May 1-3, 2026 – Camping and Fishing in the Cold (and Sometimes Rain) and Revisiting One of the Places Where the Obsession Began – Northcentral Pennsylvania

A young old man.

The first trout I even caught on a dry fly came on a Quill Gordon from the Little Pine Creek near English Center, PA.  I could not have been more than 12 or 13 years old.  For what felt like many years to a kid, but probably five to ten, my dad and Wardman and I—along with some guests like Charlie and even a couple summer visits with my whole family of six—stayed at a cabin near the banks of the creek above Little Pine State Park, where Josh, Brian, Larry, Clayton, Brendan, and I camped this weekend.  The cabin of my youth belonged to an archery buddy of my dad, and I guess Dan did not fish, so the place was open in spring and summer to rent on the cheap.  The photo above is of my old man as a young dad tuckered out after fishing for a week in the spring cold and rain in Lycoming County.  That rock was not so easy to find some two decades later, but I did make sure I caught some stockies in that general area, hunted for the cabin, and took a moment to thank my father for indulging my still enduring passion to chase the trouts.  I would have killed to have Dan's warm cabin to return to a couple times this weekend!

Some stockers on Little Pine Creek for old time's sake.

I did not know what to expect years later with floods, fracking, population explosion, outdoor recreation of all sorts along Big Pine.  A lot has changed in that time, but a lot has not.  There have been some devastating floods, most recently in 2024, so the landscape has changed drastically in places.  At one time the creek slowly meandered and braided through thick woods into the lake.  I know this because my brothers and I tried to tube to the lake from English Center.  Imagine parents giving kids that kind of freedom to explore these days!  We did not make it and had to bushwhack towards the honks and shouts from my dad out looking for us as dusk was approaching.  That wooded land now looked burned and machined, perhaps to make it safe enough to replant.  The Ash Borer has taken down countless ash trees, which dominated some of the woods, and now means deadfall hell while bluelining on certain stretches of tributaries throughout the region.  What has not changed is the beauty of the mountains, clear and cold running freestoners, all kinds of wildlife, including wild and native trouts holding strong, even in stocked streams.  Three days full of fishing means a lot of pictures and stories, so there will be many collages and abridged anecdotes in what follows.  Let’s begin with Day 1.

Slate Run was beautiful and nearly fishless for me on a cold bugless morning.

I worked an art show for graduating seniors at my college on Thursday night, so I did not get to sleep very early or sleep that well (a lot of hors d'oeuvre and mini desserts, I guess, plus a lot of talking kept the mind and body active later than normal).  I set the alarm for 3:30 AM, but I got up at 2:30 AM.  What’s a guy to do but caffeinate and get on the road for a 3.5+ hour drive north and west.  I wanted to fish the famous Slate Run on a Friday before potential weekend crowds.  I was rigged up and sliding down a mountainside to the creek by 8 AM.  Turkey opened on Saturday, so many vehicles were heading to camp, and the crowd on Pine Creek at Wolfe’s General Store was forming early.  Plenty of dudes waist deep in Pine hoping to hook a massive stocker.  By the time I quit at 2 PM and went into the store to get a bag of ice, there were no less than 20 cars parked at the store.  Slate is beautiful, and I am glad I saw it again, decades later.  I know the fishing is not what it once was, and it was a cold, bugless morning, so I did not expect to devastate the fish.  I did expect to land one, however!  I had my chance at a daymaker at my very first hole, probably my second cast into a perfect plunge pool.  This was not Slate but the Manor Fork.  This fish was about 15 inches and angry.  It hit a jigged bugger and actually pulled drag in a hole not 15 feet wide but 4 feet deep.  I did not have my big net and fumbled with the one I brought for brook trout, even leading with the net handle instead of the basket as the fish got close.  That did it.  One more run right into a sunken blowdown in the middle of the hole, and he was gone. 

A lot of crick pics, more than shown here.  Manor Fork and Slate Run.

