April 28 and 29, 2020 – Chasing the Stockies Close to Home – SEPA

Fork-sticking and art.  No fish.

Yesterday afternoon was warm and sunny, so I took the boy out for recess around 5 PM and spent an hour at the local pond.  It was crowded, as expected.  It seems like folks all get stir crazy at the same time, like 3 PM when the kids have had enough of schoolwork, maybe.  We looked, but the parking lot for the Wissy near my house had no spots.  Even if there were one remaining spot, I would have driven on.  Sad to say, I have not fished the Wissahickon in 2020.  I have logged enough trips for a lifetime, but with the boy, and even Ward, wanting to fish, it would have been nice to have a normal stocking year with fish spread out in my old favorite runs and holes.  We found parking and a patch of open real estate at the pond, but we could not buy a hit on the Rapalas.  The PowerBait Guild was catching for sure, but even if that were in my wheelhouse of skills anymore, I would rather swim a plug and catch nothing, I think!  The boy, well, I am sure he would just like to catch a fish.  I tried, though.  We found someone’s leftover worms and, after he made an art project (pictured above), the boy selected a few lively ones to bait a trout magnet with.  We soaked them for 30 minutes without even a sunfish or carp bite, so recess was just casting practice and art class this day.

Some fish very shallow.

The end of my week and the weekend are really packed with work, but I found myself caught up this afternoon.  I decided to fish a local creek for a couple hours with low expectations of finding real estate or even fish.  I arrived around 4 PM and fished to 6 PM and, happily, I found a parking spot (the last one) and no one fishing the riffles.  Plenty of families were out walking and fishing the holes.  I even saw a little girl reel one in, which is the upside of the pandemic upside-down world.  Avoiding the obvious spots and fishing really shallow, bouncy water, I ended up catching 9 trout in a couple hours.  All but one took a size 16 pheasant tail with a pink bead; the other took a size 16 tag fly I was using as the anchor.  Hits were subtle, so the long time holdovers may be keyed into small bugs.  The Silver Fox has been here in the evening when fish rise like crazy to midges, and Pete said he caught some on a midge today, so I probably willed them to eat these bigger bugs.  Happy to do it, though!  Better than a nap?

Some fall stockies with white tips, some spring stockies without, good flows, good times.

April 25, 2020 – Must be the Season of the Mitch – SEPA Blueline

Some stealth paid dividends.

First the good stuff: Eric and I have fished more this year so far that most years, and I enjoy fishing with him a good deal.  We work well together and are not competitive, except with ourselves.  We also picked a perfect year to explore our new honey hole, a SEPA blueline that we, due to Eric’s connections, have been able to make our social distancing destination.  Three trips and nary a hiker.  One dude on an ATV today and a farmer on a tractor last visit.  Last time we caught numbers, with some good fish in the mix, but today with few exceptions we caught only decent fish—and a couple bonuses and surprises too.  I am not a religious man, but we have been granted access to this area because of Eric’s family’s long connections to a local church, and we even park on church property, so it is hard not to think that the universe provided this spring of all springs.  It was also a beautiful time to be outdoors.  I have mentioned how most of the riparian buffer of this creek is intact, and Eric was pointing out morel mushrooms and other treats in the valley.  It was a great day, and Eric did a good job of picking up my slack, having another good fishing day, catching fish on his own flies, too. 

Cold start, but midges, then caddis showed.

The bad stuff: I had a heck of start, and an equally middling ending to the day.  I caught some fish, a good amount of fish, at least equal to Eric, and yet I started out the morning hanging multiple sets of bugs out of reach.  By mid-day, I was dragging fifteen feet of 6X tippet through the woods, until Eric noticed some time later.  I dropped the fish of the day in the best hole on the creek.  No falls or anything major, but it was just an off day.  I was just tired, I guess, but I was also getting hot and hungry the last hour.  When you see the pictures, perhaps, you will think, wah, wah, looks awesome to me.  And it was!  I just knew I was not on my A game—I never nap after fishing anymore, but after eating dinner today, I napped for nearly two hours.  It was just one of those off days.  Okay, enough of that, and on with the story….

