Fishing Creek 2008

Fishing Creek 2008
(From the Journal)
　

I pulled my two wheels into the parking space along Fishing Creek and turned the v-twin off. The roar of the heavy exhaust came to an abrupt halt. I sat on the cycle feeling the stiffness in my kneecaps from the long early June morning ride up from Clarion. The quaint sound of the moving stream was music to my ears. I got off the cycle and stared down at the creek. The pristine clear water flowed smoothly around all exposed rocks. Listening intently I could hear the riffling of water upstream within the dark shadows of overgrown trees and outreaching laurel. Songbirds were a welcome to the early morn. I took a deep breath of the morning air to clear my nostrils and head of diesel fumes and highway odors. There’s something about the crisp cool air rising off an early morning spring fed creek that gets my fishing blood excited.
I was taking off my leather chaps and jacket when Jeff pulled up in his pickup. He told me briefly how he did down on Spring Creek. How the Drakes were falling at night and he was catching fish within rod length reach that were rising around him. And then down on the Little J’ how fishing was and the cicada’s were starting their resurgence.

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Upstream we entered the water. The flat water moved slowly as our dry flies lay upon its surface. Few rises came in forms of dimples on the far side underneath drooping leafed tree limbs. We tied on a selection of different midges and dry flies in trying to get one of the picky fish to hit in the trophy trout section we were fishing. Our casts were easy, smooth and precise. Our flies fell to the water softly. The water was crystal clear so small diameter tippet and subtle landing of the flies was a must for dry fly fishing. Every time I was ready to move downstream to the faster water another fish would rise within distance of my casting ability. Time ticked away as late morning neared and with it the sun rose and shined warmer down upon us. Every once in a while a few big Green Drakes would drift by from upstream. I would watch, as motionless big Drakes would drift over earlier feeding trout. Maybe a look-see but not a picky trout would take it in. Downstream the big Drake fluttered its wings as if drying them before taking off. Wham, a hungry trout attacks and devours the Drake. A ring of small ripples extends out from the attack in the previous flat slow moving water. Trying big Drakes got to be useless though. Without the realistic fluttering wing movement the well-learned trout had no taste for the lifeless looking imitation in the clear water.
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I finally got bored and headed for the faster water. I knew there that the fish wouldn’t have time to check out the exact imitation. It’s a quick meal or it’s gone. As long as the silhouette, size and color shade is right I got a chance. They just won’t have time to check out the tippet or any other noticeable differences.
My first strike and hookup came against a small grass island near the far side. It was up from the shade trees still within sunlight as I watched my #14 dry move along the tops of a narrow fast run. A fish shot up and grabbed the dry. There’s no room for error fishing project water areas for spooky wary trout. You always have to be ready with a quick twitch of a wrist and taut line to hook into a speedy hit in fast water. You hesitate you lose and may not get another chance at the same fish. I admire my first catch, a small aggressive brook trout. He darts away as I release him from the hook.
I fish downstream as usual. I tie on a #12 dry for the faster shaded water. Drifting the fly nearest me first than out and across. At times I’d drift the fly down in front of me letting line out for the perfect drift. I neglect to enter the middle of the stream in fear of disturbing the water or giving myself away. From the bank I execute a sidearm backhand cast across my body. At the end of my forward cast I twitch the rod tip up and back. The fly arcs and lands in the slow back eddy under the laurel at the end of the fast run just below me. I know the fly would only be on the water for maybe 2 seconds before my fly line is pulled across and under. Nothing comes up after it so I quickly flip it out of the water and behind me. I cast again in the same area for assurance.
I move slowly out from the laurel feeling every obstacle beneath my wading shoes. Again, I try not to disturb the loose gravel. I cast to the far bank and hold the rod high. I drift the fly to the near side of a semi-fast run. I watch as a trout comes up out of nowhere, back finning, inspecting my fly. My line fingers holding the fly line tightly as my cork gripped right hand and wrist beg for action. In a split second I’m ready to set the hook, in a split second he disappears beneath the water without an attack.
Quarters are tight behind and above me. I must sidearm false cast up and down stream before shooting the fly across the creek. With a quick stop of the end of the rod will enable the smooth line to continue to run through the guides giving more distance. I overshoot the target to have time to loop the middle of the line upstream before the dry hits the flowing water. Watching the current start to take the fly beyond an exposed rock, I lift the rod up, moving the fly towards me and around the exposed boulder. Than I move the rod down again and forward giving line so the fly drifts naturally again. Around the boulder I anticipate a hook up in a likely lie. Nothing, I move downstream beyond the laurel. Fast water widens into a good size pool across the stream. Small waves riffle the surface water and collide upon the widen pool from the fast runs around exposed rocks above it. A soft breeze upstream brings a warm feel from the hot June sun above the overhanging shade trees from where I stand. I drift a #12 parachute dry upon the surface water a quarter way out. When it reaches the end of the outflow of the pool I roll cast it easily letting the breeze blow the fly up towards the top of the pool. Again the fly drifts erratically upon the uneven surface water.
At the far end of the pool I catch a glimpse of a shadow rise and submerge. I concentrate more on my next cast. I cast up from the shadow about half way up the pool to the far side. I loop the body of the line upstream and than feed and follow the fly with my rod for the perfect drift. Instantly within sight a fish ambushes the dry. I was already anticipating the catch. Hook set the rod bends as the trout finds room to fight towards the end of the pool. Rod high I keep the line taut between my line fingers and thumb. Moving my line hand forward letting the fish take line when I felt he needed to or pulling my line hand back behind me as he fights nearer to me. He only surfaces briefly as if to see whom fooled him. A dark yellow belly submerges and fights towards the far bank.

