Parachuting March Browns

Parachuting March Browns

5/18/2020

 It was mid morning. Another guy and I were fishing a long run in the project area of Kettle creek. Jeff had disappeared down creek. The sun would peak out from the moving cloud cover now and then making the area brighter and the water sparkle a bit more. Occasionally a trout would rise but the rise form looked more like a trout was taking emergers than surface flies. Besides that, there wasn’t anything happening on top or in the air that I could see. All of a sudden three vehicles pulled up and parked along the guardrail. About 5 young guys got out and hurried down to the creek section we were fishing like they were going to miss their free T-shirt for the first 25 attendance at a sports arena. All but one fitted in between and around us. One of the fellows slid down the bank on the road side, across from us, and started to set up his fly line. It didn’t take long for the one fellow I had been fishing with to leave. I still felt that there were trout to catch and the young guys didn’t interfere with my fishing so I stuck around. I remember one of the young fellows saying that the First Fork was blown out so that’s why they came to this section of Kettle Creek.

  So, there we were synchronized nymph fishing for trout in the morning sunlight. The fellow to my left was the only one consistently picking off a trout now and then in the faster wavy water. I would get a strike now or then but I was having a hard time keeping them attached to the hook. The guy on my immediate right was digging into his many fly boxes changing nymphs like someone picking out colored beads and making a Native bead necklace. Two others were downstream but I wasn’t paying attention to them. The guy across from us was snagging bottom often enough that he was exercising his fly rod flex on stuck rocks than actually fishing. He finally gave in and told the others he was taking off. Two other guys passed behind me and headed upstream and I guess took off with him. Three of us fished for awhile before a young teen and his father, I assumed, showed up and fished down creek from us still in the same run of water. It was nearing noon and getting on the warmer side. Still a few trout would rise but nothing to get too excited about. The guy to my left was still hooking up with trout on occasion but definitely not as often as earlier. His pal was now sitting behind him watching him nymph fish the run asking him all kinds of questions of what he was using to catch the trout like; does it have brown legs? What size are you using? Etc… Well, I finally got bored with the nymph fishing and even though nothing was rising decided to knot on a dry March Brown.

  I’ve been known to make trout rise though there might not be a single trout coming to the surface. I’ve heard the comment ‘the trout aren’t looking up”. Well I know if you walk the bank near a trout they see you and skidaddle out of the area. I also seen articles of a trout’s line of sight so I do believe that the surface water, and beyond, is always within their vision. Maybe not so much in the real deeper sections but we were fishing where the depth wasn’t too dark or too deep. The trout didn’t appear to be feeding much on the bottom at the time, at least we weren’t hooking any, so why not try to get them to rise to a dry? I mean if you were at a buffet and already looked at the food display and all of a sudden a waitress pans out a few crab legs you know you’re going to grab one before someone else!!

  I made a few dry fly casts and on my third cast I watched the March Brown float and bobbed on the surface drag free just passing me. A trout rose and took it with a gulp. I reared back on the rod, the line tightened and an audible splash broke the calm surroundings. There was no doubt that the other fishermen looked to see what the splash was as I played the trout to the net. A nice brown trout fought pretty aggressively all the way in. 

 

 I’m sure it was obvious by any observer that I was casting a dry fly. The second trout I caught, on the dry, the guy sitting down asked me if it was on a dry fly and what kind? Normally I find that fly guys don’t usually ask other guys what they are catching trout on unless they know them or at least had a few casual conversations with them or unless they are a newbie. Especially by someone sitting down watching. I said out loud a March Brown.

  The guy fishing to my left, over the faster run, walked around me and moved to my right in the slower tail out. He started to dig through a fly box and I had no doubt he was tying on a dry fly. I moved up near the faster wavy water and casted the March Brown out a few times. I didn’t like the way the Catskill dry MB was floating and it was hard to see in the faster current besides that I wasn’t getting any takers. I switched to a March Brown Parachute and things started looking up!! (Pun intended). After the third trout I caught I looked downstream and noticed the teen’s father was casting a dry fly also.

