Good Friday

 

Good Friday

11/03/23

  The parking area was full up with lines of vehicles when I arrived in the morning. It was if I was late for early mass. I parked in the grass giving way to any other late vehicles. I’ve fished this area before, for steelhead, some years ago so I was sort of familiar. With all the vehicles though I wasn’t sure I’d find a pew empty enough not to be crowded shoulder to shoulder.

  When I got to the water I looked down creek where I had fished before. I saw a few fishermen just before the bend that I knew flowed into a deep hole. I looked upstream and there was only one fisherman pretty far up, by himself, casting a fly line.

  The water, between him and I, was flat water but the leaves upon the surface showed there was some current flow. The section was wide enough, and with the slightly tinted water, there might be some steelhead that was somewhere in between him and I. I just had to find them. Being I was late for mass I decided to walk up stream, towards the fisherman, and fish my way to where I started.

  I carefully crossed the creek in shallow to knee deep water, feeling the cold water, to the path on the other side. As I walked the path upstream I kept an eye on the water trying to spot any fish. Once up, close enough to talk to the gentleman, I started my quest. I asked him if he caught anything yet and he friendly replied no, the fish weren’t biting. He mentioned ‘I should have been here yesterday.’

  I knotted on a Triple Threat streamer and proceeded to cast across creek and let the streamer drift downstream. Not knowing how deep the water was I’d add weight now and then. Slowly I waded down stream casting my fly line. Now and then people would show up and walked behind me or stop and fish here and there before the entrance to the creek. I didn’t see any of them catch anything and they moved on. About half way between the guy and the place I entered I got my first strike. I felt the slightest tug on the line, like what you might feel walking into a thin spider web, and I yanked back for the hook set. The line straightened immediately and took off like a bat out of hell, one might say.

  He took off upstream peeling line off the spool. The fly line cut threw the surface water like a Ginsu knife slicing threw a Big Jim Chili pepper. I tightened the loose drag a couple of clicks trying to slow him down. Upstream he came to the surface ferociously shaking his head before going back under. The sound of the splashing was heard far enough the guy upstream turned to see the commotion. The fish kept his distance swimming down creek in a hurry. I was able to reel in some of the slack line before getting the line tight towards him again. We proceeded to battle it out one on one. A couple of times I got him towards the bank before he broke me off and headed back to safety. Oh well, the fight was real, and though I was going to release him anyway, it would have been nice to land him.

  I stuck around the area casting out trying to fool another. Down creek I noticed a couple of fellows caught 2 steelhead not too far from where we entered the creek. They had been there for a while. After about 20 minutes they waded out and headed upstream. I was already casting my way towards the spot but kind of hurried a little faster to get there before anyone else.

  By now the sun was showing through the overcast sky but the water was still tinted enough not the expose the fish out further. The water didn’t look too deep on the other side, along the far bank, but on occasion I could spot a tail fin or two cutting the surface so I knew they were out there. A far cast, with a Triple Threat, out from the bank didn’t take too long of a drift to get a taker. The way the line took off it was if the steelhead swiped it like a Barn Swallow swiping a bug out of mid-air. He headed straight for the far bank and stopped abruptly, raised its head out of the water trying to throw the hitched hook. Not being successful, he sprinted upstream like the start of a race with a gun shot. Not too far he shot completely out of the water, forward, and his wet rainbow side glimmered in the sunshine. He plopped into the water like a mushroom anchor being thrown overboard. Once the rod sections bowed with a tightened line again he turned and swam down creek. He gave a couple of head shakes, as if to check to make sure I was still hanging on, as he swam. It took a while but I finally got him calmed down enough to get him to the bank safely. 

 

  It always feels good getting one to handle!

  It wasn’t too soon after that I knew I had a fatty on. This one wasn’t as quick and active as the other but its weighty body had the butt of the fly rod in my gut trying to keep leverage on him. The rod bent deep at times when he took off unexpectedly. He roamed around outward, as if he was looking for help, to help get him loose. He didn’t have any success with finding a friend to help im and I got him in to handle also.

 

 Less than 20 minutes I had a chromer showing off its skillful aerobatics in mid air with more moves than a trapeze artist. Each time she entered the sky she sparkled like being dressed in sequin under circus spot lights! 

 

 I must have been at the right spot for feeding time.

  I lost one somewhere out there after a hectic fight. I scored one more to my hand before 1:00. It was if bells chimed and brunch was over. 