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“I’m breaking for lunch” Jeff calls to me from downstream.
“I got a nice one,” I yell back playing the fish in the knee deep water
“I’ll get the camera” he calls back
I slowly move downstream to a flat piece of dry land. From the shade trees I step out into the sunlight. I instantly feel the hot sun upon my bare arms. I play the trout gingerly while waiting for Jeff to come over with his camera.

We eat lunch along the stream on the tailgate of his truck. Salami, capicolla, pepperoni, dried olives, a beer you know?! Light reflex off the chrome on the front springs of the Softail. The warm sun penetrates my shirt and soothes my skin. I fall asleep in the lounge chair Jeff has set out.

After lunch and the power nap Jeff headed downstream as I walk upstream beyond where we started in the morning for some fresher water. There are more guys fishing the stream than I was aware of. I stepped into the creek downstream from where a few guys are fishing. Looking downstream 3 other men are wading and fishing upstream. I take a position in the middle of the creek and fish the log along the roadside bank. I watch the three guys fishing towards me. The guy fishing the far bank moves stealthy and with purpose. Casting underneath hanging pine boughs and to likely lies behind exposed rocks.
The other two splash their way along their side of the creek. One didn’t even cast at all but watched and coached where the other should try next. Neither caught trout underneath the afternoon sun.
I slowly fished downstream casting under overhanging fir trees. Steadily I wade downstream changing flies and drifting midges. I came to the shady bend I fished earlier. I pick off two more brook trout and a small brown on #14 dry. I fished it hard with anticipating on catching more but can’t produce any.
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Just before dark I met up with Jeff at the big deeper flat stretch we fished in the morning. Drakes filled the sky above us and a few appeared upon the water surface. The fish were still not excepting the imitations we had to offer but we continued trying to persuade them.

At about dusk I head to the cycle and packed up for the ride back home. I put a chew in my mouth and start the rumble of the V-twin. I beeped the horn as I passed Jeff in the stream with his L.L.Bean light up brimmed hat on. It didn’t take long as I cruised down the road to realize my adversity.

Big, big Green Drakes were flying upstream low. The road down to rte. 64 follows the stream within 20 feet in some areas. I was traveling in the opposite direction on my windshield-less cycle. Drakes literally cremated me from my leather du-rag to my leather boots. Big drakes splattered against my goggles making my vision as if looking through a stained glass window. They were so thick I was even afraid to turn and open my lips wide enough to spit!!

