The 5 o'clock Sulfurs

 

The 5 o’clock Sulfurs

5/24/22

 'After a nap, in the camper, I walked down to the river and saw a hatch of sulfurs rising off the water and fluttering around. I didn’t see a fish rise. I wasn’t surprised though cause I never caught trout in this section before. I did know where I could find trout and if the hatch is still going on I should have a good evening.’

 I got my gear on, made sure I had sulfurs, and drove down river. I parked and was the only vehicle in the area. I didn’t have to walk too close to the river to see sulfurs flying around. Standing on the bank I saw rising fish. I was excited! I clipped off a section of 4x tippet attached to my tapered leader and knotted on a section of 5x tippet. I knotted on a #16 sulfur and waded out into the river. I didn’t have to wade too far at all when I saw fish rising all around me once I stood still and the water settled. The sulfurs fluttering around looked like a size #18 but I figured I’d try a #16 Catskill tie.

  You can say I had the pick of the risers like winning the first raffle draw and having the pick of the table prizes.

  I picked out a riser, took out line and made a cast across stream making sure my tippet drifted behind my imitation down river. A fish swirled and my sulfur disappeared just before I snapped the rod back to set the hook. The line tightened and my first fish was fighting the tight line. He swam and fought against the current all the way to my net.

 The next one took 3 drifts before he took my sulfur with a gulp.

  The water wasn’t boiling with risers as if gorging on every sulfur drifting with the current. It appeared the hatch was actually petering out but just a few that were still emerging or drifting on the surface. The rises were sporadic but in the same space where each were feeding. Kinda like that Whac-A-Mole game. If I timed it right I’d nab one!

  Throughout the evening I continued to hook up or miss trout every time I saw a rise. I had to wade down river some as more fish were rising further down. Out across the water I saw a few more risers. The water was much deeper and I had to make long casts to get to them. There wasn’t much of a breeze so I was able to place my dry where I wanted with ease. One fish took my sulfur with a healthy splash. I reared the long length of line quickly, the fly line zipped of the water and tightened once again with a fleeing fish. This fish felt a lot heavier than the ones I’ve been catching. I felt the fast action rod flex into the middle section a few times while fighting the fish. It pulled and stayed deep as I played him near me. I was surprised that when I netted the fish it was a smallmouth bass. I guess smallmouth like the tasty little sulfurs also.

  When I saw fish practically jumping out of the water I knew they were taking emergers. After a few drifts through their feeding zone without a strike I put the dry right on the spot they rose from. That fooled a few taking emergers as they shot out of the water before they thought it was going to fly away. When the rises got fewer, and not near by, I called it quits.

It was an unexpected good time dry fly fishing over a river hatch.

(I did smoke a few cigars while enjoying my hook ups. I didn’t want to spot burn with pictures.)

Back at camp I cooked up some hot Italian sausage and ate dinner.

 

 Later on I got a campfire going and smoked a Vintage Cameroon, drank a few beers and relaxed as darkness closed out the day.

 

~doubletaper

 

A Young Womans Gem

 

A Young Womans Gem

5/18/22

  I always take time to fish Young Womans Creek anytime I’m up in Potter County fishing Kettle Creek. Being I needed gas and wanted to avoid paying $5.29 a gallon in Cross Fork I decided to take the drive to Renovo and hope gas was cheaper. Since Young Womans Creek is not far I’d fish that for at least the morning. Well, in Renovo I paid $4.99 a gallon so it wasn’t much of a savings for the MPG I spent getting there but it ended up being worth the drive and fishing Young Womans Creek.

  By the time I got to the creek it was near 9am I suppose. The sun was already filtering through the mountain side tree branches. Where the sun rays hit the water the surface shimmered with sunlight. There were already tiny midges hovering and dapping the water like fleas on a mangy outdoor dog. I looked for any risers but the water flowed undisturbed.

  The right branch of Young Womans Creek meanders through the forest away from any hard top road. A section is a delayed Harvest area that is stocked but I’ve caught small wild browns and brook trout hidden in the waters. I never caught anything longer than 10” and so I decided to take a break from my long and weighty rods and use my 3 weight 7’ Diamondglass rod. The water was flowing crystal clear and it was easy to see the stony bottom from some distance therefore long thoughtful casts and low profile approach would be much needed. The tree canopy shades a lot of the stream so under the bright sunlight would be a good place for me to concentrate. 

