July 25, 2017 – A Long Time Coming, a Short Time Out, an Itch Effectively Scratched – Valley Creek

Until today, the closest I have been to fish in over two weeks.

Up until today, I had not been fishing in over two full weeks, which may be a new record for me and not one I hope to repeat.  Tami had ACL surgery on a full tear, and on her right leg too, so I have been playing nurse with part-time help from a boy and a lot of friends and family.  I am eating well, too well, and not getting my long walks in waders carrying gear which helps keep equilibrium, both physically and mentally.  The recovery will be long—no driving for Tami until at least late-September since the knee in question belongs to her Jersey lead-footed right leg—but it has not been bad, actually.  The whole gang was sort of cocooning in the hot, humid dog days, eating, watching movies, napping, playing games, eating, napping.  She had the surgery on a Monday, and by Wednesday, we had her in a Whole Foods on an electric cart, by Friday in a donated wheelchair at the swim club.  She is working up the gall to request a ride in the handicap pool crane, for lack of a better term, that could deftly lower her into the drink.  In the meantime, the boy or I will keep her cool with iced coffees and buckets nearby in order to spritz and refresh.  

Just a perfect Valley wild brown to start my morning.

Friends have been getting Lukas, our son who has been helpful beyond his years, outside for adventures to break the monotony, and Tami’s friends are starting to fill her calendar with short outings and visits, which will help keep her sane.  I am teaching two classes right now and prepping for the fall, and I even went out to see live music with my buddy Alan on Saturday night, so I have been occupied, but the smell of rain and the cooler temperatures predicted for today had me fidgeting in the garage yesterday.  Without prompting, conscious prompting, at least, Tami suggested I take the morning and go fishing.  Well, the rain was heavy and the flooding pretty bad in places, but I knew Valley would come down quickly.  Because it is so close to home, I would also not waste valuable time driving instead of fishing.  Valley fishes well in the rain, sometimes really well, so I may have chosen it even if I had all the time in the world today and not just a few hours.

Rising water is better than falling, and it doesn't stay this color long, but life is good sometimes while it is...

The gauges showed two spikes overnight, but the water was back in its banks, albeit chocolaty and swift, when I arrived just before sunrise.  I normally don’t fish the National Park area except in the winter, but I figured the mud and rain would keep crowds of fisherman and tourists to a minimum today.  I was right.  I saw one guy suiting up in a parking lot on my way home and may have seen three joggers until 9:30 AM when I turned to hike back to the Subaru.  I did hook and lose my biggest fish in plain view of the passing cars and trucks on Route 252, but that is part of Valley in the Park’s charm, I suppose.  I was not distracted, just too tired and ready to go home when a big fish, maybe 15 inches grabbed the mighty Roberdeau streamer, one pretty large for the average Valley fish, especially on my little 3 weight rod, though not this particular fish.  I thought I’d hooked a floating stick, something soft but heavy floating in the current, not a big colored-up wild brown that took one head shake and swam free.  Most of the morning, I had success with a basic black bugger with a hot bead in size 12 or 14, intentionally small,  maybe just slightly bigger than the minnow and other fish fry pushed up to the banks in high water during the summer months.  

Longest and palest of the morning.

On my walk back to the ‘Ru, I decided to try to “fish large,” having already landed a half a dozen on the small streamer.  I should have started with the larger streamer!  I moved two very nice fish and hooked the 15 incher on the bigger streamer.  Hindsight…  I just wanted action of any kind after the dry spell, but next time it rains this well, I will be more intentional in a few lairs I know historically hold larger trout and did so today.

A plump one with the hot bead bugger.

I did catch some nice fish for Valley, at least 6 in about 3.5 hours and up to 12 inches, and I turned a bunch of smaller fish too.  Before tying on the big Sam G Roberdeau special, I did try to nymph a couple runs with nary a hit.  Even when I left for home at 10 AM, the creek was still moving a lot of brown and gray water, so I am not surprised.  A few fish did show themselves chasing emergers, so later in the day may have been good for swinging wets or nymphing.  With the warm run-off in the creek, it was nearly 66 degrees, but I am sure it will come back down with the cooler nights and ebbing run-off.  The Skuke looked angry on the way home, and the Wissy had road closures all around my neighborhood, so I appreciate how quickly little ol’ Valley bounces back and how productive it can be after a good rain.  I also appreciate that my wife, even in all her pain, was thinking of me this week, as I have been on nurse, (bad) housekeeper, and (bad) chef autopilot for 15 days, and I didn’t even know how bad I needed this little trip!