 

  After that things slowed down dramatically. I tried everything from sucker spawn, Glo-bugs, wet flies and nymphs with only a quick tap or two I couldn’t hook up too. The best I did was with streamers. Others I talked to weren’t doing any better either. Most of the fellows commented I should have been here yesterday. “The water was cloudier and the fish were biting.”

  About 3:30 I called it a day and headed back to the parking lot. The air was getting chillier and the clouds moved in covering the sun. Along with that the wind picked up and the abundance of falling and the flow of leaves made it irritating trying to find water between them. I’ve been out since 7:30 and the spurt of fun I had was fulfilling enough I left on a good note like after singing the last hymn before leaving church!

~doubletaper

 

River Trout

 

River Trout

10/05/2023

  It was a beautiful morning outside the camper in the Allegheny National Forest. The pale blue sky gave way to steaks of red. It was if, by a painters stroke, brushed a crimson hue across the canvas. The Autumn colors of tree leaves were turning. 

  Colorful branchy leaves lined the river bank like colorful street streamers for a parade. The weakest leaves lay upon the stony bank like discarded confetti.

  Squirrel hunting wasn’t fruitful at all. The squirrels must have stayed in their hollowed out trees. It was still pleasant to be out sitting among the colorful forest. It was quiet and peaceful. A breeze would blow across the tree tops now and then and lifeless crisp leaves would fall from their branches, slipping off others along their downfall, causing the slightest noise like stepping on a dropped potato chip. Acorns fell from the oaks knocking on every limb they would hit on their way to earth and land with a thud. Some would bounce off of moss covered boulders, that were scattered around me, like pin balls off of bumpers. Chipmunks hurried along, stopping briefly, with mouths full. Some being chased by others causing a noisy ruffle as they scampered about.

  Fishing was slow but yielded a few trout. By the time I got out to fish, around noon, the sun was up full ablaze like an Arizona sun over an Arizona desert. It wasn’t long before I felt the sweat on my forehead under my wide brim straw hat. Every so often a welcomed warm breeze blew through me slightly cooling me from the hot sun rays.

  I was geared up, with my 6 weight fly rod, ready to hook into some river smallmouth bass. I waded down to the riffling water casting aimlessly with a Woolly Bugger. The water, ¾ the way across, looked somewhat deeper and I made a long cast. I thought I snagged a rock, just after it fell, as the fly line barely arced with the cross current. I twitched the rod back high trying to free the hook when it violently yanked back. The fish stayed low fighting it’s way against me as I played it towards me. It was to frisky to be a smallmouth and when I netted it I was right. A nice brown trout laid in my net. 

 

 It was no doubt a stocked trout, for lack of color, from years back that found its way to the river from the stocked mountain creeks. By its sandstone color belly I’m sure it has lived in the river for sometime!

  Casting out freely, as I slowly waded the riffles, I caught another. It fought just like the other so I knew it wasn’t a smallmouth either. It was almost identical to the first brown trout I caught and just as frisky.

 

  For the next hour or so I continued casting streamers and poppers without any noticeable strikes as I headed downriver. At times I would aim for drifting leaves testing my accuracy. If it wasn’t for the stogie I held between my teeth it wouldn’t have been as enjoyable.

  I waded back up to the truck but it was too early to quit. I drove downriver to test my fishing skills in another area I haven’t fished for some time. I caught more trout than bass there, but it wasn’t that far from the parking area and I wasn’t planning on wading downriver anyway.

  Knee deep I was casting a Woolly Bugger, while smoking a cigar, up into the wavy white water caused by a row of rocks and boulders strewn the width of the river. I thought I had one bump upstream but maybe it was just my imagination. I made short to long casts across river letting the bugger swing in an arc downriver for some time without a strike. For the heck of it I decided to knot on a nymph. Casting up into the wavy current, with the rod extended out following the leader. All of a sudden the leader curved up into the riffles. It could have been a snag but I lifted the rod for a hook set. Sure enough the line straightened and a frisky brown trout scurried about all the way to the net. Not a big one by any means but a trout no less.

  Another ½ hour trying to hook another was just time ticking away. I headed back to the truck under the hot sun thinking about a frozen margarita waiting for me back at the camper.

  I could have driven and fished for freshly stocked trout in a delayed harvest area not too far away. I might have caught some of them trout and even more than I did in the river but I’m sure it wouldn’t have been as pleasant.