_________________~doubletaper

vapor 6wt. review

winston 6wt. vapor rod

i'm not one to give reviews of products, due to the fact i don't have the luxury to try many products, but this deserves exception.

i was looking for a 6wt. fast action rod for smallmouth fishing rivers in my float tube or canoe mostly. i wanted something quick enough to cast to pockets as i slowly floated down the river. i noticed there aren't a large selection of different lengths and flexes for 6 wts. as compared to 5's or 7's. i am partial to American made products as well as American companies. (i had my heart set on a winston anyhow). i selected the winston 6wt. vapor rod, 4pc. 9'. i would have liked a 9' 1/2" but that wasn't goimg to happen.

i used this rod a months ago on the shanandoah river for smallies and it performed greatly to my saisfaction! to cast poppers with my med/fast action 5wt. for smallies or med. 7wt. for largemouth, i would have to use a lob cast to get the popper 'out there'. this hampered my casting to get underneath low limbs and also restricted distance. with the soft flexable tip of the fast action vapor rod i do not have this problem. i can cast normally and with better acuracy and more distance. casting buggers and large flies, such as wulff, trude and humpy patterns, it does just as well.

most recently i used the vapor rod down on the clarion river. trout were rising next to shore in the high but clear water. i tied on a 6x tippet to my 9' leader and casted foam beetles and spider patterns. the tight loops got me to where the fish were with good distance and delicate lay downs. i picked up nice size browns and brookies without scaring the wary fish.

winston suggests to overline your rod 1 size heavier for bass fishing. the fish shop manag. suggested a gpx line, which is a 1/2" wt. heavier than a normal wt. line. i stuck with a gpx 6wt. floating line and i have no plans on overlining. the rod and line work well together.

well, that's the review. hope it may help any of you who are looking for a great 6wt. smallie rod to cast poppers, big flies and woolly buggers. oh, and foam beetles for river trout!

_________________________~doubletaper

9' on the Oswegatchie continued...

PA. Fishermen in the Adirondaks (part 6)
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9’ on the Oswegatchie continued (page 7)

June 14th

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I enter the river, just below the bridge, from the roadside from which we parked. I move cautiously and slowly as I am upriver from the flow of water between the island and stony bank to my right. With the sun still rising behind me on my left, it throws a shadow of the railed bridge upon the gradual flowing river water. Having years of experience, at times, I test myself when I’m on new waters. With no rises or hatches I plan my temptation in getting fish to rise on my first and succeeding casts. Looking over the situation I feel my #12 and #10 March Browns may spook the hidden trout more than attract them to the surface on the smoother flowing water. The #16 and #18’s might work but I feel that even the least wary well hidden trout might not rise to a small morsel. I decide to use a #14 dry. Now considering the conditions it should be much easier for the trout to see a darker shade, upon the water, against the bright blue sky background. I also figure, because of the hazards beneath the surface of the three to four feet of water, it would be easier for the tout to see a much fuller body than a quill body. I select a #14 Dark Cahill. Forever reason why, I’ve caught more trout on this pattern this year when few fish were rising compared to my usual Hendrickson patterns.
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I cast downriver to my right about 20 feet. I let line out so my fly floats drag free under a couple of leafy extended branches. A flash from the bank beneath tells me to be ready. I quickly pinch the fly line and raise my rod slowly to take up any slack left on the water. Quick to the surface a trout takes my imitation and I set the hook with a just-as-quick wrist set. I move my rod horizontal towards the bank and bring in the small brown. I don’t want to disturb the middle of the water or let the trout run wild scaring any others. I release the active 9” trout back into the water. My next cast, down the middle of the run of water, produces nothing. I then cast the Cahill just shy of a submerged thick tree limb lying against the island. A fish rises from beneath as my Cahill drifts by him. He follows the Cahill with sufficient room and slurps it under. Again I set the hook and produce another 9” brown stocky. Far to my left water runs over and around smaller rocks causing short falls and rippling water. I side arm cast and lay the Cahill just behind a bigger exposed rock in a smooth pool of water. Holding my rod up high I let the Cahill slowly drift into the small riffles behind. Wham! A trout swats at the Cahill like a brookie in a small native stream. Another quick wrist set and another trout falls victim. The fish turns down river but the 9’ rod pressure forces the trout to fight in an arc until it swims below me in the shin deep water. I bring in an 8” brown and release the hook from its top lip.
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I reach in my top shirt pocket and pull out the Red Man. Reaching in the pouch I pull out a good three finger quid of fresh chew. Looking downstream I don’t see any sign of Jeff. A woman cross river, standing on the far bank, is hooking into fish by casting a spinner into the white capped rolling water and letting it drift into the tail-out before reeling it in. Other than her I have the river to myself along with eager hungry stockers with fine sunny weather. I roll the chew with my tongue, spit and I’m ready for more action.
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I go back to fishing the run of water between the island and stony bank. I switch to spiders and beetle imitations and the stockies don’t seem to care much what I toss, they hit either. At the end of the island, where the run of water meets up with the wide section of the main body of water, I begin to work my way upriver along the island bank. I cast up into the small pockets of water behind exposed rocks picking up a few more small browns. I tie on a #12 March Brown and cast into the seam beside the faster moving river water that’s being channeled towards the far bank. Unexpectedly a fish attacks my fly but I’m late on the hook up. I cast enough times at him again to realize he wasn’t going to be fooled again. I slowly work the seam as I move down river.
Wham! A fish hit’s the March Brown as it swings my way, out from atop the fast water, across the seam. This time I’m ready and set the hook with a quick raise of the rod and wrist. He wants nothing to do with me and dives deep into the faster water. The 9 footer bends with the fish pressure and undercurrent. I angle my rod downriver and the fish follows the current and then arcs across the seam into the slower pool of water below me. He fights more aggressively then the 9 inchers I’ve been catching. He zigzags but I match his skills as I bring him in. the 11” brown has a little more color and thickness than the recent stockies. I unhook the fly in the corner of his mouth and he darts off beneath the water. I work the seam until it widens without another rise. I turn and cast into the slower water that runs along the island. I wade into the slower run between the island and stony bank but this time I’m casting upriver.