 

 I started casting a Woolly Bugger but when I saw a sipper against the cement wall, of the bridge, I decided to go for it. I had 5x tippet on but figured, with the clear water, 6x would be less conspicuous and a better tippet for the size caddis I was going to use. I was in the shade of the bridge and couldn’t see the 6x tippet to knot it to my leader very well so I stepped into the sunlight for a better view. The whole time I’m doing this I’d look down creek, on occasion, and I’d see the sipper dimpling the surface. On one occasion, about a foot upstream from the sipper I saw another rise. It could have been the same fish or maybe not. I figured they were just little wild trout filling their belly’s with the tiny midges dapping the water now and then. I thought a small #18 caddis might be an enjoyable and more filling breakfast if I could fool them. After I got everything knotted together I slowly walked into position to cast and stooped down along the bank. I made 5 casts, some within 4” I’d say, from the wall with no reaction. On my next forward cast I laid the #18 caddis right up against the wall with pin point accuracy. It may have drifted a foot along the wall when I saw a subtle rise and swirl the instant my caddis disappeared. I reared back on the glass rod and pulled back line. The line tightened instantly with the hooked trout and when I felt the slow action glass rod bow, almost in the butt section, I knew this wasn’t some small native brook trout or small wild brown. The surface water, under the bridge, swirled from the disturbance beneath of the fighting fish. As he fought trying to shake loose I calmly walked just downstream of the bridge and into the sunlight. He fought angrily within the shadow of the bridge side to side, to and fro, as if he was caught sometime and knew maybe he had a good chance of coming loose. The glass rod bent and rebounded in big whippy arcs with the rod feeling like I was holding a buggy whip caught up in the reins of a trotting harness racing horse. I got him out from the darker water and when he came into the sunlight I saw this butterscotch, long shaped trout sparkling just below the surface. He tugged on his way up creek in water no deeper the knee deep. I held the cork grip tight with my left hand controlling the tension. He swirled around, took to the other side of the creek and swam back under the bridge. The glass rod bowed and followed his every movement. The longer I fought with him the more worried I was that the #18 hook was going to come out. I had a feeling this old trout knew if he kept up his antics he had a good chance of doing just that.

  It took some time to get him close enough to net. The glass rod arced like a horseshoe as I raised it bringing the trout to the net. He squirmed some with tail swats and then calmed down. That’s when I noticed a slight scar below his mouth telling me he was hooked before. Whether he was ever netted before was only him to know. 

 

  I always felt native brook trout were the prettiest and glamorous trout in mountain waters but this old brown held its own beauty. Under the sunlight the red spots glowed like red coral gem stones within light gray halos along with brown smoky quartz spots against his brownish burnt orange sides. His buttery yellow belly lustered brilliantly like a field of buttercup flowers under the sunshine. The #18 hook was caught in his mouth and I’m glad he calmed enough to let me extract it with one quick tug. He flinched a little like when a dentist sticks the needle of Novocain in the gum of your mouth. I got the quick picture and dropped the net into the knee deep water. He swam out under his own power and I watched him nonchalantly swim off back under the bridge. I hooked the caddis to the hook keeper and stood up straight. I pulled out a rewarding cigar and lit it up.

  As I stood there I thought “it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t catch anything else in this creek the rest of the day” though I was hoping it wasn’t so. I decided from then on I was only going to fish dry flies.

  I fished that section downstream without any takers. I drove up creek some to another spot I have done well on. I missed a couple of quick snaps at my dry fly I’m sure were small wild trout in shin deep riffling water. I finally nabbed one and let him loose hoping someday he can grow long and old as the other. 

 

  Around noon I headed back to Kettle Creek hoping for a hatch to do more dry fly fishing.

  Young Womans Creek didn’t disappoint to say the least.

~doubletaper

 
 

 

The Struggle

 

The Struggle

5/17/22

  I go up to Kettle Creek in May to dry fly fish. With the rain and muddy water early in the week dry fly fishing wasn’t very good. Though I did catch a few I made rise it was far and few in between. That was Sunday evening and Monday morning before the rain and muddy waters.

  With the many hatches and natural nymphs in the stream Woolly Bugger and streamer fishing wasn’t a priority though I did catch one or two on a bugger.

 

  Since not many risers and conditions I concentrated below the surface on Tuesday in the stained water.

  I hear and seen fly fishermen brag about Euro nymphing, Czech nymphs and Frenchies as if that’s the only way to catch trout now days. I nymph fish like I always have and catch trout with time true patterns or patterns I tie to match the aquatic entomology of the stream and conditions. No fancy named flies, no game changers, rubber worms or must have’s in today’s fly tying market.