 ~doubletaper

 

Morning Surprise

 

Morning Surprise

6/30/2023

  I wade upon the stony creek bed, ankle deep, of Tionesta Creek. The only way to find trout, on these hot days, is to start out early before the heat of the day arrives. The trout will be in the riffling, tumbling water where it’s cooler and more oxygenated or in the shade along the banks.

  While wading down creek, to where I want to fish, I look around at nature and the hard woods of the ANF. The abundance of green that crowds the creek banks is of more greenish hues than one can imagine. Green leaves of Oaks, Maples, Beech and Birch trees, among other trees, flutter with the slight breeze at times. Even the Hemlocks and pines appear greener than their olive colors during the colder months. Looking down creek misty vapors, in a haze, linger over the water where the hot sun hits the open cool creek.

  The sounds of warblers, warble within the forest like a bunch of high pitched women at a social gathering. In the not to far distance a crow caws out as if in frustration, like an old raspy woman calling out for her husband and children to come in for breakfast while it’s hot.

Once settled in shin deep water I cast out a Woolly Bugger in water that doesn’t appear to be any deeper than knee high. A fish pulls line and I set the hook. Fighting it in the riffling current makes him feel stronger than he actually would be in calmer water. He shoots up creek in shallower riffles and then turns down creek with the current. The rod tip bows with the tightened line and leader that follows the fish. I hold the fly line between my fingers feeling every sudden turn and head shake of the frisky fish. Easily I play him and net the trout.

“Well, that didn’t take too long,”

 While casting out for another a trout rises within the riffles. I waste no time snipping off the bugger and knotting on a dry caddis. The splash is no more than 3 rod lengths away. I make a soft cast upstream and watch the caddis bob up and down on the small waves. My second cast is a little further out. Within the trouts sight he rises with a splash not wanting the caddis to pass him by. A quick wrist and pull of the slack line and my second trout is scurrying about like a scared chipmunk looking for cover. I get the trout turned towards me and scoop him up in the net.

 

  While trying to fool another I notice the shade on the water, from the hillside trees, slowly moving towards the bank as the sun rises higher. The humidity increases also and I’m thankful for the slight cool breeze that touches my face from the rising mist of the cooler water.

  It takes time but I make another rise, hook him, and net a smaller brown trout. The humidity increases with the rising morning sun as I feel a bead of sweat drip down my spine. It is still early and there is still shade and deeper water along the far bank. I knot on the Woolly Bugger and cast it towards the far bank. The slow current carries my bugger down creek. One cast my bugger plops within two feet of a big exposed boulder that’s anchored in the bank side dirt. I notice my fly line doesn’t drift to far before the line curves upstream towards the boulder as if snagged. I lift the rod and the line slowly starts to move up creek along the bank. I quickly grip the cork tighter and yank back the long length of line. The line tightens and the rod sections arc towards the bank. I watch the leader slice through the surface upstream. Line peels off the reel spool as I hold the rod at an angle towards the fleeing fish. My grip tightens and I move the rod butt into my gut for leverage. All of a sudden a smallmouth bass explodes out of the water. He rises, full body, into the air twisting and wavering his body like a wind sock in a swirling wind storm. He plops back into the water in belly smacking fashion and takes off upstream. I try and keep the rod skyward to cut down the resistance of the fly line as it cuts through the water surface.

  Upstream the big guy turns and swims with the current down creek. I’m able to reel in some line as he passes between the boulder and me. Continuing down creek I can’t hold him from swimming any further as the rod sections bend deeply. I leave go of the reel handle and let him strip line off the tensioned spool drag.

  At times I get him closer but he has enough strength to pull away taking line with him. As much as I want to get him in the net quickly I’m powerless against his strength against the 5 weight rod and 4x tippet to horse him in. We tug against each other like two strong men trying to get the other across the defining winning line. Eventually the strength of my fly rod and my patience wins out and I net the nice size smallmouth!

What a morning surprise.

 

 Well, though it’s only 9:30 that deserves a cigar. I take a H. Upmann fuma from my pocket and cup my hands away from the slight breeze.