This fork got small pretty quickly, and I wanted to see Slate proper, so I moved spots shortly after this disappointment.  I was expecting a good day after that, even if the first fish encounter ended so poorly.  Little did I know that all I would have to show for 5 hours of fishing and another spot change were a lot of gorgeous creek pictures.  It was a heck of a workout getting out of the gorge too.  On three hours of sleep and some Cliff bars, I was wheezing and swamped by the time I got to the level road and the ‘Ru.  It was pushing 2 PM before I left the general store with ice, but at least the campground was only 25 minutes away.  Josh, Brian, and Larry had arrived to set up camp around 10 AM, and they had fished the later morning/early afternoon.  They had some success with very small trout at a couple Class A creeks, and were hanging at camp.  They watched me barely beat the incoming rain storms while I put up my tent.  I should have done a practice run at home this week since it’s been two years since I put it up. I am sure I was entertaining to the boys, at least.

Josh found a decent brookie on day one.  Yours truly missed another good fish that evening ;)

That Friday evening, everyone split up into different pairings and groups.  Brian and I checked out a Class A brookie creek not far from camp.  It had many dead trees to climb over and around, but we found some brookies in each likely spot.  I even stuck a big brookie that Brian claimed was 8 inches or more.  It had been a long day, so I have to get a pass on not landing this fish.  I did land about 5 more before we quit that creek and used the available remaining daylight to scope out a few more creeks.  I needed a destination for the morning since Larry and Brian had to explore Larry’s namesake creek, and Josh was tasked with guiding Clayton and Brendan, both pretty new to fly fishing and very new to creeks this small.  I would be solo again, which would give me a chance to make a tour of Little Pine Creek and my old stomping grounds.

Brian and I fishing a Class A on Friday night.  Deadfall hell at times, but some fishes caught.

Friday night was raining and near freezing all night.  I actually could not hydrate enough before passing out in the tent by 9:30 PM.  Before midnight, I was up sensing incoming Charlie horses in both legs (did I mention Slate was a lot of climbing?)  so I had get up and drink a ton of water.  I even took a shower to warm up, and then fell back asleep finally around 2 AM.  Brendan had it worse!  He did not pack enough warm clothes and was car camping in a RAV 4.  So as not to wake up the rest of the campground, he spent some time idling in his vehicle at the trash dump with the heat on blast to avoid hypothermia.  Not a fun night, except for Larry, who was snug in his heated VW camper.  He is 72 years young, so he deserved that comfort, especially because Brian was going to put him through his paces on Saturday.  Morning two for me was a drive around Big Pine scoping tributaries and then a driving tour of English Center.  I caught some stockers in honor of the old man, as I noted above, but after I briefly fought a two-foot palomino, I called it good on the stocked fish for the day.

Larry on his namesake.  My adventure with a much different Lil' Pine (part 2).

After 11 AM, I took a ride way up stream to fish unstocked sections of the Little Pine.  One spot was a section Brian and I scoped out at dusk from the car on Friday night.  It was a scramble to get in, so we were convinced that it was rarely if ever fished.  It was beautiful up there.  No Slate Run, but it was also much more of a brown trout creek, with more bends and riparian buffer.  I found a good 12-13 inch wild brown at the first prime hole, then found at least three more smaller fish at the next one, before I found a deep undercut bank with a down tree holding back 4+ feet of water.  Big brown hole!  It did not disappoint, and I got some redemption for my Manor Fork debacle on Friday morning.  This fish was probably 16 inches and acted bigger in the cold water and tight confines of a small creek.  After a few pics, I saw a riser under a rake of branches.  I had to try and hung everything in the tree, which I retrieved.  It was 2 PM, so I did not retie.  Getting stumbly from lack of food and making errant casts is a sure sign I have reached the point of diminishing returns, and I like to end on high notes like this lovely piggy.  I left another beautiful stretch upstream for another day (or another trip since I did not return on Sunday).

A successful afternoon and redemption after Friday's beating.

