Largemouth on the 7

Largemouth on the 7

8-07-11

When I awoke, from my nap, my thigh muscles as well as my calves were sore. When I stood up I felt a weakness in my knees and there was a tinch of cigar aroma on my moustache. When I reached to open the bedroom door I felt soreness in the front of my right shoulder. I realized what from and smiled, it was well worth it.

For the past week I’ve been tying flies for bass fishing. I tied long deep fishing streamers as well as small baitfish patterns I could swim along the shoreline. I tied a few hopper patterns should the sun come out in the afternoon and of course some more poppers. My mind had been on fishing for largemouth bass on Sunday. I kept an eye on the weather. Early in the week it started out clear, than possible thunder showers and the night before the weather people said 30% chance of isolated rain. As long as there were no signs of thunder storms I was going.

I arrived at the parking area near 7:00am. I already had my 3 in 1 backpack loaded with my float tube, air pump, wading shoes, fishing gear and the like. I fitted the 9 ½ foot Clearwater 7 weight rod in the one side pocket and put a good size bottle of water in the other. I rolled my neoprene chest waders in a semi-tight bundle and attached my mid-arbor reel to the strap I used to keep the bundle tight. Looking up, there was a heavy fog just above the tree line and it looked like it might rain. Instead of my straw hat I donned the Omni-shade thin cap my eldest son gave me for Fathers Day. I went over the gear I had packed in my mind again and, satisfied, I lifted the weighty back pack to my shoulders and clipped it in place. I grabbed a couple of cigars before locking the doors and then headed down the gated trail.
 Within minutes my sleeveless shirt was soaked with sweat from the humidity of the 72 degree morning. About half way, of the hour long hike, I took a break and quenched my thirst. Walking along the trail alone I kept my thoughts positive hoping to catch some big largemouth. ¾ of the way I came within vision of the so called swamp. There was a lazy haze that settled above the pond almost looking haunting in its appearance. As I was getting nearer I heard a rain shower slowly moving towards me through the trees. There was hardly any cover to keep from the down pour. I made my way beneath the tree covered forest but there was no stopping the pelting rain shower from soaking me. Now my shirt was drenched in wetness from the rain. Any sun block that I had put on, just in case the sun should shine, washed away as well did the insecticide I sprayed on before my hike. After the heavy shower died down to a sprinkle I continued on towards the dam. Within a few yards I could feel the dampness in my socks from the now wet hiking boots I was wearing. I was wet from head to toe; I wished it could have waited until I got my chest waders on.

Upon the dam work I dropped the pack and gazed over the pond. There was a dead calm, not a breeze to be had. The old gray tree trunks stood feeble looking from a distance as there mirror image reflected on the motionless still water. The haze thickens beyond as if the pond went on forever into a sea of endless water.

I actually thought that if it stayed this way it would be much better than to have the sun beating down. Out on a float tube in the middle of the pond the only shade will be the cap on my head.

 I changed into dry socks and put on a pair of shorts before putting on the chest waders. After pumping up the float tube, and arranging my gear in it, I carried it to the water to begin my expedition. ‘Alone on the pond, No worries, no unpleasant thoughts, just me and the fish’ I thought. Now to go and find them.

I fished deep with a streamer as I finned my way near the right shoreline. From there I tied on a frog popper and worked my way towards a small island. Casting into and around the forming lily pads I picked off a couple of small largemouth and had a couple of blue gill mouth the feathered tail. I was fishing big poppers with #2 and #4 hooks.

 It was nice that there was no wind to contend with. This made it easy to throw long casts without spooking the fish of my whereabouts. There was enough current beneath that gradually moved me towards the dam. With plenty of room between the island and the shoreline I decided to come in from the backside. I finned my way around the island in the open water. I cast out and trolled a couple of streamers without any hits before getting to the far side of the island ready to slowly drift into the channel.
 I made a few casts in front of me in the open water before casting among the lily pads. I directed the one cast and dropped the popper in a calm clear opening among the lily pads. The popper landed like a frog jumping from a pad to the water. I let the popper lay for only a second and than with two short quick strokes it gurgled up some water. I immediately started to swim it towards me when WHAM! The water erupted like an underwater mine went off. I yanked back and the rod bent setting the hook. I felt my arm muscles tighten as the bass fought beneath with aggressive yanks and tugs. I got him coming towards me as he stayed deep entering the lily pad’s vine like stems. I kept the rod tip high and wrist locked trying to keep him at bay. He fought through the vines and I got him swimming erratically before my tube. Not bad as I lipped him and brought him to the apron. ‘They’re getting bigger’ I thought.

In time I caught one smaller bass and missed one but I’m sure he wasn’t a biggie either. The blue gills kept me attentive as they would sink my popper occasionally by grabbing the tail feathers. The popper would sink momentarily but they weren’t heavy enough to keep the popper down for more than a second. After an hour I decided to fin my way to the other side of the pond, left of the dam. Again I tried a streamer on my way across the deeper section without even a tap.