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I hear a voice and look up to see Jeff motioning “lunch time.” I hook the fly into the rod eye above the cork handle and climb the bank towards the vehicle.
At the vehicle we converse about our morning fishing as we lay out a spread of lunch meat, cheese, peppers and chips. Jeff opens up a bottle of LaBatts Blue and I uncap a bottle of Amber Bock. After the relaxing lunch we both light up two big imported cigars, Jeff brought along, as we put the food and fishing gear back into the Escape. A local guy parks his truck across the roadway and comes over. He talks about the musky and bass in the lakes. This gives Jeff and me a little longer time to enjoy our cigars before getting back into his wife’s new Escape.

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On the road again we head towards a couple New York wineries before entering back onto Pennsylvania soil.
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______________________~doubletaper
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Ps. Oh yeah, the wineries? ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’ as they say!!!

9' on the Oswegatchie

P.A. Fishermen in the Adirondaks (part 6)

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9 Foot on the Oswegatchie (page 6)

June 14th
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Early Sunday morning, Heading towards Lake Placid from Wilmington, the Ausable flowed with good color and the water level dropped considerable over night. The sun was rising behind the mountains and brightened the light blue sky as cotton candy clouds filled the sky above the ski slopes. A few vehicles were already parked along the roadside as anglers prepared to try their luck. I tried talking Jeff into staying one more day but….
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Outside of Lake Placid we turned on rte. 3 back the way we came on Thursday. Each lake we passed had boaters on the waters. We finally reached Cranberry Lake and found the dam in which we would fish below. To our surprise the water that spouted out of the dam was the beginning of the Oswegatchie River. The same river we crossed over about three times on our journey to the Ausable.
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I stood on the bridge, below the dam, and looked over the water. Clear crisp water exited the dam area and rolled over the stony and rocky bottom towards the bridge in which I was standing on. A small grassy island laid to my left, nearest the bridge, that separated the water. A nice stream of water ran against the roadside bank but because of the incline and trees it would be tough for anyone to fish it.
On my right, looking towards the dam, big boulders were placed, lining the river, in an attempt to keep the more level land behind from eroding. Water ran between these boulders and created a very large pool of water that extended to the far bank. The pool looked to be a foot or so deep for the most part. Though shallow, what this large pool did offer was shade from trees along the bank from the rising sun. Already I noticed an occasional dimple in the pool from sipping trout.
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The undaunted waters that flowed below the dam funneled beneath the bridge and took on a different outlook downriver of the bridge. From under the bridge water flowed in half-hazard, white water tipped waves, over boulders and strewn out rocks. As the riverbed widened water rushed over near surface submerged boulders causing waves to collide creating rough water. There were no consistent calm pool areas, between these swells, that would not soon be overrun with more breaking waves causing more uncontrollable rough water. The main part of the river seamed to funnel towards the left bank leaving more controlled water to flow around and dip between exposed boulders and rocks to the middle right of the center of the river. An island laid to the right of the exposed boulders which separated the water flowing from under the bridge. This left a stream, about 20 feet wide, between the island and mass of round rocks that were stacked up the right inclined bank up to the road. This small section of water was hazardous to any submerged bait caster or spin fishermen because of the submerged drift wood and downed branches below the surface. But a dry fly drifted upon the water surface should take on a less hazardous path and maybe causing a hungry trout to expose itself into taking a top water morsel.