Brian and Larry did not catch a thing all day on Saturday, and while Josh got a few, the newer fly guys caught nothing, so he took them down to the creek in the campground to chase fresh stockers in the evening.  Larry went down to get the skunk off himself, caught two quickly, and returned to camp.  Brian, Brendan, and I just chilled out and tried to start a fire and prime the charcoal for the grill and the night's dinner.  The rain had gone, but in its place was a breeze and what promised to be another cold night.  We failed with wet wood, but our camp chef and mitch of all trades Josh had the thing roaring in no time upon his return from slaying stockies.  Larry and Brian liberated wood left behind at a vacated camp, so we burned a lot of firewood that night, a veritable bonfire.  It felt great to be warm, and we all hung out until at least 10:30 or 11 PM before retiring to our cold tents and vehicles for night two.  I learned my lesson from Friday night and had not only hydrated all day, but had eaten better and showered after fishing, so I slept as well as if I’d been home in bed.  The sound of Josh and Larry in the morning meant coffee was on, so I rolled out of the tent for day 3.

One Sunday morning stocker (sort of).  Our regular camp chef and tour guide.

Clayton relieved Josh from cooking the eggs on Sunday, and we had a leisurely breakfast because the plan was just to catch some stockers on the Little Pine below the dam and our campsite.  Larry left for home early and did not miss much that morning.  Brendan had caught nothing in two days, so I said I would “guide” him.  Josh tried to get Clayton a couple more, and Brian and I took Brendan on a walk.  I hooked one fish in two hours, and he ended up with the dropper tag in his dorsal fin, so it was an adventure trying to land a foul-hooked brown in heavy current.  That was the only fish for the three of us, so I suck as a guide.  Brendan was in the game, however.  Had the fish wanted to cooperate, he would have gotten a couple.  His drifts were good—he had nearly mastered the art of bobber nymphing before hanging his bugs in a tree.  It was nearly lunchtime, and some guys wanted to head out early, so we had cold cuts and rolls before packing the rest of the sites up for a 3 PM checkout.  Josh and I had other plans that involved one more fishing trip for the weekend.

One last Sunday fishing excursion before the long drive.

After packing up and saying farewell to all the campers, Josh and I went back to the creek he, Brian, and Larry fished on Friday afternoon.  He wanted to start upstream of where they ended and explore more of the creek, which appeared to have more miles of fishable water on public land.  I was game, although we both were in bad shape making the hike in, huffing and puffing with bellies full of cold cuts and bodies on day three of steep climbs.  We found the landmark where they climbed out and began working upstream.  We lasted about 2 hours total from walk in to fishing to walk out, but we messed with some brookies.  Josh dropped one, then I had one strike my bobber, the smallest, oval Oros indicator, before finally landing a good-sized brook trout.  I barely deserved to catch this one.  My leader was too long, so my casts were off in the breeze, and like on Friday I still hadn’t mastered retrieving the smaller net.  Josh was there to net the fish and transfer the poor thing to my net for a couple photos while he tried to scare another out of this prime spot.  No dice, so we covered a couple more holes and then found a good place to climb out.

Some days luck overcomes diminished physical abilities.  A little something for the effort!

My day was far from over.  I actually drove an hour to Bucknell to have dinner with The Boy and his girlfriend before packing up round one of his move out.  It was a long but enjoyable day.  With a belly full of Chinese food from their favorite place and a couple Cokes, I made the ride home, another 2.5 hours.  I even had the energy to unpack the ‘Ru before passing out for the night, grateful Monday is a work from home day.  I set the alarm for 8:30 AM just in case, and actually slept until 8 AM, so not a bad guess.  I spent the day doing laundry and reading texts I missed from the group chat that was happening the entire time I was driving.  The poor fellas were already missing each other!  A physically challenging but mentally rewarding weekend?  Not to mention a return to where this long journey all started

April 26, 2026 – Not Enough Rain but Enough Rain to Do Some Small Stream Sneaking and Have Plenty of Success – SEPA

A real pretty trout.