 By now the sky was brightening in areas with a mix of dark gray clouds converging from different directions. The sun still wasn’t visible as the smoky gray haze laid suspended among the cloud cover. A slight breeze started to be felt which rippled the water in the middle of the pond. The shoreline, as much as 6 feet out, still appeared glassy. When I got within casting range I switched back over to the popper and began casting near the shoreline.
 This side of the pond had very little lily pad cover but a lot more half submerged branches and log debris. I slowly finned my way away from the earth dam casting in the direction towards the left bank. I caught one small bass and again a few pecks from blue gill that would sink the popper momentarily but the big hook was too enlarged for their small mouths. The whole while I had my eyes glancing further up, on a crooked branch that stuck out of the water with strands of moss hanging from it. It had the bassy look to it and I was almost sure there was one waiting.
 I decided to tie on a fish looking popper with a big feather tail on it. By the time I got within casting distance to the branch it started to sprinkle as the dark clouds drew closer and threw a shadow over the pond water around me.
 I false cast a couple of times to get more line out and heaved the popper into the slight breeze. The popper fell inches from the hanging moss and I hurriedly took in slack line atop the water. One gurgle and the glassy water was shattered by an underwater explosion. The bass came half out of the water within full view as he took the popper on the rise. Water flew to the sides and I quickly yanked back and set the hook on the surprised catch. He sank like a rock as the angle of line pulled the rod tip down and into the middle section. I had a fight on my hands! Within the dark shadows of the eerie cloud cover I followed his jolts moving my flexed rod towards his location. My arm muscles tightened keeping the lower section pointed up towards the sky letting the bass fight the rod. In discuss he unexpectedly exploded out of the water. His white belly towards me and gill plates flared in anger, he tried to shake free from my popper in mid air. After he plopped back into the water I gave him line not knowing what to expect next. He pulled to my right and my float tube spun towards him with his thrusts. I palmed the reel to slow him down in which he gave in sooner than what I expected. He swam towards me and I took line in through guides of the bent rod. He swayed to and fro until he seen the tube. He pulled to my left to swim around me. I had the rod held high and kept a good amount of pressure on him from behind. He tried to dive deeper but as the rod tip tilted further the force was too much and he rose within sight. I cranked in some line and had him begging for mercy as he came nearer. I lifted him to the apron, what a dandy!
 I could hear the heavy rain drops falling upon the water coming towards me with a stronger breeze. A hurried picture and I released the largemouth and than I put the camera back into the zip lock baggie and into the float tube zippered pocket.

The rain shower passed quickly. I continued to fish as the sun found a break in the clouds from beyond and I felt its warmth through my soaked sleeveless shirt.
Continuing up the shoreline I hooked into another big largemouth near a snag pile of intertwined tree branches and fallen logs. Just after this fish I pulled out one of the stogies I brought along and lit up.

With a relaxing and rewarding smoke I decided to fish around the decrepit looking tree trunks that were scattered within the middle of the pond. I changed poppers often but the fish didn’t seem to want my offerings. I decided to stick with the fish looking popper and work it with a little more aggressiveness. There were patches of lily pads that had sprouted up near the far peninsula of land. Also a few patches of young lily pads were about the weathered trunks. In one such vicinity I worked the popper like I learned to work a Rapala on conventional gear years back in a lake where I first started seriously fishing for largemouth.

 I cast the popper towards the distant lily pads and let it rest for a second or two. I twitched it a couple of times to a gurgle and than quickly short stripped it in in a motion like it was trying to escape danger. I watched as it gurgled and splashed about towards me. I seen the wake behind the popper just before the bass surfaced to inhale it. With a big splashing gulp he nailed it with enough force his momentum continued forward towards me. I held the line taught and reared back the rod with my other hand trying to get enough tension on the line to set the hook. The last I seen of him was when his tail fin whipped water about before he disappeared beneath the surface. At least that’s what I thought!! All of a sudden I felt the rod tip shake and than line peeled off my reel as that annoying but cheerful clicking sang out. He turned and headed straight through the small young lily pad stems. I dipped my flipper down and managed to feel some loose but heavy enough muck to keep the float tube steady. Again I kept the rod high and my line was able to clear the small lily pads without getting hung up. He fought beneath a second or two after I slowed the reel down and the rod bent towards him with more resistance. I clicked one or two heavier drag setting and grabbed the rod with both hand. It felt like he was tumbling about as I kept the rod steady and occasionally pulled against his intensions. He surfaced enough to show his face briefly than headed for the more open water. I clicked the drag looser and let him take some line on his eager swim. I kept a good bend in the rod figuring he’d soon tier out. He turned enough to show me weakness and I pulled back on the rod. As he reluctantly came towards me and I cranked in line. He surfaced with not much of a fight left and I got him to the float tube safely lipping him to the apron.

