~StreamSide Tales~

Two Cigars Worth

2012-01-28T22:27:00.002-05:00

Two Cigars Worth
1/22/12

Winter fishing for trout is for the patient fisherman. It’s solitude at best and as pleasurable as you want to make it. For me it’s a time to gather my thoughts, puff on a good cigar and enjoy the wonderful wintry day. The fish are lethargic so as far as the catching goes it’s usually slow going, nothing to get too excited about.

This particular winter day I only caught 2 trout just before dark after having smoked two cigars. It was about a 3 hour fishing excursion. Pure white snow covered the ground, creek banks and tree limbs. There wasn’t a boot print to be found along the banks, pure solitude! In the distance I could hear the splashing of water as it spilled over the dam wall and plunged into the water below. Surface water rippled with the downstream current flow. Occasionally waves of water would gurgle beneath ice shelves that extended off the snowy banks. Creek water faintly riffling over and between snowcapped boulders made for a pleasing harmonic tone to the otherwise quiet evening. A soft cold breeze would stir now and than to keep my body aware its winter time, warm beneath layers of clothing. My feet on the other hand are no stranger to such cold. At the end of the day they feel frozen and heavy as lead boots. It’s only after direct heat will I feel the tingling sensation that they are returning to warmer circulation.

It’s all good though. A few hours on the creek is always worth the time spent, no matter the weather or catch. A couple of trout and a couple of good cigars just make my time spent much more enjoyable.

___________~doubletaper

Reminiscing from the Overlook

2012-01-22T09:00:00.000-05:00

Reminiscing from the Overlook

End of Christmas Weekend 2011

It was a 10 degrees drop in temperature from Asheville NC into the mountains of the Pisgah National Forest. We added another layer of clothing when we stepped out of the vehicle and felt the colder mountain air. My grandson could't wait to cast the new Joe's Flies I got him for Christmas for trout. All bundled up, I watched him cast the lures out into the flowing clear water of the North Mills River. Though he didn't catch any trout his dad did let him bring one in on the fly rod. He was proud to show me the trout and was careful not to let it fall from his hands.

After an hour or so he got bored and his mom picked him up. Giddeon and I hung around a bit and we both caught a couple more trout before he talked me into going upriver to a more remote area.

After driving a couple of miles, up the dirt road, we pulled off at a gated parking area. We got our gear together and he took me for what seemed like a 3 mile walk along a mountain bike, horse, and hikers trail. There was more laurel that covered the landscape than trees. The hillside was steep and as we walked I heard the faint but distinct sound of tumbling water somewhere down in the valley of the forest. Where we started fishing was like a narrow passage confined to a rock quarry with flowing water over and between the assortment of rock formations. The banks were covered with round boulders of every shape and size with laurel branches outreaching over the stream. I found myself holding on to branches with one hand while casting with the other often. Rock stepping, as I fished downstream, watching my balance more than concentrating on my fly line. About 25 minutes later my son showed up and suggested we head down river further to calmer water and wider sections.

Downstream my son set me up before a long slower flowing stretch of water. The far bank-side had a nice flow of deeper darker water and I found this stretch was much easier to wade. Slowly I cast into the far bank current and let my woolly bugger swing and drift beneath the under brush and along streamside debris. Looking down the trail I watched as my son disappeared through the forest. I lit a cigar and began to relax some and enjoy the environment. Before a half submerged loose branch I hooked into a small rainbow and missed another. From the trailside bank I was able to see a couple of trout follow my bugger on my 9' leader. I would let the bugger drop a good distance away from me and let the fish turn away before they could see me upstream.

From the boulder lined bank I cast the bugger across stream just beneath the outstretched branches of laurel. I looped a short mend downstream, in front of me, upon the slower current. Within seconds the line pulled and I instantaneously raised the rod tip to set the hook. My 4 weight arced and the hooked fish surfaced, splashed, and dove deep into the quicker undercurrent. Confined in my movement, along the rocky, laurel bank, I fought with the rainbow as he struggled against my will within the clear mountain water. I was able to feel every tail swat and propelling thwart in his sudden moves beneath the oncoming current as my rod tip section waved and arced downstream. He surfaced again near my side of the bank momentarily than headed back into the current. I hollered for my son and he appeared below me with his net ready. Raising my rod some, I swung it beneath the laurel. I was able to guide the frisky fighter to the net. Not a big trout by any means but the most enjoyable trout melee of the day.

Many times it was difficult to continue to wade downstream. Tangles of laurel crowded the bank-sides where the river narrowed. These areas also were crowded with boulders and rocks that caused slippery conditions and deep pools of white water force. I'd walk along the lower trail to continue my adventure downstream. Every now and then I would follow a goat path between such laurel and brush towards the sound of the river. Sometimes I found just enough room to roll cast a woolly bugger across the water and let it drift with the current. Occasionally, if I was able to keep myself hidden, I would be rewarded with a quick take and a good scrambling fight of a wild brook trout.

As the lower trail inclined from the stream I found an area to wade across the water and continued to fish from the opposite bank. I came across a good looking fishy area where water flowed between the steep bank and mountainside cliff spilling into a wider bend in the river. The water was a deeper olive color from the turbulence above. Laurel brush thickened the far side bank and it appeared to be deeper along this brush. Midstream the water slowed and small whirlpools of water would develop occasionally and slowly swirl downstream with the current. I added a little more weight and roll cast my bugger within the pool.

The first take was a sharp short tug and I set the hook instantly. A brook trout fussed in the slow current but was no match for the 4 weight. 2 casts later a rainbow gave a little more tussle on the end of the line. 3 more trout later, all around 7" to 10", my son showed up and motioned to me to follow him downstream.

We ended our fishing excursion on a sandy bank fishing a long semi-deep run that bumped up against a rocky cliff across stream. Underground water found its way between rock crevices and fell in droplets onto the slow recessed pools beneath the rocky ledges. We knelt on the sandy bank keeping our profile low. Giddeon and I missed a couple of quick rising natives on small Adam dries. The other fish didn't want any other imitations we offered them.

My son looked atop the mountain behind us and mentioned we had about a half hour of decent daylight left. We had about a 25 minute walk back to the vehicle. We called it quits and I slowly and carefully followed him up the steep bank to the main trail.

I stand here now at a scenic overlook off Interstate 26 just shy of the Tennessee line. I'm mesmerized, as I look south, at the North Carolina mountains and valleys beyond. A drizzle of rain comes and goes with the passing of strong winds. I push my Harley hat down tighter upon my head. The sun tries to peek out between the gray skies trying to make the morning less gloomy. I notice one more swallow of beer in the Pisgah Brewing Co. growler. I salute to the Tar Heel state and gulp it down. An A. Fuente Lonsdale will accompany me, delightfully, on the first leg of my drive back to Pennsylvania.

It was a pretty special Christmas weekend!

__________________~doubletaper

Some Past Photos

2012-01-14T20:08:00.001-05:00

Pictures from 2009 and 2010 for you Photographers

Hawks View of 20 Mile

Maple Creek Shades

Under the Pines

Nothing but Net

The Loop

Volant Covered Bridge in the Fall

Turtle in the Box

Peace on the Shenandoah

Narrow Passage

Coming at You

Warming Up

Ice Cold Steelheading

Whistling in the Morn

Millstone Evening

Less Than a Handful

Got'm

From the Float Tube

Hardy at Rest

Simple Pleasure

Peaceful Pool

A Winters Break

Pike Hideout

Morning With Shakespeare

Tangles in the ANF

Bass'n Among the Pads

A Few Favotites

GW Fly Fishing Co... introduction

2012-01-14T11:06:00.001-05:00

If you have followed my blog you have read about my fly fishing in North Carolina with my son Giddeon. Well, he has been wanting to start a guiding service in Western North Carolina for some time now and finally got his license to do so. As his father, I could brag about his abilities, however, you can learn more about him through his website. If you plan on visiting Asheville or surrounding areas to fly fish for trout or smallmouth I wholeheartedly recommend him.

Without further ado, I introduce to you, my son Giddeon.

http://www.whitemtnenterprises.com/GW_Fly_Fishing_Co.php

Giddeon White

Western North Carolina Fly Fishing Guide.
I grew up fishing the rivers and streams of Western and Central Pennsylvania. When I was about 15, my father gave me this crazy looking fishing pole. I asked myself "is he serious?" The reel didn't even have a bail or a button! I really thought he lost it when he showed me the "bait." Flies, I thought?
Well, over the next couple weeks he taught me how to use my new fly rod. The first time I landed a rainbow on a dry fly, I was hooked. Since then, I have never left home without a fly rod. I even took it to college and taught my Parks and Recreation class how to cast.
Over the years, I have been fly fishing rivers, streams, lakes, intercoastal
waterways, and even the ocean. I've caught many different species of freshwater and saltwater fish, but nothing beats catching a big brown trout that has no intention of giving up without taking you down to your backing once or twice.
These days, I fish the rivers and streams of WNC, and am always happy to pass the knowledge and excitement of fly fishing on to a fellow angler. When I guide, if you do not have a destination in mind, I take into consideration the species of fish you want to catch, the weather, and recent fishing pressure of streams. I can customize any trip to fit your time frame and fishing style.
A few things are certain on my trips - it will be a great adventure, and I will show you how and where to catch fish. Once you fish the streams of WNC, you'll want to return again and again.

Good luck Giddeon and I hope to be down there, when I get a chance, to help you out!

______________~dad

Essentials..on a Winters Day

2012-01-09T18:17:00.005-05:00

Essentials..on a Winters Day

Jan. 8 2012

As I drive east on the interstate the sign, before the bridge, reads ‘North Fork Creek.’ I veer over to the passing lane and glance down over the bridge. The trout waters looks inviting and too hard to pass up.

It’s January in Pennsylvania. The weatherman said the high for today would be 34 degrees and cloudy. Hopefully he’d be wrong and the sun will come out to warm things up a bit.

When I get to the parking area snow and ice partially cover the ground. I put an extra layer of clothes on and get my trout gear together. Knowing the bite would be slow, do to the cold conditions, I make sure I have the essentials to bide my time out on the water. I grab my lighter and a few of my favorite cigars.
The creek water looks cold with the snow covered banks. The clear water is running at a good level while midstream the color darkens in the deeper run. Broken ice chunks float like jellyfish near the shoreline and slowly move towards the stronger current.

I tie on a nymph below an indicator, figuring the trout will be in a lethargic state and won’t move too much should they take my offering. Out in the water I roll cast upstream, mend my line when needed in the nearer slower water, and watch it drift with the current. I work the seam of water just this side of the rolling stronger midstream current. There’s a sharp breeze that kicks up and I’m glad I let my wooly beard grow thick. I wear a glove on my left hand and it doesn’t take long before the tip of my index finger, on my right hand, to start to feel stone cold. I keep thinking of putting the other glove on but I decide not to. As I slowly wade along the shoreline I cast across stream a bit, still trying to work the seam. The current slowly eddies back towards me and then flows upstream. My indicator dips down slowly and I figure I might be caught up on the bottom in the slower, almost motionless, current. I lift the rod with pressure to free it while holding the line with my gloved hand. Instead of the indicator rising it pulls away and the rod tip arcs. I can feel the trout on the other end fighting to get free but my glove hand prevents me from feeling the line tension. I start to guide him towards me and have a tough time knowing whether I have a good grip in my gloved hand as I try to take in line. The trout rises towards the top and I can see it’s a playful brown. He pulls away and excessive line slips out of my glove and slack develops. I look down and gain control of the line again between my glove fingers and am surprised that the trout is still on. Now I look at my gloved hand each time I bring more line in to make sure I keep a grip on it. The first trout comes to hand.

After releasing him I pull a Don Tomas cigar out of my insulated shirt pocket. Good time to light up my first cigar of the day. I turn my back towards the breeze, cup my hand and light up the Robust Maduro.

‘All right back to my fishing.’

Casting out I try to get the same current swirl that brings my nymph back upstream. This time the indicator stops briefly without going under. I twitch it back and feel a heavier resistance. Like a little kid I start to bring the fish in without setting the hook hard enough. The fish comes to the top briefly, wiggles and turns away without my nymph. I chuckle at the mistake.
Wading down creek I work the second pool pretty well.

Without getting a strike I decide to switch to a woolly bugger and strip it in slowly. Sure enough my line tightens during the strip in and after a short wiggling match I bring in another brown trout.

Time ticks on as I continue to brave the cold, switch patterns often and puff away on a stogie. I fish through the long flat section with only one follower of my woolly bugger. Occasionally the sun peaks out between the clouds but doesn’t add any warmth to the creek below.

I look down creek, and even though I haven’t had a hit for over an hour or so, I decide to continue on.

I try to work the slower moving current behind rocks and deeper moving runs between small boulders. The indicator, in the faster current, moves my nymph faster than what I like so I take it off and try indicator free nymphing. Casting out I loop a good mend upstream and watch the end of my fly line. Continuing with short wrist mends upstream, to keep my nymph somewhat drifting downstream before my fly line, my fly line hesitates with a noticeable pull. I pull back on the short length of slack line and feel the trout on the other end. He works with the current keeping low beneath at midstream. I feel there is too much tension trying to bring him upstream nearer to me so I swing my rod down towards shore. He doesn’t have the strength to fight with any force and I get my third handful of trout

I decide to cross the creek and fish from the roadside bank. As I stand near the bank small slabs of ice bump against my legs. They aren’t forceful enough to knock me off balance but hard enough to let me know to keep this in consideration when I’m stepping within the creek.
After nymphing a while longer I tie on a streamer and add a little more weight. Slow stripping and dangling the line beneath the rolling current I feel a strike as I raise the streamer. Silver shimmers just below the surface. The fish wiggles free and disappears below. During the next hour I miss one more trout and have a quick release of one near my boots. After that I decide to head back upstream.
Upon stepping onto the crackling brushy bank a grouse springs up from the under brush and noisily flies upstream to a safer place. Two more steps and another takes off from the brush and soars downstream.
I follow the trail and climb the steep bank to the road. On the road I light an Arturo Curly Head Cigar and walk towards the parking area. Back in the water I fish for another half hour before the rod eyes start to freeze up. The overcast sky turns darker and the wind chill is a bit nippier. With a cold stiff smile on my face I head to the van and call it a day.