I don’t believe we received over an inch of rain as forecasted, but I did see enough yesterday and heard enough overnight to contemplate a couple small streams to target today.  Before the rain arrived on Saturday afternoon, while I was at my mom’s setting up her new television, I cut her lawn, then came home and cut my lawn.  It was a rush job at my house, as it was drizzling already, but I almost beat the rain.  I won’t be home next weekend since I will be in NCPA camping with the boys, so it had to be done.  At least the moisture kept the pollen down a bit.  I still felt the effects of mowing two lawns in one afternoon, so I did not get up at 4:30 AM this morning as I intended.  Snooze button and then shut off the alarm.  I did get up at 5:30 AM, though.  It was still cloudy, and quite cold, so I made a slightly altered plan.  Instead of driving 90 minutes in the dark, I would drive 45 minutes at dawn to a Berks County creek that I am fond of fishing a few times each year.  It is small and mostly freestone with some limestone influence in places, so the lack of rain in SEPA this spring has kept me away, but with a stain and slightly elevated flows this morning, it fit the bill.  It was a great call.  I fished for just under 4 hours, which is about all this stretch of unposted creek will allow on a good day, and it was pretty bonkers.  No big fish, but some decent small stream fish, and I must have landed over 2 dozen gorgeous wild browns in that short period of time.

Still low but at least stained today!

I was fishing by 7 AM, and I knew rather quickly that this morning had potential.  It was just under 40 F, so the hits started out pretty soft, but the fish were eating.  I landed a handful at my first hole, rested it, and got 2 more before moving to the next spot.  I found a few fish in the deep holes, but once I started fishing shallow riffles with access to deep water, I found the pattern.  I must have caught 8 more trout from the same riffle, and the fish were as shallow as ankle deep in the low light and slightly stained water.  Most took a size 16 soft hackle that usually serves me well as an emerging caddis.  A few took the point fly, a walts or caddis larva, as it got brighter and fish went deeper.  I tried swinging bugs a few times in case caddis were in the water column in numbers, but it appeared that the fish were up shallow in anticipation or by habit not necessarily because of what was currently happening.  To confirm my suspicions, I shook a few bushes on the bank, and the caddis were there.  Later in the morning, a few smalls and a couple creek chubs took swinging bugs, but upstream nymphing was by far the most effective approach.  When I did not find a fish over 11 or 12 inches, and had logged so many fish, I did chunk a streamer hoping to move a bigger specimen.

More very pretty and healthy fishes.

I had some swipes at the bugger, and landed two aggressive chubs, but the trout looked to be average small stream fish just flashing at the streamer.  I targeted one riser before I decided to start walking back to the ‘Ru, and it ended up being a creek chub, as well.  Without the stain, a dry fly or dry dropper might be the only way to get takes in this creek tomorrow.  I could see by the vegetation growing between rocks that would normally be covered in water just how low the creek has been.  It was a nice change of pace, fishing a small, wooded creek.  I enjoy big water and the big fish that live there, but they require a lot more work.  This morning’s success only required a leisurely walk with a modest amount of stealth to find some takers in every likely spot, and some surprising spots.  I caught one of my 10-inch fish in 8 inches of water in moderate current, just hanging out.  I guess a sparsely leafed overhanging branch gave him the sense of security he needed.  After catching a few dinks out of this shallow run, I was pleased when I set the hook on this one. “Oh, that’s a real fish!” I said to myself (channeling the Silver Fox?).

A couple later morning fish.  The colors!

My honey hole that often gives up a couple better fish every year, especially when fish begin migrating for the spawn (or hang out after their winter duties) today provided numbers but not size.  It was here that I decided to fish a bugger, but after catching 6 more trout out of the hole, I was not surprised that I did not move a good one.  In hindsight, I should have fished a bugger here first, but it is what it is.  It is certainly hard to complain about two dozen+ fish in a few hours.  I did have two carp move towards the bugger.  That would have been fun on a 3 weight!  Actually, I am kind of glad one of them didn’t grab it when I paused to let the bug sink.  That would have been silly and today was pretty silly already.  Keep on raining rain!  That was not enough, but I appreciate the effort.

Another.  Love all the parr marks.

April 20, 2026 – Not Just Another Day in April – NEPA

So much for 80 and sunny.