 

 Well the next hour or so I was casting dry parachute MB’s and making trout rise pretty often. It wasn’t that I was hooking them all nor netting them all but it sure beat the boredom of nymph fishing.

 

 I didn’t have to move much to put the dry fly where I wanted it. I didn’t have to see any particular trout rising to target it. A friend of mine calls it blind casting. Just throwing a dry fly out there hoping that something will take it. I figure that trout aren’t rising because there isn’t anything on the surface or anything worth the energy to rise to. Also I believe if there’s a nice size Mayfly floating on the surface it might just be a big enough meal for a trout eager enough to rise too. Just like us. We might not be hungry but if there is an apple tree in our path with big juicy looking apples..well!

 

 After a couple of hours the trout quit rising to my dries. The other two young fellows had left. I was fishing the tail out and slower section before I decided to call it quits. The father and son moved to my left just before I waded to the bank and headed up to my truck.

“Fooled them again, Jerry” I thought to myself.

 

~doubletaper

Against the Current

Against the Current

4/20/2020

 The sky was blue and the opaque white clouds slowly moved across the sky like cottonwood seeds in a gentle breeze. It was just above 30 degrees when I arrived at Tionsta Creek. I’ve always wondered how a waterway is defined as a creek or a river. In North Carolina I’ve fished rivers that were if Simon Said “take 3 giant steps” you’d be across the river. In Pennsylvania I’ve fished creeks that were 3 semi’s long in width. Anyhow the Tionesta Creek is wide and was flowing high and cold.

I took my time assembling all my gear and decided to wear my neoprene chest waders. They’ll keep me a little warmer longer than the general light waders. Once the chill of the water surrounds the waders long enough the coldness will be just about the same. Once my feet get cold, than just about numb, they’ll feel like lead weights and there’s really not much pain.

  I assembled my 9’ 5 weight Icon Allen rod and fit it with a WF5F line on a large arbor reel. I look over the water and the rising sun sparkles the rolling waves like the facets of cut diamonds under show room lighting. I don my polarized glasses to cut down the glare and walk to the creek bank.

  I drop off the bank into the chilling April water. I feel the current pushing against my shins and the chill of the water surrounding my waders. I cast the Woolly Bugger out across the knee deep shallows and let it swing down creek. I’ve fished this section before many times. The wide shallow water flow about 50 yards or so before deepening. I usually catch one or two trout in the shallow riffling water before getting near and fishing the deeper water. There are already 2 fellows, about 10 yards or so from the bank, casting their spinning rod offerings two thirds the way across the deeper section.

  I slowly wade and swing the bugger and move downstream towards the middle of the creek. I take careful steps as I feel for solid ground beneath the stony bottom as the current pushes against my legs. On one swing the arc of the fly line pulls away and I feel the pull between my left finger and thumb gripping the fly line. I jerk back on the rod and my first trout fights in the fast current. I keep the rod near the surface not wanting him to skim the surface. He turned downstream with the current. The rod bends with the running trout. I keep a lot of tension between my fingers and gripping the cork with my right hand. I carefully bring the trout near me and once near enough I slip my net out. I lift the rod high and see the brown trout come to the surface. Before I can reach out to net him he shakes his head against the surface current and sets himself free. Oh well, the current is pretty strong and I expect a few trout to escape free from being netted.

  I settle myself about midstream. I add another split shot to the leader and cast out across the current. I let slack drop onto the surface so the weighted bugger drops deeper before the slack line arcs and pulls the bugger with the current. I feel a sharp tug and pull back on the fly rod and fly line. The arc straightens tight lining towards a fighting trout. It swiftly swims with the current downstream as I keep enough tension between my finger and thumb not putting too much strain on the 4x tippet. I swing the rod to my left and the rod bends into the mid section pointing towards the fighting fish. I play him towards me and near enough I take out my net. Keeping the fly line pinned against the cork with my right fingers and with a tight hold on the grip I swing the arced rod upstream. The trout follows and as I lift the rod higher the trout moves towards me and I net him safely. A nice rainbow shines under the sunlight as it settles in the net. I let him swim free from the net back into the cold water.