I start the engine, to warm up the inside, while I take off my fishing gear. I break down the five piece, 5wt Kettle Creek Stream Rod and lay it on the passengers’ floor board, with my reel, to dry.

“Not bad for a cold January winter afternoon” I figure, as I warm my fingers in front of the heater vents of the warming van.

_____~doubletaper

Bad Karma? Huh?

2012-01-02T23:17:00.002-05:00

Bad Karma? Huh?

Jan 1 2012

As Jim and I were putting our rod and reels together he told me it was bad Karma fishing with a new reel on a new rod together for the first time. Something about “I should fish the new reel with my regular rod before using it on my new fly rod.” I’m not one to believe in Karma or luck so I didn’t pay much attention to this Karma nonsense. I continued to assemble my new back up rod, a White River 7wt Classic. To this I attached my brand new Allen Alpha II 7/8 large arbor reel that I already spun on a new DT7f fly line, with 100 yards of 30lb backing and new 4X tapered leader. In the windy conditions we put on an extra layer of clothes and headed down the lane in search of steelhead. It started to spit rain before we got to the creek but we proceeded on for a New Year day steelhead outing!!

The creek was little on the high side and the water was stained in a gray milky tint. Knowing where the steelhead usually hang out was to our advantage as we knew there was little chance to see the steelhead through the stained water any deeper than a foot or so. We entered the rolling wavy water with good intentions and were hoping the rain wouldn’t develop into an all out down pour at any time. We were aware that the windy conditions would be with us all day but we were determined to catch some steel and would have to deal with it!

So, there I stood in shin deep water in the middle of the creek pulling new yellow fly line out of my new reel. I felt like a kid trying out his new toy for the first time. The Karma thing was stored away in the back of my mind without consideration. I had caught a glimpse of two steelhead, before they noticed me, lying in the shallows near two feet deep. They were on my side of the faster wavy current holding tight to the bottom. They were so close together it was hard to tell how big they were as they appeared as almost one off color gray mass. Within three casts I got my streamer arcing and swinging near the two. Reaching the rod out horizontal, in front of me, I let the streamer settle in their vicinity down below. I was ‘swimming’ it forward and backward in the current with even pulls and releases with my pinched line hand on the fly line. I watched as one of the grayish fish moved away from the other a foot or so to its left, which was my right. I seen its tail sway and started to slowly return to its lie as my fly line followed. I gripped the cork handle tightly and with a forceful yank, the rod tip arced as I set the hook. The steelhead came to life like an active underwater volcano in the foot or so of water. The other steelhead quickly disappeared into the deeper run as my hooked steelhead fought with heavy jolts and thrusts. She turned downstream and started to pick up speed. I put the rod butt into my belly and gripped the rod handle with two hands. I’m not sure if it was the reel drag tension or the stiff arced rod force but the steelhead didn’t go too far before starting another eruption beneath. Silver flashed from below the water surface with hard twists and turns as I tried to keep her head up not wanting to get my line entangled with her fins. She than turned and headed towards the fast deeper run so I lifted the rod upstream, pulling in line, and than angled the rod downstream again keeping side pressure on her. She struggled briefly and started to grudgingly swim towards me. I backed up keeping pressure until I had her completely in shallower water midstream. The rod arced with the weight of the steel as I reached down to grab her with my net mitt.
It was the first steelhead on the first day of the year using my fly rod combo for the first time. A lot of firsts I thought as I grinned at my catch!

The next hour or so was slow. The sun would appear occasionally and made the small raindrops shimmer as they fell. The wind never stopped blowing, the water never stopped flowing and we never stopped fishing! Jim stayed ahead of me most of the time as we waded down creek. We both drifted nymphs and streamers along the way. Jim hooked up a couple of times but never got one to hand. I couldn’t get a hit for sometime, even the few more steelhead I came across in the shallows, until we were well down stream.

I stood in knee deep water and took out my 2nd Bahia #2 torpedo shaped stogie. I bit the end off and stuck it between my teeth. Cupping my hands around the Zippo lighter, shielding it from the wind and drizzle, I lit the end of the barrel. Smoke rose up and a glow of red embers developed. The earthy tasting cigar gave a wake up call to my dry mouth. I was relaxing in the quietness of the steelhead waters. This is something that rarely happens on an Erie steelhead creek!

The roll cast loop opened, straightened and dropped my streamer upstream from two noticeable light colored rocks in a deep section of the creek. I mended upstream in order to let my streamer sink deep before dead drifting it through the area. As it drifted through I thought maybe I had a quick bump but maybe it was my line dragging across the rocks. My next drift through I held the rod tip higher and this time my fly line arced upstream just briefly enough until I lifted up for the hook set. The spunky steelhead tensioned the line instantly, sub-surfaced, showing his colors, and darted towards the tail out. I let tensioned line slip through my finger and than let the reel drag slow him down. I backed up from beneath the tree branches above me so I had more room to maneuver. The tension was too much for him and he struggled towards midstream below me. I let him tire out some before I decided to force the issue of this smaller steelhead. He gave his all splashing near top side the closer I got him to me.

The next hook up came just out from an uprooted branchy tree. She gave me a good tussle forcing me to follow her downstream as she got herself in the faster current flow. I kept my distance and let her fight the long leader and line as she battled to get herself free. I was able to get around her, towards shore, before I felt her giving in under the pressure. 3 hook ups and three landed!! “So much for bad Karma” I thought, “It is still me at the helm!”

Jim was further downstream by now but I stuck around to see if I could raise another from the deep pocket. Back out, midstream, I relit the cigar. The rain finally eased up and the sun was beaming down brightening my surrounding and penetrating the top surface of water making it more visible beneath.
My roll cast fell upstream near a fallen log and I mended line so it would drift deep beneath the uproot. I know it was a dangerous attempt not knowing if tangling roots lay beneath. As I watched the fly line arc, the end dipped quickly beneath the water surface. I yanked upward, hitting the rod tip on a skinny branch above me, but the hook point was true and I felt the heavy load on the other end. At first it felt like a saw log as my fly line started to pull downstream beyond the faster current between the fish and I. I pulled back a little harder and the rod flexed deeper and the fish started to rise. Just below the surface he must have figured out that the imitation bait fish, he mistook for real, was attached to a greater force! He surfaced long enough that I seen his dark ruby lateral line and his long length. I hollered in delight to let Jim know I had a good fish on.
I let the fish spin line off the reel as he took off downstream. He circled right below me and I backed up a few steps to prevent him from coming straight towards me if he decided to. It was in an instant he took off back towards the root beneath the faster current. I tried to lift the rod and turn him but he was too strong and I also felt that darn branch bumping up against the rod tip. I had no choice but to keep the rod at a lower angle which caused my line to be beneath the faster current between the fish and I. He decided to force himself down beyond the root and that’s when I noticed a branch angled downward, into the water, nearer the far bank. When he reached the shallows, of the far bank, he turned downstream and than headed back towards me. Sure enough my fly line was still running towards the far bank with the fish pulling in the opposite directions. He had my line around the angled down branch. I couldn’t let line out fast enough or get my line out from beneath it as I struggled moving the rod tip in all directions. That big fish surfaced, and as if giving me the bird, swatted his tail at me and than plunged deep and broke off. Grrrr!!

I tied on another streamer and hooked up a couple more times before I could no longer get a fish to grab my imitation. Last I remembered Jim was headed back upstream and from where I stood he was nowhere in sight. I moseyed upstream after him drifting the streamer in likely areas. The water had cleared up some by now and when a steelhead moved beneath it was more evident to pick out the dark moving object. I tried different nymph combinations and stripping streamers but no steelhead wanted my offering. When I caught up with Jim we decided to head for the van for something to eat. Just for the heck of it I decided to walk up creek just a bit and see if we can hook into one more in this well fished area. As I was walking up the shallows I noticed a long lengthy gray figure holding in the shallows out from me. I pointed to the fish to Jim and just than she rose as if taking something off the surface. Her stout lengthy body reflected her silvery side as she twisted in the surface current before settling back down. I was sure she didn’t see me, and having a streamer on the end of my line, I decided to try for her.

Jim stood watching as I role cast the streamer out into the water and let it swing and drift towards the fish. The first drift was short but on my second attempt it was close enough I figure that if she was hungry she should have taken it. I let it drift by but she didn’t follow. On my third attempt I dangled it in front of her and let it drift back to her in the current. It was a certain movement she made, an undeniable twitch in my line that told me she grabbed it. I yanked upward at an angle and it felt like a good hook set. We watched as her mouth raised upward and her big body twisted, throwing water about, as she struggled in the shallow depth. She started to swim out into the deeper section with more brute strength than speed. We had a good battle going on as I stood my ground trying to keep her in the slower moving water. I told Jim to get over there and try to get her on shore the closer I got her nearer me. We got the steelhead between him and I and I tried to keep her steady as Jim reached down to grab her. She twisted away and swam between his legs towards the middle of the creek. He lifted his leg quick enough I was able to keep the line from tangling. Well I found this maneuver made her pretty angry and she started to fight with more animosity . I couldn’t hold her close any longer and when she reached the quick wavy current it carried her down stream with heavy force. This was a fight I was hoping for to get a good workout of rod and reel. The Alpha II reel purred as line shot out of the spinning spool and through the guides. The fish tumbled through the wavy current and settled some in the deeper pool. I walked down the shoreline only keeping enough tension on her the keep slack out of the line. I had Jim unclip my glove net and told him to try grabbing the big steel if I get her near shore again. He waded down the shoreline until I gave him the word to move in. I had her in the shallow water with her back above the surface when Jim circled around to make an attempt at the fish. I felt every muscle in my forearm tighten as I tried to keep her at bay while Jim figured out the best way to grab her. He reached down and water splashed outward like a grenade went off spreading shrapnel everywhere. Next thing I know Jim half stood, I felt the line snap and watched the fish skitter downstream across the pebbles and shallow water. She than disappeared right before our eyes.

I always figured that if I kept steelhead or was so concerned with landing more I would buy a big net. Instead I catch and release almost all my fish unless someone I know wants a few or I’m so inclined to mount one. Whether I would have mounted that silver or not I’m still not sure but I wasn’t upset we lost her, it happens. The coolest thing was that I fooled her, hooked her cleanly and we battled in plain sight of each other until she gained and earned her freedom!

We got back to the van about 3:30pm. It was still raining in spurts and we found the wind had picked up considerably from this morning. We broke our fly rods down and called it a day. We ate our lunch in the van, talking and relaxing. The chilled Labatt Red Lager went down easy but the best way to end the day was yet to come.

I pulled the last cigar from my three finger cigar pouch. The Don Tomas dark Maduro cigar looked intriguing. The dark outer wrap showed distinct signs of the tobacco leaf veins. I nipped off the end with my cutter and whiffed the dry aroma of the cigar. After lighting it I took a good draw and held the smoke within my mouth just long enough to get a good bite from the flavor before releasing it. The rich robust flavor, though stronger than any natural leaf, was smooth and tasteful. It was an extra fine smoke for the drive home.

________~doubletaper

Dunking in a Pigeon River Fork

2011-12-28T19:51:00.001-05:00

Dunking in a Pigeon River Fork, NC

Dec. 24, 2011

Cold-clear mountain water rushes through the forest between laurel banks. White capped waves rise up from the surging of current beneath, against submerged rocks, rocks bigger than ones fist. Bigger boulders peak out separating the rush of surface water into uncontrolled cross currents. Large rock formations cause drop-offs, pools and ledges. Off these ledges water gushes over in clear brute-full force plunging into deep pools, the sound deafening. The falling water, into these pools, implodes from beneath, boiling than rising to the top, foaming, in white churning swirls.

Looking through the rush of this clear mountain stream, its bed is a mass of uneven colorful rock. No sand or small pebbles can be noticed within as they are washed up against the banks. Walking across is of uncertainty as these round and sometimes edged rocks shift beneath ones weight. One wrong step, one overconfident stride or miscalculation of cross current can slip ones step and throw you off balance. Your feet reach below for something solid as you reach out your hand for a near by obstacle, be it above or below the surface, to keep you upright.
You’ll first feel the coldness of water upon your hand and beneath your instantly soaked sleeve. Soon you’ll feel the chill of the mountain stream creeping down inside your waders upon your backside. You’ll gasp from the sudden temperature change, from warm body heat beneath duo-fold and fleece, to the accumulation of seeping frigid water upon your skin! You hurriedly, with no uncertain terms, feel and guide your way to the shallows and more stable ground. You gasp again as the frigid water, against your body, starts to absorb into your clothing to a slightly more tolerable temperature. You look around and find you are no closer in crossing the stream as when you first started out.
After finding a safer place to cross you continue to fish for a short while before calling it quits.

Back at the vehicle you find the beer, that quenches your thirst, is in no way as chilled as the mountain water you absorbed earlier.

The few fish you caught in the tumbling, risky water is rewarding and at least something to show for your effort. You smile in satisfaction after you change into warm clothes.

___~doubletaper

Picket Pin Tute

2011-12-22T10:30:00.000-05:00

The Picket Pin is an older true wet fly pattern for trout. A few of my friends have caught steelhead drifting this one also. Even had a friend dap it with floatant to simulate a grasshopper and caught trout. We found this a very effective wet fly pattern during a dark Stonefly Hatch.
Here's my version which can be tied with a few items found around the house or on the porch!!

Peacock feathers can be found in a table vase used for decorations
A feather duster is cheap and has plenty of hackle that will last for years
Pop the bothersome gray squirrel on the porch and save the tail.

Hook: #14 use any 2x or 3x wet/nymph hook

thread: black 6/0

tail: brown hackle fibers
rib: brown saddle hackle, palmered
body: 2 peacock herls
wing: gray squirrel tail
head: peacock herl

1. Thread base hook shank and tie in tail using brown hackle fibers. (from a feather duster optional) I make the tail about 3/4 the length of the hook shank
2. tie in brown saddle hackle at hook bend. (You can use a cape hackle also. Tie these in by the tip)

3. Tie in two strips of peacock herl by the tips. NOTICE how far back from the eye the herl is tied!

4. Wind the herl to the back end of the hook shank and than back up towards the hook eye.

5. Tie off herl as shown, still back from the hook eye. Leave ends uncut.

You can trim the left over tips nearer the shaft now.