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Before walking back to the vehicle I looked upriver once more and picked out where I’d make my first stand. Back at the Escape, Jeff already had the hatch open and was gearing up for the morning cast. Being that I wanted to relax, from the onslaught of water we had dealt with the day before, I let the 8’6” med-fast Scott rod lay on the floor and reached for the aluminum rod tube. The 9 foot Damon Ausable rod would be my weapon of choice for the day. The medium action will let me slow down and relax my casting stroke. Knowing I’ll not need much finesse in the wide open river, the rod will give me smooth long casts with more delicate presentation. I took my streamer and nymph fly box out of my vest and laid them upon the floor. The morning will be a dry fly only day!
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Poised on a secured exposed boulder, aside the fast moving water of the bottom release dam, I tie on a March Brown Haystack. I notice the morning sun is not completely over the tree tops behind me. Their branches reach skyward as the leaves waver in the slight morning breeze laying their shadows upon the slow large pool. Before me water runs quickly down the center of the river and stretching out to the far unreachable bank. I pull out fly line and my fly gradually pulls with downstream force, below to my left, giving me line tension and extension for my lifting back-cast. Stating my back-cast the fly lifts off the water and I watch as the medium action rod flexes. Behind me I feel the rod load and wait for the right extension before beginning my forward cast. I watch as the loop unfolds in mid-air. Just before touching down I flip my wrist up and to my right throwing a mend upriver before the fly hits the water. The fly lands on the water and drifts quickly upon its surface before my fly line. After my third drift through I see a rise, in the crease, on my side of the fast run. I take line in and loop cast my fly down river from where I stand. I let line out with my line hand to keep a smooth drift of the dry. The glare on the water surface makes it tough to see my fly but the quick splash is more visible. I pull back on the rod and first fish on! I easily coax the trout out of the fast current and step off the boulder. A smile comes to my face as I unhook the 7” brown from the fly hook.
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Up on the boulder again I drift the haystack and again hook into another small brown. To get a better visual of my fly I tie on a March Brown parachute with a distinct brown rib. On the second cast and drift an eager trout raises, splashes, and takes my fly under. Somewhere in the middle of all this my reactions pull back and set the hook. The trout heads deep into the faster current. Being quite higher than the trout I angle my rod to my left to put pressure on the fish from the side. My rod flexes into the middle and gradually straightens as the trout is forced out of the deep undercurrent following the rod pressure. After a couple of quick jolts by the fish, that again flexes the rod, the trout becomes easier to bring to hand. I release a nice 12” brown.
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I notice some rises beneath the shade of the trees upon the slow pool of water. I knot on a piece of 6x tippet. To this I tie a #16 silver ribbed Blue Quill. The first cast produces a rise and hook up. For the next hour I play 'spot casting' with the Blue Quill and a #16 Dark Cahill. I’m patient and only cast to rising trout around the large pool and those rising along the crease of the faster run. It’s relaxing and rewarding with many more hook ups than misses. As time passes the sun makes its way over the previous shaded area and makes it tougher to get the trout to rise to my dries. I decide to move down below the bridge.
___________To be continued…………
_________________________~doubletaper

Hospitality along the Ausable

PA. Fishermen in the Adirondaks (part 5)