At my last checkup in March, I complained about a bit of arthritis pain in my left knee.  After an examination of both knees, my rather stoic GP said, “A little clicky on the left one… You have 40-year-old knees.”  Today was my 57^th birthday, so I guess I can live with that diagnosis.  Where did I chose to take my aging knees on this day?  A gentle spring creek?  A local stockie hole with a bench nearby?  Nope.  The Lehigh River in the gorge.  And I felt really good too.  Since the new year, when I noticed my metabolism changing, I started walking and hiking again.  I was the same weight since the pandemic until I wasn’t last year.  My last job was stressful, and everyone there including me stress-ate during breaks.  This new job is far less stressful, and it affords me long walks at lunch in Center City and along the banks of the Schuylkill River on nice days.   Plus, I get to fish a lot more.  Yesterday was the first day I really noticed the aerobic payoff of those walks.  I never took the folding wading staff off my belt, I made three or four descents and return climbs along the river, I covered some water, and I caught a mess of nice fish on a frigid morning.  The true test is always the day after, but after my Brodhead climbing earlier in the month, I felt good the next day, so I am expecting the same tomorrow.  I have also learned to hydrate as I get older.

My first fish on my second cast.  Low water but still pretty sexy out there.

I arrived around 6:30 AM, knowing I had a good walk to my first spot.  As I drove into the gorge, I was seeing snow in the fields and in the trees.  When I parked near the river, there was snow covering the rhododendrons and some of the trees sprouting young leaves.  I even got caught in a few brief sleet showers throughout the day.  It was cold, and the water temperature at 11 AM was barely over 45 F.  It did not stop the fish from eating.  My first fish, on my second cast, was a beautiful example of a high teens wild North American brown fish.   Even in lower flows for this early in the spring (the drought is coming for NEPA next) this fish would not quit.  None of them would today, actually.  I guess 46 degrees is good for their stamina!  River fish are rarely pushovers, anyway.  The LR is a tough place to grow up and a tough place to survive multiple years if you happen to hold over a couple seasons.  I fish a 10’ 6” 4 weight when I nymph water like the LR, Brodhead, Lackawanna, and Penns, and I am always glad for the extra muscle.  By the end of the day, I was more worried about arthritis in my elbow than my knees from all the extended-armed side pressure application needed to turn a few upstream against their wills 😉

More crick pics on a cold, windy, gray day full of cooperative fish like fish #2 of the morning!

Not long after my first good fish, I landed another in the high teens.  Along with many family and friends, Larry had texted me with birthday wishes.  He almost joined me this morning but bailed the night before because of the weather and the responsibilities at home he had this week ahead of a camping trip.  He was regretting his decision not to come this morning!  The success continued at a steady pace for at least four hours before a pause around 11 AM.  Before I took a walk back to the 'Ru and had a short break on the bumper, I probably had a dozen fish landed, and many were over 12 inches.  I was happy to see two dinks in the mix, however.  There is ongoing debate about whether or not browns spawn in the river, or just the tributaries, or just look pretty after holding over for many years.  I think it's all of the above based on the variety of patterns, but I have caught more and more fish in recent years that are too pretty and too small to have been stockers.  And then there are fish like the one pictured below that are 1) male and 2) way to cute too be holdover fish.  

A beauty male no matter his country of origin.

I had a chat with an older gent and his wife while I drank an iced coffee and ate a PBJ, and then I refilled my water bottle for a shorter round two.  This 57 year old mitch has to stay more hydrated than a 40 year old one, even if my knees are not that old.  This could be another reason (besides old prostates) why so many zipped waders are sold these days!  I planned to fish until about 2 PM so that I could hang with my wife on my birthday (and beat rush hour traffic home).  The third spot I slid down into can be awesome at times, but today it was slower than the first two spots.  It could have been the time of day, of course, but the presence of some mayfly duns on the water should have gotten a little something going.  I dredged a fallguy out of a deep hole before I changed things up after seeing what looked to be Blue Quills.  It was cold, so I did not take my hat off to catch a specimen, nor did I mess around taking off my fingerless gloves to catch one as it sailed on by.  Nothing rose to the duns, but I did catch three more smaller trout, including one that had to be a 2-year-old, by swinging my nymphs.  All three took a size 16 pheasant tail on the dropper tag. 

More fun, healthy fish.

