Losers Weepers

Losers Weepers

8/12/24

 

  I paddles my kayak to the stony bank and made sure it was secure not to float down the river without me. I put my tin of poppers and buggers in my shirt pocket and grabbed my 9' fast action Icon fly rod out of the rod holder. Wading out in knee deep water I started to cast a brown bugger out into the riffling water that flowed down into the deeper section of the river. Each cast was further out as I watched the arc of my fly line floating on the surface as my Woolly Bugger swung following the fly line.

  It was around 1:00 by now. I had been floating for about a few hours and only caught a couple of smaller smallmouth on the bugger. I tried a popper now and then but didn’t get any risers to it. Maybe because the river water was still the color of a chocolate milkshake. The sky above was a deep royal blue with bellowing white clouds moving slowly above the green forest tree line.

 

  The sun was bright above, avoiding the white clouds now and then, and shining down upon the river with warmth. A gust of a cooler breeze would be felt at times. The breeze gave no warning as if the river just decided to let out an underwater sigh of cool air. My straw, wide brim Carolina hat, kept the bright sunshine off my face and protected my scalp from getting sunburned.

  As I slowly took small steps casting out I was careful not to slip on the loose stony river bed. A fish grabbed the drifting bugger and I reared back the fly rod to set the hook. He fought like a bigger fish than what I found when I got him in. He knew well how to work the wavy current in his favor. Holding him up, for a picture, I reached for my camera in my shirt pocket. That’s when one of those surprising gusts of wind rose up and blew the Carolina straw hat off my head. I was dumbfounded to say the least.

  My straw hat fell into the water and slowly started to drift with the current downriver. There was no way I was going to scramble across the stony riverbed to try and retrieve it. Besides I was holding a smallmouth by the mouth in my hand. I let the smallmouth go, still connected to my fly line, and tried to direct him towards my drifting hat. Not that I thought it would work but? I gave up and brought the smallie back in my grip for a picture. After the release I looked downriver and watched the crown of my straw hat, and part of the wide brim, slowly floating down stream. 

 

  My straw hat was drifting about a few feet or so from the bank and continued on. It made sure it went around any obstacles that were protruding out of the water and out from the bank. It was drifting sooo slow as if tempting me to get in my kayak and try to retrieve it. I watched till it was beyond my vision. I thought maybe it would get caught up in some tangle along the river or maybe drift into a back eddy. I kept on wade fishing for a while and figured on kayaking close to the bank as I continued my way downriver.

  I hooked another smallmouth briefly in the same area I lost my hat. He grabbed the bugger, swam about a foot and exploded out of the water like he got shocked from an electrical fence wire. The bugger went flying and he plopped back into the water free from the hook. After that I spent another half hour and then got back in my kayak and floated down the river.

  Slowly, as I floated and paddled, I searched for my straw hat hoping to see a glimpse of it below the brown stained water or along the bank. I finally drifted into deeper water where I paddled my kayak into a back eddy near the bank. Steady, within the back eddy, I started to cast out the bugger again. On one long cast I was watching the fly line when a fish grabbed it like an eagle, swooping down on a scurrying field mouse, and B-lining it to its nest. The only thing was, with this catch, was attached to my fly line which was attached to my reel and rod.

  The spool spun out fly line that shot out of the tip top straight towards the sprinting swimming fish. He tugged and swam in a straight line towards the opposite bank, maybe getting into shallow water, before turning down river. I watched the fly line cut across the muddy surface water like a bright comet tail streaking through the night sky. He stopped briefly before continuing on up river. I wasn't sure what was below the chocolate stained surface so I held the rod high as I reeled in line keeping the line tight. He swam in haste up river out in front of me a ways before turning down river again with ferocious tugs and pulling the line as if we were in some kind of tug a war contest. I’m not an amateur at this kind of stuff and played him hard, not giving him any more slack, when he toughened. It took some convincing but I finally got him to the kayak safely.

 

 That deserved a rewarding cigar even after losing my hat.

 

  I was pretty close to the canoe launch y now and only fished a little longer. After pulling my kayak ashore I took one more look across and down river hoping to spot my straw hat.