___________Hospitality along the Ausable (fifth page)____
____________________June 13th___
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After fishing buggers and streamers in a deep section of the Ausable, without any hits, our guide, Pat, drove us downstream for the evening. He brought us to a section of the river he wanted us to fish at dusk. There was a good rush of water that created a falls on our side of the river. Water whirl pooled on the near side, then gradually slowed toward the bank and separated around a long thin strip of grassy island. He told us where he wanted Jeff and I to fish just before dark for the spinner fall.
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Jeff and I walked up the road and followed a path to the river that the guide had pointed out on our drive down. The water was clearer than the day before but still running horribly fast in my opinion.
I cautiously entered the river and took small steps keeping good footage, before proceeding, as I fished and waded downstream in the waist high water. Even with big dry fly patterns it still wasn’t easy following the fly bobbing and weaving in and out of the wavy water. Being near shore gave me little room to back cast so I was limited to casting from right above my head and forward. The strong current against my bottom half, along with the slippery rocky bottom, gave me little confidence of moving further out into the river without being one with the fish. Jeff entered the river about 35 yards or so below and I could tell the precarious looking river was having the same effect on him. It wasn’t pretty!
Pat showed up along the shore, and seeing I was uneasy about the conditions, offered me his wading staff which I took without hesitation. The staff helped somewhat but I still wasn’t going to venture out into the mass of boulder ridden white waters of the river. My fishing consisted of casting out, holding the rod high and follow my dry as it swept the water surface. The whole time, fishing in this method, I tried to keep good balance as water pushed against my waist and legs. My felt sole boots continued to search for stable rocks as the under current swept the fine sand and gravel from beneath them. Seeing a huge boulder in front of me, I skittered the hay stack March Brown across the current and into the smoother water before it. A fish raised and hit the fly and I was able to set the hook and keep my balance all at the same time. Calling out I had one, Pat slid into the chest high water and netted the 10” brown. ‘Oh well’ I thought ‘I was successful, time to get out of here!’
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As the evening started to fall so did the raindrops. Pat headed up to get our rain gear as Jeff and I headed to our evening destination. Jeff fished off the end of the island downstream from me as I positioned and repositioned myself in the knee deep water at the head of the island so I could cast into the breaking falls up to my right. Water ran off a few boulders and swirled into a moving whirlpool off from the main river flow in front of me. Casting my Wulff pattern, just below the falls, wasn’t easy to distinguish the path the fly was going to take. I found by a quick movement of my rod tip I was able to control the fly to either crease the fast running down flow of water to my right or make the fly move with a slower current to my left towards the bank and then flow between the island and shoreline. Every once in a while the fly would get sucked into the whirlpool and I wasn’t sure which way it would exit. With sprinkles and the gloominess of the sky I tied on one of my coffin flies. For the next 15 minutes or so I fished this into the waters before me, along with casting out into the main part of the wide river. On one cast to the falls, the coffin fly followed the crease of the fast water. I pulled the line gently to my left and the fly followed my fly line flowing with the slower current. I was taking in some slack while holding my rod horizontal to the water, just being lazy. A head/nose of a trout appeared a few inches behind the fly and was following it like a trout following a hopper before gulping it in. (This all happened in a matter of seconds but I replay it in my mind in minutes). With my fly line moving to my left, out in front of me, following the flow of the water and the rest arcing towards my rod tip, I was helpless. I watched the fish gain on the fly and then with a big splash it swirled back into the deep. With that swirl my fly disappeared and I really wasn’t sure if the fish took the fly or the big 180* turn and swirl of the fish in the shallower water, caused my fly to sink. I lifted the rod up and back on that instance and even had to pull back line with my line hand to take up more slack to tighten my line. The fly surfaced and dragged across the water towards me….

