surprise. I could tell it wasn’t very big as it scurried to and fro jiggling the line and rod tip. The little fellow stayed hooked all the way to my net. I wet my hand before grasping it and it laid easy in my palm without a fuss. I unhooked it from the #18 hook and laid my hand on the surface water. As soon as it felt water beneath its belly it slipped out of my palm and scurried back into the water depths. 

 

 I fished dry flies for almost an hour after that but couldn’t get any trout to commit. I knotted on a Woolly Bugger and headed downstream and fished the riffles. I hooked a couple of frisky trout but couldn’t land either of them. I nymph fished down a little further hooking one small trout. I stood aside a deep run mid stream in front of me. I hooked one trout before I saw my first, than second rise across stream just this side of the cliff side bank. I knotted on a parachute Adams and took more line off my reel. I made a cast out towards the far bank. There was a slight breeze as I saw my dry flutter away from where I wanted it to land. I had to compensate for the slight breeze. It took a few more casts but I had it figured out. One cast landed my Adams on the surface and I watched it drift, drag free, helplessly out from the bank. I saw a nose break the surface and sip the Adams like sipping an oyster cracker from a big spoon of hot soup. I yanked the rod back and the lined tightened. The trout swam into the midstream current and used it to its advantage. As he fought the rod arced and I felt every tug and pull within my grip around the cork handle. He gave me a good battle but I won out and got it to the net.

  There wasn’t much going on but I continued to try to make another rise.

  In the meantime a fellow showed up downstream and he also was fishing dry flies. We both caught a couple more before he headed upstream. After a while I started nymph fishing again and casting Woolly Buggers. By now the sun was in full view and shining down like a hot afternoon sun on a crowded beach. The water sparkled like bubbles in a freshly poured glass of that ginger ale. I figured I had my fun for the day and headed for my truck.

  As I pulled away, from where I was parked, I glanced down at the Davidson and thought ‘Same time next year!’

 ~doubletaper

 

 

 

Fish'n With My Youngest

 

Fish’n With My Youngest

3/05/2022

  After morning chores my son and I headed up to the North Mills River C&R section. We parked among the many cars and trucks which looked to be mostly bicyclists by the carriers on the back of their vehicles. The sun was already up and the heat of the morning was warm enough to wear a long sleeve ‘T’ shirt under the vest and chest waders. We saw three other fishermen head down the trail before us but we knew there was plenty of area to cover in between the mountain sides where the river runs through it.

  We headed down the worn hardened dirt trail avoiding bicyclists and morning joggers before finding a path down towards the river. We followed the narrow path between leafless standing March hardwoods till we came to the laurel lined headwaters of the North Mills River. The free flowing water ran its way through narrow passages, under thick laurel shrubs, around boulders and downed tree trunks. Because of the steep gradient you don’t find much sand on the river bed. The water was clear as a cooler of melted ice and when I stepped in it, it was just as cold.

If you ever dream of fishing a cold mountain trout stream this is it!

 

 My son headed down river to start and eventually we would meet up somewhere between us.

  It wasn’t long before I nabbed my first brook trout swinging and stripping a Woolly Bugger. He made the line and rod tip dance to and fro as he darted through the oncoming current towards me.

 

 As I waded and fished downstream I found most of the water wasn’t more than shin deep. Some spots it got near knee deep and very few places if was higher yet. I knew, when brook trout fishing, you just don’t skip over the shallow waters. They have a way of sitting still in the current without notice.

  I make long downstream casts, towards the banks, under the laurel and overhanging tree branches trying to bring the hidden trout out from hiding. At times, even in the shallowest water, I’ll see the dorsal fin cut through the surface water after my bugger. With the arc in my line I watch the tip of my fly line. If I see it twitch just the slightest I’ll set the hook with a quick wrist set yanking the rod tip back while holding the fly line tight. 

 

 In a deeper run I’ll twitch the Woolly Bugger a few times before stripping it slowly towards me. In the deeper sections the brook trout don’t take the bugger so aggressively. I’ve watched them many a times swat at it like a cat swatting at a string hung cat toy. When they are playing with the bugger it is harder to get a hook set but on occasion I’ll succeed. 

 

 It didn’t take more than an hour when my son appeared on the bank. He said he found a good pocket of water that he was able to hook a half dozen or so. I waded out and followed him downstream. It was a nice run and a wider part of the stream. Not only did we catch those frisky brook trout but also caught a few rainbows. They grabbed the bugger like a thief snatching a handbag right from a women’s hand. Swerving through a crowd of people to get away. 

 

 After we gave quite a few more sore lips I followed him upstream to another hole he has done well finding trout. I let him fish the lower deeper hole while I fished the skinny shallower water down towards him. Again, in the shallowest water, I had brook trout chasing my bugger as it swung through the riffles. Their exposed dorsal fin showing me there whereabouts as they chased my swinging offering. Sometimes all I had to see was a disturbing swirl on a slower pool of water, between the riffles, and just rear back on the rod and set the hook before ever feeling the bite.