For the next couple of hours I roamed the water about only catching a couple more smaller bass. One wasn’t too bad that grabbed a frog popper along the thick lily pad cover I fished in the morning. In the afternoon the dark cloud cover cleared and the sun cast down its hot rays. The wind picked up big time and it got strenuous finning about against the wind let alone the extra force it took to cast the fly rod. I figured it was about only 1:30pm or so but the extra effort it took to keep on keep’n on wasn’t worth it. I let the wind blow me to shore as I leaned back against the air bladder head rest.

 On shore it was now the process of packing it all in. I wasn’t in a hurry and took my time letting some of my clothes dry a bit more beneath the hot sun. I took one more picture of the pond before I left, a far different scenario than when I arrived.

I happen to catch a glimpse of a brown animal figure swimming amongst the uneven waves. Sure enough a beaver came out to cool off under the heat for a swim. I stooped down and watched him for awhile swimming about. He finally came to shore and started to munch on some greenery. I whistled to get his attention for a mug shot but he paid me no mind. Not wanting to disturb him I put on the pack and went on my way.

 Though the pack felt heavier it wasn’t overbearing. Somewhere along the trail my packable wading shoes decided they didn’t like the way they were packed, scrunched up against the pump beneath the corded bands attached to the pack. I felt a slight bump against the back of my one leg and turned to see both wading shoes lying along the trail. I dropped the pack from my back and this time tied the laces to the corded bands. After a drink of the warm water in my bottle I decided it was a good time for a cigar.
 I took out the Bahia Churchill for such the occasion. After the initial light up I tasted the seemingly cedar aged tobacco. After I put the pack back on and started heading up the trail, I was concentrating on the smoke. The Sumatra wrapper and inner tobacco gave an earthy mild taste. I thought it wasn’t a bad cigar for less than two bucks.

Back at the van I enjoyed a cold Straub green bottle as I put my gear away. It was time for some grub and there was no better place up in these parts of the ANF than a couple of cold brews and a half dozen of The Kelly Hotel wings!!!


____________~doubletaper

A Hopper Kinda Day

A Hopper Kinda Day

7-30-11

 After parking in the small parking area the first thing I did was to walk down to the river and check the water temperature. On down the lane butterflies rose up and fluttered about from my presence. Down at the river the water was moving with good flow. They evidently were letting enough water out of the bottom release dam keeping the river at good height for the fish, fishermen and other water sports. The clear blue sky showed signs that the heat wave would continue today but for now the green forest trees were blocking the rising morning sunshine leaving a nice shadow over the clear water. The water felt cool to touch and after dipping the thermometer in a gradual flow, it read 59 degrees. It feels like good water temps to do some trout fishing.

 Since I came back from fishing the Shenandoah, and because of the heat wave, I’ve been concentrating on smallmouth fishing in these warmer conditions. During the week I was getting the itch to trout fish and needed some relief. With the hot weather and lack of rain fall I was looking for some cool water and enough water to trout fish in without causing them too much stress. I’m sure a trickle of a mountain creek might have served me well but I wasn’t in the mood for the tight quarters or frustrations that sometimes go with it. I had talked with Jim and we agreed to meet along the river up north. Saturday morning I ate a good breakfast and headed north east for a day of trout fishing.

 After seeing the water was a balmy 59 degrees I went back to the van to gear up. I decided my 3mm neoprene hip waders would ward off the cool water temps. I added a few items to my trout vest from the vest I had been using for smallmouth. I decided the SAS Scott rod would do well today. With its medium-fast action I should be able to cast streamers and dries with good distance as well as extending my arm over choppy water if I desire to nymph fish. I selected on a weight forward floating line figuring long easy casts would be made more often than roll casts. Being the first on the water I was hoping to get a few trout to rise but it all depends on their mood. I grabbed a couple of stogies and a lighter and was ready for the river.
 Once in the river I checked out the clarity of the water. Looking down in the foot or so of water, I was standing in, the fish no doubt would have the advantage of seeing me within short distance. Once the sun reaches over the trees I’m sure my tippet, leader and fly line will become a factor of my presence. The deeper water looked a bit cloudy beneath but I was sure the fish would be able to see any passing dry if they were in a feeding mood.
 I decided to add on a foot or so of 5x tippet and to this another foot or so of 6x. This gave me a total of around 9 ½ to 10 ½ feet of overall leader/tippet. This should give me enough distance from upstream looking trout not to notice me.
 I decided a buggy looking hopper pattern might attract some attention in the wavy to riffling current. I noticed lots of grasshoppers behind the shop recently, and though it’s still morning, a trout might decide on a big breakfast. I started with short casts upon the wavy shadowy water near the far bank. It wasn’t long before a trout slapped at the passing hopper and I was quick enough to get a hook hold on him. The brook trout scurried about as I brought him to hand. A nice way to start off the morning. As a reward I took out a long National Churchill and lit the smooth blend of tobacco. I figured it would make the morning a little more relaxing and keep me from moving too quickly downriver.
 After a few more casts I soon found out that the big hopper pattern was a bit too much for my 6X tippet. It spun the 6x into a long twisting knot. I clipped off the 6x and tied on a foot or so of 5x fluorocarbon. After a few casts I found this corrected the problem and I continued on my way.