  Tuesday morning, after breakfast, I headed out to do some Kettle Creek trout fishing. Where I wanted to go there were 4 trucks and two cars parked along the the stretch of water. Fishermen were lined up as if watching the tortoise  and rabbit race. I drove back downstream where there was only one vehicle and one guy fishing in shorts with a spin rod and a chain stringer hanging from a belt. Oh, did I mention he was in shorts?

  I bought new waders before I came up here because my older ones leaked. Kettle Creek is still pretty cold this time of year. I also get tired of taking off wet waders only to have to wring out my fleece wading pans as well as socks. This guy is up to his knees in shorts, no waders. Go figure!

  I got my gear on and took out my fast action Icon rod with weight forward line to cut through the wind. The water cleared up nicely from yesterdays storm but still flowed pretty fast. While fishing I saw a few fish rise but to what? The only thing I saw flying around was a few small caddis, which was rarely, and the hawk above. I started nymph fishing but once I saw the rises I just had to try for them. The gusts of wind didn’t help casting my caddis out and with the debris floating in the water wasn’t helping out either. I did end up catching one and one got unhooked bringing him in.

 

  After time and again trying to make another rise was getting more frustrating that I decided to go to the dark side.

  By noon I had caught quite a few trout. Other fishermen would come and go throughout the morning but didn’t stick around very long. When the stream cleared out of fishermen and I wasn’t catching any trout for some time I decided to drive upstream again and see if the race was finally over.

  There were still a few vehicles left over but where I wanted to make my stand for the time being was vacant with the closest angler up creek fishing the faster current. The wind gusts seem to be a little stronger up here but I made a few casts with a dry March Brown I had already on my tippet anyhow before going back underneath. After hooking a couple where I was standing the guy upstream and I kind of switched places without any spoken words. I added a little more weight to my leader and started to hook up more often in the faster current.

 

 They were grabbing the nymphs heavy, no indicator, bobber, float or thing-a-ma-jigger needed. ¾ away, cross creek, there was calmer wavy water without the small white capped waves. I made a cast just to the tail end of a good run of wavy current, made a big upstream mend and let the tandem nymphs flow into the calmer flowing current. A fish grabbed it and pulled like a boy ripping the flag off a runner with the ball, in flag football style. The line tightened and instantly the 5 weight bent into the mid section with line peeling off the reel once the fish knew it was hooked. The fish darted downstream tugging and testing my line and knots and fishing ability. I gripped the cork tightly in clinched fist while controlling the fly line tension. The trout fought furiously with hard tugs while constantly swimming downstream. I knew I had a biggy. Turning and swimming upstream it rose just below the surface and with the sun shining down I saw the big rainbow for the first time.

  I had a good heavy fish the day before in the mad stained water. It kept deep the whole time it fought. I had it within rods length but the water was too stained to see it. When I tried to get him up to the surface he gave a quick heavy jolt and the hook came free. I was hoping this guy wasn’t going to some how do the same thing.

  I moved the rod upstream and it followed from a distance. Angling the rod for side pressure, he had the strength to keep his distance. I started backing up to calmer water but he wasn’t interested in getting any closer. I couldn’t force him towards me and I didn’t want to lose him so I had to let him struggle in the faster current. He definitely had more stamina than I expected as he continued to jolt and tug line. I had him swimming upstream, downstream, near and further out . He was definitely controlling the battle and it was if he was seeing how long I could hold on like I was trying to hold on while riding a mechanical bull. Seconds as well as minutes seem to tic by while he wrenched and jerked trying to throw me off guard.

  Angling the rod upstream again I had him swimming in the current closer. I backed up just a bit in shin deep water. Again he had no intentions to swim in shallower water and shot away taking line and jerking the rod. I figured I’d have to wade in deeper water to his liking if I wanted to net him. So for more struggling he battled against my will.

  Time and again I got an eyeball on this oversized football rainbow. He wasn’t giving up lightly and I wasn’t going to force him until I felt he settled down some.again I guided him upstream and he began to get closer. I got him close enough that I had about 6” of fly line out of the tip top. I had him holding steady with the rod extended. My rod hand was gripped tightly with all my strength and my wrist was locked as the rod bent in a good arc. I had the net out dangling in the current while I struggled with him with both hands. I grabbed the net and raised the rod and watched him swim just out in front of me upstream. With the rod arced good he swam close enough I was able to swoop him up in the net. He flipped and squirmed in the net. Keeping him in the water, in the net, I got him to the bank. What a beauty! He had taken the small bead head pheasant tail nymph.