Like last time, we followed each other over to the creek.  We left a little later than last time, though, as midday has been good for bugs.  It was still a bit foggy and the woods were wet, but the creek was only a little stained.  The flows were only slightly higher and dirtier than last visit.  It took a while for caddis to show, but there were midges in the air for most of the morning.  I had already lost a pair of bugs and was busy retying when Eric landed his first of the morning.  He was super excited because not only was the fish a decent one but also because it ate his own hare’s ear.  Another upside of the quarantine that I did not mention above was that Eric’s mom found a bunch of his tying materials while cleaning her house.  He has been tying again and sending me pics of bugs for over a week now.  They look good, too!  This wild brownie certainly agreed.  Besides my mishaps, a second theme began to emerge.  Unlike last time, we did not pull multiple fish out of the prime spots, or at least it happened with far less frequency.  Instead, we seemed to pull an alpha out or two out of there, and then the hole was done, usually before I had to blow it up by stepping in to retrieve my bugs from trees and rocks…

My best of the day.  I know, wah....

We landed nothing else at this plunge pool, but I was on deck for the next prime spot, and it did not disappoint.  I took the largest fish of the day here (by a hair—see Eric’s quality fish below).  She was sitting right out in the current of a deep run taking nymphs, and she choked my little CDC jig on the dropper.  We notched our new creek record and were pretty excited to see the size of fish steadily climbing now with each visit.  I did not have the measure net today, but this fish was close to 13 inches and wide, just a gorgeous small stream fish.  I think Eric was able to hook one more fish in this spot before we moved on to the next hole.  Before that, however, I stopped at spot that looked too good not to hold fish last time, especially considering how many fish we tangled with last time.  While Eric was taking care of some business in the woods and tweaking his rig, I took a nice 9-inch fish out of this seemingly perfect spot—a deadfall with current sweeping under and a hole dug out behind it.  Today is not representative, as most spots gave up only one fish, as I have said, but I think this is a hole to give another shot on another day too!

Will spend more time here....

More snags and retying for me at the next hole, a really productive one last visit, but we each pulled a couple fish out of here.  A couple 10-inch fish reminded me just how much I love wild trout.  This hole is a deep bend with an undercut and a huge tree in it.  When the fish hit, they head right for cover, and you can’t tell how big they are until you see them.  They are just so strong.  I love it.  In an effort to reverse the bad mojo, Eric assisted me in getting two of my bugs out of a tree after we were convinced we had blown up the hole.  I would like to say it changed the trend for good, but I can say it helped for a while.  When we hit a tributary that we debated exploring the last two times, I just went for it.  The mouth of the creek was deceptively small, but when I turned the corner I could see it opened up into at least three good holes.  Before Eric caught up to me, I got bounced in a small hole with a rake of branches over it.  I used that good mojo to sneak a cast under the rake and land a monster brook trout by the time he caught up to me.  The fish was big, like 13+ inches, and beautiful.  I always assume stocked fish when I run into a bonus fish like this, even in the middle of nowhere.  I am seldom amazed at where stockies end up and, since there was a farm within a hundred yards, I will assume someone placed it here. 

Beautiful.

Man, I was hoping wild, and I may be wrong about it being a long-time holdover, but we saw a dead one slightly smaller in the next hole upstream.  This was a big, deep hole that could be someone’s private spot, or swimming hole, but I caught two more wild browns out of the area and no more stockers, so who knows.  I am no expert in identifying native vs stocked brookies, but the pictures reveal some possible fin regrowth on the tail and even the adipose.  If this thing is wild, well then I won PA brook trout fishing for the year.  Either way, it was a fun surprise.  As I mentioned, I spent a little time on this deep hole while Eric explored upstream.  I had a couple hits while suspending the bugs under a bobber, and I landed a small wild brown that way.  I also nymphed one out of the head of the pool on the tightline too.  Eric’s recon was short-lived, as he found that the creek came very close to a meadow used by livestock.  Still, we found three more holes to visit on this tributary the next time we come to this watershed, so it was not all bad news.  Eric was also trying to map in his head where we might legally park for access to this secondary creek too, so perhaps there will be more to come.  I do know that this creek has made the wild reproduction list and has been assessed in the last decade, assessed again today by us….  

One last shot.  Man, if it is not a stockie, then it is something else!