Just barely beat the next round of rain

July 24, 2017 – Deep Thoughts # 6 - Don't Let the Dog Days of Summer Go to the Dogs

No dogs off-leash allowed....

I am not a dog person.  There are a few I have liked over the years, sure.  There was my maternal grandmother Peg’s (RIP “Candy Gram”) beautiful Irish setter, who just sat in the sunporch and let us lavish him with attention.  There was Jet, my late Uncle Jack’s loyal, athletic, and oddly unvocal black lab—my first experience with a true hunting dog, running with wild enthusiasm through fields flushing birds for my dad and I to miss and Jack to take down with one long-distance shot and a sarcastic statement about my dad’s aptitude with a shotgun.  Besides his proclivity for humping legs (to his owner’s delight, no doubt) and, later in his old age, for odd carbuncle growth around his head, face, and neck, I’ll allow that Ward’s Bandit was a good dog.  I actually walked Dolf’s Triangle, a big, attention-loving Chessie, and cleaned up its poop when Dolf was on crutches after a shoveling accident.  I will concede Charleston, the three-legged mutt whom an old girlfriend nursed back to health after a run-in with a car, a subsequent amputation, and a little brain damage that made him sillier and removed further any killer instinct from his already mild-mannered genes.  More recently there’s Dewey the Golden, who is about as mitchy, goofy, and kind-hearted as his owner, Eric, who would no doubt be a golden retriever if reborn again for the first time (that or a full-sized poodle).  This list is short, as you can plainly see.  

Bad hips and disinterested kids

I had a dog for a while as a kid, a Brittany/Springer spaniel mix that I had dreams of turning into a bird dog, whether she would point like dad or flush like mom an unknown that I could work out by reading the right books, but she had bad hips and not much interest from the rest of the clan and so eventually ended up with another owner.  At least I hope she ended up with another owner.  My family has an infamous history with pets, from Bernard the turtle who got out and slowly found his demise under the blades of a lawnmower in a neighbor’s yard to Joey the cat, whose story still causes psychic pain for my sister.  Not until we got Lukas a cat for his ninth birthday, a funny runt tortie rescue named Lucy that I begrudgingly love, I suppose, did I fully understand what it would be like to lose a pet that you cared about.  It’s a lot like having a kid—something you can’t fully “get” until you have your own.  I feel guilt to this day because I was given hush money by my old man to take his feline namesake to “college,” a couple of imaginary female friends who wanted a cat that had worn out his welcome in our home by being downright surly and quick with the claws on any unsuspecting family member, neighbor, or random kid waiting innocently at the bus stop. In the torturous considerations leading up to me finally loading the uncharacteristically docile cat into my VW bug for his trip to college, I ran out of ideas and punted, leaving the poor thing with a feral colony at a country club nearby enough that I kept expecting an Incredible Journey scenario to unfold.  Sorry Amy!  Joe’s twenty dollars would have put a lot of gas in a VW at that time, and I was a poor college student given a thankless mission.

What anthropomorphism hath wrought?

Americans love them some dog.  If it’s not bad enough that we give valuable green space to let rich guys and aspirational mooks hit a white ball around chemically-induced landscapes and we still bury bodies in the ground as if we are not going to run out of ground—it’s simple arithmetic, no?—every new park now has to have a dog park too?  If you don’t give the dog owners a dog park, they will just take one, like Pastorius Park in Chestnut Hill. How much real estate, water, and other natural resources are used to make dog food, dog toys, dog clothing, dog exercise, dog enrichment, not to mention medical talent and supplies to treat dog illnesses, ethically treatable or not.  Are there studies done on the impact of dog waste or are all the earth-loving environmental scientists also pet owners, so they look the other way? 