  Back at camp I thought about all the items I could remember that the river swallowed up. Two float fins, on two different occasions, while float tubing while fishing. One hammer anchor that got caught and I was unable to retrieve. An assortment of poppers that either broke off of a hooked fish or simply decided to come un-knotted after a cast. A few Woolly Buggers and other weighted streamers and now a wide brimmed Carolina straw hat. Oh well, the rewards of catching big smallies and trout makes the loss not crying over.

Maybe at some time someone will find such things and wonder how someone else lost them?

~doubletaper

 

 

Morning River Smallies

 

Morning River Smallies

8/15/24

  The river was still receding from the heavy rain from the past week. It has been clearing up from the chocolate color that was caused by the heavy rainfall. The river was still a bit on the high side but color wise, a fair shade of wet cardboard, I felt was the best day to get out and fish. My mom was in a rehabilitation housing, from hip surgery, and I was planning on visiting her so I had to get back to the camper by noon to head home. I woke up early, ate a quick breakfast and drove upriver where I had caught smallmouth before.

 Stepping into the shin deep water, off the bank, I could tell the water had warmed up a bit from the past chilly evenings, though it has gotten into the 70’s and 80 degrees during the day. I wore a long sleeve ‘t’ shirt under my Columbia button down for the chilly morning. I waded upriver through the shin deep water to where I wanted to make my first cast into the riffling water.

  Green leaf tree branches overhung the river bank as far as my eyes could see, downriver, so thick I couldn’t tell one tree limb from another. The sky was a sheet of blue as if a painter used a wet roller and took one sweep across the top of his canvas with sky blue paint. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun was still rising behind the mountain and forest behind me which casted a shadow upon the water about 3 quarters across the river. I stood in the shade and had yet to feel the sun warmth. The river though, where the sun rays reached the water, sparkled the small waves like white beach sand blowing across the beach in direct sunlight on the ocean front. Somewhere crows were calling out, as they usually do in the morning, making their presence known. Other than that it was a peaceful easy morning. 

 I waded out knee deep, of my hip waders, and started casting out a long tailed brown Woolly Bugger. I maybe spent about 15 minutes without a take as I slowly waded down river step by step searching for a hungry fish. I tried a popper hoping to raise a curious fish with surface commotion but that didn’t work either.

  The sun was rising above the tree line behind me and slowly uncovering the blanket of shadowed water as if pulling a dark quilt down slowly, on a bed, exposing the white satin sheet underneath. I was hoping the warm sunshine was going to get the fish hungry for breakfast soon because I wasn’t too thrilled how things were going thus far.

 I made a long straight cast across river and watched the weighted bugger plop into the surface. I made a mend upriver so the bugger had time to drop deeper before taking its course down stream with the current. I was watching the arc of the fly line on the surface, as the bugger drifted down river, when it kind of slowed and I felt a nudge bump as if the hook caught a snag below. I pulled up the rod enough to straighten the line and gave a nudge to maybe unhook the snag. To my surprise I thought the snag nudged back and with the rod high enough it was arced without pulling anything in my direction. All of a sudden I felt the rod wiggle and saw the tight fly line sway back and forth cutting the water surface. I yanked back to set the hook deeper and the object on the other end yanked back in disgust. He pulled some line out but not as if he was in a hurry to start a fierce battle with me. I had a feeling I had a heavy fish but he didn’t fight like one as I slowly but cautiously started to reel him towards me. He followed reluctantly, giving a sharp nudge now and then, but nothing too furious. When I got him within two 9’ rod lengths from me, he must have saw me, and that pissed him off! He turned and took off like a kid being spooked in a dark alley by what he thought was a noisy ghost. Line pulled off the spool and spun like a winch attached to a falling tree. I put the 9 footer butt in my gut and held the rod steady as line shot through the eyes. (And I thought I had a lazy fish from the start!) After he swam downriver and out a ways I turned the drag knob a couple of clicks putting more tension on the long line and arcing rod which I felt was bending into the butt section. He slowed down some but his weight was enough that I wasn’t gaining any ground between him and I.

 He fought in the distance with heavy tugs for awhile swimming about at will as if he owned the stage. I kept the rod up, well at least my tight grip on the cork handle, as the rest of the rod was arced towards the fish. During the fight I really wasn’t sure if I had a smallmouth or a big brown trout being it stayed below during the whole battle.