Part of the reason that we did not dally too long was because we had yet to reach the two best holes we discovered last time we fished here.  I mentioned in my previous post about this creek two adjacent bend pools where we have turned back because, after these two, we encroach on obvious private property with little cover.  Eric was batter up for the first of the two, and it did not disappoint.  I hung way back, and he actually stayed on the bank and kneeled.  Just when we began to doubt our one good fish per one good hole metric here, sure enough, he got bounced by a little piggy.  It was close if not the same size as my good fish earlier in the day.  Looking at the pictures it is especially hard to say!  At the time, we thought it might be second place, but it almost looks like a tie.  It was a beauty and a brawler.  Determined to get a good pic, I helped with the net job, and even with my track record today, I did not mess it up for him.  This was a male and another gorgeous small stream trout.

So nice, I shared it twice.  Eric's small stream beauty.

As luck would have it, I was up next, and the hole I got to try first was by far the silliest last visit.  Unlike last time, there were no rising fish or bugs present.  I just made my first cast count, aiming for the best line that I knew would take my nymphs along a sunken log in the depths of the hole.  I got bounced lightly, almost as if I had rubbed along the log, but I set the hook anyway and turned a big fish.  I guessed 14 or 15 inches, and Eric later said something to the effect of: Not to make it worse, but I saw that fish flash when you set the hook, and it was big….  After about two head shakes, both my flies ended up high in the branches above us.  I should have expected as much today!  I probably should have let Eric have first crack!  We could raise no other fish out of this hole—also par for the course today—nor could I get another fish out of the hole from which Eric took his good one.  It took a few minutes to shake it off as we walked back downstream, but I knew that once I looked at the pictures on my phone later today that I would be grateful for such an awesome day.  Following the theme of Eric making up for my lost mojo today, it was he who landed fish on the way back down to the vehicles too, which was a fitting end to the day.  We have had a different day each time we’ve been here, but each time has been rewarding.  A rougher day for me physically, maybe mentally, but after my rare afternoon nap, I woke refreshed and grateful again that Eric and I have been able to fish this little oasis this year.

So very strong for their size.  Respect.

April 22, 2020 – Wardman Joins the Quarantine Caravan – Brodhead Creek

Success.

Ward is my longest fishing partner.  It was he who introduced fishing to me and my dad when I was probably 10 years old or younger.  I moved into the neighborhood where I spent most of my childhood, where my mom still lives—Ward’s parents too—when I was in second grade, so it all started not long after that.  He too has a history with the Brodhead, at least opening day each year for many with my dad, sometimes my brother Steve.  We used to get a hotel, drink way too much, canoodle with “cutters” (at least that one time), and still make it out that Saturday morning to catch some fresh stockies.  Sometimes we even fished for pickerel the afternoon before—I recall fishing for an additional hour because I am such a good friend while Ward tried to avoid hypothermia in my car with the heater cranked after an unfortunate step in a bog!  I am sure he has some stories about me too—I do recall a crab getting hold of both my hands in the bays behind Tuckerton when Ward still had a 27-foot Hydrasports center console.  That boat has some Joe stories too (diarrhea AND sea sickness?).  Anyway, with marriage and two daughters active in sports, Ward’s fishing had fallen off to Opening Day and an annual fluke trip in Ocean City, maybe another charter to the Cape May rips, then nothing but coaching soccer and playing, ahem, golf.  I was glad, then, when he started hinting at wanting to give fly fishing another shot.  It was around the time when I was trying to teach my dad what I knew, I believe, so I only had room in my schedule for one "sport."  Well, an opening became available fall of 2019, as I have already discussed here…

Cold and windy out there, but fish did not mind.

Ward placed orders for a bunch of things but little came before I had a free day today, so in my waders, some of my cloths, probably my dad’s fly boxes, even my rod for a couple fish, we made it happen today, perhaps the windiest day of an already windy spring.  I did not think the fresh stockies would mind, and I was correct, thankfully.  We did the separate vehicle thing, which has become de rigueur for fishing with friends this pandemic season, and met at a spot I knew would have plenty of fish but plenty of elbow room too.  It was cold, under 40 degree with a windchill below freezing, when we arrived around 9:15 AM.  The wind was honking, but we didn’t realize how good we had it because by 1 PM the sustained wind was close to 15, the gusts just silly.  Bobber weather, so the tangles, well, they were of course epic, but the fish did not mind and started to wake up in earnest around 11 AM to the sun’s warmth.