“When dogs are leashed, it is easier for owners to find and remove their dog’s waste, which, when left in parks, can be washed into streams and waterways. Pet waste contains high levels of nutrients and ammonia that are released when it washes into creeks during rain events. These pollutants reduce water quality and increase algae growth and reduce oxygen levels in the water, which is particularly harmful to fish during warm months when water temperatures rise.” - Maura McCarthy, executive director of Friends of the Wissahickon

I usually don’t lose sleep over the carbon footprint of dogs, but I do get my panties in a bunch about how they help destroy trout streams, endanger wildlife, and inconvenience the rest of the non-dog-loving world—all because the vast majority of dog owners who frequent the Philadelphia area’s parks are scofflaws, and we don’t have the law enforcement or any power to curb their enthusiasm for watching their domesticated animals run “free” in the woods.  It’s gotten so bad that the Friends of the Wissahickon (FOW) tried a grass roots PR campaign and, with its trail ambassadors, a low risk stop and pamphlet program, which based on my unscientific though frequent (I do amass quite a random sampling of fishing trips to the Wissahickon, mind you) research has not yet worked in Wissahickon Park, but may be gaining traction at the aforementioned Pastorius Park.  I saw at least 8 dogs swimming off leash in the creek when I took Team Bucci fishing earlier this month, at least two chasing young David’s bobber after bounding into the water from the trail above. 

Lululemon lady had moxie, at least.

I still remember fishing a beautiful wintering hole on Valley Creek on a hushed, snowy January morning, when a lululemoned lady of luxury let her dog sprint across a leash-lawed township park, a field where her own kids probably played lacrosse or cricket or some other bourgeoisie pastime more years ago than her surgery-enhanced face would portend, and plunge into the creek, hoping to swim across to say hello to me.  “I am trying to give my dog a drink, and you are here fishing?” she said, as if I was somehow in the wrong with my fishing license and my law abiding angling.  I didn’t tell her that the creek is catch and release only because of PCB’s and that Fido probably should drink Evian instead, but she had it coming.  

Signs around Valley

Many of these folks in Philly and the suburbs know better.  They are bearded hippies in REI-chic who think they love nature and want to share its bounty with their children, who are not children but are instead domesticated animals.  I love my kid, but I have never expected the world to love him, but this is how dog lovers are in many cases.  Do you want to pet him?  No thanks, but maybe if he was on a leash, I would.  Would that make us both happen, then?  There are also the macho types whose dog bones are so small that they feel the need to show the world that they can control a big dog, like a pitbull, for example, without a leash.  “Oh, he’s fine,” some kid told me many years ago, as his big German shepherd mix jumped up on my expensive breathable waders with his claws and muddy feet and nicked my knuckle with a warning bite when I pushed him to the ground.  I am not afraid of dogs, but maybe I should be a little.  My wife was mauled as a kid and has, unfortunately, passed her anxiety and disinterest in dogs onto our son.  It doesn’t help that Lukas can’t walk home from the bus stop because a bad dog owner up the street runs his dog every day, off leash, at the exact hour that the kids are coming home.  He thinks he can control her, but he walks with a cane and has no leash nearby even if he was able to hobble to fetch it.  The dog has bitten joggers and ran out in front of the school bus and cars on numerous occasions.  When we called the police, the young officer stopped on the way back down the street after his visit with the offender and said, “What do you want me to do?  He’s just an old man?”   How about enforce the law when actually present during a violation, like you are now, champ—sorry Officer Champ?