I blew it! Poof, it was like an illusionary magic act. Now you see it - now you don’t and all you’re left with is feathers as the dove disappears. It happens so fast that later you wonder if it happened at all. I stood there conjuring up what should have happened but didn’t.
I began to frantically cast towards the falls and surrounding area to raise the trout. Downstream I heard Jeff call out “fish on”. I continued to fish my coffin fly without results. Jeff on the other hand…..
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Later Jeff told me that he tied on the big white fly Pat had tied for us back at the shop. When he cast it out the first time, within a 2 foot drift a fish came up and hammered the fly and he set the hook. Pat got into the water to net the fish as he was fighting the fish out of the fast current. Jeff said he got the heavy fighting fish close to Pat but it took off into the fast churning water again. The second time he got it close to Pat, but somehow it threw the hook and was gone.
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After this had taken place Pat came up to me and told me about Jeff’s fish and told me to tie on ’his fly’. I tied on the fly in hopes that something different would fool the trout. It didn’t but I still fished it into the rest of the evening. Jeff hooked into at least two other trout but again couldn’t bring them to hand. I’m sure the rambling strong current had a lot to do with it!
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In darkness and rain Jeff finally walked behind me and said he was heading to the house. After a few more casts I followed. After changing into shorts and dry clothes I entered into the garage where Jan Betters and Pat were talking. Jan had invited us for beer and burgers after our day of fishing. She motioned and said “the beer is in the cooler” and “go inside and make yourself at home.” I grabbed a Samuel Adams out of the cooler and entered thru the garage door into the house. I looked down the hall and realized quickly there’s no way this is like home.
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I passed the doorway leading into the living room to gander at the many pictures and items lining the hallway. To name a few, on the right wall were framed oil paintings of singular flies signed by the artist. The one looked to be a Jock Scott and the another looked to be a Ghost pattern while the other may have been some kind of Scottish Loch pattern. On the left wall was a framed certificate of gratitude and Fran’s certificate of authenticity where he was inducted into the Catskill Fly Fishing Hall of Fame in 2008.
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Upon entering the living room more fishing crafts and articles graced the walls and surroundings. Jeff and Jim sr. were in a hearty conversation about fishing. Pat sat in an easy chair across the room and I sat down on a padded foot rest stool. A couple from Pittsburgh sat on my right who were friends of the Betters and were here visiting. Francis Betters sat in a cushioned chair with a blanket over his lap. He gazed out through the four-panel-wide sliding glass doors that relinquished the view outside. A well placed flood lamp, down by the river, gave off a soft glow through the sparse trees and wooden walk bridge that led to the Ausable. Rays of light danced off the breaking waters of the river where we were just fishing. Though he looked mesmerized by the exquisite view I’m sure he was listening to the conversations that surrounded him. I was in complete awe. Not just because I was in the presence of Francis Betters in his own home but the hospitality that was being shown to us, being that we were complete strangers. I have never been in the presence of a group of people that made me feel so welcomed so quickly.
As time passed, Jim Jr. finished cooking the burgers and Jan entered the room and let us know the food was ready. Along with the burgers were a few side dishes. Jeff and I sat at the kitchen table and had a good conversation with the couple from Pittsburgh. After a few more beers Jeff and I said our gracious good-byes and headed to Pat’s truck.
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On the drive back to our room Jeff and Pat struck up a conversation about hunting in general as I sat back and tried to again conjure up that big fish I missed earlier. At the room I took a quick ’box shower.’ Stepping into the living quarters, Jeff was fast asleep on his double bed. I hopped into the single bed and was asleep in no time.
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We had our clock set early so we could pack up and leave in the morning light. Jim Sr. had told us the state had stocked trout below the Cranberry Dam earlier in the week. Since we had to pass this on our way back anyhow, we decided to give it a try until noon. From there we were planning on hitting a couple of wineries before crossing the state line.
We always try to take all the advantages we can while we have the chance….
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________________________~doubletaper

take a break

all, i didn't have time to continue my story with the next page, hospitality on the ausable, this week. i'm heading down to the shenandoah valley thursday to fly fish for smallies out of harry murray's shop. when i get back next week i should have it posted by wed. thanks all for reading and i hope i am still keeping it interesting. ~dt

'Red Legs' on the Saranac (fourth page)

PA. Fishermen in the Adirondaks (part 4)

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___ ‘Red Legs’ on the Saranac ___