 

  I didn’t have too much trouble detaching the hook but I have to admit it took some time to revive him. I saw his gills continue to flutter as I let him out of the net but he just dropped to the bottom as if unconscious. I scooped him back up in the net. His gills were still fluttering as if gasping for air. He wasn’t giving up life and I was going to try everything I could to get him back safely. I grabbed him by the neck of his tail and took him into stronger current facing him upstream. When I felt him give me a good couple of swats with his tail I eased my grip and he swam off out of my hand. He swam off with enough energy I felt he was going to live unharmed. I felt good!

  I fished a little longer and caught one more trout before I called it quits.

 

 My arm muscles were sore by now and fatigued. My shoulder felt like I had pitched a complete game and into extra innings. I was completely sore and tired.

  Back at camp I opened the door and the aroma of venison stew in the crock pot filled my senses joyfully like visiting a bourbon distillery. I sat and ate two bowls of stew with a can of milk.

 

  That evening I got a fire going and enjoyed a jug of Scotch Ale from Clarion River Brewing Co. and a H. Upmann Banker cigar. A couple of campers came by and we talked fishing under the star studded evening.

It was a grand ole day!!

 ~doubletaper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Gobbler 2022

 

Spring Gobbler 2022

5/11/2022

  After hunting along Tionesta creek, Thursday, for spring gobbler I was driving through the Allegheny National Forest in Forest County to check out another area I’ve seen turkey a year ago. I was on a bendy road and when I turned a corner there was a long beard in the middle of the road directing traffic, like an adult crossing guard for school kids, so his turkey friends could cross the road safely. I looked to my left and there were already a few in the forest who already crossed. I threw the truck in park. The gobbler walked into the trees to catch up with the others. I jumped out of the truck and ran after them to split them up. None flew but they ran and scattered.

  I drove down the road and there happen to be a pull off where I could park. I got my camo’s on and grabbed my hot seat and over-under. I quickly, trying to be quiet, walked up through the woods trying to get into an area close enough but far enough away that they can’t see or hear me coming. I sat down against a log and waited before calling. Maybe in about 5 minutes I gave out my first call with my diaphragm mouth call. A hen answered up in the woods pretty far away and sounded close to the road. It was pretty thick where I was sitting so I decided to move up closer to where the hen was clucking from. I came to a good clear opening in the woods that I could see some distance. I sat down against a tree, waited and called again. Again a hen clucked back. I continued to tease the turkeys to coming within sight but they were teasing me and didn’t seem to be coming my way. One yelp and I heard a gobbler to my right down the small hill. I waited and gave another cluck and he answered again. He seemed to be a distance away and when he did appear he looked to be about 80-75 yards away. There was plenty of skinny short saplings between the bird and the direction he was slowly walking. The whole time the other turkeys were clucking as if calling him to come to there confused state of being.

  As I calmly sat still I’d cluck now and then. He would look my way but seemed more interested in the real clucking of the other turkeys as if a dad knowing the sounds of his own children in a playground and didn’t pay me much mind. In so being I picked out an opening and got ready to shoot. I knew he was some distance away but I figured this might be my only chance hoping my 3” mag load would find my target. When he cleared in the opening, with still some saplings between us, I pulled the trigger of the double barrel and it boomed to life. The gobbler hesitated and ran trotting off in the opposite direction. I couldn’t believe I didn’t hit him. After a bit I went over and looked for feathers and found none. Chance one failed. After that I gave a loud call and the gobbler answered but was way far away. I decided to walk back to the road.

  I walked through the woods on the other side of the road just to scope out the area from which they came. A 100 yards or so I found fresh turkey scratching in the leaf covered ground. It looked like a great place where turkey feed often. After a couple of yelps without answers I gave up and decided to go trout fishing. I figured I’d try again another day. On Friday I had other things to do and since I am retired I had plenty of time to go back after them. I didn’t want to hunt on Saturday and get caught up in a competition with weekend turkey hunters. So I set myself on Monday.