Now, I’m not bragging but trout came to the net pretty often with a few coming undone against the strong current. I slowly took a step or two when the bite slowed down. I made long casts across creek and as it swung into deeper water is when I got the most strikes. Nice size rainbows fought viciously and some showed their acrobatic skills exploding out of the surface water. Their silvery sides reflected the sun rays like aluminum plates blowing in the wind dangling from a garden post. Their red to pink lateral stripe added color to their dark spotted body. Some trout appeared to somersault before free falling splashing into the water surface. One trout was extra exuberant and showed us 4 air born leaps and flips before settling down beneath and coming to my net.

 

 

 

 I cast the Woolly Bugger half the distance that I had been. I let a lot more slack in the line as if dead drifting the bugger wanting it to sink deeper before bringing the rod level with the surface. The line caught up with the drifting bugger and arced pulling the bugger into the swing. Just before the line straightened the fly line dipped quickly with a noticeable tug. I yanked back on the rod and I felt the rod arc into the mid section. The wet line sprung up in a straightened tight line pointing right to the underwater taker. The trout swiftly took off like a bandit after a stagecoach robbery with the Cavalry hot on his trail. It stayed deep and swam in a big arc upstream further away from me. I held the cork tight as my fingers controlled the line tension. When the trout got about straight across from me it dove deeper and turned downstream. I let tension line slip through my fingers trying to slow him down a bit. After it finally succumbed to the back pressure it settled down stream, facing the current, with head shakes and whatever trout do when struggling to get free beyond my vision. I carefully started to reel him in towards me against the current not wanting him to rise to the surface just yet. I let him tire some a time or two not wanting to horse him in too quickly. With about 3 inches or so of fly line out from the tip top I took out my net and raised the rod higher. The big trouts tail fluctuated in the current as it faced upstream. I swung the rod up creek and the trout followed the tight line like a sled being pulled by kid up hill. With the net in the water I lowered the arced rod and the trout backed up towards me. It tried to swim away from the net but I kept the rod steady and got him close enough to close the deal. It’s red lateral stripe was well pronounced and appeared to glow against its spotted silvery body from its gill plate right down to its tail in the sunlight. Its pectoral, pelvic and anal fins were a translucent crimson color. It wasn’t lengthy but its girth was much more wider and thicker than the others I caught. I dipped the net into the water and the fat stunted trout turned and swam out. I watched and once it got its composure it turned downstream and swam away.

 

 I caught trout for the next half hour or so before wading back towards the creek bank.

Walking towards the truck on dry land my legs, below my kneecaps, felt as stiff as a surveyors spike with no muscle feeling. My feet felt like anchor blocks. I took a break at the truck and let my body recover from the coldness. Out from the water I could feel the warmth of the sun much more. Once I warmed up a bit I grabbed the fly rod and headed back to the creek.

By now it was about 1:30. the 2 fellows with the spinning gear and an older gent waded their way about half way across the creek where I was standing earlier. They were lined up, keeping their social distance, casting far out across creek with bait and bobbers. I waded upstream from them keeping my distance and not interfering with their fishing.

  I switched from Woolly Buggers to Triple Threats often. I continued to catch trout casting towards the shallows of the far bank and letting my streamers swing into the deeper section. Most of the time the trout would take the streamer on the swing. Other times I would let the streamers hang in the current after the swing and eventually a trout would attack. Sometimes a hooked trout would explode out of the water showing off its stunning acrobatic skills before splashing down like a small child jumping in a puddle. 

 

“ He caught another one” the older gent would call out to the two other guys.

 

 Another hour or two went by before the 3 guys decided to wade out. I fished for another half hour or so before I too called it a day and headed to shore. Stiff legged I headed to the truck and slowly I started to feel more feeling in my limbs.