 It was slow going as I cast out under branches and against the far bank where I was able to reach without getting tree branch caught. Within a half hour I found myself a few feet out from the shoreline with a good deeper flow of water, in front of me, downriver from the thick overhanging pine boughs. With trees along the shoreline I had to side arm a cast to keep from hitting the branches directly behind me. With a smooth sweeping sidearm cast I let the rod tip move upstream as my fly line followed in a big arc. I dropped the rod tip and the line fell to the water with plenty of upstream arc. This gave a drag free drift to the hopper that plopped just this side of the overhanging pine boughs. I took in some line and lifted the rod enough so I didn’t have too much slack not to be able to get a good hook set. I watched the floating, buggy looking hopper roll with the small waves within the shadows of the trees. From beneath, a long glimmering fish rose and nonchalantly sucked it in. I was already waiting when I first seen him rise so I had no trouble timing his bite. He darted beneath on the hook set and put on a half decent fight in the semi-fast current. I got him around a subsurface big boulder and he twisted a bit, in resistance, before I got a handle on him. 

 

With watching the way the rainbow took the hopper, in his nonchalant way, I figured he knew it couldn’t just fly away like a mayfly. It looked clear enough to me these trout have seen hoppers and knew once the hopper was on the water they had all the time they needed to feast on one. After one more rainbow, under the limbs and a couple of misses, a couple of the top feeders, in the slower current, weren’t attracted to my big pattern. I noticed a few caddis appearing now and then and decided to give one a try. One of the risers wasn’t more than 20 feet from me upriver a bit. Because of the deep water I wasn’t able to see him but knew where he was. I tied on a caddis and cast upriver. Pulling in line, to keep slack from occurring, and holding the rod high I was able to present the top feeding trout with a drag free drift. He rose quickly but I was able to see him way before he took the caddis. A quick rod tip jerk and I had myself another trout on the other end.

 

 Jim was supposed to meet me around 11:30 so I didn’t want to go too far downriver. I knew it was getting around that time, with the sun now above me, so I figured I’d give him another half hour before moving out of sight. I was switching different patterns with the sun above now. I tried a bugger and even a couple of nymphs with no results. I seen a trout rising under the pines now and then so I tied on a beetle and got a good first cast towards his whereabouts. He came up after it sooner than what I expected and I missed out on the perfect, first time, presentation. Sticking with the beetle I managed hooking a big rainbow that got off as I tried to hand net him. A few casts after that I did manage a half decent ‘bow’ on the hopper pattern that I switched over to.

 

  By now I figured Jim wasn’t showing up. He must have had more honey-do chores than what he figured on. I slowly started wading and fishing my way downriver to the faster, narrower part of the river. I caught a glimpse of two big trout holding near a snag pile but they wanting nothing to do with my offerings. Near an overhanging leaning pine I cast deep towards the shoreline. It was a long, extra effort, cast getting the beetle into the shade provided by the tall pine tree. I was rewarded with a sipper that had no idea I was waiting!! After a scurry I brought him to hand.

 

 Just after the catch there was a conglomerate of kayaks, canoes and float tubers that happen to appear. I let the string of floaters go by before starting fishing the narrower water.

 From here on it would be mostly wavy, rippled water for a while. Shade was had nearer the far bank just deep enough to hold a wild brookie or two. The nearer bank, which would be the most common entry and exit from the roadside, was deeper and channeled water beneath branchy brush now and than. The middle part of the river was deep but still able to be waded in most areas. It also was in full view of the hot sun so I decided to wade the center as much as possible while casting to each bank. I lit an Oba Robust Maduro and continued my fishing outing.
 Now and again I would cast downstream with a lot of slack letting my hopper drift drag free. I came across pools of deep water as well as nice water falls creating back eddies I could cast into from down stream. The going was slow paced and enjoyable. I covered the water around me practically foot by foot giving any fish around a good eyeful of my hopper pattern. In shallow riffles that most fishermen would skip over I caught wild brook trout that slapped at the faster moving hopper pattern. In the slower deeper sections or brief slow pools that appeared within the wavy current, rainbows would rise in an easier manner and take my offering. With the cigar between my lips, the sun was bearing down but the cool air rising from the 59 degrees water kept me content. It was peaceful, serene and picturesque. Like the cloud above me, I had not a care in the world. Besides that I was catching trout on a very visible hopper pattern!!