 

  Monday I awoke early and by the time I drove and parked it was around 6:30 am or so. It was a little foggy but I wasn’t too worried that the turkeys already passed the area. I walked through the woods and planted myself further in the woods but still able to see most of their feeding area. I gave a few yelps and immediately a gobbler answered from a distance beyond. I moved about 50 more yards towards the sound and sat behind a downed tree resting my shotgun on the trunk. We had quite a bit of a shouting match for some time. He was coming closer but didn’t appear to be in any hurry. If I didn’t call for some time he would gobble as if to see if I was still around. I’d answer him. Other times if things were silent for some time I would yelp and he’d answer me. He finally came within sight maybe over a 100 yards or so through the dense forest. His tail feathers were fanned out in proud gobbler fashion. I was able to see there were a couple of other turkeys with him. I tried for sometime to get him closer but he wasn’t interested in meeting up as if the girls he was with would get too jealous and angry. They finally moved on down hill but still withing yelping distance. They seemed to turn back towards me and coming up hill in my direction. They got within good clucking range and we conversed like two neighbors behind fenced yards and across a busy highway out of view. I kept my eyes peeled looking for them out through the thickets. Within a 100 yards they appeared.

  In the mean time a group of about 5 deer came into view in the direction the turkeys seemed to be heading for. I’d cluck now and then but most of the time the gobbler wouldn’t answer. It was fun and interesting watching the young deer and turkeys interact with each other so close. One of the deer must of gotten too close at one time that I saw a turkey fly up quickly and clucked like it was spooked of something one of the deer had done. This was all good and enjoyable watching but I wasn’t here on some deer and turkey documentary. I wanted that gobbler.

  Time passed by and I finally got to see two gobblers, one shorter beard and a hen. The gobblers kept their distance but the hen got close enough at times that I hoped the gobblers would follow. The gobblers were maybe 80 yards away or so and behind a downed tree trunk for sometime. They would answer me at times as I would cluck trying to keep their attention. In the meantime two of the young deer were feeding and getting closer to where I was sitting. Close enough I was afraid to move and close enough I figured at any time they would get a whiff of me and spook causing the turkeys to disperse in fear. One of the gobblers got withing maybe 65 yards. The deer were getting closer and I could see they appeared to be wary of my presence. Though the distance between the gobbler and I was through thin saplings again I figured I’d let go a shot before the deer spook and the turkeys fly away. I picked out a small opening just to the left of an upright 5” diameter tree that I was hoping the gobbler would walk into before the deer spook. I heard a deer snort at the same time the gobbler came into view. I aimed for its head and the 12 gauge boomed. I heard the deer take off into the deeper forest and the gobbler turned and ran followed be the other gobbler. I couldn’t believe I missed again. The hen in the meantime didn’t run very far and was still within view. I sat there quietly like a sadden dog licking his wounds.

  The hen started to cluck as if she was lost and confused about what just happened. She actually came within 15 yards of me clucking as I sat still. Out in the distance, over a 100 yards the two gobblers were walking. They weren’t walking towards me or the hen but keeping their distance towards where I saw them in the first place. With a couple of clucks the hen turned and walked up to them. I couldn’t get them to turn and they disappeared like a concert band leaving the stage without coming back for an encore! Fail 2….

I gave them a day of rest and went back out on Wednesday.

 I have called and got gobblers to answer me quite often but I never seem to get them close enough to shoot. I still couldn’t believe I didn’t hit the ones I shot at, even at that distance. My confidence of getting them closer was more than shaky but I wasn’t giving up. It was if I knew what restaurant they like to visit so I would stick around like the paparazzi trying to get that one photo of a celebrity that would make the tabloid headlines.

 I woke up early Wednesday and drove to the same area, parked in the same place and crossed the road to the same feeding zone. I got pretty close to where the turkeys had been the other day. After a few yelps a gobbler answered up on the hill in the opposite direction they appeared the other day. I decided to set up Hielda, my hen turkey decoy, on a mound of dirt about 30 yards away from me. I settled in against a large tree and started calling. The gobbler didn’t answer my calls that often but when he did he was getting closer to my location. He hadn’t answered in some time when I saw him up on the side of the hill from me displaying his prideful tail feathers. I think he was being pretty sneaky and cautious without calling. I must of watched him and his girlfriend for sometime. He wasn’t getting any closer. I was sure he saw my decoy and maybe studied it enough, from a distance, that he wasn’t too interested in meeting Hielda. I mean my decoy wasn’t anything too pretty to look at but hey it might get a guys attention if she’s the only single in town.