  I warmed up the truck and drank a beer while putting my gear away. Evidently there is a leak of some portion in my neoprene's. In the cold water and weather it’s hard to tell if you’re wet underneath your waders or just the coldness of the water that filtered through. Anyhow, I changed into dry clothes and lit up a H. Upmann Vintage Cameroon before taking off. 

 

 It was a great day. The weather was to be nasty the next day for my birthday including strong winds and possibly snow. The big rainbow may have been my birthday trout of 2020 this year coming a day early.

~doubletaper

P.S. As it was, birthday morning I woke up to colder temperatures and snow.

The 12:15 Rainbow

The 12:15 Rainbow

4/27/2020

 “The fly line was just about at the end of the swing when the line just stopped. It was like a steelhead sucking in a sucker spawn in front of its nose and just sitting there. I gave a yank on my fly rod. The line straightened and I felt the rod flex deep into the mid section.!!!”

 I was up at 6 a.m.. I made breakfast and decided to tie some Picket Pins and BH Woolly Buggers before going out. The last time out the trout hammered the Picket Pins like hungry Iguanas in a cage with a bunch of live crickets. At 9:30 I checked the thermometer and it was 48 degrees and I noticed it was a bit on the windy side.

 

 When I got to the creek I decided to fish upstream from where I had been the days before. I noticed many other fishermen fishing up stream. Probably because it was a lot closer to the road and easier access. I parked along the roadway and put on a heavy flannel before getting my chest waders and rain jacket on. The chill of the wind was much colder than the actual temperature.

I walked along the road and dipped into the flowing creek. I immediately felt the cold April morning water around my legs. My intentions were to cross the creek and fish towards the road side where I’ll have plenty of backcasting room away from danger. I crossed the creek successfully and found the other side was deeper than I expected. The water flowed around my thighs and after a while felt like I was soaking in a frigid bath. The gusts of wind, more often than not, not only made casting difficult but whipped through the air like employees opening double doors in the morning of a snowy breezy winters day. I spent a half hour or so with 3 strikes and no trout to the net. I know it was early, windy and cold but I would have expected a little more action being the first to offer the trout a morning meal. I was using a Woolly Bugger but I couldn’t even get any takes on nymphs either. I knotted the Woolly Bugger back on and decided to wade and fish my way to the shallower water where I can cross and get to my truck.

So, there I am slowly, step by step, casting the bugger across stream, in a cross wind in no specific area trying to cover as much water as possible. I watch the floating fly line arc downstream pulling the swinging bugger under the surface with the current flow. I’m about 50 yards from the shallow riffles. The water has a milky tea stain to it. I can see the bigger submerged boulders and have a feeling the water, mid stream, is getting shallower. One drift I finally get a sharp take on the swing. I yank the rod back behind me and the line tightens with a frisky, battling trout on the other end. He fights against the current but I have no problem bringing him to the net. He’s a nice size trout at that. I unattached the hook from its lips and let the trout swim free.

 

  Hmm, maybe I found a honey hole that maybe no one ventured this far downstream. I spent maybe 5-10 minutes casting into the general area. I switch from the bugger to Triple Threat patterns without another strike. I reattached the Woolly Bugger and continue on wading, stopping now and then, and casting out.

  I hadn’t moved very far from where I caught the last trout. The wind had died down a bit and I got a good long cast beyond mid creek. I let a little more line out to let the bugger swing a little further downstream. The fly line was just about at the end of the swing when the line just stopped. It was like a steelhead sucking in a sucker spawn in front of its nose and just sitting there. I gave a yank on my fly rod. The line straightened and I felt the rod flex deep into the mid section. I tightened my grip around the cork handle like I was trying to see how hard I could squeeze one of those hand therapy balls. All of a sudden, looking down creek, a belly of a trout came to the surface splashing and appeared to tumble frantically. I got a glimpse of the red stripe along its side in a fraction of a second. I could feel every jolting tug through the rod shaft. He submerged but surfaced again tugging furiously. After a short he decided to swim in an arc up creek away from where I stood. I kept the rod up as the rod tip pointed behind the swift moving trout trying to keep the least amount of line dragging in the water. With a head tug, against the rod resistance, it turned down creek and swam with the current. My right wrist was locked and my forearm muscles were tight as I tried to hold the rod steady. I let tension line run through my fingers keeping the rod arced towards the fleeing trout. Short of where we started the battle he turned and gave a couple of quick short jars before swimming side to side facing the current. I cautiously start to reel line in while keeping tension and trying not to give him any unneeded line. I didn’t want a bunch of line laying on the surface when I got him closer to me. I knew the drag was near set correctly should he decided to burst away with force.