 

 

 

  I was getting weary as the day wore on. The heat was bringing sweat to the brow and my casting arm needed a break. Every time I wanted to call it quits and returns to the van I would look downstream and see another bank-side or shady area looking fishy enough to hold trout. Continuing on I came to a full length falls.  I cast the hopper upstream upon the wavy water. The hopper floated upon the waves finally settling at the tail out. I watched as it continued to drift towards the falls when a I saw the glimmer of a fish turn and rise to the hopper. It took it with a splash making sure it didn't get away. I set the hook and was happy to see a nice brown trout which completed the trifecta.

 Down below the falls I cast upriver into the gradual flow, towards me, picking off one small rainbow. I was pretty hungry by now and out of cigars, it was time to walk back.
 I made my way to the dirt roadway and back to the van. Jim’s truck was parked right next to my van. I wasn’t sure what time he got here but I didn’t see him on the water. After a quick bite and beer I grabbed the rod and began at a quicker pace down the trail to look for him. When I got to where I came out earlier I never come across him. He evidently fished beyond this spot.

Back up river I stopped to get a drink before spending hour fishing upriver from where I started in the morn. I was able to hook up to two more brookies on the hopper before calling it quits for good.

  When I got to the bank-side trail leading up to the vehicles I heard splashing coming from downriver. I waited to see and there was Jim easing his way back. He told me he got there a little later than planned. He caught trout throughout the river also, on nymphs and on Triple threats. I told him about the trout I caught all on top with the hoppers, beetles and caddis. He was kinda surprised I caught trout on top being he said he only seen a couple of rises the whole day. (I say kinda surprised because he knows I try dry flies more often than most. He also knows that if I catch or even feel that I can make a trout rise, I’ll stick with the top water stuff than to keep switching to fish beneath)
 By then it was near 6:00pm. We quenched our thirst at the vehicles and decided to call it quits and head home. It turned out to be a more successful day, in the heat, than I ever expected. No doubt one of the best days on this section of river.

Somewhere, outside of Brockway, I saved one more cigar to take me the way home. I charred the outside rim of the Punch Rothchild for a more even burn. I lit the rare Corojo tobacco and smoke engulfed the front windshield. I hurriedly cracked opened the window to clear the smoke for better visibility. The dark oily tobacco was a robust flavor but smooth drawing cigar.

_________doubletaper

 

 


 

Along River Road

Saturday I put on an enjoyable 130+ miles on the Harley. Sunday I reserved for fishing with a friend from Pittsburgh. We met early along River Road to do some relaxing smallmouth fishing in the Clarion River.

Along River Road

The slow current flows around my lower body
The warm river water saturates my cut off jeans
The morning sun plays peek-a-boo with the cloud cover
Still rising, the banks are shaded by forest greens

 Everything appears to move slower in warmer conditions
 The birds seem to beat with softer grace
 Only the Damselflies show peppiness
 darting about when not hovering in place.

Mid river casts needn’t be meticulous
Vicinity is close enough when fishing smallmouth bass
With long timed strokes the fly line unfolds
The popper falls, as if parachuting, upon the surface

 Strip, strip, gurgle, strip, strip, gurgle
 My frog popper moves as if in plight
 Strip, strip, gurgle
 The commotion entices a strike

The popper is assaulted from beneath
Water spurts, line tightens, a fight pursues
The calmness of the morning livens
The challenger soon subdued

 As afternoon approaches the heat is felt
 Sweat beads upon my forehead beneath my straw hat
 I feel a cooler breeze against my wet brow
 There’s a moment of hesitation before I cast

Deep throated Harleys rumble along River Road
Breaking the tranquil sounds of the river
‘Not today‘, I relinquish the consideration
My frog popper falls gently near the vicinity
  of a shoreline rock formation

______doubletaper



Cabin Fever Day #2

PA Boys Visit the Shenandoah River
(6-24/25/26-11)

Day #2

Cabin Fever

Morning of 6-25-11

The ocean blue sky was picture perfect over the Shenandoah River when I walked outside Saturday Morning. The sun was still rising behind the distant mountainous tree line. Fog rose like a ghostly shadow downriver between the forest. The water had cleared up overnight and now flowed with reflections of the bank side trees upon its surface. The morning sky as well as the warmness in the air showed no signs of rain. It looked to be a good day to put on the straw hat and wet wade the river with a relaxing cigar!

 
 Giddeon and I drove into town to get him some wading shoes and polarized sunglasses. When we returned to the cabin there was a familiar white SUV parked in the drive. I knew who it was before I even seen the Kentucky plates. Jack, a former PA resident, had been staying in Harrisonburg and when he heard I was coming to fish the Shenandoah in Luray he decided to join us for the morning catch.

 We entered the riverside cabin with the aroma of fried sausage and brewing coffee. After introductions and greetings, Giddeon and I took our warmed breakfast plates of sausage, eggs and toast, from the oven and ate breakfast as the others made the decision of where we were to fish for the day. The morning we would fish the river behind the cabin seeing the water had cleared up nicely. In the afternoon we would fish downriver below the Power Dam. Two years ago we fished this area and had our best day among the rocky and star grass islands and surrounding areas.