  

While calling another gobbler answered my yelps higher on the hill. Now, I was hoping old long beard would get jealous and maybe visit Hielda for a quick ‘how do you do’, before the other gobbler shows up. Well no chance of that. In fact as I called or fell silent the two gobblers were calling and answering each other. I watched old long beard move down and across the hill too far away to shoot. ( Having missed twice before I wasn’t going to take any more long shots. I only had one 3” mag left.) I’d yelp now and then and the other gobbler would answer more often then long beard. Every once in a while long beard would gobble and the one behind would answer as if they were just keeping in contact where each other were.

I was looking out towards where the other gobbler was answering from, when I finally got an eyeball on him. In fact there were three together. They weren’t feeding but just seemed to be three buddies loitering around to decide what bar to visit first along the strip. They kept on answering me but every once in a while long beard would gobble maybe warning them I’m a fake. I watched the three pals for some time slowly moving in the same direction that long beard and his girlfriend followed. I tried a couple different clucks and one call may have got one of the boys quizzical attention. I’m sure they saw Hielda by now and maybe she didn’t look so bad after all. They slowly started to walk in her direction and I was patiently waiting for them to get within a comfortable distance I was sure I couldn’t miss. As I said they were approaching slowly like first timers deciding what to say or how to approach a street corner girl. They weren’t in any hurry that’s for sure. I had the shotgun up with my elbow resting on my knee for steadiness. They weren’t paying any attention in my direction so I took time to see who’s beard was the longest and the first one won, or lost depending on how you look at it when I pulled the trigger. The shot connected and the gobbler was flopping around like a chicken with its head cut off. The other two fellows backed off giving their friend room to take his fit. When the gobbler I downed settled the other two clucked at him like they expected him to get up. It was if they weren’t sure if he just had a heart attack or died after taking an epileptic fit.

I just sat there quietly waiting for the two to leave their dead buddy. They kept on clucking but no matter how hard they tried their pal wasn’t getting up. I finally stood up and the two clucked and walked away as if it was time to leave the viewing after giving him their last farewell. 

 

 After field dressing the bird I carried him to the truck and had myself a little tailgate party with a Vintage Cameroon. Who cares if it’s only 8:30 in the morning for a stogie?

 

 He wasn’t the longest beard but he gobbled and I think wanted to take Hielda for a ride!!!

 

~doubletaper

 

 

Tionesta Caddis

 

Tionesta Caddis

4/30/22

 After a morning of turkey hunting I fished an area trout were rising the day before. The water had come down a bit overnight and was clear as moonshine. The sun was bright and it got warm in the afternoon while I was fishing. I expected to see trout rising to the black stoneflies but didn’t see any rising while I was fishing. I knew the area they had been rising, so I decided to cast a dry out there and see if I could make them rise. It took sometime to convince a few but I ended up making a few rise to my stonefly dry pattern.

  About 2:00pm I decided to head back to camp. On the way I stopped and fished a couple of spots along the Tionesta but quickly left without a catch. By the time I got to camp, around 4:00pm, I was pretty worn out and ready to rest. I still had my waders on and my fly rod was still in the back of the truck. After parking I went down to the crick just to see if anything was happening. That’s when the fun started!

  Recently I haven’t been fishing around camp because I wasn’t catching many trout for the time I spent on the water. They didn’t seem to want streamers and I only caught a couple on stonefly nymphs. It also gets fished often by bait fishermen so maybe the trout were just wary of biting. Anyhow…

  Looking over the water I saw 1 then 2 trout rising across creek. My heart started to pump a little faster and when they talk about someone getting a second wind, well those rises just put some excitement in this tired body.

  I got my fly rod out the back of the truck, put on my vest and grabbed a few cigars. I wasn’t sure what the trout were rising to but as I walked upstream along the bank, to get a better angle, I brushed against a tree branch. In doing so a bunch of small caddis flew from the branches. They looked to be around a size #18 or even a #20. I figured they were the little olive body caddis that loiter around this time of spring. I had a small box of imitations in my vest the same size. Though I had 5x tippet already knotted on the leader I figured I’d stay with that set up. If the trout won’t hit then I’d knot on 6x which I usually do for clear water conditions and such small dry flies.

  As I waded out I noticed these little caddis fluttering around the surface like a colony of bees around a flower garden. It was hard to see any of these tiny caddis on the surface, due to the glare, but the trout evidently found one now and then. I noticed a flat rock below the surface about a quarter of the way across the crick. It was a little deeper getting to it but once on it I was only thigh high deep. I knotted on one of my #18 olive caddis and pulled line out through the rod eyes. I had plenty of room for my backcast so my concentration was on any risers that so happened. It didn’t take long for a trout to rise to show me where he was at.