 

  I watched time and again my sons fly rod in an arc while a hooked trout splashed the surface water towards him. I watched him roll cast back into the deeper pool of water as he watched intently for a strike. Once again he’d rear back on the rod, the line tightened and with that the sections would bow with another hooked trout. I relaxed for awhile, puffing on my cigar, enjoying his performance.

  As I fished towards him I continued swinging the bugger just out from the shadows of the steep banks of laurel. Every once in a while I’d hook a heavier brook trout that looked like its been around for sometime. He would fight and battle in the oncoming current as I cautiously tried bringing him towards me. Water would splash upward when he fought in the shallows. In such cases I kept my rod tip down to prevent him from surfacing into the quicker surface current. Once close enough I’d drop my net while lifting the rod guiding him into the basket.

 

 I really couldn’t say how many of these trout we caught in the short time we were out but we considered it a very successful day for both of us.

 

 It wasn’t as easy climbing the mountain side up to the trail as it was going down hill to the river. I could feel my calves straining a bit. Up on the trail to the truck was much easier as the incline wasn’t as steep. While walking the long hike towards the truck we could feel the coolness in the air the later it got. The sun was now shining its rays through tree branches casting shadows upon the trail. The heat of the day had gone and walking provided some warmth though my face could feel the presence of the cool damp forest rising up from the river below.

  I don’t get to trout fish with my youngest son as often as I like. Being he lives in North Carolina and I in Pennsylvania. I make it down his way at least once a year for a week or so to see his family, play with his kids and trout fish with him. 

 Though his work schedule keeps him busy during the week he always finds time to enjoy some trout fishing with his father! That’s me!!

 

~doubletaper

 

Same Time Next Year (Day 1)

 

Same Time Next Year (Day 1)

2/28/2022

  After getting beat up wading Wilson Creek over rocks and boulders I decided to fish the catch and release waters on the Davidson River. It was still in the 30’s in the morning so I wasn’t in a hurry to get there. Besides that the Davidson River Outfitters shop didn’t open until 10:00 and I wanted to stop by to check them out. I found their shop is really stocked up with plenty of fly fishing gear and plenty of fly tying material. So much there were colors and shades of tying material I can’t even find on line. When it comes to feather hackle I like to see them before I buy them.

  Trout fishing the Davidson is definitely an experience and a lot of patience is needed. I suppose, being that the road follows the river, making it easy access, it receives a lot of pressure. The trout aren’t easily fooled. You might be able to match the hatch but most times the trout know artificial and real, like a jeweler knowing the difference between a real diamond and a cubic zirconia under a magnifying glass.

  It was a comfortable 40’s when I parked along the roadside. The same spot I’ve concentrated on in the past 3 years. I took my time packing my vest and assembling my 4 weight 7 ½’ Powell rod. The sky was a pale blue and the sun wasn’t quite over the mountain side. The air was cool with nearly any wind to speak of but the coldness and dampness of the forest air was noticeably felt on bare skin. I got to the stream it was higher than I expected but still manageable to wade. The water was crystal clear though the shady areas along the far bank was much darker. The deeper sections weren’t visible beneath either.

  I started nymph fishing a fast run that entered into the long stretch of water. I looked downriver often for any risers in the slower current. I slowly nymph fished downstream until I got just up from where I usually found trout rise. Sure enough a few noses poked through the surface water sucking in small midges that dimpled on the surface. I had an assortment of small dries I was ready to use to try and fool these Davidson River trout.

  Noticing a few small BWO I started with a #20 CDC BWO on 6x tippet. I then tried a CDC parachute and CDC gray poly para-dun. I watched trout after trout rise, with there nose up, inspecting my imitations like a pathologist through a microscope. I fooled 2 trout in about an hour and a half after showing them an assortment of #20 to #16 dry flies. When small early black stoneflies started to flutter and drifting on the surface I switched to a #18 1x long black caddis with a light tan deer hair wing. That fooled a couple more. In the meantime I watched trout gobble stoneflies as soon as they emerged upon the surface and fluttered their wings to dry them off. After a while the trout would only take a drifting bug that was fluttering upon the surface.

 

After noon the sun was bright above the mountain side and with it brought the heat. I waded out and walked back to the truck to take my fleece over shirt off and returned to the river. Seeing no more risers, and tired of them teasing me, I lit a stogie and started wade fish downriver and into the fast riffling water. 

  

 I pulled one rainbow out on a San Juan worm. I didn’t see any risers so I decided to concentrate on fishing beneath.