I had him coming my way a little shy of midstream but not yet across from me. I let him flex the rod at will but trying to not let him take any more line. He turned downstream and swam pretty much straight down creek from my rod tip as I kept the rod practically horizontal with the water. About 10 or so yards he was just below the surface when I finally got a good eyeball on him. His long body and muscular looking girth was no doubt the heaviest rainbow I ever had hooked. I though “I need a bigger net!”

  I was about 30 feet from the bank but wasn’t sure what I would encounter below the surface in the knee deep water. I took out my net and let it dangle in the water while I tried to get the big boy closer. Upon seeing me, I assumed, he scooted passed me a short distance as I gave him no line to go any further. He turned under the rod pressure and I grabbed my net with my left hand. My right wrist was locked and my forearm was as stiff as a cocked bow string. I knew trying to tail net him was a bad idea. There was no way of trying to body netting hin due to his long length. My only hope was to get his head deep into the net first with his body above his head to keep him from flipping out.

I moved the rod upstream and lifted it high. The big trout followed the force of the arced rod into the current. I had the net setting in front of me and lowered the rod tip giving him leeway. He turned to swim downstream but I scooped him up, head first, into the net. He flipped and fumbled in the net. I started to back up towards the bank trying to balance the net with one hand trying to keep the rainbow in it. I finally tucked the rod handle and reel under my arm pit and with both hands cradled the net keeping it balanced wading towards the bank side. Successfully I made it to the bank. I dipped the net into the shallow water briefly as to give him a breath or two of water before putting him on the bank half in the wet net.

 

I have a 22” golden trout, a nice heavy brown trout from the Clarion River I caught on a dry fly and 19” brook trout all caught on a fly rod hanging on a wall at home. To be honest if I would have had a rope or was on the truck side of the creek I may have had second thoughts about leaving him go. I lifted the net to the shallow bank waters and tailed him with my hand. When he gave me a good swift tail kick I released my grip and he swam a few feet up creek. He hesitated there for a moment or two, as if he couldn’t believe I let him live, before swimming off into the main body of water.

 

I reached into my flannel pocket and pulled out a rewarding cigar. An Aging Room Connecticut Churchill would do just fine! 

  I lit it up and looked at my watch. If it was later in the afternoon I may have just called it quits. It was only 12:15. I still had plenty of time to fish and there wasn’t any lasting fatigue in my body.

I fished till around 4:30. I caught trout on Woolly Buggers, Triple Threats and Picket Pins. Not many but enough to keep me entertained. About 4:00 trout started coming to the surface. I ended up hooking a couple of the smaller trout rising on a dry caddis.

  

 After the big catch I never got the thrill after hooking the 12:15 rainbow. It was like winning the red ribbon for the prize bull in the morning at the county fair and the rest of the day, since I was there, hanging around just to feed the animals.

~doubletaper

'Gems' of the ANF

Gems of the ANF

4/22/2020 

 I decided to take a leisurely break from the high waters and strong currents of the bigger streams and visit one of my favorite brook trout creeks. Though the brook trout were transplanted I still consider them ‘gems’ as they are beautiful no doubt. Kind of like a Cubic Zirconia, not a real diamond but still beautiful to the naked eye. I used to catch real native trout in these waters a long time ago. I’m sure there are a few but I’m sure they are few and far in between.