6. Palmer the saddle hackle to the place where the herl was tied off.

7. Take a small clump of squirrel tail, you can use a hair stacker to even the tips, and tie in at shown point.

8. Trim squirrel butts. Bring thread around herl to front of hook and cover trimmed hair.

9. Wrap thread over herl close to shaft, back to the tie off point of squirrel as shown. herl should be standing upward.

10. Bring thread to just behind hook eye. Wind ends of herl towards eye. tie off, trim and whip finish.

North of Nowhere

2011-12-15T17:46:00.002-05:00

North of Nowhere

8/23/09

After playing 2 softball games on Saturday I woke up on Sunday later than I wanted to but probably better for it. Besides the aches and pains in my leg and back muscles I had a sore tail bone, from either sliding into second base of slipping when I backed up a throw from the outfield. Rest and relaxation was needed at a casual slow pace. Fishing would be the therapy. Slow, easy going, calm water therapy. I packed a small cooler and grabbed the bamboo rod. I was heading out to an unfamiliar stream I’ve heard about, read about and now going to fish it. I’m sure late August wasn’t the best time to explore new trout waters but I always keep an open mind, positive attitude and hope my experience guides me through.

Walking up the railroad tracks I could hear the stream below me. Because of the August green growth of ferns, brush and trees, I only caught glimpses of the stream reflecting the morning sunshine down through the forest. When the tracks turned away from the stream I descended down the limestone gravel bank into the forest greenery. Following a game trail and under tree limbs I came to the gradual flowing semi-transparent wide peaceful waters.

Upstream a small narrow mountain creek emptied its waters into the main flow. The stream was on the shallow side but ran with good flow of clean cool water. I immediately thought ‘I should have brought the bamboo rod instead of the short 4wt. Powel rod I decided to explore with.’ Downstream the water tumbled over a rocky narrower channel and emptied into a wide deep flowing pool. The current flowed faster along the RR side as waves brushed up against the sides of big boulders and cement slabs. I crossed the stream above the rocky channel and walked downstream to the sandy shoreline. The deep pool and run looked to be the perfect place for trout to escape the shallow sections of sun exposed waters. Shade covered the far ¼ of the waters and far bank.
I contemplated on what to use as I stood in the ankle deep water along shore. Looking over the situation, there were no trees or brush along the far gravel incline that led up to the RR tracks, thus beetles and ants were out. I didn’t notice any hatches under the 10:00am morning brightness. I tied on a #14 black gnat figuring, for some reason that just might work. I cast out into the rougher waters that entered the deep pool. The gnat gradually flowed with the current then picked up speed beyond the tail out. Another cast wakened a trout from below. The fish rose and snapped at the drifting gnat. I set the hook and my 4wt. tensioned with the line surge. The fish dove deep and took to the end of the tail out. I played the fish successfully and brought him into the ankle deep water. A quick picture and I released the long slender brown.

Within five casts later I caught site of another trout rising to my gnat. He inhaled the fly and I set the hook. He also went deep but forced his way towards the far bank testing my 6x tippet and knots. He rose slightly when I raised my rod to gain more pressure but he forced himself deep again reminding me he wasn’t such a light weight. We tussled like two grapplers trying to gain control. My knots held and I forced him to my side. Not seeing the fly upon his lips and feeling the power of the brown I elected to net the grappler. After a quick picture I performed safe emergency oral surgery and removed the hook from inside the trout’s mouth. He recovered quickly and laying him into the shallow water he gained confidence and swam out of my hand back into the deep pool.

While continuing to fish the surrounding pool area I saw a fish rise with a splash against the far boulders. Casting out, near him, with the gnat didn’t seem to excite the picky fish. Noticing one brown caddis fluttering above the riffles I matched it with a brown elk hair caddis. It took some doing and convincing with twitches and quick rising back-casts, lifting the caddis off the water making it look like the caddis flowed down the current and then take flight, to interest the trout. One steady drift through enticed the trout to rise. As he ambushed the caddis on the wavy water I set the hook across the pool and the line and rod came to life. The fish shot up out of the water and its pink lateral line signified a rainbow. The rainbow wasted its energy quickly with surging surface runs and I brought the ‘bow’ to my side handedly.
I fished the pool for about another hour but as the stiffness set in I slowly made my way to my point of exit. At the tall stone pillars a few teenagers were cooling off in the large pool there. Other than them I was the only one on the stream in the area and the only fisherman!!

At the van I disassembled the 4wt. and reached for the bamboo tube. I took the bamboo out of the plastic tube and took out the three reconditioned sections and connected them in their rightful sockets. I swear it grinned with pride like an old ‘94’ Winchester does every time someone handles it. ‘If the bamboo could only talk’ I thought. I found my Battenkill reel wouldn’t fit into the down locking double rings. I resorted to my Clearwater reel which was tight but I still managed to get it snug.

Walking back down the tracks I realized just how heavy this rod was. The guys who used these, back in the day, must have had strong wrists to lug around and fish with these all day. The rod felt like a limber tree branch compared to my graphite composite 4wt.

Out on the stream, where I entered before, I waded upstream a bit and practiced casting the ‘boo. After I felt comfortable with it I tied on a Letort cricket and worked my way to where I caught the browns earlier. Standing in the ankle deep water I laid the cricket in the smoother flowing deep pool. The cricket flowed nicely upon the water and then bobbed atop the wavy water at the end of the tail out. A splash near my cricket quickly caused me to pull back to set the hook. Maybe I forgot my own strength or maybe I didn’t realize the strength of the bamboo but whatever it was the tippet snapped under the pressure. I was angry at myself for missing the fish on a dry. I found out in the next half hour no fish wanted any imitation drifting on top of the surface. Determined to catch a fish on the old bamboo I tied on a lightly weighted black woolly bugger. I remember Jack telling me to use the rod in small trout waters using dries and small nymphs. He felt the bamboo was quite usable, after he reconditioned it, but explained to go easy on it when casting.

Roll casting the bugger across stream wasn’t easy or pretty. I ended up getting a better feel with more of a sidearm lob. I managed to get good distance on one lob across stream that put the bugger up against the big boulders. With the rod tip up I let the bugger sink before dropping the rod some so the current could take the fly line down stream and in turn start to swing the bugger. As the bugger started its swing the line became tight. Instinctively I set the hook, not even thinking about having a snag. A rainbow bursted out of the water and reentered with a side flopper! (That’s a belly smacker only on its side). It skirted near the top of the water towards my side of the stream. I brought it into the shallows as it flopped around. I kept its head up until I finally relaxed enough for me to take a picture of the first trout on the bamboo rod. The rainbow was still quite active when I released it back into the water.

With one fish caught on the bamboo I continued to fish the black bugger deep and letting it swing. Another attack, deep near the boulders, and the fish fought with more short jerks than long tugs and turns. A small smallmouth surprised me as it came to the surface. I didn’t doubt there would be smallmouth in the stream but didn’t expect them this far up from the river. I ended catching two smaller smallmouths with the black bugger before calling it a day.

By the time I got to the pillars the group of swimmers were gone. The sun set below the tree line and left the stream in their shadows. I walked up the dirt trail and up the gravel bank to the RR tracks. The old iron rails showed years of wear along with the rounded spikes that were partially raised above the iron plates. Small puddles of oozing creosote, that shined under the bright sun earlier, now had a dull sheen covering as they lay upon the railroad ties. I walked down the other side and slowly walked up the hard dirt path towards my van. I could feel weakness in my knee joints with each inclined step.

At the van the first thing was to quench my thirst. I opened the small cooler and unscrewed the top off of a bottle of Straub special dark beer. The smooth amber lager, not extremely cold, went down easy.
I dismantled the bamboo and wrapped it in its original cloth bag before putting it into the plastic tube. I changed out of my wet wading pants and clothed myself with a pair of old blue jeans and a ’T’ shirt all the while taking a few swigs of the Straub’s.

In the driver’s seat, with the window down, I listen to the natural sounds of the forest. While reminiscing about the day I take out my last cigar from the three finger leather travel pack. The El Rico Habano has a dark madura wrapper. I snip off the tightly wrapped end and light a match stick. After letting the sulfur burn off I light the cigar as the flame flutters along the wooden stick. The robust flavor, of the outer wrapper, is bold against my lips as I draw evenly through the filler tobacco within.

I start the 318 engine and slowly drive down the hard packed, pot holed, dirt lane towards rte. 949. I notice the Clarion River is still quite cloudy as I turn south along the river.
The cigar is rewarding after a pleasant day of fishing. This time my thanks go out to my friend Kevin who supplied me with the good dark smoke!!!

~doubletaper

The Dam Caddis

2011-12-07T18:28:00.001-05:00

The Dam Caddis

Sept. 2008

My V-twin rumbles at a half-choked idle in the driveway, packed with my trout gear. If the weatherman didn’t predict good weather for today I would have left for the Kinzua last night in my van. With the gas prices as they are the cycle was the better choice. Even if I didn’t catch anything the hour or so ride back home through the ANF would be enjoyable. The only thing the weatherman didn’t predict is the early morning dense fog.
I couldn’t wait any longer and got on the bike and took off. I was practically at the light when I was able to see the bank’s neon sign ‘7:05, 53 degrees!’ Traveling down river hill and up the other side I feel the cold chill on my bare forehead between my goggles and leather du-rag. Turning right at the light and heading north on rte. 66 the fog was thicker than pea green soup. Being the ride to the Kinzua would take normally a little over an hour, with the dense fog I’ll have to be cautious and drive slower. To make time pass more quickly, and to keep from the thought of the cold upon exposed skin, I’ll reflect back why I am determined to fish for trout, on this weekend, in September!

Last year at this time I got the urge to trout fish. Most of the trout streams were low that I’d be puddle jumping to get my line wet. Even the Tionesta was down and the long walks across slightly wet stones to deeper holes weren’t worth it. The scenery and smallmouth in the Clarion were getting boring to the point I felt I needed somewhere different to enjoy. Besides that, I was in the need to catch some salmonids before the steelhead rush. I read in Meck’s book the Kinzua was a bottom release dam and the water stays cool enough that trout fishing wasn’t all that improbable during the summer. I had called Jeff and we agreed to meet at the welcome center early one September Saturday.
I got there first and got my gear on under the overcast sky. I was already casting dries to a few mouths coming up for something beyond my reach in the slower deeper water. Jeff came down the hill and entered the water. He told me that he did well on my Thundercreek Shiners a couple of weeks ago. Being stubborn I had to still try to catch at least one of the early risers and stayed put while Jeff headed towards the far bank. After giving up I turned towards the riffling water and tied on a woolly bugger.
The water we were fishing was fast moving with an occasional calmer spot here and there. It was this way clear across the river and lasted for about a couple of hundred yards down stream. Swinging the bugger I could feel light taps as the trout were tailing it. Normally in a smaller stream I might trim the tail shorter but I felt that if the trout wanted the thing they’d have to take it, whole hog. It wasn’t long before we started hooking up with rainbows. Fighting the feisty 8”-12” 'bows' in the strong current was what I was longing for. Switching on and off between Thundercreeks and buggers, and catching rainbows, I explored my way back and forth across the river to get a feel for the changes of water depth and submerged rocks. The morning was going better than expected and ‘better’ was yet to come.
I finally noticed some rises in the riffled waters and couldn’t resist tying on my dry fly assortment. The fish didn’t seem interested in what I had so I paused and looked around. A few Caddis’s were coming off so I tried to bare hand one to take a closer look. Fly catcher birds, (I’m not a bird connoisseur), were dive-bombing at the rising light colored caddis’s across the river. I tied on a #12 elk hair caddis and proceeded to cast to the risers. I’d hook into one now and then but found a few trout were just inspecting the fly. I switched to a #14 and the benefit was extraordinary. The longer the morning went on the more trout rose. The more trout rose the more I was able to target and catch them. Jeff was catching the trout also on Thundercreeks and wet flies. When nothing else works Jeff usually always finds a wet fly a few trout will take. By noon we had caught enough trout to break for lunch.
After lunch we headed back down to the river. The trout seemed to be more selective and it wasn’t until I switched to a bullet-head deer hair caddis that I felt comfortable not to change flies any more. The trout were evidently keying on emergers and after the bullet-head would drift down stream without a taker I’d twitch it so it would submerge. Lifting my rod, as I slowly stripped in line, I’d feel a strike and set the hook. This went on for a short while until I noticed brown caddis’s starting to hatch. I switched over to a brown elk hair and evidently matched the hatch correctly with the right size. Fish after fish took my imitation until Jeff and I finally called it quits for the day. We ended the day camping out with a bottle of wine and cooked deer meat.

Sunday morning it was overcast and rainy. Even in the slight rain on and off the rainbows still came up for dries and Thundercreeks below the surface. Fly catcher birds and fish catching fly guys were enjoying the ‘catching’ so to say. Late morning Jeff started to hook up with more trout on King River Caddis. He departed about 11:30. I continued to fish, in the some times pouring rain, catching fish on King Rivers, bullet heads and elk hair caddis. With a few Humpy’s late in the day made it 7 hours of catching hungry trout. 2 days of the best days ever in number of fish caught.
That’s not the end of it though!

I pull my Springer Softail into the Quick-Fill across from the prison. I Fill up with petro and grab a sub and soda for lunch later. After warming my hands near the hot oil tank I roll on out to the main road. The sun is trying its darndest to peak through but the fog only thinned out slightly. Onward my Harley burrowed as one headlight leads the way through the confined fog.

Where was I? Oh ya.

