September 27, 2019 – Low Expectations and Low Water, High Sun, and High Holed – Northampton County Limestoner

Making the most out of this challenging September.

I was not all that inspired to fish low water and high sun again today, but it was too nice to sit home, so I took a relatively short drive to a certain heavily pressured limestoner in Northampton County (one of many, I am afraid!). I arrived around 9 AM and was happy to see no other cars in the lot.  Early in the week, during a break from grading or reading, I had rigged up my 3 weight nymphing rod in the garage with 6X and small bugs—a perdigon and a drowned ant on the dropper—anticipating that if I got out this week the creeks would still be very low and clear.  I was not wrong, and I caught my first fish of the morning tight to cover with the perdigon, but I think I was using 6X nylon by mistake, and it may have seen better days.  Stubborn, I lost three anchor flies before I retied with 5X fluorocarbon—okay, maybe lazy is the word.  I guess I was a little miffed too because some dude high holed me not long after I released the first little wild brown.  For most situations, but especially nymphing, fly fishermen work upstream, so we usually give each other space, especially upstream.  On a day like today, that stealth was essential for any possible success.  Well, dude may have been new or ignorant, but he stepped into and fished the two holes above me.  I don’t know what he was throwing, maybe blind casting a dry because there were tricos swarming, though no spinner fall yet, but something about the way he was moving around so much told me to bite my tongue and relax.

Pretty morning, the first week of fall.

The extent of my anger manifested in feigning deafness when he passed behind me (downstream, thank god, without hitting any of my intended targets further upstream) and asked, “Throwing trikes?”  I guess my gut was right because I was obviously high sticking a pair of nymphs with a bright-ass three foot piece of indicator tippet and targeting riffles and pocket water.  I felt a little bad for ignoring a mitch, but I had been high holed by a less than stealthy fisherman on a creek with miles of fishable water….  A better man, or one who had fished more than three days this month, may have taken the time to educate him, but there is always the chance that the high-holer is not naïve but just a douche, so I just stayed in my lane today.  I did not catch any more fish in the spots he cast into before I did, nor did I expect to, but I did not let it ruin my day.  I had a few nice riffles in mind upstream, so I moved quickly towards those spots. 

Before I abandoned the 6X nylon that had not aged well.

While good in theory, the perdigon and other small bugs were a pain to get down deep in the type of water that looked the fishiest—deep, dark colored pockets within the braided water.  I eventually went with the pink tag fly on the anchor and a really sparse pheasant tail—tailless, so more like a brown walt’s worm, really—on the dropper.  My first of two holdover rainbows took the anchor fly in a deeper seam.  I can’t really remember rain, but I know that it HAD been a rainy year, still above normal after a few weeks of minimal precipitation, so this stretch of wild trout stream now has a fair share of bows that have washed downstream.  The water is cold, so the bows looked pretty good, unlike the ones I tangled with earlier in the month at another creek in the same county.  I was happy to stick a couple more wild browns though.  They took the dropper fly in water that was just a little less bouncy, though not much less. 

A couple white-tipped hold-over rainbows.

Thankfully, I had the remaining water to myself.  The only other soul out on this stretch was a painter doing the plein air thing.  I could only see his landscape oil from across the creek, but it looked rather good, although not as fine at the natural light I was experiencing bouncing off riffles and turning leaves and trout just starting to darken with pre-spawning colors.  I caught one fish in front of him that did not break his concentration, but he definitely noticed the next four fish when I got above him.  Maybe a festively fall-plump angler with graying beard will make it into the final painting?  Besides another smaller rainbow, all white-tipped fins but skinny, I landed three more wild browns in the next 25 yards of broken water before I ran into a long deep pool.

A couple males were darkening and coloring up.

It was nearly 12 PM, the time when I had decided to quit, but the fishing had improved since 10 AM not gotten worse, so I decided to see what was above this long pool.  Had I more ambition, I may have retied and fished a dry, as I passed a small group of decent fish taking spinners, perhaps tricos, though I did see some larger, like size 16 olives around too.  I was content to watch them for a while, instead.  When I got to the head of this long, long pool, the riffles were disappointingly shallow, so no more fish for the tally.  More disappointing was a posted sign, however.  There is every possibility that the sign was a ruse, but looking at maps tonight it appears that a short stretch may actually be private property, so I was fine with not continuing to push upstream.

The Silver Fox said this one looked angry!

I walked a worn deer trail until I returned to familiar waters, but then I crossed to the other side of the creek.  The painter was still working, and this time I got a better peek at what he was doing from this side of the creek when we greeted each other.  Because one usually productive hole had not produced a fish on the way up, and because it was still in a bit of shade, I decided to give it a shot before quitting for good.   I dropped one more small brown when my rod got caught up in some low hanging branches during the brief battle, but I also managed to land a bonus stocked brook trout to end the trip.  He was ugly looking, dark and hook-jawed, so maybe his body was changing due to the imminent spawning season, or maybe he was stocked that way.  Good luck, fella, I thought.  But maybe he’s more fertile than I know and will sneak in and make us a tiger trout this fall! 

Mine was still the only car in the lot, so I have no clue where the other fisherman came from in the morning, or if he was still downstream somewhere.  I am glad I did not let the minor incident ruin my good time.  I ended up landing 7 trout and dropping the one, so it was not a bad three and a half hours of fishing for the conditions.  Maybe the trace of morning rain and fog brought a change in the barometer that they liked, or maybe the weather has been nearly the same for so long now that the fish have just resigned to eat when they need to whether that means becoming heron food or not.  The larger fish are certainly hunkered down, though.  To see a wild fish over 11 inches long, I was debating some night fishing a couple times this week, but I am glad I got to catch some fish in the beautiful, painting-worthy daylight today instead.  I am not ruling out a streamer in the dark yet, but I am secretly hoping for a tropical storm to make landfall in the near future—I just try not to look at long-term forecasts.  The limestoners are hanging in there because of all the water we received earlier in the year, but things are beginning to get too low in some creeks.  I would not be surprised if the diversion of fall stockies is delayed a while next month until the water temps lower and the flows improve in area freestoners.  I owe my dad a trip, and I actually secured waders and boots for the boy.  All we need now is a change in the weather.

Pale and plumping.