  For the next half hour I nymph fish the riffles and catch a small brown trout on a wet fly. I fish a bugger also but noting wants to sample it. I hear a fish splash upstream and turn my head quickly to see an expanding swirl. I knot on the caddis again and wade into position to get a good cast to the vicinity. I cast out and let the caddis drift into a calm within the riffles. A fish splashes on my offering and I’m quick with the hook set. The fish strongly fights and battles in the current trying to get free. I get him nearer enough and net a nice speckled brown trout.

 

  For the next hour I try to coax another but the activity shuts off like lights on a vacant, time restricted, park playground.

  The sun is in full view above as if in a painting of a farm scene. The painting has a bright sun depicting a glow in a blush blue sky, minus the rooster and weather vane. My Columbia PFG shirt is wet with sweat from the humidity and not from any action. There isn’t a breeze to be thankful for and without cooperative fish, I start to wade upstream and call it quits.

~doubletaper

 

 

Getting the Edge

 

Getting the Edge

6/20/23

  Having worn out my custom 4wt 9’ fast action fly rod I was in need of another. It evidently isn’t a common weight for the length. I like a fast action 4 weight to help cut the wind when dry fly fishing and at 9’ can help with nymph fishing over riffling cross current waters. In my search I found two rods within my budget. Actually this one was less money than I expected and being it is a Gary Loomis American made, I was up for trying it out.

  I’m not all concerned with fancy, sparkling rod blanks and this comes with an un-sanded matte finish blank. The blue thread wraps accent the rod nicely. The fanciest part of the rod is the rod seat. The Flor Grade, Western Style, Portugal cork grip fits nicely in my palm.

 

  I took it out briefly on the first trip casting nymphs and light weighted Woolly Buggers but only caught 2 trout. The most important reason buying this rod was for dry fly fishing.

  The second outing I was fishing the upper West Branch of the Susquehanna River known for wild brown trout in a special regulation trout fishery. I started fishing the slightly stained chalky water with nymphs but that soon changed when I saw the first rise of a fish. I knotted on a small caddis and was going to test the rod dry fly fishing. There was a slight breeze with gusts now and then. The stream was narrow and low at the time but with the stained water I had the edge with the trout not able to notice me. I was casting easily upstream and also across stream and the rod had no problem getting my dry where I wanted. Not used to the quick response of wild trout it took me three misses before I was able to hook set my first trout on a dry fly with this rod.

 

 I was upset that I forgot my net so I did handle the trout with care.

  Overall I had a good day for a few hours catching wild trout on the dry. They came up quick taking the caddis on the moving surface water. 

 

 I was amazed how many trout I got active in the small stream making them rise when there was barely anything on the water. They were hungry no doubt and, which I have done many times before, made them rise!!!

 

  The lightness of the rod in hand and fast action was what I was looking for! It handled the 6x tippet and small caddis dries I was using and had no problem playing the wild trout.

 

~doubletaper

 

 

Sickly on the River

 

Sickly on the River

6/09/23

  Snot was running down upon my mustache like excessive Elmer’s glue on a kids art project. I could hardly taste the stogie I was puffing on. I wasn’t feeling well and hacking and coughing now and then. The sun finally rose above the tree line and fish started to rise everywhere!!

 

  For the past week or so I developed a congested hacking cough, sore throat, and went threw 5 boxes of Kleenex and a ½ roll of ultra soft toilet paper when I ran out of tissues. I went to the Urgent Care center after 5 days and was diagnosed with Bronchitis. I was prescribed Prednisone, 2 tablets for the next 5 days and an inhaler. I got tired of sitting home feeling sorry for myself and decided to get out and get some fresh air camping in the ANF.

 I used up a lot of energy setting up camp near the Clarion River and after doing variety puzzles and what not resting I got up enough energy to go fishing the river two days later. I didn’t know how long I’d last but I was going to give it a try.

  I was set to fish for smallmouth bass with my 6 weight fly rod. I had my vest full of poppers and streamers standing up to my waist in river water. My brain was still a little hazy from being sick but I was casting out a Woolly Bugger under the morning sunshine trying to enjoy a cigar with a scratchy throat. All of a sudden Sulfurs, March Browns and other yellow Mayflies were popping up out of the water and fish were rising everywhere. I looked in my only dry fly box I had on me and found a #12 Yellow Wulff pattern. I added some 4x tippet to my tapered leader and waited for the next rise within distance. A fish rose and I concentrated on the location. My Wulff pattern fell within 15” of the rise and I watched it drift inching its way in the zone. A fish rose and in an audible gulp sucked it in. I yielded back the rod and my first fish was heavy and fighting a taught line. I got it near me and saw it was a nice size brown trout. I hadn’t a net, being I didn’t expect to catch trout, and the brown finally got unhooked before I could get a hold of it. I laid my fly rod on a flattened boulder, waded out of the river and walked up to my truck in excitement!