Some porkers on the big jig flies.

Ward has fly fished before a few times, a trip out West, an outing with an old boss/friend and fishing companion who belongs to one of those clubs on the upper Brodhead (Paul still owes me a visit too!) so he had his own rod, reel, and line.  It was not the perfect tool for today or the Brodhead, but it was good enough for him to catch some fish.  And, as I mentioned above, when I chose to help re-rig or make an adjustment to his leader, I let him hold my rod, and he caught a couple with it too.  Not unlike my dad after a successful day or two last year, he wants a 10-footer already, so I think he enjoyed the day despite the tough conditions.  The fish did not mind the weather, as I have explained.  They were harder to get at because of the wind and good early season flows.  A long rod did make it easier to reach over unwadable runs in order to reach soft seams and pockets.  For the Brodhead in April, however, it was very easy to get around today.  The problem was not getting around, actually; it was running into another fly guy or two once we got to the next hole.  No bait or spinner guys out, but a good number of fly fishermen in a short stretch.  As a result, we caught 97% of our fish in the same 100 yards of water until I had enough of being exposed directly to that frigging w*&$#!

Brown on the also large dropper.

Nothing fancy on flies.  Most came on a big size 10 tungsten pheasant tail jig or a slightly lighter and smaller dropper—like the pink tag fly pictured in one fish’s mouth in this post.  I don’t know when the fish were stocked or if they were stocked before April 7 when fishing was opened to the public, but they were hungry and did not look beat up from being caught multiple times.  I only caught one stocked brown, and I had a small wild one come up and pop my indicator.  The rest were rainbows, a couple of them porky, and I must have landed 20 of them.  I hooked only one that felt better, and Ward lost one that was also way better than the 11 to 12 inch average.  I had to fish the big bobber all day, and even had to add some shot a couple times, so I had two or three tangles that made me want to quit and/or cry.  Ward had some good ones too.  Besides those inconveniences, however, the conditions did not adversely affect our first fly fishing lesson.  One thing for sure, the conditions the next time we get out have a strong chance of being much, much easier!

Does "home" waters count as local waters?

Ward had to be on a work call at 3 PM, so we quit the Brodhead around 2:30 PM after another epic tangle, this time for him, and a couple more hard-won bows for me at a second hole that gave up nothing first thing in the morning.  Earlier, I worked to get into a favorite run of pocket water, looking for one wild brown or at least a good holdover, but the flows and the water temps were just a bit off for any active takers—no bugs visible either.  After leaving Ward for the afternoon, I did poke around a stretch of McMichaels that I had not fished in many years, and caddis were a bit active there—or at least visible due to the shelter of trees allowing them to fly and not get blown to Jersey.  I landed one more stocked rainbow here before heading for home.  There were fresh signs up and evidence of fishermen, but I had this little stretch to myself for a half hour.  I would have stayed a while longer if fishing were better, and I did not commit to getting home before dinner time.  The quiet, lack of wind, and easy wading was very relaxing after the morning Wardman and I had!  Still, it was a good fishing day with an old (old) fishing buddy, and I logged my first Brodhead trip of 2020.

April 15 and 18, 2020 – Blue-Lining with the Boy and a Cool, Wet Saturday Morning – SEPA Limestoners

High sun and stained water = not good.

I had another one of those busy weeks this week, and it is not over until this Sunday night when I have one final online meeting with about 12 of my students.  I did get outdoors for a while between meetings, writing, and grading, however.  Nothing too spectacular, but a bit of fun with the boy on Wednesday afternoon and a morning of relative solitude today on a usually pressured creek.  My intention on Wednesday was to head to some stocked sections of the Bushkill with the boy and the spinning rods, but on the way, I decided to take the scenic route, and so we never made it there.  Instead, we bushwhacked into two little blue lines near the Bucks County/Northampton County border.  I had not been to the first creek in over 5 years, I bet, and no doubt things have changed.  The water was a bit high with a stain, but we could not even get a fish to follow the Rapala CD5 in a couple prime holes where I once landed fish to 20 inches.  This, of course, was before all the lists of wild streams were so readily available online, so any of the short sections of unposted water probably have had a few more explorers since then.  We tried a second spot on the same creek, but without waders only had a short stretch where productive casts were even an option.  We turned over a lot of rocks and saw only a few small bugs, too, so that might help explain things as well.  Again, no waders to get out there in the riffles and really look for caddis, but I did recall more bugs here even just five years ago.  My buddy Aaron, who digs up old privies for antique bottles, would have been jealous though.  Lukas and I found some treasures under the root balls of some old upended trees, but we left them there for the ghosts to have.