Jeff called me that Wednesday and told me he and his brother were heading back up to the Kinzua. His brother only fly-fished a few times and Jeff felt this was a golden opportunity to get him some action. By coincidence my friend Rusty called and said he needed some R&R away from work and town life. I told him to bring his trout rod and a pair of waders!
We met Jeff and his brother Kevin Saturday morn. Rusty and I were feeling the after effects from a fun time at Ray’s Hot Spot the night before but it weren’t anything a few aspirins and a shot of hot tea wouldn’t relieve…. In an hour or so.
We made it down to the river in one piece and wandered into the moving water. Rusty only had hip boots so he had to fish at the head of the riffling thigh high water. Rusty’s not a fly-guy so he was fishing with his light spinning rod with rooster-tails and bait. Jeff was giving some pointers to Kevin in the middle of the river below Rusty while I headed my way down river some. It wasn’t too long after that we all seemed to be catching trout. A whoop and a holler by Kevin now and then told me he was having a great time. There were times all of us had fish on all at once. When we broke for lunch, around 1:00, we set up food on a picnic table and had a buffet style dinner. We were all excited about our fishing and talked about our techniques. After lunch Rusty went into Warren to look for more bait. Kevin took off on his cross-country bike and I took a power nap. I’m not sure where Jeff went?
I awoke hearing the guys talking outside. We grabbed our rods leaning against the shade tree and headed on down towards the river. Descending down the path I told the guys to ‘lets count our catch’. Knowing me, they all knew it wasn’t for bragging rights or competitive fishing. We were still to have fun, I was just eager to get an accurate count of how many fish we can catch in the next few hours. I told them that as long as the fish is on for at least 5 sec. count it. The idea was to see how many different fish we can fool to hook into than actually getting them to net. They all agreed and we were back in the water.

I turn the bike onto Blue Jay Road. The fog finally cleared the roadway though the white object of the sun is hardly noticeable. Knowing the road well I open up the throttle some and take the windy road like a cyclist should. Tilting in and out of turns until I’m able to see the Lynch Bridge. Slowing down, to cross the iron grate, I look down upon the Tionesta. A flock of mallards huddle under the near corner of the bridge in muddy wet sand. Looking up stream as far as my eyes can see, boulders and rocks jutt throughout the water starved creek. Poor fish, I think as I stop at the stop sign. Turning right onto rte. 666 and seeing the straight-a-way I crack opened the throttle to blow out the idling pipes. The engine growls and forces the rear end to dip, gripping the asphalt, as most Harley’s do. The front springer frontend lightens slightly and the whole cycle rams forward. I back her down just before the first bend of the roadway and continue on at a safe speed.

Oh ya.
Kevin set up, upstream from me, next to a submerged flat rock. With a good flow of fast water around the rock he could drift his streamers through and around both sides. Jeff took off towards the far bank and fished his wets, dries and Thundercreeks. Rusty kept to the head of the fast water and I swear every time I looked back towards him, his rod was bent or he was bent over releasing another trout. I was in the middle of the river, below Kevin, conducting my dry fly magic. Fish after fish were taking my caddis imitations. It really was a sight, I’m sure, seeing us all catching trout. Around 7:30 we all headed for shore. Upon the bank and walking up the path we shared our totals.

According to my journal the catch went as follows.
Kevin caught 19 trout strictly using Thundercreek Shiners and buggers
Jeff caught 25 trout using mostly wet flies and emergers with some dries and Thundercreeks.
I caught 32 trout mostly using dries and a few emergers.
Rusty caught 37 trout using bait and not even getting into the deeper water.

That’s over a hundred fish in a little over 2 1/2 hours between us. All from woolly buggers to wets, dries, and live bait. Enough said!!
We spent the evening resting our backs at the campground downing a few brews, after our supper, before turning in.

Sunday morning we were back at it only not as early as we would have liked. A few other fishermen were fishing in the same area but the river is wide and the long stretch of riffling water kept us all from hampering each other. A few spin fishermen were casting spinners as we picked our spots and started fishing. Rusty only fished a couple of hours and then headed off to his small town. I accompanied Jeff and Kevin back to the vehicles for lunch and they headed out to pack up camp and head back to Pittsburgh. I sat on the picnic bench contemplating what I needed to do at home. I figured nothing that couldn’t be done tomorrow and grabbed the 5wt. SAS Scott Rod.
When I got back down to the creek a few guys also entered from the other side of the river. A few spin-casters were still out in the water so I slowly fished my way towards the middle. For an hour or so I fiddled around with different flies to see what worked and what didn’t. I put extra weight on the buggers and fished deep in some spots to see if I could hook up with any big browns that I heard about. I finally found myself just below the big rock Kevin was fishing near the day before. There were two spin fishermen, now standing there, and casting spinners in the fast water.

I’m known to show off sometimes and this seemed just the time for that occasion. I tied on a #14 elk hair caddis and looked for the first riser. Down stream to the right a trout was feeding pretty regularly. I stripped line and false casted a couple of times. I laid the fly upstream from the feeding trout and quickly mended the body of the fly line upstream. I watched as the imitation drifted with the current into the strike zone. The fish rose and I set the hook.
"He got one!" I heard one of the guy’s say
I put on a good show for the spin-guys as I brought the fish in. I was actually waiting for another fish to rise before netting the fish and it just so happen another did come up about 25 feet away. I released the trout and took in some line. False casting once, I shot the fly right near the 2nd rise. The fish half jumped out of the water to take in the fly. Again I set the hook and brought him to hand. As I let go of this trout my accustomed tuned ears heard a splash somewhere downstream near, and behind me. I twisted my body and looped the fly to my left. Keeping my rod high, and line as tight as possible, my rod followed the dry downstream. The fish took the fly within 15 feet of me and I set the hook. Three for three I thought. I played the fish upstream enough so I could see the spin fishermen standing there watching me. I netted the fish and released him. Now for some grace. I let line out and executed a graceful cast as far as I knew I was able to perform. I wasn’t aiming or casting to anywhere in particular. I was just concentrating more on my rod movement. The fly fell softly to the water and I mended the belly upstream.

Sometimes you’re good and sometimes they say it’s luck. Sometimes the fish gods look down, and even if you’re showing off, sprinkle a little magic in the air.

As I watched the fly waffle with the riffled waves a mouth came up and I set the hook. The fish sprung into the air and reentered the water. That little 8” rainbow completed my show-off exercise at four casts-four fish. After releasing the fish I hooked the fly onto the hook keeper. I than reached into my inside vest pocket and pulled out a Fuente Cubanito. Lighting the cigar I stood there a moment in the middle of the river, puffing on my cigar taking in the scenery.

After an hour of catching more trout I turned upstream and started fishing my way out. An older gent, with a wading staff, was walking across the shallow waters at the head of the riffles. He was heading to the bank in which I was going to exit the river. I slowly casted my way, while catching a few, towards the bank. The older gent sat on a rock on shore as if inspecting his fly rod. I recall the conversation went something like this.

“You were doing well out there, can I ask what you were using?” he questioned
“Elk hair caddis mostly” I replied. “I figured out using light elk hair when the clouds covered the sun and switched to a brown elk hair when the sun was shining”
He looked at me as if he expected more.
“We were catching quite a few on Thundercreek Shiners when the trout weren’t coming up for dries” I continued.
“Thundercreeks? I heard of them” he replied
I reached in a fly box and handed him one.
“The original pattern calls for painted eyes but I found they work without them” I continued.
“You fish for steelhead?” I asked
“I work at so-and-so fly shop up in Erie,” he said
We finally introduced ourselves and I remember his name was JT or JL, something like that anyway.
We jabbered a little more and I headed to the van and headed home.

Slowing my cycle down through Sheffield human life appears. A few early walkers are striding down the main street. I pull my cycle up to the light at rte. 6. Now more than ever, eager to fish I turn left and roar the power on towards Warren.

A few days after that weekend I called my friend Bud. Told him about the caddis hatch and if he was interested in getting some fly fishing experience to come on up. To make a long story short we hit the Kinzua that Sunday. I spotted him in a good area of the river to catch some fish. I explained a few techniques and handed him a box of flies. I headed down a bit and started fishing caddis. Very few caddis were coming off, the hatch must have been petering out. I did catch enough trout, though, that I was satisfied when we decided to depart. Bud caught a few also on buggers and Thundercreeks that he enjoyed the outing.

Can you believe it? 3 straight weekends of dry fly action! In the same waters! I had to have caught over 40 trout each day the first two weekends and ended catching about 15 the last Sunday! All in September! No doubt about it!

I pull the Harley into the welcome center parking lot. An empty boat trailer is hitched to a parked truck. Two lone cars are parked along side. I turn off the big twin and walk down to the wooden rail. Foam is spread out across the smooth deep water, flowing downstream. It appears as if the water is a little higher and a little faster than I remembered. I look downstream over the riffled water and fly catcher birds dart from one side of the bank to the other.
Above, a cloud of fog is still touching the out-stretched mountain of green trees across the way. ‘Looks like it may be a good day to catch some rainbows.’
‘Might be just a story worth telling?’

~doubletaper

Zonker Tute

2011-12-01T19:24:00.002-05:00

Sometimes you look at a pattern and it looks easy. Than when you go to tie it you wonder 'How did they do that?'

Here's an easy way I tie zonkers

Zonkers for beginners

hook; streamer hook Mustad 9671
thread; red and black
weight; lead wire .015 or .020
body; mylar tubing
tail; mylar tubing unravelled
wing; rabbit Zonker strip tied down at hook bend with red thread
than pulled forward and tied off behind eye.
hackle; soft grizzly

material

Preperation;
A. Cut a piece of mylar off and pull out center material if you buy it at a craft store.
B. Thread red thread and black thread in their own bobbins

1. Base red thread on hook shank
counter wrap lead around hook shank 8-10 turns

2. Slip mylar over hook eye and shank leaving some strands unravelled for tail. Tie down with red thread.

3. Lay rabbit strip on hook shank splitting hair where you're going to tie down at just in front of hook bend.
4. Tie down rabbit strip, knot and cut thread. (I add a little head cement to thread.)

5. Push more mylar up hook shaft, behind eye, and base your black thread behind eye
6. Tie down mylar with black thread leaving room behind eye for hackle

7. pull rabbit strip forward, over shank, and tie off behind eye leaving room for
hackle.

8. Tie in hackle

9. Wind hackle a couple of turns, tie down.
Wrap a nice thread head and whip finish

Olive Zonker

White and Black Zonkers

Enjoy a beer and admire your work!

Day After the Bear Hunt

2011-11-21T18:26:00.009-05:00

Day After the Bear Hunt
11/20/11

Bear hunting went unsuccessful Saturday. After dinner at the Kelly Hotel and a few beers, while I watched the Penguins game, it was time to find a place to bed down. I headed towards the Clarion River and found a place to park the van along Millstone Creek. I started to nod off before the third period of the hockey game was over. I turned off the radio and covered my head with the sleeping bag, tomorrow's another day.

It was just getting daylight when I opened the side door of the van. The sound of
water rushing over boulders upstream, sounding like a waterfalls, made the morning more pleasant. The November mountain air was crisp and looking down upon the creek water I got the urge! I was as excited as a bunch of Fraternity boys going to watch a college sorority wet ‘T‘ shirt contest.
Let’s face it; I was already in the Allegheny National Forest so I figured I might as well take advantage before heading home! It should put a little more excitement in the weekend.

I put the heating rod in my tin cup to heat water as I got dressed while the van warmed up. I found a package of Pop Tarts in my picnic basket which was my breakfast. Once the water got hot, in the tin cup, I took out the rod, unplugged it from the cigar lighter and plopped in a tea bag. I let it steep a bit as I drove to the small forest creek I planned on fishing.

In the parking area I started to put on my fishing attire. The forecasters called for rain, and though it looked to be a possibility, I just dressed warmer and decided against a rain coat. Looking up, the white moody clouds moved in unison beneath the blue sky above.

The hemlocks stood tall with no sign of a breeze in the air. Their long branches bowed downward and curved out from the trunk. When I heard the first early bird chirp I considered that as a good omen. I was thinking about assembling my 7' 4 piece Hardy rod but the Powell 7’6" rod was already to go as it hung above the window. I took it down, grabbed a few cigars and headed towards the creek.

I decided to work my way from the van downstream. Hemlocks and laurel made for tight quarters. There was a continuous outcropping of rocks and boulders along the creek so I was cautious with every step.

The clear water made it easy for the trout to see me when I found room for casting so I consciously kept myself camouflaged to the background as I worked my way down creek. It was slow going in the morning. I tried streamers but the fish weren’t too excited. I drifted nymphs downstream but it was hard telling if I got a bite or not with the constant gradual flow of water over and around obstacles. I noticed a few tiny mayflies about and a few spruce moths. I decided to toss a dry. Opening my caddis box I found a #14 cream color moth pattern. I hadn’t any floatant and with the dubbed body I wasn’t sure how well it would float. I cast across creek onto the rolling waves as I high sticked the rod. Slowly I moved along the bank trying to keep the dry from getting tangled up behind me as I cast outward. There was a deeper section of riffles close to the bank with underwater debris. With a downstream cast I held back on the rod and the dry landed with a slacked line. I followed the drift and a fish rose for the dry as it slowed at the tail out. I missed the take with a quick wrist set. For some reason I let the dry be pulled under with the current downstream and lifted it back to the surface. To my surprise I felt a tug and strip set the hook. I saw the little wild trout hanging on for a moment or two before he wiggled himself free. I brought the moth imitation in and it was drenched. Trying to keep it above water, in the riffles, wasn’t working out very well. I next tried an elk hair caddis and a couple of other dries to no avail.

After my third cigar I was pretty far down creek without getting a fish to hand. It was a peaceful morning so I wasn’t disappointed too much but it would have felt better landing at least one. By now the sun appeared around the white clouds now and than brightening the surface water. On occasion a slight cool breeze would whisper through the hemlocks and blended in nicely with the sound of the falling waters. I walked the trail back up creek enjoying the scenery and calmness of the forest.

Back at the van I decided to work my way up creek. Earlier I had a few trout interested in my streamers, even though I couldn’t hook up with many, so I decided to tie on a streamer and hope for the best.

Up creek you would have thought I was on a completely different stream. The small native brook trout were relentless in attacking my streamers. I had a hard time keeping them on the #10 hooks as more often than not they’d find a way to wiggle free. I looked in my streamer box for one with a smaller hook but couldn’t find any in the color I wanted. Occasionaly though I did manage to bring one to hand.

I usually fish for the small wild brook trout with dry flies. This outing I was more interested in hooking up to the bigger holdover stocked trout, so I wasn’t too concerned in catching these small wild trout.