I’m not sure if I had a slight memory loss from a hang over but I truthfully only remember a few things about the morning fishing. Jack fished along the bank towards the riffling water downriver where the rest of us started our expedition. On his way down he hooked into something that took off and broke the 6lb leader he was using without even giving Jack a chance to battle him. Later, nearing noon, we had a flow of canoeists and kayakers that interfered with our fishing. I’m all for the freedom of recreation on the river to whomever wants to enjoy it. The river is wide and open to the public. What I don’t care for is when watercraft handlers have no idea how to navigate or steer such watercrafts to avoid others who are also enjoying the river. As a fisherman I should know how to handle my fly rod as to not accidentally hook a canoeist or kayaker and I feel the same goes for the boater.

I heard Mark got bumped by a canoe. I watched time and again Jeremy having to pull in his line and wait for boats to drift through his line of fishing. I had one group of 4 canoes, tied together no less, coming right towards me without any steering ability. I moved to the side as the group came nearer. The far canoe bottomed on a subsurface rocky ledge and stuck fast. The remaining, tied on, canoes pivoted and circled until they could go no further through the deeper narrow channel of water in front of me. I helped the two canoeists, on the downstream side, untie the ropes holding them to the group and they drifted on. The other three canoes finally got freed when a couple of the men ventured out into the water to un-jam the canoes from the ledge.

 As time went on other struggling kayakers and canoes molested our fishing to a point I was ready to head to the cabin for lunch and a cold beer. There were times I was tempted to test my casting skills and try hooking a hat right off the canoeists head but I refrained from such retaliation!

As I looked at the pictures, when I got home, I noticed I had a few pictures from that morning. Again, I don’t remember the details of the catches but the pictures are worth viewing the scenic river.

Jack working a grassy island

Jeff working the flat water

look what I found

Jeremy’s Break

Noon

After sandwiches and a couple of brewskies we headed to the Power Dam for our afternoon excursion. The trail down around the fenced in Power Plant was much for Jack so he headed back to Harrisonburg.

From the parking area we walked the trail around the Power Plant to the river below. The abundance of water falling over the high dam wall and exiting the Power Plant stirred up the river to a milky limestone color. It was moving more forcefully than what we would have liked and higher than a couple of years ago. I knew how uneven the riverbed was to wade in and now, with the milky conditions, I wasn’t going to venture far from the flooded shoreline.
 Giddeon and Jeff took the risk and waded their way to the island safely. Mark followed Jeremy downriver and Mark carefully waded his way to the tip of the island. Jeremy stayed focused on the outcropping of rocks and flooded star grass islands about. I started, where I was able to wade, below the power plants discharge and worked my way downriver.
 I got a couple of taps right off and caught one small smallmouth while stripping in a Clouser. After that I couldn’t get a hit in the cloudy water as I made my way downriver towards Jeremy. It was on my mind that I was going to see if he wanted to fish elsewhere. I was about 30 yards upriver when I seen Jeremy caught a snag and was trying to unhook it without daring to wade in and retrieve his fly.
 I had bought him a brand new 6wt 9 foot fly rod combo for this trip; it was an early birthday gift. He used it Friday and said he was getting used to the fast action rod and liked how easy it was to shoot the weight forward line out compared to his older medium action cheaper rod. Jeremy has been fly fishing for over 10 years so he knew how to treat a fly rod. I watched as he tried to pull the line in different directions and cast a loop beyond the snag and quickly lifting it back trying to get free. He pulled again from the side and that’s when the rod snapped and folded. It broke apart 2” above the butt section into the 2nd sectional blank. I didn’t see anything he did aggressively that any other fisherman wouldn’t have done in the same situation. He stood there and looked at me upset as he held the new rod in both of his hands. The rod was bought from The Fly Shop in Reading California. It would be interesting how they will warrant this 2 day used rod.
 I met Jeremy along the shoreline and we decided to go elsewhere to fish in clearer water. I called over to Mark and advised him of our situation. Upriver we let Giddeon know where we were going and headed to the vehicles.

Bixlers Ferry Bridge

Early evening

 I parked in the parking area beside the bridge among the other vehicles. Jeremy put together my 2 piece 5wt SAS Scott rod and attached his 6wt spooled reel. We walked upstream from the small dam and canoe launch area and checked out the water conditions. I always liked fishing in swift moving pocket waters so I slowly waded and fished my way into the quicker current of stony bottom, riffling and choppy water. Jeremy headed upriver and began his fishing in the deeper slower water that slowed before cresting over the abundance of rocks and shallows I was partaking in. 

  I’m sure his intentions, as mine, were to slowly fish our way towards the far bank where the star grass and shaded area were along the bank. Being in this area we were sure not to be interrupted by uncontrolled watercraft. With the sun out in full view and a cool breeze I lit up a Cohiba Pequenos and tied on a popper.