 I swung the rod upstream and he swam in that direction with a tug or two keeping his distance. Slowly I was able to reel some line in closing the distance. Upriver he turned and swam down river within my sight just below the surface. That’s when I was able to see his bronze sides and size as it brightened under the sunshine. The smallmouth continued down river, keeping his distance, and I let him take a little line out that I had reeled in previously. He tugged his way down river and I turned the drag knob a little more putting more tension between us. He turned towards me as the arcing rod and drag tension was too much to fight any more. Closer to me I brought the rod up as he shook the line, splashing, with his head half above the water surface. I reached down and finally got a thumb in his mouth and pinched his lip.

WOW!  The biggest smallmouth I had caught thus far this camping trip. His scaly bronze colored sides kind of glowed as if a spotlight was directed towards him in a museum showcase. There was no doubt he’s been eating well as his belly was well rounded. After the picture I unhooked the brown bugger hanging from his lip and released him back into the river. I thought maybe he would dash away but he just swatted his tail easily and swam away in no haste as if he was glad to have some excitement in his boring life as if he was the successful one.

 

 No doubt that deserved a rewarding cigar!

 

 I continued to fish till a little after 11. I caught three more smallmouth on the bugger. A smaller one, an average size and a bigger one. The biggest of the three put up a good battle.

 

  I figure there is no use making this short story any longer. The star of the show made his appearance, thrilled us with his performance and bowed out gracefully!

~doubletaper

 

 

Hardy Quest

 

The Hardy Quest

6/06/24

 

  It was the 6^th of June, another warm day camping along the Clarion River. I’ve been fishing the river almost everyday since I set up my camper. Casting out to smallmouth and trout with a 6 weight fly rod. I was wanting to relax and try to find some trout in one of the many mountain streams that flow into the river. I kind of knew where some trout might be congregated under a canopy of trees, in cooler water, out of the sunlight. After breakfast I drove down river and up the dirt road to start my quest for trout.

  I took out and assembled my 7’ 3 weight Hardy Demon fly rod. To this I attached my Quest fly reel to the uplocking reel seat. After threading the three weight Cortland DT fly line through the rod eyes I walked down to the creek and crossed over to the far bank. Walking up the bank, keeping my distance from the water, I looked into the water searching for fish. I spotted a few only by noticing their tails slowly waving in the slow current. Once under a canopy of trees I pulled out line and began my quest to make them rise.

  I like using the 7’ Hardy rod for a couple of reasons on small streams. First off it is like a medium fast action rod. I can wrist cast it without coming to a full overhead draw and avoid the leafy tree branches behind and above me. I can shoot a dry fly out without much effort. I guess it’s like the difference between a cross bow and a long bow. Once loaded you just pull the trigger of a cross bow as with a long bow you need elbow room to pull the string back. Since the distance I’m casting isn’t very far the 7 foot, quick action rod, is plenty on length to do the job. After casting the 6 weights on the river the past few days, the light 3 weight feels like balsa wood compared to a lengthy piece of hickory.

 There were a couple of rises already, on occasion, coming up. I couldn’t see any bugs on or flying around but there evidently was something on the surface, or just below it, the fish were eating. I knotted on a #18 caddis and tossed it upstream in a narrow run of about shin deep water that flowed down into the wider section of the creek. A fish surprised me and rose immediately to my caddis. I missed him of course but will be determined to get him if he gives me another chance.

  Out in front of me the creek was wider and somewhat deeper. I’m able to see bottom ½ the creek width and see a few trout scattered about. I start to cast outward letting the caddis float on the surface riffles. Another trout comes up for my caddis as if it hasn’t had a meal all morning. He splashes the surface water and a scuffle begins. The 3 weight flexes and follows the trout as it scampers about tugging line. I bring him towards me and he fits nicely in the net. A nice size rainbow that looks as if he’s been around for quite some time being his dark color and pale green sandstone belly. ‘One down’ I say to myself.

 

 Letting the water settle in front of me from the sudden activity of fighting the trout, I turn my attention up in the riffling run. My second cast drops the caddis on the far side of the run and I see a fish turn on my quick floating caddis. It happens so fast I pull back line as quick as he grabs the caddis. The line tightens and the fish swims up creek and then swiftly swims across creek. I hold the rod firmly and let a little line out between my tension fingers. He swings in an arc and plays with me across in front of me. I raise the rod and carefully bring him to the net. This time a nice brown trout fits in the net nicely. 