  The first rise was upstream to my left a good distance but manageable. I took out line with each false cast until I figured the distance. Forward I watched the line tight loop forward and then slap and splash water when the line hit the surface. This is when I realized that I was using weight forward line. Compared to doubletaper line the weight forward makes more of a splash then any double taper line I’ve used for dry fly fishing. (I would argue this point with anyone.)

  In this respect I have to change my forward casting stroke. Across crick with the current is no problem but upstream or downstream I’ll use a different approach. Normally with DT line I’ll back up my forward cast just before it hits the water so I get small S’ turn slack as the fly line lays upon the surface. In this way the dry fly will have more time and distance to drift drag free to the feeding trout. Sure I’ll have to be ready and quicker on the hook set but I’ve been doing this long enough I know how to control my line. With weight forward line I have a different approach. Though I’ll still want some slack for a drag free drift my technique is a little different.

  On my cast forward I want to make sure my fly is extended as far as possible from my fly line. This isn’t too hard casting forward just making sure the splash of the fly line isn’t over the trout’s head. Doing this I want to make sure the dry hits the surface first before the fly line. To do this I definitely make an overhead cast keeping the rod high on the forward cast, stopping short of full draw, and then slightly wristing the rod tip higher. This brings the fly line upward letting the dry hit the water first. I always figure if a trout is feeding it looks at the first thing that hits the water and if the fly line causes a commotion first the trout may never look further at my offering.

  It took a couple of casts but the trout wasn’t interested or wary cause of my first cast. No problem, there were others to catch. The other trout I saw rise earlier was downstream and to my right well within my casting range. Downstream casting is not much of a problem with weight forward line as long as you get the dry way ahead of the feeding zone before the fly line hits the water. On my second cast I was pretty sure it was drifting near the feeding zone. The trout rose and took it unaware it was attached to tippet, leader, fly line, reel and me!! I reared back and the line tightened. He scurried about tugging and jerking the line like trying to bring a rusted bucket up through a well banging against the side walls. #1 was in the net safely.

 

 A trout rose not that far in front of me as I was letting the trout go. I made a short cast just upstream from his last rise. He took my dry caddis like a cat lapping up spilled milk. I wristed a hook set and #2 was in the net.

  

 Every time I saw a rise I concentrated on the feeding zone and just about caught every trout that rose. I lost a couple before netting them but I was just as happy fooling these trout.

  I made a blind cast across and down from where I stood. Most of the trout was near the far bank where colder water flowed from the run off from the steep hillside. I watched as my drag free dry continued with the current toward another trouts feeding zone. Unexpectedly a trout purposed, at a 90° angle, at my dry that swam out from the far bank. I had plenty of slack in the line but my instincts took over and pulling line in with my rod free hand while quickly raising the rod with my other, made the hook set on time. This trout felt a little heavier as he fought aggressively to the net.

  Without seeing any more risers within casting distance I waded out towards the bank and moved upstream for the others I saw rising. The water was a little shallower upstream so I was able to still get out near the middle of the crick without getting waist deep. I tried for the trout that eluded me earlier upstream from where I stood but he was still being stubborn or still wary of my presence.

  I picked off a couple more trout casting nearer to the far bank with long casts. After releasing a trout I looked down crick and was going to attempt to try for the stubborn trout again when I noticed a small swirl on the surface before my intended target. If I wasn’t looking that way at the time I would never of known he was there. Occasionally a riffled swirl would appear on the surface from the undercurrent deflecting from its course around a larger rock on the crick bed but still well below the surface thus causing a disturbance to the surface water. What I saw was definitely a sipping trout rise. He was trying to be as casually inconspicuous as if he knew I was here but was hungry enough to take a bit of food off the surface like a grown man in a crowded room finger picking a bite of cheese on a charcuterie board. I grinned before I even casted to him.

  I let a nice easy cast drop my caddis way ahead of his feeding zone pretty much in the same direction he rose in. I watched my imitation drift like a caddis resting on the surface before taking off. I watched the unsuspecting trout sip it up off the surface. I reared back on the rod and the line tightened once again. He put up a good fight like it’s been some time ago that he was caught. I grinned the whole time I brought him to the net.

 The evening was turning cooler and I only discovered one more trout rising. For the heck of it I knotted on a #16 caddis and lighter wing color to make it easier to see cause of the water glare and just to see if that last trout would be fooled. The first cast out towards him revealed my suspicion. He took it with a healthy slap that caused a surface splash then just a conspicuous swirl. I reared back on the long length of line and another trout fought in the current towards me.