Nature class.  March brown?

The second spot we visited is a very small limestoner that has close to a Class A population some years.  I also caught a 20-inch wild fish here some years ago on a Rapala CD1!  Turning rocks here, we did find more bugs, and I even moved a small stream little piggy about 13 inches long.  The fish followed a small X-Rap out of its hiding spot twice but turned back twice without eating.  The creek had no residual stain from the rains earlier in the week, and the sun was high, so I was not surprised to catch nothing here.  I just wanted the boy to see wild trout in a creek that is probably 8 feet wide at best.  We jumped on the undercut bank where that bigger fish lives, and I saw 5 or 6 more smaller fish dart upstream.  Lukas, who was looking downstream for them to scatter, saw nothing, of course!  It was still good to get outside and take a longer ride.  He got to play extra video games, and I got to listen to music a little loud.  We both got a few memorable views of the mighty Delaware River on the scenic route home too.

Good flows, cold, damp.

It has been colder and unsettled, but I saw the overnight temps were not going to dip into freezing again on Friday night, though there is a chance again tonight, so I set the alarm for 6:30 AM in case I was in the mood to fish for a little while this morning.  It was lightly raining off and on, so I knew it would keep down the crowds in the morning.  I was not wrong; I only saw one other fisherman way upstream of me at about noon when I was packing it in.  Before that I saw a few dog walkers and one dude who made the bank at a picturesque spot his home gym.  I thought it was a homeless man or something, because I do see I couple guys here when it gets warmer, but he had a mountain bike and some workout bands around trees and was making stuff happen…. 

Caught recently and probably not by a fly!

The only fish I saw before 10:30 AM was a rouge golden rainbow about 20 inches long that had already vacated the stocked waters upstream or got bucketed down here by some creative angler.  He was agitated but not eating, probably being chased around by the locals, who were also agitated now and not eating.  In the last two hours on the water, I did land 7 wild browns.  They were small, all of them 10 inches or under, but I was happy to see them after the slow start.  I had one decent one take a swipe at the pink tag fly I was using as a heavier anchor in higher flows.  He took it on the swing, and I did see a few risers in a flat hole, but I was still using a modified mono rig, and I did not feel the urge to re-rig today.  Either because of cold or high pressure, the fish were suffering from lockjaw.  Even the little ones I landed barely touched the flies on the take.  I think the brown hare’s ear was the most productive fly, but I did hook a couple others on the anchor fly too. 

The same little brown hare's ear nothing fly.

In hindsight, I should have slept in and fished when the weather had settled (or tomorrow) but this was the window I had for the most part (I have to work Sunday morning again), and I was hoping to avoid other anglers, too.  One decent fish would have changed things, of course.  It was not streamer conditions, though I did bring that rod and strongly considered a change when the first couple of hours were so dead.  There were caddis present as the day progressed, but not in any great numbers by the time I decided to quit.  This creek can be a puzzler, and it can get pounded, so I was not surprised that fishing was not awesome.  I was happy to tangle with a few fish, even if they were smaller than what I have come to expect this year.  It is good to see another year class with good numbers too.  With the warm winter, and a few days here where the average was close to twelve inches, I was wondering if they were all supersizing.  But, no, there are a bunch of 8 to 10 inches willing to eat too.  I am hoping that next week is a bit more free, and I only have just over two weeks before my spring classes all conclude, so I am staying patient and hopeful for a return to more normal spring fishing.

The future:  A different year class was active this morning.

Deep Thoughts #9 – The Upside Down

Had to throw one of the old man in there.  Every day is opening day since April 7th.