Feral dogs do scare me, however, especially since I do hike into SGL’s without a gun.  When my dad was a bow hunter, he was treed by a pack of dogs for hours until he finally put an arrow in one and they scattered long enough to allow him to get back to his truck.  Perhaps pepper spray would be more humane?  I wonder what would happen if while walking a bridle trail in Fairmount Park I suddenly felt threatened and maced a dog?  It has never come to that, yet, but I read increasing numbers of reports of attacks on humans and other dogs.  In fact, the aforementioned Pastorias Park that was co-opted as a dog park by neighbors was the site of such an attack and subsequent response from police and the Friends of Pastorias Park.  I know why this is low on the Philadelphia police list of priorities, even in C-Hill where burglary may be the apex of issues, but why are so-called friends of green spaces blind to it too?  I commend the effort by the FOW, and this is why I finally posted a link here and wrote about this.  The boy and I are thinking about taking him and his outgoing and cute buddy Thomas on a stop and pamphlet tour a couple weekends this fall.  If you won’t do it for the wildlife, the birds who feed and nest near the ground, the deer flushed into busy roads, or the riparian flora trampled into muddy pulp, the water quality and, in turn, the fish who choke on the shit-enhanced algae blooms that follow storms, or me who wet wades in the Wissy once in a while, hopefully not with open cuts and abrasions, then maybe you’ll do it for the children?  I don’t expect everyone to agree with me, but the truth is that the law is on my side for good reason(s).  Here is the link to the full “open letter” published in some local papers some years back: Win Win When You Keep Your Dog on a Leash.

July 9, 2017 - A Fun Impromptu Outing with Team Bucci – Wissahickon Creek

Smiles all around.

Not 30 minutes after I resigned not to fish this weekend, I got a text from my buddy Bucci.  He and his son David wanted to go fishing on Sunday.  I proposed catfishing on the Skuke, he shot back a pond not far from him for bass, and I countered with wet wading the Wissy in some spots he had not seen, that way he could drop a couple pins on maps for next year’s spring trout season.  That seemed to work for all.  You see, Bucci’s son David is 13 and really loves fishing.  This is the same father/son duo that I took out this spring, while David was on crutches, and they scored their first stream trout.  We had to drag David off the creek this morning, and he was glowing after catching at least 20 different panfish on Trout Magnets.  He kicked his dad’s butt, but Bucci and Little Bucci both had fun.  Even though Lukas was tired (too many nights spent at the swim club until closing time this week) he got up at 6:30 AM and was a good sport too.  He wasn’t too interested in the fishing today, but he was a good scout, photographer, and net man.

Team Bucci working a down tree and enjoying wet wading on a warm morning.

I started out trying to “guide” the Bucci boys, letting them toss a Rapala up into a few prime runs, followed by another rod with a Magnet if nothing chased the plug, and they each hooked some fish that way.  Big Bucci even hooked a couple decent-for-the-Wissy smallmouth.  I did bring a fly rod rigged up to Czech nymph in case I got the urge (which I knew I would.)  Eventually, I just showed them spots, led by Lukas our trail guide, and they ventured off to where they thought fish would live.  They had a steady pick of bass, rock bass, bluegills, and other sunfish.  Between cheering people on, plying the boy with snacks, and taking photos, I snuck into a couple spots that looked trouty, and landed a couple little bass and two trout, including a fat 14 inch rainbow that was nearly perfect and probably 2 pounds!  Only one bass took the anchor fly, a hare’s ear or prince, while the others took a pink SJ worm with which I was hoping to coax out of hiding a larger smallmouth or two.

A good fish still left behind.  Photos by the boy.

The bigger fish gave the boys a thrill, and he was released in good shape after everyone got a look in the net and Lukas took a few artistic shots.  Performing one of his other duties, Lukas took a water temperature at the first hole around 8 AM, and it was only 66 degrees, but the third spot we hit was up above 70 at 11 AM, about when we quit.  The trout party is over, but a couple might make it this year if it stays cool, so I released both of them this morning.  We actually gave a spectator, perhaps homeless or at least a little down on his luck, a few sunnies and rock bass to eat (just another reason that fishing the Wissy in the city is “unique”) so we did some selective harvesting…

Another average bow left behind too.

By 11 AM, it was getting hot, even though the morning’s weather was perfect, breezy, and humidity free.  We let the boy lead us out of the gorge, and Dave, Lukas, and I waited at the top while young David shouted, “Just one more.”  I wish one of the boys would have caught the trout, but I really did step in as the cleanup hitter after they moved on.  I teased young David because he was like a vacuum with the sunnies, so how could he miss the trout after catching 7 other fish from the same run!  He really loves it, so that was a treat to watch.