  I caught a couple of sunfish but I was more interested in smallies that didn’t seem too interested in top water imitations. I slowly waded towards the middle of the river and cast into pocket waters and drifted a Clouser Minnow within the riffling water. I was about mid river and found a flat level rock I was able to stand comfortably on. The water upon the rock was only shin deep and being high off the water gave me plenty of height for long casts and control over the choppy current. Casting out into a good riffle of water, across stream, my bugger dropped into the current and swung deep as I mended line upstream. Underneath, in the tail out, my fly line dipped sharply and I immediately pulled the rod upriver to set the hook. The fish reacted with a downriver run avoiding any subsurface rock in its way. There was a good bow in my rod and with my line hand feeling the tension; I knew it wasn’t a small fish fighting against the quick current. When he got below me he struggled some and than shot out towards my left, downriver, from where I stood. I had to give him line as I palmed the spool while the reel sang that ‘good fish’ clicking tone. After swimming with the current I got him under control and struggled with him until I got him below me in a slower pocket pool. He wasn’t ready to give up the fight and I wasn’t going to horse him through the swift current. I brought the rod to my right to get side pressure on him and he swam to my right with resistance. To my surprised, beneath the surface, he headed upriver about 20 feet from where I stood on the flat rock. I saw the dark object of a fish darting through the choppy water like a torpedo b-lining to its target. I lifted the rod and stripped in line quickly to keep excessive slack between me and the oncoming fish. He stopped in a slow pool upriver until he felt the pressure of the rod and line tension. He tried swimming out away from me but my leverage on the rod and pressure was more than what he could handle by now. He darted downriver in retreat. I let line pass through my finger until he settled in the pocket of water straight below me. I got my line and rod under control and began to reel him in. He rose top water and I seen his big mouth gaped open with my bugger firmly planted in his lip. I knew it was dangerous trying to bring him in against the top water riffling current so I brought my rod level with the surface and stepped off the rock into the knee deep water. I had him coming in like a small bashful puppy attached to strong rope. He tried circling around my legs but I lifted the rod and got a good lip hold on him. I hollered out to Jeremy as I lifted the fish to show my catch. Oh ya, what a great fighting fish and successful landing!

 Soon after that the other three showed up and we fished till around 5:00pm. We decided to finish up the evening just outside of Alma along a good stretch of water we were familiar with.



Saturday Evening

 While the others headed upriver, from the parking lot, I concentrated my fishing around and below the bridge abutment. It didn’t take long when I got a good hook up with a dark lengthy smallie beneath a channel of choppy running surface current.

 Just before nightfall the others met me in the parking lot minus Giddeon. Jeff had said he caught a few smallies on top water poppers. The other two caught a few fish also. We stood around waiting for Giddeon to show while quenching our thirst. When he crossed the parking lot towards us he had a big smile on his face. Evidently, on his way downriver, he was casting the new Zonker pattern, I had tied, towards the shoreline. He picked off 5 or 6 nice size smallies and that’s why he got back so late.

 That night we feasted on Pizza and cold micro brews. We related our recent catches of the day to each other. A few of us relaxed in the hot tub while others relaxed with a big stogie between their teeth! Another satisfying smallmouth fishy day!

____~doubletaper

A Fallfish I had caught throughout the evening

 

  

A 'Holy Chit' Morning

A ‘Holy Chit’ Morning

7-9-11

Saturday morning my intentions were to tube float the Clarion river for smallies. I pumped up the float tube at home and put it in my van with the rest of the gear. Cruising up river road I was looking for a section of water I hadn’t waded or float tube through. Most of these areas are upstream from Cooksburg with private access to the river only. I found a nice section with plenty of deep water along the bank side. When I opened the back of the van the float tube was soft. In other words it had a hole somewhere. Good thing I didn’t fill it at the river and decide right then to take off with it. Knowing the Clarion River well I decided to wet wade the river up above Belltown.

As I stepped off the bank, into the water, I lit up a stogie and looked downriver. The water was shallow around me but there might be a smallmouth just hanging around cruising the shallower water for food. I tied on a bugger and slowly fished my way towards the bridge.

 It had been about ½ hour of no hits on a variety of streamers by now. I was upriver from the bridge deciphering the combination of riffling current, slow deep water to my left, shallower to my right all emptying into a deeper stretch before the riffling water just before the bridge. I tried a couple of Clousers and was swinging a bugger when I was surprised by a ‘Holy Chit’ strike. I’m not talking about ‘Holy Chit’ the water just all of a sudden got deeper or the eye opening ‘Holy Chit’ that bikini is quite revealing! It was the unexpected  ‘Holy Chit’ what just happened?! As I went to strip the bugger in something at the same time decided to grab the bugger and rip away with it. I’m talking like when the first time you went water skiing and the boat operator moves the lever full throttle to bring you out of the water. You got your hands gripped tightly, so you thought, and the rope shoots out of your grip before you even know what happened. It was that fast and an unexpected pull.
 I reeled in and seen my line broken up from my bugger but below my knotted 3X tippet, at least I knew what color the fish wanted now and tied on a bigger hooked longer Zonker pattern. Within 5 casts of searching I got another strike. I wasn’t stripping in so harshly and not keeping the free line held as tight. The line straightened and I set the hook. All of a sudden I had a freight train on the other end of my quickly bent Vapor rod. The reel came alive and I hurriedly clicked more tension on the reel drag while trying to keep my wrist steadying the rod as the fish pulled away. I felt helpless waiting for the fish to at least give me a chance to turn him around or something as I palmed the reel. No, he kept pulling line out like he was going to beach himself on the far rocky shoreline. When he finally started to slow his escape I nudged the rod tip down and away like tugging on the reigns of a horse wanting him to change course. He hesitated and swam back reluctantly with his sides against the undercurrent.