My first bigger trout came when I was drifting the streamer along a cut bank. I was actually stooped down on the bank high sticking the streamer just out from the ledge of the bank. A dark figure of a fish came out from under the bank and grabbed the slow moving streamer. I lifted the rod and set the hook. He darted under the bank beneath twigs and overhung grass. The rod tip pulled downward wanting to make a ‘U’ in the rod shaft.

I kept the rod tip out as far I possible could with one hand trying to coax the fish back out. He’d dart out now and than tussling with the line and rod before swimming back beneath the bank. I finally got him tired out and managed to get him to land. When I held him I noticed something peculiar about the brown trout but it didn’t register until I got home and the picture of it up on my computer. (It turned out looking more like a tiger trout, with its longer wormlike pattern sides, than a brown trout.)

I continued fishing up creek and hooked into a good fighting brown trout that was holding under a bunch of leafy stick debris against a bank-side boulder. He fought within the rolling current until he tired and I was able to bring him to the bank. He too was long and slender but healthy no doubt.

Hours flew by and I got to an upper part of the creek that I didn’t care to go any further. I had fun on my journey up and now it was time to head back down creek. I decided to add a little weight to the leader so as to get my streamer deeper within the deeper pockets of water. The wild trout continued to strike at the big streamer and again only a few I was able to keep on the hook.

I came to an open section clear of laurel and hemlock branches. I tossed the streamer near the far bank and let it swing into the middle of the creek. I waited a bit for my weight to get the streamer down deeper and than I began to strip the pattern with long, slow smooth strokes. I felt the grab and instantly pulled line to set the hook. The weighty fish on the other end told me this wasn’t another small brookie. The fish thwarted back and forth beneath the current using it to his advantage. I moved to my right, nearer the bank, and kinda tugged him out from under the faster current. He followed and now swam reluctantly towards me along the bank line. I reached down and grabbed him. To my surprise it was a rainbow and a healthy looking one at that! Pretty cool, I now caught a rainbow to add to the brown trout and brook trout. (Remember, I still didn’t realize I caught a tiger trout until I got home.)

Well I was in real good spirits by now and decided to make my way down creek a little faster and only fish deeper sections. Every now and than I’d hook up with one of those small wild trout but couldn’t manage any bigger trout.

Back at the van I was well pleased with the outing. I changed over to my street clothes and hung the 4wt above the window. I took the time to quench my thirst with an amber brew and straightened the back of the van up before leaving. There was one more thing on my mind before I got into the drivers seat. The past week I was fishing with Dan and he handed me a Macanudo cigar in a white tube. I was saving it for a special occasion and I felt this was just the occasion for this fine smoke. After I downed the last of the beer, and before pulling onto the hardtop, I lit the Hampton Court. It was a smooth light tasting smoke with a good even burn. An enjoyable smoke for the drive home, I must say!

______________~doubletaper

Depth Ray Stonefly

2011-11-14T22:05:00.002-05:00

This is one of my heavier stonefly patterns I use for steelhead fishing as a dropper. I tie it beneath an unweighted sucker spawn or wet fly to keep the top fly in the midsection of the water column in faster runs. It adds a little flash and color to an ordinary stonefly.

Depth Ray Stone

Material:

Hook; 9671 Mustad #12 or #10

Thread; Black # 6

Weight; lead wire wrap .15 or .20

Tail; 2 Brown Goose Biots split

Sides; Fluorescent Depth Ray nylon wool

Abdomen; 20lb Black Dacron backing

Rib; Tying Thread

Wingcase; Brown Swiss Straw

Thorax; Black Opalescent Estaz

Antennae; Goose biots (optional)

Material

1. Tie in thread base and counterwrap lead wire, starting above hook point on shank, forward towards eye. leave room for thorax.

2. Tie in two goose biot tails seperated by a small dubbing ball.

3. cut a strand of Depth Ray wool and fold. Tie in behind lead wire. If not using lead wire tie in full length of body. This will give a fuller body if not using lead.

4. Tie in Dacron backing leaving thread bobbin towards eye.

5. Wrap Dacron backing in tight wraps towards eye and tie off leaving room for thorax. Bring thread back towards hook bend as shown.

6. Bring loose ends of wool strands along each side of body. Rib with three wraps of black thread making three or more ribs, towards front of fly.

7. Tie in biots behind hook eye, for antennaes, now if desired.
8. Tie in swiss straw for wingcase

9. Tie in and wrap 1 turn of black Estaz forward, for thorax, and tie off.

10. Fold wing case over Estaz, tie off and make a thread head.

I tie them in fluorescent orange and fluorescent chartreuse

Punk'nHead and I

2011-11-09T23:35:00.011-05:00

Punk’nHead and I

Halloween Weekend

Friday Night and Saturday:

I met up with Tim at the campsite Friday night. Tim already had a nice fire going among the leafy camping area. I added some pallet wood and the flames shot up brightening our surroundings. We sat around drinking beers, smoking cigars and making plans for steelhead fishing Saturday. Punk’nHead was pretty content smoking a Cohiba and just sitting around with us by the fire. Later that night, while we slept, he sat on my cooler keeping an eye on things and warding off any stray animals.

We rose to a chilly Saturday morn. After a quick cold breakfast we got our fishing gear on and headed out in search of steelhead. Punk’nHead stayed behind at camp doing what Jack-o-Lanterns do. Being lazy and keeping a bright eye on things.

I never fished this section of creek before so I followed Tim down to the creek and we headed down stream past all the other early fishermen. We stopped at a section of rolling water that had a bit of a limestone color tint to it. I instantly liked this section instead of the slow clear pools I normally end up fishing in.
I picked a spot and tied on a streamer, added weight, and started the early morning swing. The high shale wall was littered with fallen leaves. The water flowed with good color and if you looked into it long enough you can occasionally catch a glimpse of darker movement gliding around near bottom.
The two fellows, just up creek, were hooking up pretty regularly in the early morn but I noticed a few fish that passed me, on their lines, were foul hooked. I kept changing from buggers to Triple Threats to Bunny Leeches until I came to the conclusion that the fish below didn’t want streamers at the time. I tied on a tandem rig beneath an indicator and started drifting the flies deep through the current flow.
The first couple of steelhead I caught were less than 20”. The young ones hit the pink sucker spawn pretty hard as it drifted beneath. A good fight in the swift current made for some excitement. The first big steelhead hit my Depth Ray Stonefly. As the indicator sunk below the surface water I reared back and set the hook. A dark object appeared from the deep and shot its way towards the slower water near the high wall. Line shot through the eyes as the reel spun with utmost momentum. Once on the other side he battled with headshakes that vibrated back through the line and rod tip. I kept the rod tip high and after a short spell he headed upstream against the current. After a little more of a frisky battle I had him near shore in about a foot of water. As I moved towards him, with rod practically bent in half, he turned away. With all the energy he had left he shook his head and headed back out into the open water, free from the hook.

For the next few hours Tim and I fished in the same general area hooking up on occasion.

Sometime in the afternoon hours Tim started drifting a Triple Threat under his indicator. It wasn’t long before he had a battle on his hands. He brought to hand a fresh looking steelhead.

It wasn’t long after that that I was able to land a long silver chromer also.

As we started to slowly move our way upstream we each connected again to good fighting steel. It started to drizzle by then and the chill in the air found ways to penetrate the layers of clothes we wore. We decided to head towards camp.

At the campsite we found everything damp and wet from the drizzling rainy day. Punk’nHead had done a fine job looking over our campsite and still had a bit of a stogie left beneath his Ausie Oilskin Safari hat. It was about 4:30 by now with still a few hours of daylight left. I bid Tim good-bye and safe trip back towards Harrisburg. I headed off to another section of creek hoping to hook up to more steel. It ended up not to be.

I ended the evening eating a rib & wing combo at the Avonia Tavern and washing down the Cajun and Lickers seasoning with a tall Yuengling draught. After that I found a safe place to park the van, rest my body for the night and get ready to fish a mile creek on Sunday.

The steelhead took the Triple Threat like a passing dead minnow as it entered his path of flow in front of him. That’s what I figured, even though I couldn’t see him take it, I’ve seen others! The line that followed started to ‘U’ upon and beneath the surface so I swung the rod back taking up any slack and setting the hook. The figure beneath moved towards the pull slightly as if he couldn’t believe there was an attachment to the ‘dead minnow.’ The initial hook set evidently didn’t excite him in the swifter current. He just pulled back and forced the soft rod tip down while he returned to his original position. I didn’t know what was to come but I pulled again and added a sharp jerk, this is when all hell erupted.

Sunday with Jeff:

After shutting the alarm off I peeked from under my sleeping bag and immediately noticed crystal frost on the windshield. The light, from the parking lot flood lamps, made it look like my windshield was shattered. A smoky frost was matted on the other windows of the conversion van. I looked down on the floor and ole’ Punk’nHead looked tired. There wasn’t that glow in his eyes as usual. His pukish orange skin was a bit wet. I was hoping he wasn’t getting a fever.

After warming up the van and eating another cold breakfast I headed to the mile creek. Jeff was to meet me around 9:00am so I had a couple of hours to fish solo. There were already a dozen vehicles parked along the road when I arrived and it wasn’t even light yet. I took my time getting my gear together. I fumbled with tying on fresh leader and tippet under the light given off by my headlamp beneath the early blue/gray sky. Just before leaving I put Punk’nHead on the icy van roof. I put his hat on and stuffed a cigar in his mouth. He was on his own until I returned.

The first hour or so was slow. The steelhead I found in a good deep run along the far bank didn’t want anything I had to offer. From there I made my way down creek searching for steelhead in the slightly tinted water. It was still a blue/gray sky early morning as the sun hadn’t risen much to light things up. At times I would stop and watch for movement in the slightly deeper sections and runs. As I continued down creek the morning lightened up and I found what I was looking for in an area I shouldn’t be crowded over.

The high wall across creek was decorated in fallen leaves of color. It made it impossible for anyone to fish on that side. I stood on a small stone island just wide enough for two people but I would move about the stone island for positioning my drifts. A few guys fished down a short ways in a slow flat section of creek and left me alone. Before me I occasionally saw a fish or two move about. It looked as if most of the steelhead were aligned against a dark ledge that ran the length of the creek. A congregation of steel appeared a bit further down when the congested wrinkled surface flow gave an opportunity to see through.
I started off with a sucker spawn and stonefly dropper. I had a few strikes but was only able to land two of the brutes before Jeff showed up.

When the sun finally came around the bend of the high wall and trees the steelhead began to bite more frequent.

By this time I was down to my last Depth Ray Stone and shy of black stoneflies. I began to cast Triple Threats up and across stream into a good flow of water nearer the high wall. The quick dip of my fly line tip or a sudden jerk and I’d rear back on the rod and immediately felt resistance and a new battle would begin. After a couple of break offs at the knots I came to the conclusion that the 5x fluorocarbon I was using wasn’t strong enough for these furious fighting steelhead like it was for trout. After sticking with 4x flouro I got more steelhead landed.

Jeff had been fishing among a few others guys in the long stretch down creek from me. After seeing my more frequent hook ups he came over and I gave him a few Triples. It wasn’t long before, he too, started hooking up with steel.

It was a matter of preference, I found, that got the steelhead to react to my streamers. Sometimes it was a slow swing that one would grab the streamer. Other times it was a good mend upstream and letting the streamer lead the way near a pod of steel that one would suck it in like a dead minnow. Yet other times it was getting that perfect deep drift, dropping off the ledge drop-off beneath, that a steelhead would grab it before it drifted by.

At times the bigger steelhead would freeze on the hook set and I would think I had a snag. I learned to never let my guard down, as a stronger tug of the rod meant for a more positive reaction of the staging brutes.
The fights were furious and each one wasn’t like the last. Some would head down creek right off, stopping briefly and struggle in a forceful manner. A few would headshake just above the surface causing quite a commotion before returning beneath for an unseen battle. Than some would take off up creek pulling line and forcing me to muscle the rod tip up while bracing myself for his next move. At times one would dart towards me and I would have to immediately back-step to keep the line tight while reeling in quickly. Knowing when to give line, let him fight the drag, backing up to keep a tight line, relaxing the rod on a furious headshake or following him to pull from his side wasn’t at all predictable. It was making quick decisions and hoping those decisions were enough to keep the fight going. Some broke off from me over forcing as others simply found a way to release themselves from the hook. Though some of those big brutes I was able to land after a hard fought battle

There were two I landed that had a hole, from fighting the hook, in the skin of their jaw big enough I’d swear you could drop a pencil through.

At times I found my lit cigar went out from my concentration of fishing and fighting. Other times, after a good rumble with a quick silver, I found the butt of my cigar was chewed to a soggy strand of wet leaf. I would in turn bite off the soggy section and relight the stogie before my next cast.

The last take of the day was on a short strip and relaxed drift of my ghost pattern. The big fish took the pattern within my sight just out in front of me. On my quick hook set he lifted his head towards the surface and shook it like a pit bull trying to rip a rag doll into shreds. I stood and watched this steelhead thwarting, waiting at any moment for my rod to relax and my line to go slack. After his furious display of anger he took off downstream like a raging bronco bull with no planned path of escape except to bully free by erratically tugging on the tight line.
This was the meanest, teeth clinching fight I had all weekend. At times I felt he would never exhaust his energy. I tried my best not to horse him in though times I got tired of his antics. When I got him near he would throw a temper tantrum when he felt the stones below his belly just off from the island. I had to back off the island and fight him towards the slower shallow pool of water near the bank. Even when I closed in, he attempted to break the Orvis Clearwater rod in half. A quick plunge of my gloved hand and I was able to get a good tight grip of the neck of his thick tail. I tossed the rod onto the bank and lifted him to shore. I followed my tippet and found my Triple Threat embedded in his tongue. A quick push and twist of the hemostats and he was free from my imitation at last. He settled down within my grip until he felt submerged beneath the water again.

We walked up creek and through the woods feeling good about the day’s activities. When we reached my van ole’ Punk’nHead was still atop the van roof gazing out over the field. I knew he was glad to see me.