July 6, 2017 – A Good Day Not to Wear Birkenstocks – Northampton County at a Slower Pace

I could get used to this "old bull" kind of fishing...

A few days ago, I spent some time in the garage working on a pair of my wading boots, just replacing the laces and a few studs that had worn down or popped out over the course of the busy spring.  Those refreshed boots were still in the garage this morning when I arrived at the Bushkill Creek in Northampton County, PA, a good hour from home.  While I wouldn’t go to the supermarket sporting the look, and I am more aging hipster than aging folkie or Deadhead, I do rock the ‘stocks and socks look in the summer for the ride to my fishing destinations.  It is nice to take off the sweaty socks and zip off the pant legs and just let the feet breath in the Birkenstocks on the ride home, too.  Because there was a chance of rain this morning, I thankfully wore a pair of slip-on skateboard shoes that I use sort of like Merrell Jungle Mocs, just something to slip on for driving to a fishing spot or walking to get the mail.  Today, those slip-ons became my wading boots…  It was certainly a hot look and about as stable as my first pair of rubber hip boots when I was 10.

At least it wasn't Birkenstockingfoots.

I took the ride this morning hoping that the tricos, miniscule black and white mayflies, would be hatching, and they were in force for a while.  As the opening shot tries to illustrate, I changed tactics today and just sat a lot in the morning waiting for a few steady risers.  I am not a dry fly fisherman, really, but I also don’t ignore what’s happening and change up accordingly.  Plus, this was perfect fishing for my footwear today, and perhaps good practice for when I am 80 years old and take the “old bull” approach to fly fishing.  Plenty of tricos and small blue winged olives were present at 5:50 AM, when I made it to the first hole where I expected them.  A spinner fall never really materialized, and the two fish I targeted appeared to be just bulging the surface for emergers.  The sky was alive with dancing mayflies, but only 4 fish were rising, and only two of them with any regularity.  I saw one beauty of a brown rise once to a caddis emerger, a big splashing take, coming right out of the water, and I have seen a huge fish in this hole show himself a couple times over the last year or two, but neither one showed again today.

A trico on performance enhancing drugs fooled a couple on the surface.

I finally got up from my log bench to target one steady riser who was right up against a cement wall, bulging at unseen flies in the film.   The water was too dirty and the light too low to see if I got a refusal, but he did not take two different trico patterns.  I did not put him down either, though, so before trying a BWO, I tried a super-sized trico—aka a flying ant pattern.  Two casts later, and he took it well.  After the first jump, I could tell it was a brown, and I was hoping wild, but as I brought him to the net, while pretty, he was likely a holdover who migrated from stocked waters or got pushed over some upstream barriers in high water.  He fought well, anyway, and I was really happy to get him to take the dry fly after the tricos were passed up.  

A rainbow in fine shape who took the ant too.

A few minutes later, I got a rainbow working below that brown to take the same ant pattern in black and while, but then it quieted down for 15 or 20 minutes before it began to rain.  The hole is so deep and slow in many parts that I decided to change gears for a while and fish some pocket water upstream.  Sometimes the rain brings out a steadier hatch of BWO’s, so I could always come back to the hole and prospect later.  I sat again and rigged up to Czech nymph but had nary a hit covering a couple runs upstream.  The wading mocs were a bit tricky, and I had to use a makeshift wading staff a few times, so I didn’t go full steam or wade to my full booted potential.  The creek is pretty low, even though the rain is giving it some color and helping to keep the temperature in the low to mid 60’s, so the pocket water was looking pretty shallow and a bit weedy in spots.  

One nymphing, but I should have had a couple more!

A spinner fisherman had hit a couple of my spots already, so that didn’t aid the success of my upstream hobble.  He turned back upstream when he saw me, but he had already plied his trade far enough down that I didn’t have high hopes.  I returned to the first hole and added some (even) heavier flies and an Airlock indicator, hoping to scare up a couple more before quitting for the morning.  I got one more on a caddis pupa, but I also missed at least two other solid hits.  I have noticed that I am not as decisive with the indicator hookset when I have been nymphing without it for a while.  With a tight line, I often feel hits and have no problem giving fish a good set with 4X.  I noticed when I was on the Lehigh River last week that I hesitated a millisecond or two on a couple hooksets and lost fish as a result.  Nothing remaining conscious about the issue and some positive self-talk before wading in can’t cure, but I did lose a decent fish on a crappy hookset today and all but ignored another hit that was practically swimming sideways with it before I set.  More homework to do before I can switch hit with total confidence.