 

 The sunshine was putting a good glare upon the surface and the riffling water reflected sunlight and sparkled like a revolving disco mirror ball. Even with my polarized shades on it was blinding in spots. I drifted the San Juan and a small stonefly without any results. I started to pick up rocks to see any nymphs clinging to the smooth granite type rocks. Only nymph I found was a brown nymph in maybe a size 14. I dropped a BH pheasant tail from the San Juan and finally got some action. 

  An hour or so went by before I saw my first rise near the far cliff side of the river. There was a nice stream of water that flowed beneath some hanging laurel and calmed downstream from where I saw the rise. The problem was the deeper wavy current was between me and the riser. Maybe a 15 yard cast but my dry wouldn’t be hanging around in the pool long before being pulled downstream by the wavy current. I moved upstream and waded out to my waist shortening the distance. With a quick cast, of an Adams Parachute, I shot the line and dry towards where I saw the rise last. The dry dropped upon the out-flowing current from the laurel. My lines s-curved midstream towards my offering. This gave time enough for the Adam to drift perfectly with the slower current while my slack fly line started to drift downstream with the wavy midstream surface water. I knew I had to be quick pulling line back while lifting the rod fast enough to take up the slack should a trout take my offering. I saw the sudden swirl upon the water surface and quickly followed up with a hook set as previously mentioned. The fly line swooped off the water and tight lined towards the far bank. The tapered leader cut the surface water downstream as the 4 weight fly rod bowed into the mid section. The trout wasn’t all that heavy but put up a good battle in the belly of the wavy current. 

 

 I continued to try and coax a few more with the Adams. One rose to my dry so unexpectedly that I missed the hook set. It looked like a nice trout also. That got me more prepared and confident that more trout would rise to my offering though none were rising to anything else. I hooked 3 more trout casting towards the far bank in places before actually noticing the brightness of the day was failing. I looked at my watch and it showed 6:00. I called it quits and headed for the truck.

~doubletaper

 

North Mills River Stockies

 

North Mills River, NC, Stockies

3/03/2022

 Wednesday I heard they stocked the North Fork Mills River delayed harvest area. After technical fly fishing the Davidson River Wednesday I decided to take it easy and have some fun with the stockies this Thursday.

  I got to the river a little after 8 am. There were already plenty of vehicles parked along the river. I knew some were bicyclists, by the racks on the back of their vehicles, but I was sure there were quite a few that were fishermen. I parked along the roadside and got my gear on. The section I was starting out in was about a truck and a half in width with bank-side foliage. I assembled my 4 piece 7’, 3 weight Hardy Demon fly rod and walked down to the narrow river.

  

 My third cast, with a Woolly Bugger, I hooked a trout. It fought hard in the swift riffling current and got off. I tried for another but nothing doing. I looked down river and there was a line of fly guys looking as if they were all nymph fishing. They were standing in a row like watching a TV broadcast through a store picture window. I slowly buggard my way down river towards them. By the time I got near the bridge the line of guys had left. I continued to the bridge and fished the darker water with an assortment of Woolly Buggers. Let’s just say I hammered the trout.

 I had people watching me, from the bridge, pick off trout. Other fishermen would stop and congratulate me on the nice size rainbows I was catching. One guy surprised me, from the bridge, as I was netting another rainbow. He told me it was a nice fish and asked me what I was using.

Me; “Being this is a Delayed Harvest area I figured these are stocked trout.”

He agreed. 

Me; “All the trout I caught so far have been rainbows. Rainbows like streamers so I’m using Woolly Buggers.” I commented. “In my experience I figured most freshly stocked trout don’t know what a nymph is and rainbows like streamers.”

He watched me hook 2 more trout and headed up the path upstream to fish.

While fishing I watched other fly guys and women nymph fishing with long rods. They moved their rods in a horizontal path in the air like tracing the white cloudy contrails of a high flying jet. I saw one lady and 1 fly guy catch 1 trout each in a matter of a half hour or so before they left. I saw no other fisher person catch anything near me.

  After a while I headed downriver and hooked three more trout, on buggers, in a fast, rocky run. I got 2 nice brook trout to the net and lost one.

 On my way back to the truck I ran into the same fisherman I had talked to earlier. He said he was from North Carolina and fished the North Fork pretty often. I asked how he did? He told me not as good as I was doing. He also said he caught a few on Girdle Bugs.

  Oh well, I guess the fresh trout will take something else but it didn’t sound like they were all that thrilled with something other than a Woolly Bugger.

  It was only 3:00 but with the sun shining brightly at about 70 degrees I called it quits. I had plenty of catching and headed to my truck.

  Back at the truck I changed clothes and put my gear away. I checked my phone to see if there was a brewery near by. Sure enough I found Mills River Brewing Co. that was within 4 minutes away.

  I topped off the day with a Mills River Irish Stout and washed down my wings with their Wash Creek Ale. Of course I smoked a fine cigar, Macanudo orange label, driving back to my sons house.

~doubletaper