 

 As I stood thigh high deep in the middle of the crick watching for another rise a swarm of caddis started to fly upstream like a murmuration of starlings. Trying to swat one in my hat wasn’t easy as they avoided all but one attempt. When I did get one in my cap I carefully opened it up to find an egg laying grannom. I looked upon the surface water and never saw a trout rise again. It didn’t look like any of these grannoms were stopping for a drink of water as they were flying fast upstream as if they didn’t want to be late for a big celebration. I wished I knew where the celebration was!

With that I waded out and called it a day.

 ~doubletaper

 

 

 

 

 

 

Throughout the Day

 Throughout the Day

4/26/22 

 You ever have one of those days fly fishing that from the first thing you do just starts an aggravating outing? Like your better half waking up on the wrong side of the bed and aggravates you throughout the day. You don’t quit on her or leave cause you love her and just hope things get better as the day wears on kind of like trout fishing.

 You visit the creek you want to fish on a chilly drizzling morning. You dress warm and after walking through the forest you find the mountain stream high and stained. It’s waist high wade-able, so you have to be careful, and you know it’s the coldest creek in the North Western ANF in PA! After a couple of casts you feel the rod isn’t casting right. You find you missed an eye when threading the rod. You wade out of the cold water and make it right.

  You wade back in and within 3 backcasts you catch a thin twig branched off a 2” limb. You try your best to pull it out, scaring every living thing in the tree, but the leader just seems to wrap itself more around the bare twigs. You wade over and pull down the branch and untangle the mess. Once it gets free you notice a knotted ball of tippet and leader around the double uni-knot you use to connect the tippet to leader. While standing in the water you retie on and glad you’re the only one on the creek. You almost feel as if you never fly fished before though you’ve been fly fishing for more than 30 some years!

  After 15 minutes or so you start wading downstream casting streamers across and letting them swing trying to entice a bite. There looks to be a deep cut under an overhanging branch against the far bank. You set yourself up casting the streamer upstream from the branches and let it swing underneath into the deeper cut. A trout takes the offering as it clears the overhang. The trout fights angrily with forceful jolts as you play him closer. You’re just about to net him on the surface and the hook lets loose. The bowed rod reflexes and slingshots your streamer upward sending it to an overhanging limb to high to recover it from. You wade out and retie leader and tippet. 

 Downstream you finally clear the bank side brush and set yourself in the middle of the creek, crotch deep, able to cast to either side without back-casting interruption. You enjoy a medium body cigar as you hook and net hungry brown trout. Not too big but you’re catching trout and hope the aggravation and unexpected problems are all upstream and behind you.

 

  As you’re swinging the streamers you let out more line knowing the water downstream is pretty near waste deep though it’s too stained to tell. You don’t want to take chances wading down any further without seeing the creek bed. You add a little more weight before your next cast to get the streamer down deeper. Your third swing through the bump you feel and set the hook appears to be an unseen deep branch of some kind and it’s not letting go. You wade out and retie after the tippet breaks.

  You figure you’ll try nymph fishing. Maybe a San Juan worm, for attraction, and a stonefly dropper. You roll cast upstream and watch the fly line to detect a strike. You come to a long branched hemlock with a bough slightly breaking the surface water. You roll cast just beyond the bough and wham a fish grabs your offering. You reel him in and net the little fellow. You next roll cast in the same general area. A slight wind blows up creek the same time your tandem offerings on 6x tippet, is in the air. You see your offerings catch the breeze and is directed into the hanging hemlock bough. You wade out and retie.

 You end the morning in a noon day chill. Your insides are as chilled as an ice filled cooler. You can’t wait to get warm. You caught trout and, though all the hazards, wear a smile on your face. You didn’t break your rod and didn’t lose any gear except for the few feather and fur ornaments you left adorning the stream side limbs.

 You strip off your waders and try to ignore the cold wetness on your fleece pant leg and wet sock below your right kneecap. You put your gear away and sit in the warming truck till you feel the warmth on your lower limbs before heading back to camp.

 After dinner and washing dishes I make a glowing warm campfire. I enjoy the peace and quiet with no aggravation or problems. I relax with a RP broadleaf stogie and a Sweet Water BC Lager for the evening listening to the creek flow and birds chirping near by.

All is good!!

~doubletaper