 

  There’s a rise down in the slower water out from me. I cast across creek, with slack line upstream from my offering, and watch it drift down. A fish swirls at it but I’m hesitant on trying to hook the trout. He doesn’t take it and lets it drift by. Maybe because of all the commotion I’ve caused with the first two trout the others are more cautious. A couple more drifts and one more trout rises and checks my offering out like a small dog sniffing a scrap of decayed food to determine if its edible or not. He evidently doesn’t like the looks or smell and refuses.

  I shoot a long cast out ¾ across creek into darker waters. I can’t see below the surface. The caddis doesn’t sit on the surface long before a trout rises and gulps the caddis off the surface. I rear back the rod and line and the trout pulls back and starts the melee. He scurries about as in confusion which direction he wants to continue the skirmish. I hold on to the rod as I feel the tip section flexing with his actions. He swims, tugging, all around the area as if we are in a sword fighting duel. He tires and I reel him towards me to the net. Another nice rainbow flops in the net.

 

  Under the tree cover fish have been rising on occasion to my right. I slowly move along the bank within reach of the rises. I make an over the left shoulder cast with my right hand. The caddis falls short of my target and because of the slow moving current sits in shallow water. I recasts, pulling line out, and drop the caddis under shade of the leafy tree limbs. I see a fish rise just below the surface checking my offering out as if it was a replica or the real thing. He refuses and swims below uninterested. I cast a few more time without any any takers.

  I decide to knot on a beetle pattern. The beetle falls to the surface like a beetle falling from the leaves above. It creates a small splash and dimple on the water. A trout rises, almost hesitates with a quick look see. He likes what he sees and sips my beetle. I pull back the rod and the line tightens. The trout angers and starts to tug and head shake the line. My hand around the cork handle can feel every throbbing pressure from the angry trout. He swims down creek as the surface water is disrupted along his way. We have a little battle and he tires. A rainbow comes to the net safely.

 

  I still don’t see any bug activity on the surface but the trout seem to be hungry enough, though wary now, of any food that comes along the way. There’s small slurps and dimpling on the surface with an occasional hearty splash as if a trout is after an emerger before it reaches the surface. I cast out the beetle but get no results and not even seeing a trout rise to it. I switch back to the caddis and cast to the trout I’m able to see out in the knee deep water and riffles. I hear a splash down from me and turn to see an opening swirl just out from the bank. I make a short cast down towards the swirl and let line out as my caddis drifts drag free just out from the bank. A fish rises and sips it as if he knew it wasn’t going to fly away. I yank the rod up and over my left shoulder and you would of thought this trout was never caught before. After a quick tug, as if he wasn’t sure what the caddis was attached to, he takes off down and out into deeper water. The rod bows and line slips through the guides and eyes of the 3 weight. He heads for the opposite bank and I hold the cork firmly as I keep line tension between my fingers. He swims I haste below and I keep the line up avoiding the small boulders below the surface I can see. He tugs as I guide him towards me battling the whole time against my will. Nearer to me I can see he is a feisty brown trout not wanting to be captured and swims about frantically in font of me. I’m able to corral him in my net.

 

 My caddis looks as if it was about to come unhinged if the struggle lasted any longer.

 So that’s the way it went. I cast out into the shady waters under the canopy of trees. Here and there I pick off a trout with the caddis and at times with a small blue quill pattern. I enjoy a cigar and the quietness of the mountain steam.

 As the noon sun rises the temperature and humidity increases also. I watch as trout start to move up, out of the sunny water down creek, into the shaded area around in front of me. I continue to cast out different shades of caddis. I watch as trout rise to inspect my offering and I get many refusals. Every once in a while one will accept my imitation and put up a good fight to my net.

 

 Very few rise. Across creek I’m able to pick off a couple more that are unaware of my presence. It is evident some had been hooked before, by the wounds in their mouths, and fight like they were angry they got fooled again.

 

  Things really slowed down going on 2:00. It was if it was siesta time and the trout weren’t wanting to play anymore. I walked down creek along the bank to where I could cross without disturbing any trout. I called it a day under the hot sunshine and returned to camp feeling successful in my Hardy Quest for finding hungry trout.

~doubletaper