I was hoping for some variety, maybe more on the swing, and I took my time and watched for risers for much longer than I usually do.  With the water temps so cold, there was no guarantee that dry fly fishing was going to happen even if I hung out until 3 or 4 PM just waiting.  After a second much smaller fallfish took the bugs on the swing, I stuck with the plan and started hiking back just before 2 PM, and I was actually changed and on the road home before 2:30 PM.  This was supposed to be my first trip on the river to get the kinks out and see how a few spots fared this winter, but it became a banner day.  Come to think of it, my first visit to the Brodhead was also more than a first trip kind of day.  I have landed some nice fish so far this odd spring!  It is a little scary that I am fishing places I typically fish six weeks from now, but I am trying not to dwell on that too much.  Maybe it will rain in May?  I will let you know if I wake up with charley horses in both hamstrings after talking about how good I feel....

Big natives noticed the mayflies before the trouts.  Time to go home.

April 11 and 18, 2026 – The Last Two Meetings of the Mayfly Project - Philly’s 2026 Inaugural Season – Wissahickon Creek

Fun was had.

Well, the first year of the Philly-based Mayfly Project chapter is in the books.  We learned a lot, what worked, what might work better.  Honestly, besides the challenges of see-saw weather and low, clear water, I think this crew could carry out an expanded plan next year with great success.  Many of us may even get more practice in September working at a one-day event in Norristown Farm Park called All Kids Fish.  Two of our current mentors for Mayfly are leaders of that event, and they have been getting committals from mentors within our group.  I just have to make sure my work calendar is clear since my team covered for me at a few admissions’ open houses this spring so that I could do this thing.  There is a chance that a couple of our mentees will attend this fall event on scholarship too!  That would seal the deal for me if I could see K and H again this fall.  They would even make good peer mentors in Mayfly next year.  The youngest boy, S, may have had his experience this spring.  It might just be the age, or it might be that he tried fly fishing, caught a giant palomino as his second fish, and in his mind won fly fishing’s final boss battle. 

Real fly fishers.

We landed zero fish on April, 11^th, but the boys all had fun.  H fell in, and S fell in for a second time on April 18^th, so two out of three got their Wissy baptism.  K is a strong wader, so I was more likely to eat it than him.  We netted minnows, picked up dead suckers, saw water snakes and butterflies, found more bugs under rocks, walked in the woods to explore more of the creek.  I told the boys on Mentored Youth Day that all fly fishermen have to have beards, so I brought a costume beard the following week.  All the young dudes posed with facial hair, and a couple of them owned it.  H wore it the best, so I gave it to him at our last meeting as his certificate of completion!  It might have been the beard because H caught the only trout on April 18^th.  He tangled with three and landed one.  No skunk for the team!   Thanks, H and company, for the win!  

Some mentors mentoring.

At the end this last meeting, to the surprise of most of the mentors even, the boys got all new gear.  Instead of taking home the combos they learned on, they got nice stuff with a reel-on-rod case, a nice pack with all quality tools like nippers and hemostats, and they even spent time filling a fly box to take with them.  Ken and Cathy, who provided waders for Mayfly from their stash from the aforementioned All Kids Fish , generously gave the boys the waders they used this spring, much to our surprise and theirs.  They now have all the tools to hack away and watch YouTube like most new fly anglers.  Honestly, they and their caregivers seemed excited to make fishing again a priority, so I am hopeful they will get out again on their own.  I am confident that they have a memory to carry with them, and I certainly do.  There can only be one first year, one first class, and we got lucky that these mentees were that for us.  We could have done a lot worse, and we probably will in future years!

First year in the record books!

April 13, 2026 – I Had to Pivot and Be Patient, but I Was Eventually Rewarded with a Pair of Piggies – NEPA

A good fish.  One of two.

Today did not turn out the way I expected, but I am not unhappy with the results.  The fish pictured to the right here is one of two high-teens fish I landed on a favorite NEPA freestoner.  The plan was to chase brookies in an SGL with the Silver Fox, who had off today.  He was not feeling well in the morning and cancelled when he was unable to power through his early morning trials.  I got the text around 5:50 AM.  I had already called out of work and packed up some fishing stuff, so I had to do something fishy today.  It was going to get warm and progressively hotter this week (and dryer) so today was the day.  I pivoted to a solo Plan B after just pointing my car north.  I had the forethought to grab my wading staff and my 10’6” 4 weight, so I was ready for big water if that was where I ended up.  Big water is becoming the option right now in most of the areas I fish within two hours of home.  It sounds like Central PA flows are holding up, but SEPA is droughty and NEPA is quickly catching up.  I don’t like that I am fishing creeks I typically hold back until mid-May and count on in early June, but our springs are becoming more and more unpredictable these days.  I did what I had to do, and it's working so far....

