April 10, 2015 – The Wissahickon Creek (again)

Two well-dressed fishermen, nearly fishless for the morning.

I had the day off because I needed to take a 5 hour drive to Harrisonburg, VA for a conference taking place on Saturday.  After debating whether to leave early or not, finally, hoping to miss some truck traffic on Route 81, I decided the leave around 6 or 7 PM and get down to VA and just go to sleep.  That gave me a bonus morning to fish, although I did have only a short window between dropping my boy off at the bus stop and getting a haircut at 2 PM, so I needed to stay close to home.  That means only 3 or 4 nearby streams, and the Wissy is the closest.

I called my dad and texted Kenny to see if they were planning to fish what was supposed to be a drizzly, warm day.  They had made plans to fish together near my house, which I had just fished on Monday, so I wasn’t that excited, but there was a stocking during the week, and my dad hadn’t been out fishing yet this season, so he wanted fish not fishy surroundings.  You see, I had planned to hit some more picturesque and trout-y looking stretches of the creek in the City.

Eventually, I decided to join them and then maybe head at some point to the spot I had originally planned to visit.  I never made it, but I am not sure it would have been any better if I had.  It was another slow, cold morning.  I had dressed for the promised 76 degrees, knowing I would be a little cold until it warmed up, but with a leaking left wader leg and not enough cloths, I was pretty uncomfortable until we quit around lunch time.  Kenny and my dad were throwing Rapala CDs and other assorted treats.  My pop got at least 3, with 2 coming on the plug and one on Powerbait, which at this point in his fishing career should not count as a fish or fishing!  But it was a tough morning, so we let him have that one. 

I brought no fish to hand, though I did hook and briefly fight 3 trout.  Two half-heartedly chased a streamer and came off after a short battle, and one took a pheasant tail basically dragging the bottom of a deep hole.  At least Ken and my dad saw that one, I think. 

I don’t believe I would have had better luck elsewhere; it was just a weird weather day with crazy barometer and stalled fronts.  And I wouldn't have had a good time busting chops with my old man and Kenny (who ties something new on his line every 5 minutes, and we let him know about it).  My dad was looking pretty fierce in his buff too, but I am not sure guys who wear fishing buffs use Walmart trout paste.

If you look closely you can see the buff...  Not bad for 68 years old, though