  I looked through my fly boxes quickly and took out any yellow dry fly pattern I could quickly find. I put them in a fly box and went back to the river. I dried off the Wulff Pattern and tossed it out to the rising trout. I caught a couple of smaller trout before another nice brown trout took a 1x long Sulfur pattern. He put up a good fighting battle in the undercurrent with head shakes and body power that I had to give him line at times. This time I had a net to capture the nice healthy looking brown trout.

 

  I was changing patterns often when I couldn’t get a fish to rise to my offering. Aside from offering them a March Brown on occasion I stuck with anything yellow from a sulfur, yellow Wulff, even a Yellow Sally at times. I caught a few rainbows in the mix of smaller browns and a few smallmouth also.

 

  There were yellow Mayflies that looked as big as Yellow Drakes that fell upon the water and fluttered on the surface before taking flight again. They were easy to see and the fish gulped them up if they got within the fishes sight. I knotted on a 2x long Yellow Drake and tossed it out under the warm sunshine. I had lots of slack line out and let it drift, drag free, down river for quite a ways. A fish rose in a whirlpool splash and I yielded back the rod and took in any remaining slack line left on the surface. The line tightened and I had a fish battling beneath with body strong power. It kept it’s distance as it circled the river, out in front of me, like a mad bull in a bullring. I kept a tight grip on the half well and my forearm muscles were as tight as guy wires. I had him close a couple times that I could see it wasn’t a trout as it turned it’s body across the current pulling tension line against the reel drag. Tired enough I finally got him close enough to net. This big ole boy didn’t mind snacking on mayflies while they were available.

 

  Around 1:30 very few fish were rising but I didn’t see anything they might have been rising to. They were small subtle rises at that. I was feeling less energetic and was coughing more often. My body felt weak so I called it a day, waded out and headed back to camp tired and spent.

  That evening I looked through my fly boxes and gathered up anything in shades of yellow along with a few March Browns for tomorrows exercise.

~doubletaper

 

 

 

Hot on the Kettle

 

Hot on the Kettle

5/16/23 

 

  The weekend was over and I wanted to get down to the creek where I’ve always done well dry fly fishing so I got up early and had a good breakfast. I figured the crowd of fishermen would be gone and, maybe a day of rest for the fish, Tuesday would be a good day to challenge the trout again. There weren’t many fishermen along the road side and when I got down to the bridge there were only a couple guys fishing. Up the dirt road I found a spot to park and assembled my Icon rod for the time being. As I was stringing it up, behind my truck, a guy and his son must have had golden trout fever. I’m not sure how long they’ve been there but there was a golden trout between them and I watched as they threw everything at the trout. They threw live bait under bobbers, spinners and who knows what else but the trout wasn’t moving a muscle towards anything they offered. It was a wonder they didn’t accidentally snag the fish but they were being good sportsmen. I dipped into and waded about shin deep to give me some back casting room up creek from them. I snapped on a Woolly Bugger and tossed it out there. I caught a couple on the bugger before I switched to a March Brown. It was just after 10:00 and that’s usually when the March Browns start to hatch and come off the water. I hadn’t noticed any surface activity, except for a few small trout taking small caddis, but I was willing to take the time to get the trout to rise.

  Tossing the March Brown out there I let it drift on the wavy surface. I missed the first taker that surprised me but I was ready the next time. With a whooping noisy surface take a trout grabbed it and took off on the piercing. She battled beneath with good runs until her last splashes were in my net. The March Brown was secure in the side of her lip.

 “1 down” I thought.

 

  I continued to cast the March brown out into the faster wavier current and let it drift downstream in the slower waves. Occasionally I would get one to rise and take it before a bigger wave drowned it. They were quick frisky takes in the faster current so there was no time to be looking else where. The suspenseful part was when the dry drifted in the slower current. Times when I would see a fish rise to it and back swim as if inspecting it under a microscope. Sometimes I think they would actually nudge it to see if it was real and would take flight but not take it. They’d refuse it all together and never come up again after the first viewing. Just nerve racking. But every once in a while I’ll get one that is curious enough to sip it in off the surface. 