  When I got to the bottom of the mountain there were a couple of trucks parked along the dirt road. As I drove on there wasn’t a vehicle in sight. It looked like I would have the creek to myself. Just a year ago on the first day of trout season there were vehicles and people everywhere. Each spot that a tent could be pegged or a small camper could be chocked there would be at least 4 to 5 vehicles parked near it. It looked as though everyone was having a family reunion. People lined the creek as if waiting for a boat parade to flow down the shallow waters. Dogs could be seen running around freely and small kids playing with sticks as their moms or elderly gents watching over them. Today, two weeks after the first day of trout opening, and with the scare of the COVID-19 and the Govs order of no camping, there isn’t a person or vehicle in sight other than the first couple. That’s a good thing!

  I park along the dirt road in a space just long and wide enough for one truck. I break out the 3 weight Hardy fly rod, put on my fishing rain attire and grab a few cigars. I angle my footing as I cautiously descend down the slope to the leveler forest floor. I follow the well used path between the trees, pass the remnants of an old campfire to the creek and look over the scenery. The water flows pretty much gin clear with a little glare from the afternoon light. Trees line the banks with many limbs branching out over the creek with twigs waiting to hamper my every cast. The sky is a pale cream shade with a touch of gray to make you wonder if rain is a possibility. Green moss line the creek as if a boundary to where the creek is allowed to flow. I step into the cold water, attach a Woolly Bugger to the 4x tippet and begin my brook trout quarry.

  By this time of year most of the trout have been harassed or harvested by many fishermen. Most of them fish the deeper pockets under tree limbs, submerged branches and deeper bends where the constant water flow creates undercut banks. They appear to pass on the shallower ankle deep to shin deep riffling water. Maybe their split shot lines get caught between the rock bed as they try drifting their bait in the flow. I’m sure a few minnow fishermen may give these areas a try but usually will not that I have seen. Everyone is eager to get to the deeper holes where they feel a bucket or two of trout still remain. The easiest way I found to fish this small creek and get the right angle is to wade in the creek itself instead of fishing off the bank or constantly plopping in here or there causing a lot of commotion. I make long casts down stream at an angle toward the banks and let the bugger swing till my line straightens. My aim is to coax the trout out from under their undercut hiding places or submerged hazards into the open water for my slow swimming offering. The distance between them and I are critical and I keep my movement to a minimum.

  It is slow going and fish-less at first but I think positive and besides that enjoy the sounds of the forest. I feel a tap of the fly line between my fingers as if something is sampling my offering but not just sure to take a mouthful. I let the bugger swing again in the same area and this time give it a little more action with a few twitching of the rod tip. Once the line straightens down stream a hardy grab bends the rod tip and I snap back the rod and my first brook trout is struggling in the shin deep water to free himself. I carefully bring in line as he splashes to the surface. I wet my hands before handling him.

 With the same tactic I try for another but there is no response. This one trout may have been alone in the shallows. I continue on downstream with the same strategy and hook another.

 

 I fish a couple of deeper holes but there appears that the trout, if any, aren’t being fooled by artificial imitations or they been harassed enough that they are too wary of everything. I light up a cigar and take in the scenery before wading on. There are half submerged branches to my right along the bank. The water is maybe shin deep at the most but brook trout will hold in the shallowest water if they feel safe. I drop the bugger upstream and let it drift and swing in front of the branches. I catch a flash beneath the surface but no strike on my offering. I let the bugger drift till the line straightens and start to bring in line for the next cast. I see another flash at my quicker moving offering and nod at the attempt. Another drift through and this time the take is a sharp tug and I quickly line set the hook. A brook trout scurries with my offering as the rod tip dances with delight. Another brook trout comes near but flips free before a picture.

 After a few more drifts near the branches I concentrate on the left side of the creek where the water is maybe a little below knee deep with a nice riffling effect to distort the water surface. I roll cast my line and offering into the riffles and let it drift toward the smoother surface water. I feel a tap through the fly line but miss the take. I challenge the trout with a few more drifts and light twitches of the rod tip and he can’t resist the temptation. Another comes to hand.

