March 13, 2018 - Under the Weather, Under the Water, but Definitely Beating the Winter Fishing Over/Under – Fishing Creek and Spring Creek

Fishing Creek in late winter.

Since I am on spring break this week, I took another tour of Central PA with Sam on this unsettled day and, despite one minor (?) setback, had an exceptional 8 to10 hours of late winter nymphing.   I drove away from the latest in-progress Nor’easter, one with not quite the power of the last two, but I still had an interesting predawn trip in a wintery mix all the way to about Dauphin, PA.  The temperature hovered above freezing for most of the early morning drive (4 AM departure instead of 3 AM—thanks Daylight Savings Time!) but in higher elevations or raised roads and bridges I did feel the all-wheel-drive slip out of cruise control.  I even witnessed a couple spun-out cars on overpasses.  Thankfully, the conditions just got colder and dry as I climbed up to Lewistown and down into Happy Valley.  When I arrived at Sam’s house in 28 degrees and a stiff breeze, I kind of missed 35 and rain, honestly, but we just took our time making a plan and getting started, catching up on a recent trip he made to the White River to target early spring pigs with big streamers.

Not a bad start to the morning.

Sam was not feeling well, sick with a cold for a couple of days, but he was game for an adventure and, despite being a little slower and quieter than Sammy the Mayor of State College, he stayed out there with me for a lot of daylight, which I appreciated immensely, even more so in retrospect looking at the shots of the exceptional fish we caught in such beautiful surroundings.  We started out taking a snowy ride into the famed “Narrows” of Fishing Creek.  The creek was a little colored up and the valley itself still had a couple inches of snow, but in the high-20’s there was no danger of snow melt.  A great sign of things to come, I actually got bounced on my second or third lob of a tandem of stonefly and midge dropper.  Still a bit stiff and foggy from my long ride, I guess, I also missed another fish before I willed myself to wake up and concentrate.  Sam landed one in a perfect winter eddy, and I landed a couple pretty 12 inchers on the stonefly nymph before taking an unfortunate knee(s) in the creek, a creek probably 35 to 37 degrees, in a windy and 28 degree mountain valley.

Sam found them on the inside seams with consistency.

My Simms waders are out in Bozeman, MT being replaced or repaired under warranty, so I am in backups for a few more weeks.  I have been making due with my breathable bootfoots and some strap-on spikes, and I even borrowed a pair of stocking foots from my dad for this trip, but I decided to tempt fate (and avoid the unsightly look of “mangina,” as Dad’s waders were a snug medium) and just go with the bootfoots when I dressed at the Subaru this morning.  Besides this one potential fiasco, they were totally fine, but dammit they could have ruined the trip.  A log that rolled and freed itself in the current was the culprit, not a rock, and the damn thing made me do a double-dip because the current was pushing it under my feet.  It took two arms elbows deep to right the ship.  Sam was justly concerned about just how wet I had gotten, but I was able to finish out the run and catch some beautiful fish, including two really quality fish, the best of the day, before taking a break around 11 AM to crank the heat in the ‘Ru, change cloths, dry fleece gloves and sleeves, and eat something hot in town.  Layers of wet but warm wools and synthetics saved the morning.

A half a dozen nice fish, up to 17 inches and wide-bodied.

In a stylish but dry pair of stirrup-ed fleece wading pants now, I drove us back into the valley after lunch to give Fishing Creek another shot in another stretch of good water.  While the bite was not as strong as the first of the morning stop, we still landed a few more nice fish before deciding that we had hit a lull.  We caught a lot fish, a few more than a dozen between us, if I had to guess, and at least 5 were between 15 and 17 inches, so it really was a fantastic morning in spite of the inconvenient flirtation with hypothermia and all…

Another solid fish from Fishing Creek.

We checked out a couple other spots lower in the valley, but Sam was not loving the color of the water, and while blue-winged olives were sporadically coming off the water, nothing was taking notice.  That had not been the case for the last few days on Spring Creek, so Sam made the call to head closer to home and maybe even experience some dry fly fishing to end the trip.  When we arrived at Spring Creek, it was clear that BWO’s were out in force.  We had a snow squall or two, and while not as thick, the olives could have passed for mid-March flurries.  Sam targeted a few risers in some flatter water, while I changed out my flies, adding a small pheasant tail to my dropper tag, and worked the outsides and insides of some faster runs, sometimes working different sides of the same stretch of creek.

No not a hatch, but one of a couple snow squalls

Sam had some action on top, but when we met up again, fishing the edges of the shallower riffles was really effective. Even sick, with snow squalls and head congestion forcing a little vertigo (think snow globe), Sam can sneak a pair of nymphs under even the toughest targets, and he caught a bunch of fish that I may not have contended with at this stage of the game, perhaps even fresh and in good health.  I did alright too, though, adding another half a dozen fish to my already good total for the day.  The fish were on the larger side of my Spring Creek average, which is not huge, even though plenty of big fish do exist in there—we watched one about 17 from a bridge, suspended waiting for emerging olives.  My last fish of the day, the one where I said, “It’s almost 6 PM, and this has been a really good day, so let’s call this one good,” was probably 14 inches and all head and teeth.  

A beauty from Spring Creek, which was also fishing well.

All caffeined up and finally completely dry, I didn’t dally at Sam’s place.  After dropping him and his stuff off, so he could get some soup and some rest, hopefully, I got back in the Subaru and headed for home.  Following a much drier and quicker commute to SEPA (and the requisite Sheetz Shamwich) I was in bed by 10 PM.  After lugging around bootfoots (with strap-on spikes, too, mind you) for 10 hours, I know I will be sore by Wednesday afternoon or, if not, by Thursday when I get up, but it was well worth the trip once again.  Sam and his buddies are lucky to have so much water to choose from and such high concentrations of gorgeous wild fish.  Not to get all sappy, but I am also lucky to know a mitch who lives out there and is generous with his time and knowledge, all for the price of some beers and my charming conversational skills, and lucky to have a wife who indulges and accommodates my sickness on a weekday trip.

Pretty fish, damp angler, ill photographer.