 

  For quite a while I couldn’t get anything fishy to rise. I decided to toss out a MB nymph and an MB emerger. I was just tossing the tandem flies out there like I was tossing two pennies in a wishing well park fountain. A trout grabbed it as hard as if it was a passing Woolly Bugger at the end of the drift. Well, this could get interesting.

 

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out a stogie to bide the time. I wasn’t sure how active the trout would be under the hot sun but I figured I’d work underneath trying to coax any takers. 

 

  After the spin fishermen left I had the section to myself for a while. I fished my way downstream and knotted on a Woolly Bugger. Bait fishermen always did well in the deeper slow water the wavy current flowed into. Though the water was deeper I knew I couldn’t weight the bugger too heavy and have to keep it moving because there just wasn’t much undercurrent to move the bugger. The water was clear but I couldn’t see far enough into the water beyond to notice any hazards. For the next hour or so I did pull out a few trout that weren’t too lazy to just let my bugger swim by without snacking on it.

 

  The overhead sun was beating down its warmth. Looking upstream I could almost see visions of heat waves hovering over the water surface. I was pretty hot in my chest waders and was ready to cool off. Besides it was as if it was half time and the players went back to the dressing rooms to get out of the heat.

  I sat in the truck with the A/C on munching of a granola bar and refreshing water. It was around 2:00 and I was debating what to do. I could go back to camp for an early dinner and back out for the evening. It was at least a boring 35 minute drive to where I was right then and I really wanted to fish a late hatch, if possible, where I am. On my drive downstream there wasn’t a vehicle in sight anywhere around the bridge. It was hard for me to pass this chance to fish the area by myself. With the open water and hardly any wind I reached and assembled my Scott G2 9’ 5 weight fly rod. The medium action was a relaxing light weight casting rod. My favorite dry fly rod in no wind situations.

  Out in the water I made smooth casts casting out dry caddis and dries trying to pinpoint my casts at surface flowing objects. It was good to practice accuracy as I was preparing for an evening hatch. Another fly fishermen showed up and waded into the water upstream a ways. It kind of gave me a break from talking to myself!

  I knotted on a Woolly Bugger for the time being to pass the time waiting for surface action. I caught a few more trout.

 

  As evening approached I looked up again and saw some big Drakes, I figured they were, hovering above. There weren’t many by any means but enough to get me a little excited. They were dark bodied, from what I could see, with two extra long splayed tails. None got close enough that I could see any color and as I searched on the surface I couldn’t see and spinners floating. The fish apparently couldn’t find any surface activity either. Just yet!

  I looked into my fly box and could only find one big, extended body, parachute dry fly that could resemble a Green Drake or possibly a spinner. It was getting dark and I knew I only had one chance to tie my last fly on. While I was tying it on I heard fish starting to rise. Anticipation mounted!

  As I looked out into the open water there were swirls here and there with an occasional slurp. I started casting out upstream from the swirls letting my dry drift into a feeding zone. It was aggravating as if my offering wasn’t good enough. Time and again I would toss it out and thought, “they can’t be that picky?”

  Well, enough was enough. It was getting pretty darker and there was no moon to speak of. Just enough light on the surface for a slight glare of moonlight. I saw another rise and tossed my drake pattern right on the spot he came up. A fish grabbed it just as it plunked on the water. I was quick with the hook set and finally caught one on top.

 

  After releasing the trout I thought that may be the trick on a moonless night. Cast the dry right on their face and not try to drift it into the strike zone. As soon as the dry hits the water the slight surface commotion brings attention and they can spot the fly on the surface.

 Wham, another trout grabbed my drake as soon as it hit the water. After releasing this one my parachute dry wasn’t very dry. Fish slime pretty much soaked in. I tried to powder it dry but was no use. It was too dark to tie anything on and I wasn’t much of a fan of night fishing anyhow. I caught a couple night feeders and that was good enough for me.

 

~doubletaper

Hooking Up on Pine Creek

 

Hooking Up on Pine Creek

5/18/23

  At 34° I wasn’t that anxious to get out and start fishing the big waters. It wasn’t like I’d be steelhead fishing!

  I hadn’t fished Pine Creek in Tioga County for many moons. When I was there the water was high and it was very windy. I couldn’t wade in very far because of the fast undercurrent. I think I caught only one small rainbow and didn’t stick around very long because of conditions. This morning the creek looks in great shape and the weather is suppose to be warm and calm also. A couple guys at the campground said they were there a few days ago and caught trout on BWO and other small dry flies. I was anxious to get out there but not at 34°.