__June 13th 2009__

From the parking area, over looking the Saranac River, looked to be very inviting. The early sunshine beamed down on the wide open river showing good color of the translucent brown tinted water. Green leafed trees bordered the far bank as far as the eyes could see. A cool breeze could be felt as we stood there assembling our rods and gear for a morning of trout fishing. Before us, the water flowed with visible rippling surface current as it flowed over submerged, near surface, rocks in the waist high water. Upstream or downstream, a ways off, the open water flowed around protruding boulders that caused pocket waters if we chose to adventure to these locations. Our guide, Pat, was very knowledgeable and pointed out the deeper runs and seams. He exclaimed that the river is a caddis haven but suggested using streamers in the deeper water of the mouth of the tributary we would begin fishing.Down at the mouth Jeff and I tied on various streamers and woolly buggers casting them out and then letting them swing before stripping them in. Jeff got caught up in small tree branches occasionally on his back cast while I found a nice opening behind me so as not to get hung up. Once in the water I realized I should have changed my spool to my weight forward line but I had already tied on a fresh 'Fran Betters' 5x knotted leader to my DT line back at the room. My 444 double taper line was new and with a little more effort I was able to cast it out pretty darn far anyhow. After dunking buggers for about a half hour Jeff and the guide, Pat, waded out into the more open waters of the river. I noticed a riser on the far bank and decided to go for it. I tied on a caddis dry but was unable to get the fly to the distant riser after all. After a few more casts aimlessly into the slow moving waters, without a hint of a curious trout, I headed out into the river also.
I noticed different sizes and shades of caddis hovering and tap dancing on the water. Fishing my way, between Jeff and Pat, I saw a splash from a rising trout a good distance out. Jeff and Pat were pretty much glued in their stance and I didn’t want to wade beyond their imaginary line. I stopped at the 'imaginary line' and tied on another shade of elk hair caddis. I didn’t go for the inconsistent riser right off but worked my casts, in steps, towards the distant trout. Switching caddis dries I finally got a trout to take and I called out to the two that I had one on. The brown didn’t have enough wildness in him to make much of a fight so I was able to bring him to hand pretty easily. I raised the trout by the hook, that just pierced his top lip, and shook it with my fingers and the 9” brown flopped back into the water and swam off. After switching again to various caddis imitations I caught another brown. I called out to Jeff that I was catching them on a tan caddis with ‘red legs.’ The body ribbing had to be of dark ginger or brown palmered around a tan body as opposed to the caddis I had palmered with light blue dun. Feeling confident I had the right shade of caddis, I now set my sights on the distant rising trout.
I false cast easily letting line out with each forward cast. At a slight angle, I started my last back cast and pulled line back through the rod guides for more line speed. With the line gradually unrolling behind me, I moved my rod behind and above my head and stopped. At almost the end of my back cast, with my index finger extended on my cork grip, I cast forward straight out in front of me and stop the rod quickly at about the 10:00 position. The line shoots out in a decent loop and I lower my rod as the dry falls just short of my target. I watch it drift upon the wavy water. With the brownish clear water color, it’s not hard to see the fly in the smoother wavy current. My next cast I let more line out and overshoot my target above the riffles. As the fly landed I mended the belly of the line upstream and this put my caddis on the riffles drag free. It was now a little difficult to see the fly waver in the slightly rougher water so I kept my eyes on the targeted fish below the riffles in the slower calmer water. Unexpectedly a fish came up before my target fish and by the time I reacted I was late. The fly pulled back and went air born, than dropped back to the waters.
Normally I don’t get another chance at the same fish with the same fly so I changed my fly to an egg laying caddis after noticing more caddis tap dancing upon the waters. The next cast I sharply cast a tight loop and lay the caddis between the ’two’ targeted fish below the riffles. I was going to wait 2 seconds than lift the caddis back off the water to imitate the egg layers. Within a second, one of the trout took the fly with a surface splash. Not having much slack in the line I easily pulled back the line and set the hook. The fish seamed to hesitate in the riffling water another second and than fought its way as I played it in. I released a fine looking 11” brown.
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For the next hour or so we continued to fish dries in the wide river. From upstream Pat finally called out that we should be moving on to another spot on the Saranac before lunch. I turned towards him and called out “a few more casts.”
Pat mentioned that a trout was coming up about 35 feet or so behind me and pointed his rod tip towards a noticeable riffle in the water.
Jeff said “we couldn’t get him to rise for our flies, give it a try.”
My first cast fell on this side of the riffles and I watched the egg laying dry drift past freely.
“A little further out” Pat said “just below the riffles.”
On my next cast I laid the caddis at the end of the riffles and watched it waver atop the water. Wham, a trout whacked at it and I set the hook.
“Ok, I’m ready to go!” I said as I reeled in the 11” fighting brown.
I didn’t look up at the two but I could picture Jeff smiling at our guide, him knowing I like to show off now and then!
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Our next stop was below a power plant. Pat told us that big trout hang out in the deep discharge water. Jeff waded the wall so he could work his buggers and streamers deep and back towards him. I placed myself where the discharged water entered the river so I could cast and fish both areas. It didn’t take long before I switched from buggers back to dry caddis. After netting a couple small browns Jeff finally entered the river upstream from me. Being that the river was narrower here, it was also deeper and wading out too far looked troublesome.
Jeff found a good seam, a ways out, and started to produce rises and fish successfully.
“What are you using?” I called out asking.
“Caddis” Jeff answered “red legs!”
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Though we didn’t catch any spectacular big trout we were catching trout on dries and felt the morning went fairly well on the Saranac. Lunch was waiting back at the shop and the Ausable was waiting our arrival for the evening.
_______________________________~doubletaper