Jeff’s ride pulled in while we drank a beer and talked about the following weekend of camping up in the ANF with the Pittsburgh gang. I changed out of my fishing clothes and put on a pair of jeans, fresh pair of socks and a sweatshirt for the drive home. We finished our beers and headed on our way.
After stopping for gas I headed south towards home. I looked over at Punk’nHead as I lit up a Vintage Cameroon. I swear he winked at me as if wanting to say ‘It was a great weekend!’

__________doubletaper

Out of the Ordinary

2011-11-07T23:29:00.004-05:00

Not a fishy story today.
I took my grandson out hunting the past saturday. He got 6 sqirrels, the limit for the day, with the .22 as well as a groundhog. By the end of the day we each bagged a turkey, with the 12ga., about 1/2 hour apart. It was his first turkey.
Pretty good day for my 14 year old grandson Damon.

Sunday on the way home I stopped be a stream to relax and enjoy a rewarding ciger. The Arturo Brevas Royale Maduro made for a good smoke in the afternoon under the warm sun. I only caught 1 trout in the 40 degree water, but hey, the weekend already turned out better than what I expected!

______~doubletaper

Late Night with a Fly Fisherman

2011-11-01T18:50:00.006-04:00

Late Night with a Fly Fisherman

Late October

When I got to the creek, in early evening, I found it low and clear. I was hoping for a shower or two, as they predicted, to distort the water surface but there wasn’t much sign of rain to come.

As I get my gear on birds chirp and the sound of chipmunks reverberate through the valley as if muffled inside their dens. The autumn forest foliage is bright like an artists painting trying to capture a pleasant mood on canvas. The nearer I get to the creek I hear the soft sound of the riffling water over rocks in the shallows. I stop abruptly as I hear a grouse flush sounding like the fluttering of a well used deck of cards being shuffled. On the slower, shaded, pools of water the reflection of the trees lay upon the surface like a colorless mirror image. I look over the water and tie on a weighted Caddisfly nymph. The water is shallow enough and running slow in most areas that extra weight won’t be needed.

My roll casts are calculated and gradual up and across stream trying not to disturb the water. My mends are brief and the rod is fluid like a passing of a twig in a breeze. The takes are quick and sharp from beneath and my hook sets are more instinctive from experience than questionable. Rainbows rise, air-born, on the surprised resistance and return with a sloppy splash from the gravitational pull.

Today the trout are more huddled closely within the deeper sections and runs for fear of being seen by predators in the clearer shallower water. I catch trout in bunches after long sections of nothingness. Though one fights out of the pod, I’ll still hook another as long as I’m not seen. This requires long casts or drifts and ease of movement.

As light fades I’m tempted by one more bend, one fishier looking seam, or one more turbulent rush of water against a deadfall. A slow pool swirling around an uproot or a dark undercut beneath bank-side lined brush keeps me fishing on. Curiosity heightens as another trout comes to hand in the last temptation.

Eventually all good things come to an end for lack of light. I walk the trail back to my waiting van. An ice chilled beer quenches my thirst from the few hours in the fresh mountain air. I change clothes while darkness falls as sounds about the forest are not confirmed as to the cause.

The headlights brighten the way in the pitch blackness of night like a bright flashlight through a dark cavern. Derricks appear occasionally along the dirt road resembling robotic dragons guarding a haunted path in a science fiction movie. Weathered signs point to notable trails for the venturer.

Headlights appear upon the hardtop as I approach the stop sign. I light up my last cigar of the evening and leave behind the uncertainties of the dark forest.

~doubletaper

Autumn Rainbows

2011-10-20T10:14:00.003-04:00

Autumn Rainbows

10/15/11

After a morning hunt in the PA. State gameless lands I decided to go fishing. It was windy out and the squirrels weren’t about let alone any other game. I’m sure the off and on rain showers didn’t help the situation any either.

I could have traveled to a DHAL or FFO project area to fish for fresh fall stocked trout. Instead I selected on staying in the ANF and fish waters open to general fishing. Maybe I wouldn’t catch as many but with the overcast sky, rainy and windy conditions, I figured on being the only one on the creek. First thing when I got there was to take a short nap.

It was near noon when I woke up aside the dirt road next to the picturesque mountain creek. It didn’t take much time before I had my fishing gear on. As I was stringing up my 4 weight fly rod a Jeep pulled in a few yards away. 5 guys came jumping out of the Jeep eager about whatever they planned on doing. They went to the back of the vehicle and started putting on chest waders, hip boots and raincoats and grabbed their spinning outfits and nets. I wasn’t sure if they were going fishing or going to corral the fish and force them in a net. The small creek is no more than 15 yards across at its widest section. No where I know of was the creek more than 3 feet deep and those areas are rare. Most places you can walk across not even getting your knees wet. There are miles of creek along the dirt roadway and these guys decided to park and fish where I was already. Oh well, it’s open to the public and these are the things we must deal with even when the rest of the creek is vacant of other fishermen.
I started to hurry wanting to get down to the water before they did. The group headed down to the creek before me and strung out along the roadside bank. I headed upstream a bit and started fishing a streamer in front of a downed tree that ran the width of the creek. A few guys disappeared downstream and a couple of others walked up creek from me after not catching anything. I suppose it was about an hour later when these guys gave up, walked up to their vehicle and left. By now it started to rain harder so I returned to my van and put on my raincoat.

Back at the creek I was alone now. I lit up an imported stogie and took the time to look around at my surroundings. The cold clear water flowed over and around rocks and branches making for good wavy current and tumbling riffles. Twisted roots extended from bank ledges gathering leaves and twigs that happen near by. The autumn color trees were vibrant yellow, lightest of greens and ambers. Their wet leaves shook with the wind and glistened under the afternoon sun. There were a few fir trees scattered about giving a darker contrast to the lightened forest. Downstream the water flowed around bends and through the forest into infinity. The sound of tumbling water, the fall foliage and clean mountain air made for beautiful scenery and blissfulness.

Many loose leaves floated down with the current making fishing quite more of a challenge. I changed to nymph fishing and caught my first rainbow. With that I felt more confident and continued drifting the nymph as I meandered with the water down through the forest.

Casting up stream some, with a quick mend, I would keep the rod level with the water while following my drifting nymph. The takes were subtle. The slightest hesitation of my floating fly line would have me wristing up for a hook set. Many times an underwater leaf was the culprit of a sudden line twitch. This would have me swinging my line out of the water, resistance free, and occasionally caused line twisting around overhanging branches. Other times it was a lazy trout sucking in my moving offering. This resulted in good fighting fun in tumbling current. The 4 weight bent into the mid section as the rod tip vibrated with the tight line as rainbows struggled on the other end. A few ‘bows’ cleared water with short energetic jumps and subsurface splashing. Most rainbows were a good handful with meaty bodies and wide girths.

The rainbows were well scattered about the creeks course so I moved slow and tried to drift the nymph in every nook and cranny that I thought might hold a trout. In the shallower riffling water I’d work the far deeper bank-side. Under these cut banks I would be surprised by a small wake that was created by a trout following my drifting nymph into the shallows. These well hidden rainbows were dark and fought more powerfully than the others caught.

In the deeper sections I might hook up with two but it was uncommon. Mostly it was one here and one there. This kept me on my toes and curious what I would catch around the next bend.

The tail out of a deeper stretch, I came across, I saw a few trout rising as the sun shined through the moving clouds. I wasn’t prepared for this but found a few dry midges on my fly patch from days gone by. Needless to say I didn’t get one to rise for my dry fly attempts.

I wasn’t sure how many hours I spent, at the time, fishing this mountain stream before calling it quits. When I got back to the van it was near 5:00pm. I had been out for about 5 hours on this peaceful section of creek. I changed clothes and put away my gear. I ate a precooked cold stuffed pepper and washed it down with a cold beer. By then I was well relaxed as my eyes grew tired from the early morning hunt and fishing activity throughout the long day.

As raindrops pattered on the roof of the van, under my sleeping bag I placed myself back in the water. Colorful leaves fluttered with the passing breeze. The sound of tumbling water was the only sound heard except for the occasional splashing of a rainbow on the end of my tight line!

~doubletaper

Autumn Rarity

2011-10-18T07:09:00.000-04:00

Autumn Rarity

10/16/11

I awake in total darkness. Not a star or the moon show in the sky. Occasionally a few raindrops tink upon the roof of the van dropping from wet branches or cupped leaves. It seems as though it is going to be another gloomy day.
I open the bottle of Frappuccino and doughnut holes I bought the night before. It would only take a few minutes to get to where I want to fish so I’m not in much of a hurry and besides that it isn’t light out yet.

I back the van in the parking area and sit while finishing off my cold breakfast. The colors of autumn begin to appear outside as the early morning lights up as if someone slowly increases the dimmer switch in a dark room. Yellow, amber and orange leaves shake off the night rainfall with the passing of a slight breeze. The dark olive pines stand as always as if in defiant of these autumn ways.
As I fit myself for fishing the gray sky shows signs of more rain but I’m going to take my chances and not wear a bulky raincoat. I won’t be fishing too far from the van the first hour or so, so I should be able to return quickly.
Across the road I follow the soggy trail and weave my way through brush to the creek. There is a tint of brownness within its depths but with the dark overcast sky I’m not sure the clarity further out. As I step down into the water I feel the coolness of the water against my lightweight hip waders and undergarments. The water before me lays flat. By the drifting leaves I hava a good idea of the current flow.

This particular creek isn’t your common skinny cold running brook. It isn’t a wide creek like the Tionesta or Oil creek. For its medium width and miles of water it keeps cool most of the year round with good canopy, deep pockets and riffles as it meanders through the Allegheny National Forest. Its gradient isn’t excessive, just gradual which offers lots of flat slow pools. The creek holds rainbows, brook trout, browns all stocked by the state or the local fishing club. There are areas I’ve caught wild brookies as well as palominos and tiger trout.

I decide to fish streamers, slowly, as I wade and fish downstream. Streamers I always find are a good bet when the water isn’t chilled like during the winter and early spring months. I tie on a triple threat and easily roll cast the 7’6” Powell rod with 5X tippet out into the sky dark waters. I try to locate my streamer as I strip it in slowly but the overcast morning sheds no light into the somewhat tinted water. I move downstream slowly as to not raise the silt below my feet. Casting near branchy blow-downs and shaded banks produce no strikes. I make the bend, out of the shadows, and a little more light lightens the dull morning like a 40watt bulb in a big cement gray walled garage. I could see figures of rocks and branches upon the bottom of the creek in the shallower sections but still no followers of my streamers.
As I approach the bridge rain starts to fall in sprinkling drops. Circular spirals expand upon the slow flowing current. Looking ahead I find a palomino, than another. The closest one is suspended in the middle of the creek in a deep pool. The other is braving the swifter current at the backend of this deeper section just ahead of where the water tumbles over the wide stretch of lined boulders and rocks.
I begin to tease the closest palomino with streamers and sucker spawn. He takes a liking, at least a closer look, at my white woolly bugger and yellow sucker spawn but evidently not liking them enough for a taste. I end up catching an 8” rainbow as the sprinkling of rain turns into a lazy shower. Fear for my camera and getting drenched, I head for the van for my raincoat.

Back under the bridge I find the palomino has no breakfast appetite. I catch a beautiful male brook trout so now my attention now turns to catching a brown trout for the trifecta.

Fishing, while wading downstream, for the next three hours I catch a few more brook trout under the gloomy sky. The bright colorful autumn leaves don’t brighten my attitude as rain showers come and go. It’s the solitude and a tight line now and then that keeps me enjoying myself.

I tread the mucky trail back to the hard top. I see my van down the road but with the sun finally peaking through I cross the road and head upstream for another chance at a brown.

The sun shines a little brighter and penetrates the water. A couple of feet of depth are now visible. I watch the dark figures of trout following my white bugger. One grabs it but I find I can’t hook him. I tie on a smaller bugger and catch 2 out of the three eager brook trout. Downstream I have four trout follow the erratic action I put on the bugger. Two more brook trout come to hand.

A light sprinkle, from above, dots the slow moving water. Wet leaves glisten under the sharp rays of sun. I hear a splash within 25 yards and look up. A deer stops just behind a bank-side bush, in the water, and listens intently. I reel in my bugger so it doesn’t hang up on the bottom and watch the doe. It looks my way but I’m downwind from her and she doesn’t show much concern. Slowly she walks across the creek, sipping water occasionally, as she heads towards the opposite bank.

A few yards beyond where the deer crossed the water deepens. I cast out towards the far bank and slowly strip in, waiting for my bugger to come into view. Downstream it appears and I see a figure of a fish following with interest. I let the bugger fall before it gets too close to me. The fish loses interest and disappears. I bring the bugger in and overhand cast out again down and across. I let it swing just a bit than strip in with smooth pulls. Just as I go to grab more line for the next strip pull, a fish darts from nowhere and grabs the bugger as it falls. A wicked backswing of my rod, on the slack line, and the hook point finds something to pierce. The longer length fish fights beneath with tugs and pulls. I bring him closer and net the brown trout. The trifecta is now complete. What about adding a palomino? Could I get a grand slam?

Down near the bridge I take care and move slowly. The trout thus far have been taking the bugger lightly so I feel sight fishing for the palomino would be better. Besides that it will give me visibility of my drift. I inspect the white bugger and flip it towards the far bank. Beneath the surface it catches the current and swings towards the palomino. I keep the bugger swinging in front of the fish not wanting to bump him or line him. He follows the second drift through, briefly, but shows little interest otherwise. I’m afraid to use the sparkle sucker spawn for fear it will be too flashy under the now bright sun. I pick through my few fly boxes looking for my own mealworm pattern. Not finding one I resort to my Albino Stonefly. A pattern I’m sure the fish hasn’t seen and might be just buggy enough to cause curiosity. 1-2-3 drifts through and the Palomino only hesitates once from its suspended hold just a foot or so from the surface. On the fourth drift, with the stonefly leading the way, the Palomino swims over for a closer inspection. The stonefly is now out of my visibility range so I watch the floating fly line for any hesitation. In the background I see the Palomino turn with haste, my fly line pulls and I quickly set the hook! The Palomino splashes briefly towards the surface as my fly line tightens for a good set. He turns downstream and I give him line through my tensioned fingers. Into the reel I let him take line out of the spool as he heads deep to the end of the pool towards the far bank. I can feel his head shakes as I start taking in line forcing him towards me. He darts to my side of the pool and I take in more line as he fights the bent upper section of the 4weight rod. I get the Palomino into the net and my PA trout grand slam’s complete. Wow! I find the Palomino took the nymph deep so I snip the tippet and put the fish back into the water. He sits near bottom until I move my boot towards him. He darts away with renewed energy. I watch as he swims to the backend of the deep pool, near the far bank.