Well, I caught a few fish, two on a dry, and without the aid of wading boots, so it was a mildly successful morning and a relaxing way to fish.  My poor shoes were full of gravel, but thankfully I have no holes in the waders yet.  I am headed to Point Pleasant, NJ for a couple days next week with the family, so I may pack a rod and some bucktails for fluke, but I am not sure I will get out this weekend.  The rain tonight had me thinking about some small limestoners in the area, but I think I need to stay home and grade papers on Friday before taking the boy to the pool.  Hopefully, the cool water and the tricos persist this month, as I am not totally ready to give up the trout fishing just quite yet.

July 5, 2017 - Good Flows and Decent Temps Continue in SEPA – A Short, Productive One in the Oley Valley

A pretty holdover on a good morning in Berks County.

After spending most of the Fourth at the pool throwing the boy and other people’s children around the shallow end, I was sore and up early this morning.  It was 4 AM when I rolled out of bed to drink some water, high fiving Tami (and Lucy the cat) doing the same thing, so I decided to fish a Berks County stream that got not one but two spikes of rain this weekend into Monday and was still 10 or 12 cfs over the summer average..  It also has some limestone influence in the tributaries, so it was a good bet water temperature-wise, too.  As another bonus, in addition to the holdover stocked fish, I usually find a couple wild browns to keep it a little more interesting.

Good flows, cool enough, and even a stain = not bad for early July.

The water was still stained and only 66 degrees in a shallow unshaded spot when I arrived at 5:30 AM.  It was 65 F at a deeper, more forested run later in the morning about 9 AM, so the fish showed no signs of stress yet.  I was hoping to see some BWOs rising or even caddis, but besides the gnats harassing me, I was not so lucky with the bugs.  However, I went back to my bread and butter and Czech nymphed about a dozen fish out of the creek in only 3 hours of fishing and walking.  I had the place to myself, and the conditions were very favorable for early July, so it was a good morning and under an hour drive from home, which is a bonus with such a short morning bite.

A short fat, pale one.

Another little wild one with prettier colors

I started off catching two little wild browns not far from my parking spot on a small dropper that could resemble a BWO, and I caught another later on my jigged hare’s ear anchor fly, but none were over 10 inches.  I did catch a better brown that was a hold-over with good fins and colors, just not wild.  I also caught a couple other stocker browns and a few bigger rainbows.  One bow was really gorgeous!  He had a tough guy jaw and good fins, probably from hanging in a prime undercut bank untroubled for a few months or more.  I tried to take a photo of a larger bow in my hand later in the morning, but he was not having it.  The result was a blurry show of force before I let him drop.  It is too warm to go giving fish undue prodding for photos, so he earned his quick freedom flight.

A fattie doing a scene from Jacob's Ladder.

I only covered about 500 yards of creek and didn’t waste my time with the slower pools, except one that can sometimes produce a good fish.  Today it produced the biggest chub in the creak, the über chub, and also a respectable smallmouth bass of about 12 inches.  I did catch a couple more trout, including another stocker brown in good shape once I moved up into the riffles ahead of the hole.  At this point it was about 9AM, so I took a water temp reading, chilled out a minute, and watched for risers to the sparse olives coming off, then headed back downstream when nothing developed.  I caught at least one more on the return trip and turned one other in a hole that held nothing for me on the way up, so I would call that a productive stop.  I was back on the home turf by 11 AM, tired from an early wake-up, but pleased that I snuck another trout trip in this summer.  If I am so fortunate, I may chase a trico hatch in Northampton County tomorrow at dawn before heading for the beach next week.

A great looking rainbow who has claimed a prime hiding spot.

Thanks, ladies...