 

 Now this is getting interesting. With each few drifts I get another and than another strike. I start pulling struggling hooked brook trout to me like a boated bait fishermen finding a school of hungry crappies. Evidently the bait fishermen passed over these shallow water trout and it’s as if I found a mother load.

 

 

  I know I can’t take pictures of them all but each one has its own characteristics and beauty like contestants in a beauty pageant. Their eager fight to undo the hook as they dart beneath the surface. Their wet sides shimmer in the allowing light showing off their fascinating colors. Though they might not be true native gems of the creek they are still gems of beauty in my eyes.

 

 With each hook up I hope to catch the ‘big one’ but it doesn’t come to be. Maybe there isn’t a big one to catch. Even so I'm not in one bit disappointed in my find. After a few more the bite dies down and I continue on. It takes sometime wading and fishing downstream before I find another few brook trout that wants to play with me.

 

 

 The light starts to dim and my body tells me I had enough fun for the day and it’s time to give it a rest. I attach the hook to the hook keeper and step to the bank as sprinkles of rain start to fall. I follow the well used path to the old blackened coals left from a campfire and head up the hill. It’s been an enjoyable and fun time finding these ‘gems’ from the little creek and letting them swim free again for another time.

 

 I sit by the camp fire now back at my camping spot. The wind blows gently as the flames flicker and wave with the lazy breeze. I puff on my birthday cigar, an AB Select Corojo Churchill, a day late. The day before was a rainy wet day that a campfire was not feasible to make or sit by. I’m content and relax enjoying the rest of the evening under the deep blue sky.

~doubletaper 

Mountain Run Off

Mountain Run Off

 3/31/2020

 I packed the backpack with supplies for the day and decided to go native brookie fishing. I was into my 5^th day camping along the river and just decided to take a hike up the mountain and bring the fly rod.

  I parked the truck along the road, grabbed my gear and headed up the gated dirt trail. Bare trees stood up through the mountain laurel. Looking up the cloudy sky was like a pale gray canvas color. If I looked long and hard enough I could see glimpses of the light blue sky above but the sun was nowhere to be found. More or less what the weatherman called for. The air was a bit nippy but it was still morning.

  The water flowed down the mountain at a good clip around big boulders, downed logs and over flat rock shelves. Water gushed over near-surface exposed boulders causing small deep pools and rushed over the rock shelves falling into plunge pools that weren’t very long in length. The roar and gurgling of the cascading water was deafening to the ear but a pleasant sound none the less.

I really couldn’t call it a stream. When I think of a creek I think of narrow brook waters. Because of the rain the past few days there was a lot of run off water coming down the mountain and into the river. This one particular run off appeared to flow all year round so I just decided to take a hike and see if it holds native brook trout. Heck, I didn’t have anything else to do being that the river was high and muddy.

  From the trail the hillside to the run was steep but manageable. Once I got down to the run I found an occasional narrow game trail that followed along water. With the many downed trees and big boulders I had to be careful as I traveled. Let’s face it, I’m not some kind of mountain goat.

Along the run I took off the back pack and assembled the 7’ 3 weight Hardy Fly Rod and attached the reel with DT3F line. At a tail out I laid a Humpy as close to the bubbling water fall as I could and let it drift to the tail out. The pools themselves were short in length so there was constant casting in the narrow runs before the water flowed over shallower water than between more boulders and rock shelves down the mountain. It was like watching an out of control slinky uncoiling down an endless flight of a crooked stairwell.

  It took some time to convince myself that the trout, if any, weren’t going to snap at a dry fly. I switched to a dark Cress bug and dropped a bead head Hare’s Ear off of that. I hadn’t any takers for some time but I was willing to bet there had to be some natives in the run somewhere. I felt like I was in a maze trying to find the right corridor to the food. I climbed back up the hillside when it got too rough to follow the run.