I began to notice, to feel in myself, the change weeks ago.  The world has turned upside down in obvious ways, but my small world has also turned upside down. Most of us, in theory, are stuck at home, in theory.  In eastern Montgomery County, we are not in shelter in place mode, but we are supposed to stay at home.  I am still amazed at what counts as essential work, what companies are still operating.  There is a graphics/screen printing place in town with a lot full of employee’s cars, for example.  I hope they are printing for the CDC or something, perhaps labels for much-needed electronic instruments, federal contracts?  The state parks are closed, which really just means playgrounds and bathrooms are cordoned off. Even the National Park at Valley Forge is closed, but plenty of fishing, jogging, biking is happening.  The good things I saw in March, college age kids out walking with a parent at midday, extended families on bicycles, things that at first seemed like the silver lining of this pandemic, they are now starting to impress me less.   Perhaps it is because social distancing works by all accounts, but just under half the country likely thinks it’s hogwash.  I enjoyed fishing on Opening Day Tuesday with the boy, but I also saw a dozen high schoolers high-fiving and bro-hugging.  Trips to the grocery store are a gut punch, as older folks avoid you like dinner after 4 PM.  I am not too hype to experience either again anytime soon.  My brother, once an OR nurse now conscripted as an ER nurse in harder hit New Jersey, might have to avoid his wife, daughter, and mother in law as the spike in cases makes its way through southern New Jersey.  Another sister in law, a tech at a local hospital must change out of her scrubs in the shed and shower before hugging her daughter, my 4-year-old niece.  I sat outside my mom’s house a couple Sundays ago and had a visit from six feet apart, ate her zucchini bread and drank her tea, living on the edge, but I could not hug her goodbye.  Family Zoom for 40 minutes on Easter instead of ham.

Been replaced with social distancing signs.

I thought it would be Lukas and Tami bothering me in my home office, but home is just fine.  We still like each other.  Thank goodness, because the boy’s district, following the governor’s recent presser, has closed the physical schools for the rest to the academic year.  Tami and I already knew that we weren’t going back in person anytime soon.  We kind of have a schedule, a system, now.  The cat is happy to have the company, and I like being able to get up from grading a paper and hug my wife at 11 AM.  The boy—who does not mind the virtual learning one iota—and I have done a lot of bike riding and borderline age-appropriate binge watching together after he’s completed his daily work.  My teaching load takes longer online, as I have mentioned, and I must hold more online conferences and attend more online meetings, which are not as satisfying as in-person meetings, but work has become somewhat normal too.  I will get to experience my first virtual graduation ceremony for the College this year.  I wonder if pants are optional?  What is not normal are all these people in my home away from home office, these uninvited guests at my Wednesday therapy sessions on the water.  I fish socially a lot more than I used to ten years ago.  I enjoy fishing with friends and even new friends.  I enjoy paying forward the lessons I have learned from others while on the water.  But I also fish for the solitude, the quiet.  Everyone has cabin fever now, and I don’t blame them, but every day is a weekend now for many.  I don’t often fish on weekends for the very reasons that fishing midweek during a pandemic is starting to get on my nerves now.  In the beginning, perhaps hypocritically, I knew I could fish responsibly, find spots where I would maybe see one other fisherman, avoid places like Valley—which I avoid anyway once the olives draw the spring’s first crowds—but now I am always second-guessing.  What if I drive an hour to find three other fishermen’s vehicles in the same siding?  No problem.  I drive to the next spot.  But what if the next spot is full of dogs and bicycles?  And so, and so on it goes.  I know this reveals a little neurosis, and I have been honest about my “fishing agoraphobia” before, but I am also not naïve.  

Not to get too political, but many fishermen and their politics fall on the side of social distancing as bullshit, science as subjective, science promoted by government especially suspect.  The boy and I wore our homemade masks (just doubled buffs, really) up over our faces as we squeezed behind a family to find some fishing real estate at the local pond, but I saw no other masks at the pond, not even on old folks or very young kids.  Tami watched three Philadelphia police cruisers roll up on a church in Chestnut Hill that decided to have Palm Sunday services—so it’s not just Georgia or an Oklahoma State press conference or some other faraway place where truth and science are subjective.  I am not claiming to save lives by staying home, but I don’t wish unnecessary hardship for anyone, nor do I wish to be responsible for prolonging or further tightening restrictions, prolonging the time my brother might have to separate from his family.  I need to fish for my sanity, but I also want this shit to end sooner not later, or at least I want there to be a respirator and enough supplies waiting for my mom, my friends with preexisting conditions, myself if things get even more real, and so I am loath to go stand around the Wissahickon in the two holes that were stocked.  When I go out now, the plan is to target places where I may not see another soul, pack my food and water to avoid Wawas, even those clean Sheetz bathrooms, bring a mask and hand sanitizer.  As it warms, I may have to refresh the batteries in my headlamp, hone my night game, but 50-year-old eyes in the dark these days, well.  My legs and lungs are better, so I may see more of the Class A trickles of my younger days.  Honestly, I may write fewer posts this spring, and I will still fish, dammit, but I will try to keep making wise decisions and respecting people’s fears and concerns, and I hope they do the same.  Stay safe out there, mitches.