Bowfest was silly in the riffles for about an hour.  Tan caddis got them excited.

I arrived later than I like in low water conditions, but it was cloudy to start the day, so I had some time before it got hot.  It rarely got sunny, and I even got rained on for 10 minutes as a weak front came through from the South.  Despite the presence of midges early and big tan caddis about 11 AM, fish were not rising, so I never had to pull the mono-rig off my reel.  The caddis were present for about an hour, but they brought nothing to the surface—that happens with caddis and it pays to be a dirty nympher during an emergence sometimes 😉 However, I had a blast catching a dozen stocker bows in the riffles during this brief event.  They all hit a buggy dropper tag fly that matched the action of emerging caddis if not the color.  I experimented with the color of the dropper when I could not find a brown in the mix, thinking they were more keyed into the specifics, but it was nothing but a bowfest for a good hour.

Bony for this early in the spring, but still mighty-ish in places.

I committed to the task at hand, however.  I took advantage of the low water for spring and waded and then bushwhacked (with a 10’6”) into a couple spots I usually save (or have to save most years) for late spring and early summer.  It was a good move.  In order to get down deep, I abandoned small bugs and small bugs with a lot of weight to get them down.  My gut told me to try a single big bug.  I had tightlined a jigged streamer when I first arrived, but I moved nothing.  The next idea was to dead drift a size 8 or 10 jigged pheasant tail on the seams with a bobber.  Stoneflies and fish fry are always on the menu on this creek.  Once I got into the spot, a spot where I have a white whale or two pushing 25 inches, a good, long, drag free drift was met with a buried bobber.  This fish would not quit in the cold water.  I was happy I had the extra backbone of the long 4 weight rod.  I even had a leap at the end of a short line long after I had this fish tamed for a netting.  Just an awesome fight and gorgeous fish!

Two of two.

It got better.  After resting the spot for a couple minutes and torturing my fishing buddies with a third piggy pic in a week, I got into another really good fish.  Same drift along the seam, maybe a little further back and a bit deeper, this second fish buried the indicator and took off on a long run.  I always worry about these fish dragging a big bobber around a very deep hole filled with obstructions, but I got a good hookset with a size 8 bug, so there was nothing to worry about this time.  This fish was a bit smaller, maybe only by an inch so, but it would have been a day maker if not for her cousin.  More pics and texts, but I could not get a third fish to eat after the ruckus these two caused.  I had also run out of water.  The path below was too deep to wade and the terrain too steep and brushy.  I did some billygoating back upstream and fished a couple holes I had already fished, now with this big bug that had cracked the brown code.  Nothing happening.  By now, I had gotten rained on and the South wind had picked up, so I decided to head for home instead of moving to a new spot.  Those that read this blog a lot know I don’t like to overstay when I have already met good fortune.  A few on the dry fly would have been nice.  Some brookies and a day with the Silver Fox even nicer, maybe.  But I made the right call today.

Bonus shot of fish #1

April 9, 2026 – A Little from Column S, a Little from Column T: My First 13-Hour Fishing Tour of 2026 – SEPA

Lars with a buck and neoprene.

Thanks to my accomplished and admirably bearded "guide" Larry, I was able to catch my first American shad in decades.  He and another friendly regular out there got into double digits and landed a couple bigger roe, but I actually got into a few bucks myself, not just one.  I did not know until after I hooked my first fish that Larry had felt low level anxiety about his mission.  The river is dropping daily without significant rain, so the fish start acting differently and get more challenging.  I fished for shad a long time with my father, but I bet it had been close to 25 or 30 years since I targeted these early spring visitors.  In other words, I was not a sure thing to catch, even though I am still a multi-species angler and no stranger to the spinning rod or the Delaware River.  Larry had no need to worry either way, but I totally get it.  It is a muscle that needs exercise, and every “guide” feels an obligation to his “sport.”  I think if I went out of few more times, the touch it takes would come back to me.  I lost more darts than usual trying to figure stuff out, but I spent a lot of time observing Larry and his buddy Dave, so I learned some things for next time.  One such thing I remembered while standing waist deep in the river on a 28-degree morning was why I always had a pair of neoprene waders in the garage until recently.  I didn’t replace the last pair I owned because I don’t stand still much when I fish with a fly rod or while plugging the ocean beaches, and I don’t hunt for waterfowl.  It was cold out there, yo!  I didn’t even have the forethought to wear my fleece wading pants.  In my defense, this has been a rollercoaster of a spring, so who could have known what to expect weather-wise.