  From the uphill trail I spotted a couple of big boulders the water flowed over and between. I descended down the hill, through the mountain laurel and found good footing along the waters edge. The water converged over a submerged boulder ledge, gurgled and bubbled into a deep plunge pool. It flowed deep for a short distance before shallowing in the tail out and again over ledges and between boulders. I added a little weight to the leader and nymph fished the run extending the 7’ rod out above the water. I had to be careful of the laurel and hanging branches as I could only roll cast.

 I would cast the nymphs upstream into the splashing bubbling water and let slack out to get my offering down quickly. In the fast flowing conditions it was hard to notice a strike so I would tight line as long as possible and wrist the line up quickly with a little more authority just before my next roll cast.

  One drift my line swirled into a back eddy as I was high sticking it back towards me. I thought I saw a hesitation and wristed the rod upward. The top section of the rod dipped and I felt a struggle through the fly line. I brought the rod up and my first native brook trout wiggled and tussled all the way to my wet hands. 

 I fished the same plunge pool a few more drifts without a taker. Above the falls there was another deep bubbling pool that looked promising. I had to just about crawl through the low hanging laurel and over loose rocks to get to the bank.

  Casting up into the bubbling falls I watched my fly line as it floated erratically on the surface. The fly line dipped and I wristed the hook set. Another wild brook trout wiggled the rod tip section and my 2^nd native came to hand. 

 

 I traveled upstream along the bank, where I was able, and fished the nymphs in deep pockets and plunge pools. Time went by as I journeyed along the run and through the forest. I believe I missed one take but really wasn’t sure before I felt I had climbed far enough up and between the mountain valley. There was heavier bank side laurel and twisted branches making the land along the water impassable let alone trying to fish. I attached the hook to the hook keeper and decided to start my way back down the mountain.

  By now the sun was high overhead and I could feel the warmth through my clothing. The bare branched tree tops threw twisted shadows upon the forest floor. Shed sized boulders, on the mountainside on the upper side of the trail, where scattered as far as I was able to see. Moss covered partial sides of the big boulders and broken limbs extended over their sides in no particular order. Ferns appeared drably but the fir trees about appeared to glimmer in the sunlight as an easy breath of a breeze swayed their olive branches. Twigs were scattered upon the forest floor of brown autumn leaves left over from last year and through the winter months. Downed branches took on contorted shapes wedged in between the boulders and tree trunks. The ground was still soft from the rainfall so I listened intently as I traveled down the trail. The cascading water was still within hearing distance but not as deafening. Small birds fluttered from bush to bush and a woodpecker could be heard knocking on hollow trees all the while I walked down the mountain trail.

  Within sight of the road I glanced over and saw a nice lengthy pool of water. I walked down to the run and found myself a good foothold upon the rocks. Water splashed upon the surface and bubbled before clearing up as it flowed beyond. I knotted on a moth pattern and soaked it good with dry fly dope. I was hoping there was a trout looking upward for a meal. Each cast I would fling the moth out further than the cast before. Each time I watched the moth pattern come out from the end of the bubbling falls and drift down into the shallower tail out. I saw a flicker of a trout come up quickly for the moth but he missed it. Two casts later I got the moth drifting in the same location. This time the little guy grabbed the moth pattern and I was Jerry on the spot and nailed him. He shivered and shook the line violently as I lifted him from the waters edge.

  Light rain started to fall in more of a mist than raindrops. The cloud cover took a darker turn. After a few more drifts with the moth I switched to a dry Adams. Well, that didn’t fool anything else either. I called it quits and headed to the truck.

  Back at the camper I put my gear away and cased the fly rod. I turned up the heat in the camper and let it warm up inside while I got a campfire going.

  Mmmm! A juicy venison steak over coals with zucchini noodles and onions  sounds tasty for tonight’s dinner. After that I’ll sit around the campfire enjoying a stogie and a beverage or three.

  It turned out to be a challenging adventure. Though the rewards were few it was well worth the exercise and entertainment. 

 

 

 ~doubletaper