April 10, 2020 – A Good Friday: Nasty Weather Coaxed Us Out – Northampton County Limestoner

Pulled like a smallmouth but definitely not one to lip.

I am glad I did not roll over in bed this morning when I heard the wind already starting at 6:45 AM.  I hit the snooze once at 6:30 AM, but I could hear Tami up and about, so I decided to stay awake and make coffee first then decide if I was fishing later.  It was one of those cold front days, unsettled skies, winds gusting, but I got dressed anyway, and I was on the road by 8 AM with a sheltered destination in mind.  The stretch of water I was thinking about is not isolated, and access is good, but there is only one parking spot.  If no one else is there, and there usually isn't, especially on a day like today, then it’s game on.  I had not been out since Tuesday with the boy, and that was only for 90 minutes or less with the spinning rod, so I figured I would give it a shot before the forecasted gusts to 40 MPH arrived.  I would have been happy with a couple fish, and I was resigned to fish the bobber if I had to in order to have control in the wind, but I put together a solid three hours of nymphing with the mono-rig with fish up to 15 inches or more and only one dinker in the mix of close to a dozen wild browns and one rouge brook trout to round out the day.

A good start.

It was in the low- to mid-forties, windy, but somewhere between partly sunny and partly cloudy when I arrived.  The water still had a very slight stain, and flows were average.  Instead of fishing with my own mono-rig creation, today I was fishing with a Rio product.  TCO is making it convenient to shop small with free shipping, so when I ordered some 5X tippet last week, I also threw a tactical euro leader in the basket.  I figured I could copy the formula if I liked it.  I did, although I wish it were about 3 feet longer.  I may add the extra length or tie my own again this weekend.  The wind was pretty bad, but not steady, so I was able to time my casts around gusts.  I was somewhat sheltered and only popped on the indicator one time in a deep plunge when I was more exposed.  I caught a fish, a decent one with the bobber too.  In fact, I only caught one fish under 11 inches today, which is rare here.  I don’t know what it was, perhaps the fish had a sixth sense that the coming frost would shut down the bugs for a while, but the better fish were hungry today and seemed to have pushed the dinks out of the feeding lanes, at least earlier in the morning.

Fish three did not hesitate to eat the dropper.

I got bounced pretty hard at my first spot, a hole I usually fish first and last when I visit this stretch because I can regularly dig a fish out of there even if it is small, just to begin or end on a high note.  Because the water was stained, but not high, I was a bit heavy with my nymphs and had to play around with weight.  I ended up, even with the wind pulling some drifts downstream too fast, staying with small tungsten bugs.  The hot flies were a natural, flashback hare’s ear jig on the anchor, about a 16, and the little brown nothing hare’s ear on the dropper, a size 18.  That little dropper has become a confidence fly for me.  You can see from pics that it really is nothing tied on an oversized barbless competition hook, but it gets down quickly and looks buggy.  Confident now that I had good drifts, I moved up to the next favorite run.  Inching up, hugging the overhanging brush for cover, I quickly landed three decent fish in the deeper tail end of the run.

Two shots of the same nice hen.

I had a hunch they might be shallow, however, and I am glad I took my time and fished this entire run right up to the head, because I landed a beauty hen that was sitting in 10 inches of water.  She was about 15 inches, I would estimate, and fought really hard.  The fish have been eating well, so they have some weight to them.  The males especially are wide and muscular and can use that width in the current to hold until you trick or goad them into moving.  Speaking of males, the real battle of the morning came after I landed that nice female.  The male I landed after, the one that opens this post as well, was right at the head, probably riding it out under the bouncier water closer to the surface.  He too was only in a foot of water or less, but I had a heck of a time getting him to come out of the current, even when I used all my tricks to fool him into reacting to unexpected side pressure and such.  Only one fish jumped today, I believe, but they were feeling naughty in the cold water.  They just pulled like smallmouth bass today.  I could have quit after these two and been happy!  