A cold start.  Today's solid roe.  I caught enough that it wasn't an accident ;)

When I fished with my dad, roe shad used to get into the 8-pound range, but they have been getting smaller over time according to my sharpie companions for the morning.  That said, they still pull, and the current of the Big D, however diminishing with the falling flows of a dry spring, certainly helps even a 3 or 4 lb. female give an angler quite the tussle—at least from my point of view watching Larry and Dave land a few!  It was a cool experience that I may do again or may expose my son to if I can figure out some spots later in May.  When I was in college, my father used to pick me up around Mother’s Day weekend to drive me home, but we had some spots in NEPA where the fish were still doing their thing.  I will be getting my son home from college that same weekend, so who knows.  Larry and I quit a little before noon after a longer lull between pods of fish moving through, but like civilized gentlemen we had an upscale-priced (like most things in Bucks County river towns these days) breakfast together before parting ways.  He paid, so I owe him one when we camp out in NCPA next month.  We may have to sneak away from (albeit competent) camp chef Josh’s delicious cuisine and have a warm diner meal out there, especially if fishing is challenging, as it's been on previous camping trips.

That's what up, yo!  First fish of round two.

I had the day off, so I was not going home after brunch.  I thought of heading up to NEPA to intercept some early spring hatches, but I took the scenic route up the river instead.  It was a nostalgia tour seeing boat ramps and access points I used to visit with the old man.  We had a square-backed Grumman canoe that covered some miles in its day.  I had a shad fisherman’s eye scanning access spots old and new, as well.  In fact, one of the places Larry and I bass fished together last summer looked promising and had a lone angler making long casts, presumably with a dart.  I settled on a creek technically still in SEPA for my next stop, but it has some of the characteristics of the bigger NEPA freestoners.  No big mayflies present when I stopped, but grannom caddis had been hatching based on what was in all the riparian trees and bushes.  I watched for risers for a few minutes, and while I saw a smattering of adult caddis flitting about the water, even in clear low flows, no trouts were actively taking bugs on the surface.  I left the dry fly rod in the ‘Ru for the time being, and targeted pockets, runs, and plunges with the nymph rig.  At my first hole, I stuck a small stream pig on the 16 blowtorch I tied on the dropper tag.  It was a gorgeous wild brown!  I was hoping bugs were emerging and fish taking emergers if not the adults, but that did not really play out either.

Dry fly bow, at least.

That said, I did catch another nice brown that was probably 14 inches and a handful of rainbows before I turned around and worked my way back to the ‘Ru.  On the walk back I saw three fish rise to adult caddis, so when I got back to the parking spot, I had a snack, refilled my water bottle, and grabbed my dry fly rod.   I worked some of the same water that I had now rested for 90 minutes or more with a dry and a dry/dropper.  I got one additional rainbow on the caddis dry fly and missed another fish of unknown origin on the dry before I chose to turn back again. I swung a small bugger on the return trip and got two short bumps that did not connect.  The light was lower as dinner time approached in a deep valley, but the creek was still low and clear, so I did not expect even that much.  The one fish, my first fish, made this a worthwhile stop, of course.  I had notched my second high teens wild fish of the week, so no complaints about my decision to curtail my travel further north.  I have the Mayfly Project on Saturday, but maybe Sunday or Monday will continue my April success.  I have yet to fish locally for stockers, so I may do that at the very least.  The water is low enough and the bugs are prevalent enough in the City to warrant a visit with a dry fly, or at least a dry dropper.

Bonus shots from a long successful day.