I just came back from fishing the Shenandoah a few weeks ago. I caught some nice size smallies in the fast current they were feeding in. This bad boy was fighting just as heavy and with just as much vigor in this slower pool.

He started to rise, as I took in some line, but all of a sudden dove deep. The rod dampened the quick dive and pull and I was able to give him enough line to keep him overbearing the tight line. He was struggling furiously in the deep pool that it felt like a ten minute round 1. I just about had enough by this time and began to pull him closer like a mule that doesn’t want to come along. I reeled line in and got him to my legs. He swam around and wouldn’t let me get a lip hold on him just yet. The Zonker was hung up in his top lip so I had to watch how I lipped him. With the rod high I got him to raise higher in the water column and thumbed him lower jaw. What a nice river smallie.

I spent another 30 minutes or so trying to coax another strike but there was nothing doing.

 I than turned my attention to fishing the water beneath the bridge and than concentrate casting poppers along the far bolder ridden shore. I spent about an hour wading downstream in the sunlight without even a tap. I waded to the roadside shoreline and made my way up river from the bridge again. Positioning myself in the same area as earlier I cast out a few different patterns without any luck.
 I reeled in and reached in my shirt pocket for the big Quorum Toro I had waiting. I pulled out the Zippo lighter and lit the big ringed, darker leaf, stogie before tying on the Zonker pattern again. I took time to enjoy a few puffs and scan the water before my next cast.

 I added just a little more weight to the dumb-bell eyed Zonker and than worked the deep area down from right to left below me.

 This time my line tightened at the end of the swing after I let it dangle in the deeper current. I lifted the rod and sure enough the fish started to struggle beneath with good weight behind the pull. The rod was flexing good as my line hand kept tension waiting for what the fish had planned. Than all of a sudden..
“Holy Chit” the fish rose and exploded out of the water in full view. (This was the eye opening 'Holy Chit!) His flipping tail cleared the surface about a foot. This smallie was fatter and looked bigger than the last one. He splashed down like a space capsule in the ocean, water flung in all directions. I held on tight as he dove deep and swam to his left. I felt the rod pressure ease up than..
 “Holy Chit” he explodes again out of the water like a largemouth trying to dismember a jointed plug. He didn’t hang as much air time but this energetic smallmouth put on an aerial exhibition. Upon splash down he swam deep. I had one hand on the rod grip and the other cupping the reel for support. I had no idea what to expect next. He swam with slow pulling force down to my right towards the two or so feet of water. The rod was flexed good with his force of the struggle when I heard a voice call down from the bridge. Looking up, there was a young man hanging out the driver side window wanting to know how big the fish was. I held onto the rod with one hand, took the cigar out of my mouth with the other and spit a little tobacco leaf remnants into the water before looking up again to answer him. We were carrying on an informal conversation as I muscled the smallie in. He wasn’t as frisky as the other and I was able to lip him up easily to show the young man my catch. After letting the fatty go we carried on the conversation a little longer before he decided to leave me alone.

 I spent a little more time trying to tempt another fish but none were hungry. I thought maybe another angle of the swinging and drifting Zonker might cause a fish to take notice. I moved down to my left and took a few puffs on the big stogie before proceeding. I cast out up to where I was just standing and let the Zonker drift beneath the riffling surface water into the deeper tail out. The third drift through the slack in the line started to tighten and I reached back and set the hook. Right off I knew this wasn’t a big smallie but it had some fight in him just the same. I got him to me quickly and had no problem lifting him. 

 Well that was it as far as catching. I fished that area another 10 minutes before calling it quits. I traveled upriver above Hallton and fished for about a half hour without a hit. I drove downriver again and sat along the bank and enjoyed a bottled Yuengling watching the bikini hatch move downriver in canoes and floating tubes while smoking a Palma Real. Later on I stopped once more and fished under the sunshine without a strike or even a chaser.

 On the way, away from the river, I stopped at the Knotty Pines and got myself 6, full sized, Bourbon BBQ wings and two Yuengling drafts. I was a happy fisherman and tired by the time I got home.


_____~doubletaper