Another shot of the same fish that opens this post.

I did not quit of course.  Instead of fishing a deeper but quieter section of the creek, I decided to take a little walk to warm up and headed straight to a section of pocket water upstream.  I do well in this particular stretch when the fish are feeding shallow, but I only took one from this area today, most likely because the flows were normal and the water a bit shallower than prime.  It was a decent fish, though, another male over 12 inches long.  When I hit the long deep hole where I usually turn around, I ended up landing the only little fish of the day, followed by two more solid fish.  I landed one tightlining, another good fish, but in order to reach a far seam without wading too deep, I popped on an indicator.  Trying to fish both sides of a submerged log that usually holds a fish, I snagged and lost the dropper.  Lazy, or not too keen to retie while this exposed to the wind, I trimmed the tag and added an Airlock indicator for a couple casts.  A nice 12-inch brown ate the anchor fly and buried the bobber. 

The bugs that they ate.

I waded deep for a few cold minutes to see if I could dig another out of this spot, but eventually I needed to stand in the sun on the bank and warm up.  With the wind getting more constant, it was cold.  The top half of me was dressed for winter, but I did not put on the long johns this morning. I took the opportunity to tie on another dropper, that same brown hare’s ear grub.  Since I lost a fish at my first spot, I decided a little walk in the sun back there would help.  I texted back and forth with Tami.  It was about 11 AM, and the boy was still sleeping, so she gave me the go ahead to stay out longer if I wanted, but it was getting bright and windier, so I did not think the next hour would be great.  It was good, however!  I landed two more fish in the deeper hole where I began the morning, and one was a great fish, another one over 12 inches and strong.  He took that little dropper fly, so I was glad I took a minute in the sun to locate another and retie the dropper.  These two fish were not as shallow as those I landed an hour earlier, so I didn’t have high expectations for the last little stretch of pocket water I had in mind to fish.  

Another toothy beauty.

A run that sometimes looks too good to be true, and sometimes is, produced nothing.  I probably spooked it with all my moving around upstream earlier in the day, but with the high sun I could also see almost to the bottom now in three feet of water.  The creek was clearing up, or it was clearer than I perceived it to be all along, I don’t know.  The morning clouds certainly helped the cause, that is for sure.  Staying out of the water and doing my best not to cast shadows or snap branches, I stalked down to one last patch of pocket water hemmed in with some cover from bushes and trees.  I got bounced once targeting dark patches in the otherwise clear, shallow riffles, but I did not connect.  I did manage to land a brook trout from deep under an overhanging shrub, though.  I don’t know where he came from, but like the rare rainbow I catch in this unstocked stretch of creek, he may have washed down from club stockings upstream.  I knew immediately after the take that it was not a brown trout because it was so bright and more panicked than the bulldogs I landed in the morning.  I thought maybe rainbow, but it was a ten-inch brookie who ate the dropper.  It was not the last fish I wanted to land, but I figured it could serve as an endpoint for the surprisingly good fishing day I had experienced up to this point.

Where'd you come from?

It was after 12 PM now, and I had another text from Tami asking me to bring home lunch.  She had struck out at a place she had in mind while out in the morning doing our bi-weekly supply run.  I had no confidence that this morning’s fishing was going to be good, but I had even less confidence that the current conditions were conducive to my short, magical window extending into the afternoon, so I decided to head for home and become pizza man.  I had the mask and hand sanitizer in the car, and it was nice to have a bit of a normal take-out experience.  It was a good pie, too!  I even treated myself to a side of homemade meatballs.  A little normalcy goes a long way.  I have to pick Sam’s brain as to why, of all days, the fish decided to eat so well today.  I have my theories about the imminent frost warnings and more unsettled weather coming this weekend that are probably not off the mark.  It was too windy to see bugs hatching, but based on the time of day when the fish were shallow, and the flies they willingly ate, I will assume caddis helped my cause.  Whatever the case, it was a good Friday morning.

For RR: I didn't forget to look up.