  I sat in the warm truck for a bit but my patients ran out at 38 °. I got out and started to put my gear together and my waders on. I put together my Icon 5 weight 9’ fast action rod and grabbed a few cigars. By this time the sun had started to appear above the hillside tree line and started to warm things up a bit. I wasn’t sure where to start so I strolled up the dirt road and looked over the water as I walked. It kind of all looked the same. I waded into the cool water about knee high and looked around. There was only one other person I saw upstream stripping a streamer in the faster riffling current about 50 yards or so. I started casting a Woolly Bugger in the open water. Each cast was a little further than the last. About my 5^th cast I got a hard strike that almost took the rod right out of my hands. I know fast undercurrent can play tricks of how big a trout can be but I was sure I had a heavy weight. He had the 9 footer bowed good and put up a good battle with head shakes and weighty runs. I got him close enough and netted a fine lengthy husky brown trout!

 

I heard there were some big trout in these waters and I was thankful for this one.

“What did you catch him on?” the guy upstream yelled down like a coach yelling at a player on the practice field.

 “Woolly Bugger” I yelled back.

“I never fished these waters before” I called back, “What’s good to use?”

“Streamers in the morning” he replied.

‘I guess I’m on the right track’ I thought to myself.

After I caught a couple more smaller trout on the bugger fish started to rise to something small. They looked like caddis so I knotted one on and lit up a fat stogie to enjoy the rest of the day. 

 

  The littler trout were eager to grab the caddis if I got it in their feeding zone. I missed a few but I figured they were small also because of the small splashes they made at my caddis dries. Tired of playing with these smaller ones I knotted on a March Brown. While doing so I heard a louder splash out a ways and looked up and saw a widening swirl moving with the current. I finished my knot and took out line to reach the vicinity of where I thought was the feeder. He didn’t rise again until he saw my March Brown drifting by!! He grabbed it in a quick splashing manner like a hurrying hungry guy at the second pickup window.

 

  He put up a heck of a fight in the swift current turning every which way trying to get undone. I was surprised when I netted him. He had a big round open wound on his side like he got burnt being too close to a camp fire. I was actually able to see his rib bones through what was left of his flesh. Whatever caused it I wasn’t sure but he was healthy no matter.

 

 I continued casting dry flies of sorts but it took a while before I got a few to take.

 

  Just after noon there was a null in the surface action. The sun was shining bright in the sky above and there wasn’t any Mayfly or caddis activity going on on the surface. The guys up and across creek were having some luck, as they called it, with nymph fishing. I knotted on the standard nymph patterns like BH Hares Ear, March Brown nymphs and emergers, PT’s and such but it didn’t evoke any curious trout. About 2:30 I decided to call it quits and decided to Bugger my way down creek toward my truck. I knotted on my bread-and-butter go to Woolly Bugger that always seems to fool fish and slowly waded down creek in thigh high water. Evidently the bigger trout were more interested in meat than snacking on small nymphs. As I went I hooked up occasionally with good battling rainbows.

 

  As I waded I looked into the water around me and very often found trout just hanging around here and there like city park goers resting from a long exercising walk. There were two occasions that if the two rainbows were blind I may have walked on them. They knew I was coming towards them slowly and just wavered in front of me, a rods length at times, as if expecting me to move out of their way. I came to the conclusion there were trout everywhere but they just weren’t hungry or easily fooled. Well, not all of them! Another grabbed my bugger and off he went like a kid at summer camp grabbing a free lunch bag and running off to join his friends. Only catch was there was a string attached to my rod and reel!!

 

  Truthfully, if camp wasn’t so far away I may have stuck around longer. There was so much creek to explore and the trout put up good lasting battles in the big water current.

  I was getting near where I wanted to exit. There’s always that thought before wading out to just hook up one last time. I cast out towards the middle of the creek and let my bugger swing down creek. After it swung down creek from me I started to strip it in slowly. A fish grabbed it and I set the hook. It felt kind of on the light side and didn’t fight with the enthusiasm as the others. I was surprise when I landed it, it was a chubby fall fish. I guess they are entitled to grab whatever food comes their way!

 

Well, at least I didn’t end the day with a sucker!!!

~doubletaper