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