I fish for another 20 minutes for another rainbow but no more takers this time. Another shower of rain starts to fall as the bright sunlight fades behind the dark gray moving clouds. My belly growls with emptiness and my dry mouth begs for fluid. I reel in and head for the van as raindrops tap upon my hooded raincoat.

Back at the van I change into jeans and a Steelers shirt while quenching my thirst with a bottle of Straub’s. I’m tempted to light up the Punch rare Corojo Rothchild cigar but I feel it would be better as an after dinner smoke. I head for the Kelly Hotel for wings, cold brewskies and watch the second half of the Steelers game.

With my belly full, a Steelers victory and my thirst well quenched it’s time to head for home. I light up the rare Corojo Rothchild for this rarest occasion. Smoke concentrates above the dashboard until I crack the drivers’ side window and wing. Down route 66 I veer off towards Cooks Forest, not wanting to get back to reality too soon. The ash of the cigar grows as the fine cigar burns evenly.

Sometimes the rarest of things occur when I least expect it
I try to savor these moments as long as possible!

~doubletaper

Project Healing Waters

2011-10-10T22:25:00.005-04:00

Project Healing Waters 2011

My Experience

I could feel the veteran's enthusiasm before we got to the creek. Some had fly fished before as others hadn't. A couple of Vets wore their Project Healing Waters patches already on their attire.

I could see his determination as he drifted the nymph we selected for him. He had no argument as I would later change flies to hopefully get a steelhead to take one. Explaining to him how to hold the rod level with the water and following the drifting nymph down stream, he had no complaints and followed my suggestions. I felt the disappointment he had with each break off or missed opportunity. He neither wanted to give up or felt he couldn't land one.

The hook set and the good battle the steelhead gave him was joyous to watch. I felt the excitement he was feeling as I netted his fish and the accomplishment he must have felt when he held his first steelhead. I recognized his concern for wanting to get the fish safely back into the water after waiting for the many pictures that were taken of him and his fish. The fish swam forcefully away when I finally released it from my grip. I felt the pride in his soul when I returned and shook his hand with this accomplishment. Though he landed no other fish I knew he took away this learning experience us guides instilled in him.
We were all happy for all their success.

I know there were many FishErie members who helped make this happen behind the scenes but being there and experiencing the ones in the forefront was amazing.

When we met the Vets for the first time on Friday, at Uncle Johns Campground, a couple of them had no sleeping bags or pillows. John and Hans provided these for their cabin accommodations. Hans and I went to the nearest store and bought food and drink while they awaited Saturday's adventure.

At Crowley's each Vet was presented with a custom fly rod, made by board members with Batson Enterprises blanks and hardware, in cases from FishUSA. New reels from Angler's Roost, and fly line provided by Dan from Cortland. Fly boxes loaded with flies were given to them from Defrank's Flies and the leaders were donated by Brian, a FishUSA Rep. It looked like it was going to be a fun event for them at the time, and it was as we found out later on.

Even though there were only 5 Vets, instead of eight, the other guides came along to scout or assist us guides who were one-on-one with the Vets.

When the fishing was over we headed back to the picnic and event area. On the drive over to Folley's End Campground, Dave and I had good conversation in my van. The one thing I know I'll never forget was this brief comment exchange;

Doubletaper: "I'm glad you had confidence in me when I was suggesting fishing techniques to you as you fished."
Dave: "Thank you for having patience with me!"

_________~doubletaper

Dave, the Vet i guided, in action

Another Vet catches a brown

Releasing the memorable catch

Vets

Guides & Vets

It was a rewarding weekend! A cigar was in order for the ride home.

Other action

September Chrome

2011-09-29T21:16:00.002-04:00

September Chrome

9-24-11

I had a chance to get to Erie for steelhead earlier than usual. It wasn’t a banner day by any means but going 3 for 5 on Saturday got my juices pumping and excited about this years season.

When the indicator goes under you rear back with more than a wrist set. You hold on tight like holding onto the roller coaster safety rail in front of you. From the second you set the hook and feel the tension you have no idea how long the excitement will last. Maybe it will be a quick break and you’re left with a cheap thrill. Maybe he’ll fight long enough that you think you got control but somehow he disconnects and the land line falls silent. You don’t know whether to be happy that you at least got the feel of a fight or depressed because you didn’t land him.
I’m not talking about steelhead that has been in the creeks for months that lost most of their forceful fight and stamina. I’m talking chrome, fresh steelhead right from the lake within days. The chrome fish with powerful thrusts, whip lashing head thwarts and stamina that never seems to exhaust.

The second I lifted the rod to set the hook and felt resistance I knew I had fresh chrome. I could feel his shaking thrusts before he bolted away. As I gripped the cork handle tighter and the reel started to scream I was excited. Than, upstream, the sight of the steelhead burst upward out of the water. Water splashed from its body and his chrome sides shimmered in wetness from the rays of sunshine. He reentered the water only to quickly propel himself skyward again. It was if he was showboating when he whipped his twisting body around before the splash down. The line tightened again as the rod flexed down creek this time with the speeding run. Once again the steelhead exited the water surface. I was afraid this would be the last I seen of him. I noticed the orange, golden sucker spawn imitation, my top fly of my tandem set up, vibrating while following the air born fish. He fell back into the water with a barreling splash and continued to struggle down creek. With 5x fluorocarbon, that’s around 4.8 pound test, I didn’t want to overstress the tippet strength. Since the fresh steelhead didn’t want to give up just yet I got out of the water and followed him down stream. I got to where I was able to put more side pressure on him. He turned towards the far side where logs jammed along the bank. I gripped the rod tightly and leveled it to the water tugging upstream. He subsided and started to reluctantly fight towards me. Nearer me he desperately tried to make a run for it but his stamina was exhausting. The acrobatic chromer was the 2nd of three I landed thus far.
The last strike and hook set was nearer to me. He raised from the bottom of the tinted water enough I was able to see him. I watched as he forcefully whiplashes his body trying to release the stonefly attached to the side of his mouth. I needn’t call out ‘fish on’ as the subsurface struggle created a sounding turbulence upon the water that all turned to see the commotion. The thick steelhead than cut through the water away from me and propelled his body up through the surface. With a big splash the chromer reentered the water and shot up creek.
“Coming right” I called out alerting those fishing up creek.
The rod flexed more and my arm muscles tightened as I clinched the cigar tighter between my teeth. I tried to hold the rod high trying to keep as much line out of the water as possible. Palming the reel he slowed and turned down creek towards my direction. In the shallow water, in front of me, we played challenging games. The closer I got him to the bank; time and again he’d turn, thrusting his silvery body away from me. I kept the line taunt and rod bent trying to turn him each time. It took patience but I finally got him within my grasp and lifted him to shore.

After that it was time to meet up with my friends and fish the lake.
We didn’t catch any at the lake but the steelhead I caught earlier made my September sample of fresh chrome satisfying.

Around 2:00 in the morning I awoke with aching arthritic fingers. My right shoulder was sore from casting buggers into the wind at the lake. The inside of my right elbow was sore as well as my arm muscles. The fighting of fresh chrome had taken its toll. I took two pain relief tablets and laid there conjuring up the fighting of each steelhead before falling back asleep.

_________doupletaper

Shelton Laurel

2011-09-28T23:28:00.001-04:00

Shelton Laurel

North Carolina Fish’n 2011

9-12-11

Even with a long 10 hour drive ahead of me, I just couldn’t leave without fishing the morning. I figured I can fish to at least 11:00am and leave from there to travel homeward. Giddeon took me north of Asheville, Monday morn., to the Shelton Laurel Creek. We found the Shelton Laurel flowing lower than normal and by the time we got there the sun was already up bright and early. We checked a few areas and decided to fish the deepest pools we came across. With cars passing by on their way to work, we parked along the road and put our gear on. I decided to use the 5weight bamboo rod for this short expedition.

The mountain water was sparkling clear as it flowed between bankside brush, around exposed rocks and pebbled shallows. The narrow channel emptied into a long deeper pool which also received water from a smaller mountain creek. Giddeon started at the narrow channel below the riffles as I started casting weighted buggers in the deeper pool. After about a half hour of no strikes or followers I decided to fish my way downstream a piece. The deep pool emptied into a channel of exposed boulders that caused rough choppy water with good pocket waters. I drifted a dry along the bank seam and behind boulders without a rise. From there the water emptied into a long pool around a bend in the creek. Up against the bend and down creek the water pushed against a boulders and trees that rose up towards the road. There were a few boulders that had fallen that created good deep small pools.

I switched to a nymph and worked this water over with an indicator. When my indicator finally was pulled under I found a creek chub had taken my dark hares ear nymph. After about my third chub I heard Giddeon call from up stream. I walked around the bend and seen Giddeon standing along the long deep pool.

His 7’ 3weight Wright & McGill fly rod was flexed down into the butt section of the rod while he struggled with a fighting fish. He got it close enough to him and called out it was a big smallmouth bass. The fish turned down creek and unknowingly headed right for me. From up creek Giddeon led the fish, with bent rod, towards me where I was able to get a hold of him. After a picture I went back down creek and continued to catch and tease chubs.

It wasn’t long after that I decided to quit playing with the chubs and headed back up to the long pool. Turning the bend again Giddeons fly rod was flexing deep into the butt section. He was playing another big fish but this one fought with quick turns beneath instead of pulling tugs. The fish didn’t take to the current down towards me but cut through the water up creek. Giddeon played him well and got the fish near his legs before I was able to reach him. After unhooking the nice wild brown trout he gave him water as I snapped a picture before he released the brown back into the deep pool. He said it took a #16 Adam!

We fished for about another half hour or so until the women showed up around 11:00 or so. It was time for me to depart and head north east towards Pennsylvania. We bid fair well as a father and son do. A tight handshake and a shoulder hug.

On the drive east on the windy road of route 212 I passed a few tobacco fields. The first field was still green as the long tobacco leafs stood tall under the sunshine. The next few fields I found tobacco leaf stalks tied together like corn stalks one would see in Amish fields during harvest time. The tobacco, in these stalks, now were more yellowish and tanned than green. I seen a tractor pulling a bed full of these dried leaves into a well weathered wooden aged barn.

After it was evident that no more tobacco fields would be seen the further we traveled, after the Shelton Laurel, that followed the road, disappeared through the forest and after the excitement of the weekend came to a calm, I sat back in the drivers seat. “It was neat seeing these tobacco fields” I thought.

I looked down between the bucket seats and seen the white with red lettered tube lying upon the van floor. I picked it up and unscrewed the cap. I remember Glen telling me the Macanudo Portofino cigar was mild and smoother than what I’m used to. I slipped out the long slender smoke and inhaled the fresh tobacco aroma that escaped from the tube. After lighting it up I found he was right. The smoothness of the cigar was a good relaxing mild way to start the long journey home.

_______~doubletaper

Thanks Glen for the mild smoke to end this mini vacation.

Thanks Giddeon and Kista for a wonderful time.

Diamonds and 'Bows'

2011-09-22T10:24:00.000-04:00

Diamonds and ‘Bows’ Along the Davidson

North Carolina Fish’n 2011
9-11-11

On Sunday we woke up early and headed for the Davidson River. Giddeon parked along the highway up from a campground. He wanted to hit this section early before the campers, swimmers and kids throwing debris in the water awoke. As we assembled our gear I noticed the white and green diamond shaped sign, attached to a tree, that designated this as hatchery supported waters.
We climbed down the steep bank, over basketball sized boulders and came upon a deep swimming hole. Bigger boulders lined our side of the steep bank as the other side was obviously the side to be on for fishing with a fly rod. After wet wading across the cool clear water, to the sandy far bank, I took the time to take in my surroundings.

Back home in Pennsylvania we would consider this water a creek more so than a river. There wasn’t anywhere I could see that I couldn’t cast from one side of the bank to the other without too much effort, except for the swimming hole, mind you. Even the water flowed clear and clean looking like many of our mountain creeks. Boulders and rocks peeked out from the water level as water rushed around and bubbled some on the downstream side. Water flowed over sub-surfaced flat stone causing different crosscurrents, clashing together in never ending riffles. This made for quick reactions on the fish’s part if they were to rise for a dry presentation. The riffling effect should give good cover of leader and tippet under the morning sunshine that sparkled off the river water.

I circled around the small swimming beach area and came to the entrance of the swimming hole. Here the water ran clear and with good rolling flow. The river bed was an assortment of small stones and rock that gave good camouflage to any still setting trout hugging the bottom. I tied on a white wooly bugger and cast out to check the undercurrent. The white bugger was easy to see in the clear water and gave me a chance to see the depth it would swing and drift. This would help me determine my upstream mends and applied weight as I wade downriver. After a few test runs I switched to an olive bugger and added a weight strip about a foot or so up from the bugger. Within four more casts the first stocked rainbow came to hand.

We fished the deep swimming pool quickly, as it didn’t seam anything was very hungry. Downriver Giddeon took time to fish some blow downs while I continued downriver. Seeing the bottom of the river, was very deceiving. It looked shallow in a lot of the areas but once I got there, what I thought was shallow, ended up to be at least knee deep most of the way. This slowed me down a bit and I took time to cover more area before moving downriver further. By the looks of things you would think that there was a trout behind every submerged boulder but the bugger wasn’t producing anything. It took my drifting a nymph before I was able to hook into another rainbow. Giddeon switched over to nymph fishing also and we caught a few small stocked rainbows before he decided for us to drive upriver to newer territory. Besides, the camping kids started to wade in the water, along its banks, looking for crayfish. Soon after that it was dog exercising time as a big splash caught my attention upriver. I turned to see a lab splashing in the shallows than swim to the thrown branch drifting in the swimming hole.

Giddeon stopped at a cleared parking area along the road. He showed me the yellow and red diamond sign that designated this section of the Davidson River as Catch and Release. We headed down the well traveled path to a conglomerate of big granite looking boulders that just about dammed the water across the narrow river. Water pooled before one of these granite looking boulders near us, while just out from this, water tumbled over long flat rock just beneath the surface. This caused a good flow of white wavy water and current that flowed quickly towards the far bank. There wasn’t any doubt that the depth below was deep. Against the far bank shelves of granite rock protruded into the deep water hiding any sign of the bank itself. Laurel branches overhung the deep pool and made for a nice shady area where trout could escape from the rising morning sun. Giddeon headed upriver and gave this lower section for me to fish.

I was determined to pull a trout out of this deeper pool. I used buggers, nymphs and even big dry flies trying to coax a hit. Maybe I spent more time as I should have here with good intentions that never came to be. Looking downriver I seen a few dimples in the long stretch of flat water and decided to turn my attention to these apparent hungry trout.
The afternoon sun was upon me now and full view of the middle section of the river. There wasn’t any action in the shade along the far bank that I could see. Most of the inconsistent rises were just down, and around, a big overhanging Maple. Its limbs were scarce and the few scattered leaves, upon these branches, weren’t much shade to the water below. I noticed a few dimples now and then down further in the middle of the river but I was going to concentrate on the ones just out from my side of the bank. A good, soft, angled cast should get the fly near enough without much surface disturbance under the rising noon day sun.
My first few casts would be in front of me to see how my new mosquito pattern floated and its visibility. With more of a wrist cast, for the short distance of the 9’ Scott rod, I mended upriver, in the air, before the mosquito fell to the water. It drifted upon the surface current from the deep pool above. I watched as it kept the same drift as the foamy bubbles that surrounded it. At the end of that drift I cast out a little further and mended line as I did before. I held the rod tip high, just upstream from the drifting dry. A trout took air, engulfing my fly I suspected, and I lifted the rod back instantly from this surprise attack. I remember seeing the trout’s orange underside as it porpoise out of the water, facing upstream, before reentering the river. Not sure how I missed the trout but my 7x tippet and tapered leader flew back and hung over a tree branch behind me. I turned to see my mosquito hanging form the limb as if it was caught in an invisible spider web. After untangling the line I cast out a few more times in the foamy current without another rise. I slowly waded down the shore line trying not to disturb the silt beneath my wading boots to get into a position to cast downriver.
There was a dimple or two about a foot or so from my side of the bank below the Maple tree. Occasionally a rise would come within the slow moving groups of foam bubbles that drifted along. The water was clear and with the sun behind me I kept my distance and my movements slow. I suspected the trout didn’t know I was around yet so I concentrated on my first cast to make sure the fly line didn’t splash upon the water or shadow upon the surface as I false cast to get line out.

I was glad I decided to take the 5wt G2 Scott rod. With its medium action I would be able to move my casting arm in a slower motion as to not attract attention to the fish downriver. The natural finish blank kept any sparkle of sunshine reflection from alerting the fish. The weight forward Clear Creek olive line should be a good camouflage color with the forest that surrounds me.

In a medium slow casting stroke I false cast out and towards the far bank as I let line out with each stroke. My last forward cast I turn my elbow and forearm pointing my rod downriver to the direction I want my Mosquito to follow. The olive line loops easily and at the end of the cast I wrist the grip back a bit. The fly stops its forward motion and drops to the water surface before my leader. The fly line lies upon the water in S bends as I intended. I take in line to straighten the big arcing line some and watch my Mosquito flow with the foam bubbles.

This is where patience is a must. Watching the fly moving in extra slow motion upon the almost still water gets monotonous. Waiting for the dry to reach the most recent activity downriver gets uneasy. I wanted to look away for other risers but I knew the instant I look away I may miss the take.

The S bends straighten even more. A trout surfaces…. about a foot away from my visible Mosquito. The suddenness of it makes my wrist twitch but I have control and keep from flinching any further from disturbing the drag free drift. I push line through the rod eyes helping the dry drift further on, drag free. The trout never rises again and I watch my dry start to drift towards the near bank as the line straightens. I slowly move my rod up lifting the fly line off the water. Than with a smooth quick rising back-cast I bring the rest of the line and fly off the water and into the air. I cast again dropping the fly nearer the last rise. After the drift I shorten my back-cast and let the line fall in front of me. I reel line in and concentrate on how I’m going to cast beneath the Maple limbs and get my fly to drift to the subtle rises beyond. I start a false cast as before bringing my forearm level with the water and sidearm the rod with a quick stop on the forward cast. The line arcs, as I back up the rod tip, and the fly loops under the Maple tree. The #18 Mosquito falls upon the water like a, a, a Mosquito thinking its landing on skin. It drifts downriver; I’m sure within sight of the earlier sippers. At the end of the drift, I don’t want to scare any fish with a sudden lift so, I slowly drag the fly across the water. The Mosquito follows the thin 7x tippet that is almost invisible upon the surface. From under the tree limb now I lift the line with more force. A fish grabs at the skipping Mosquito. I try to stop my back casting motion but I’m too late. The 7x tippet snaps under the forceful pressure and I’m again left fishless. Grrrrr!!!!!!!
I tie on another Mosquito but no risers are seen in the next fifteen minutes or so. I’ve been had! I slowly wade the bank down river and attempt to get a trout to take a slow moving nymph. I watch as fish after fish appear from the middle of the river towards my drifting nymph. It’s as if they examine the nymph than look over and see me looking at them in anticipation. They turn away and swim back to the whereabouts.
The slowness of it all is wearing down my patience. I wade out further towards the middle of the river and while the waves and water surface settles back down, from my movement, I trim off the 7x tippet. I knot on a good length of 6x fluorocarbon. To this I tie on an olive woolly bugger and decide this is my last offering. I reach in my pocket and pull out a Vintage Cameroon. After lighting the medium body, but smooth drawing cigar, I take a good puff and look over the situation. I decided to work the bugger along the far shore line and let it swing down river.
I got within casting distance of a shaded area just out from the far bank. A lone crooked branch reached above the water surface with one limb dropping into the water like a dropped antler tine. The water looked shallow but I was experienced by now of the illusion in the clear water. My first cast, before the branch, produced a good strike. I got a good hook set and finally got a nice rainbow to hand. It wasn’t until later I found he spotted the camera lens with water but was worth keeping the picture. After a couple more rainbows in this shady area I continued down river.

The wide section of flat water flowed among shallow rocks and than turned towards the near bank. It flowed around and through bank-side dead branches and slowed into a deeper section among bank-side boulders. There I had a good fight with a long slender rainbow. I wasn’t able to get my net out in time to net the frisky fighting rainbow on the 6x tippet. When I got him in the shallow water near shore he propelled himself upward off the pebbled bottom . When he slapped back onto the water the woolly bugger came unhooked and he slithered his way back into the deep pool.

By now I was wondering where Giddeon was when he suddenly appeared on the path above the bank. I followed him back to his truck and he said he found a good pod of trout upriver he was teasing and catching a few. We traveled upriver one last time for some evening fishing.

After parking near another Diamond sign we followed a long and winding trail to the river again. I figured it should be quiet and less fished than the sections we had already tried. To my surprise we found an old camp sight on each side of the banks. It wasn’t long before I came across two other fishermen. I did see quite a few trout but they were well aware fishermen were in the area. I caught one trout in the shade of the far bank before Giddeon showed up again and we headed back up the trail towards the truck.

We quenched our thirst roadside before heading to his house in Asheville for pizza and beer!
Another good day, missed a bunch, but still had a lot of fun!

__________~doubletaper

Wilds of the Cataloochee Valley

2011-09-14T10:21:00.002-04:00

North Carolina Fish’n 2011

Spent a beautiful weekend with my son, Giddeon, in Asheville North Carolina. We fished the Great Smoky Mountains and through the Pisgah National Forest. Though I missed quiet a few trout on dries, wasn’t quick enough on the hook set, I did manage to land a few. Giddeon on the other hand caught plenty along with a couple of whoppers.

Wilds of Cataloochee Valley

9-10-11

Where else East of the Mississippi can you find a quiet rolling mountain creek where elk, deer and turkey can be seen roaming the forest in the wild? Where can you catch wild trout, if you’re stealthy and quick, in a clear unpolluted mountain stream? You gently cast a 7 foot 3 weight towards the shady bank, under a canopy of trees, just out from laurel branches. While puffing on a short stogie you watch the dry fly drift in and out of sunlight that is setting above the high mountain tops. All the while hearing the bugling of a bull elk that echos throughout the valley as you fly fish in pure delight. The Great Smoky Mountains is the place it can come true!! Little wild trout streams and wildlife.

__________doubletaper

Mosquito Tute

2011-09-09T10:26:00.001-04:00

Mosquito Tute

Ever since I seen this pattern it looked buggy to me. Though it doesn’t look at all like the pattern’s name, those blood thirsty insects, it looks insectly to me. With its contrasting colored body and Adam grizzly tail and hackle it has to bring some curiosity to maybe bring some trout to the surface.
I’m headed down to the Davidson River in North Carolina to fish with my son this weekend. I’ve done my research and read that the Davidson can be frustrating at times being it gets fished frequently and the fish get to see all kinds of patterns. Being that they get finicky, thinking out of the box, by showing then something different, could make for a delightful day.

I once read that being fish have no hands they can only inspect something by sight. If it looks like food they have to mouth it to feel the texture and determine if it’s digestible. In this respect sometimes the imitation just has to look buggy or curios enough to get the trout to taste it. I feel this pattern might just fool a few of them finicky trout to the surface.
I’ve used the stiff Moose Body hair before for Drake tails, Adams parachutes, and antennas and on crayfish patterns. When I pulled four strands of moose mane, and seen the diameter, I thought ’how was I going to wrap this on a #18 hook shank for a body.’ to my surprise moose mane is real soft. I found spinning the hair with my hackle pliers, a couple of times, and then wrapping it around the hook shaft was easy.
So here’s an easy tie for thinking outside the mayfly and basic terrestrial box.

Hook; standard dry fly #14-#20 (if there are #14 mosquito’s around I think I’d find somewhere else to fish) I used Orvis big eye #18 hook for demonstration.
Thread; black or gray 8/0
Tail; grizzly hackle fibers
Wings; optional. I tie wings on the #16’s
Body; moose mane, dark and light hair
Hackle; grizzly

1. Base thread on hook shank and tie in grizzly tail. (Length of hook shank)

2. Pull four moose mane hairs off in light and dark colors mixed.
3. Align tips together and trim straight across where the hairs won’t be to thin or weak.
4. Tie in, by the tips, at tail extending the tips along the shank for bulk.

5. With hackle pliers spin the hairs two full turns and wrap the hairs towards the hook eye in close wraps.

6. Leave room for the hackle and tie off.
7. Tie in a stiff grizzly rooster hackle feather as shown

8. Wind hackle one in front of the other (about 3-4 wraps) leaving room for the head and tie off.

9. Make a nice thread head and whip finish.

Pretty simple and I hope effective.

Hopefully we can make a few of them finicky trout rise.
I suppose in the afternoon, under the hot Carolina sun, my son and I might just relax along shore sipping Carolina sweet tea, sharing our fish excursions and smoke’n Vintage Cameroons!!

______doubletaper

Cortland 'Big Sky' Review II

2011-09-05T16:52:00.004-04:00

Cortland ‘Big Sky’ Review II

This is a continuation of the ‘Big Sky’ review of the 9’ 4weight rod I did earlier this year. Back than I was given the opportunity to use the Cortland rod on a Pennsylvania stream by a Cortland Rep. At that time I strung it up with a DT4F 444 fly line. You can read about it at
http://streamsidetales.blogspot.com/2011/02/cortland-big-sky-review.html

Well I had the pleasure again to test it where it was designed to be used, under the ‘Big Sky’ and on a big river out west. This time, paired with the Cortland Precision Dyna-Tip Platinum weight forward fly line made this rod work to perfection.
Using a 5weight and a 6weight rod earlier in the week, on the BigHorn River, I decided on Thursday to give the ‘Big Sky’ 4weight a go on my birthday. I fitted a mid-arbor reel on the reel seat. The reel balanced the light rod pretty even with maybe a little more lightness in the tip section. Being that the river was flowing high, from the water release of the YellowTail Dam, we’ve been using 10-11 foot leader/tippet. I had on 3 split shots above the top nymph of the tandem rig and drifting them under an indicator. The water was moving with good flow but clear enough to be very fishable. The guides said that because of the increased discharge of water there was a very few chance to none that fish would be rising due to the conditions. From the drift boat as well as wading along shore getting the tandem rig out there was done with ease as the fast action rod handled the weight and long casts with the least amount of effort that I thought was adequate. Time and again I would cast out into the rolling river and mend upstream watching the indicator drift atop the water. Once I found a pod of trout I was on my game. Fighting big wild browns and ’bow’ against the flow of the current wasn’t anything the 9’ 4 weight couldn’t handle. It gave me a more positive attitude about fishing a long 4 weight for big trout in open water.

You can read about my birthday expedition at. http://streamsidetales.blogspot.com/2011/05/bighorn-birthday-style.html
A couple of weeks after I got back from Montana I took the ‘Big Sky’ to Oil Creek for some dry fly action. There was an occasional cross wind blowing upstream from my left to right. There was a few fish rising in the shallower water across the main body of water some 20 to 25 yards away. I was using a 9’ tapered leader. Being that the water was gin clear, and slightly rippled, I was using 6x tippet. There were a few caddis about so I was casting #14 elk hares and also #16 paradun Adams. Though the wind would catch the small dries at the end of the cast the fast action rod along with the Dyna-Tip line got the dries within the vicinity with less effort than what I would have expected. After catching big trout in Montana I felt guilty using the 4 weight for the 9” to 13” stocked trout but my intentions for the day was to use the ‘Big Sky’ with dries. Again the rod performed to a satisfactory level.

I can’t find anywhere where the blank is available but if I do get my hands on one I already have a custom rod builder that will do the honors of building a rod to my liking. One of his specialties is his one of a kind custom made cork hand grips!
It’s definitely a few thumbs up for its performance and good looks for the price. A weight forward line is a must to feel the rod load better and perform at its best.

_______~doubletaper