June 29, 2020 – Long Enough for the Boots to Dry Completely – Northampton County Limestoner

Low water, healthy but small

Twelve days.  That is about how long it takes for wading boots to dry out in my garage in all this humidity.  Man, I wonder if it has been that long since we had any steady rain too?  Twelve days since I last fished.  My butt is tired, but I did earn three graduate credits last week attending an intensive online writer’s retreat.  I did this for credit last summer, and it was just as long, but I think this one was tougher.  We moved totally to Zoom, but we did not cut back much of the program besides the meals together and the alcohol.  It was too hot to trout fish most places, anyway, so it was a good use of my time, and I generated a lot of poetry in ten days, which will help come fall and spring when I get stuck—always good to have a couple that just need another revision, another edit.  I was praying for rain this weekend, and it did happen to the north of us, but just storms and showers.  One of my favorites got a good spike on Saturday, but I had to catch up on my actual job on Sunday.  I thought maybe today would still show some of the benefits, but all I found were muddy banks, signs of flood, but low water again.  Trying to respect my fishy friends, I fished the early shift, from 5:15 AM to about 8:45 AM, and I found fish, but they were all smaller than what I was catching in the same holes a few short weeks ago.  Still, it was good to get out and catch 8 to 10 fish before rush hour. One took a drowned ant pattern on the dropper, and one took a pink bomb that I tied on for a deep riffle around 8:30 AM in a last ditch effort to catch one over 10 inches long.  The rest took a size 16 walts worm in shallow riffles and pocket water.   Unless this pattern changes, I am a bass or summer flounder fisherman, I fear.  I may have one longer trip west or north in me, however.

The early shift.  Come on rain!

June 17, 2020 – A Long Pre-Dawn Drive but Hardly a Longshot – Lackawanna River

A stunner.

We are lucky enough to have a handful of true trout fishing destinations in Pennsylvania.  State College area, the fabled spring creeks far south of there, the Delaware River system to the northeast, the big waters out by Pittsburgh, Pine Creek gorge, and there are more.  That is impressive and overwhelming, and many of them are not day trips.  The measure of a destination for me is that there are guys who live in State College and drive to the Clarion River, just as there are guys who live on the West Branch and drive to the Letort.  Living in SEPA, a short drive to good trout fishing is relative.  I call places that are 90 minutes away home waters, and I use places an hour away for short morning trips.  The Lackawanna River is over two hours away, but it is one of those places that has become a destination in Pennsylvania, a place to test your local skills on some potential monster fish in coal country.  I have written about three trips to the river in the last four years, and I only visited the creek one other time pre-blog.  Many of the big rivers were blown out a lot last year, so I was disappointed that I never found a good window.  I needed to get up there this year.  I have yet to be disappointed. I kind of feel at home there too, as it is an urban creek.  One of my posts from a few years ago was about all the random nonsense I encountered in and around the creek.  Today’s odd sightings were limited to an abandoned television a long way from any rational carry and dump, but I also think I hooked and nearly landed someone’s N95 mask—a sign of the times. 

In the pocket water.  Wadable today.

If you squint, however, the river is not without its beauty, especially in the trophy trout section and the headwaters, and many miles are paralleled by the Heritage Trail, so parking is easy and a lot of water is accessible by walking.  But I was there for the beautiful trout.  I chose the river today because I like to get at bigger river systems when the spring flows have subsided.  I knew the water would be cold enough as it is supplemented with mine discharge that is as cold as limestone water.  I was up at 2 AM and on the road by 3 AM, just me and the trucks on the Northeast Extension and 81.  It was chilly to start, about 55 degrees, but after a walk, I was feeling good.  The water was lower, but it looked great and so very wadable.  I was excited to get started, and had my first wild brown long before 6 AM.  Besides a few caddis, there were really only midges in the air, so I quickly retied to fish a pair of larva; and after that one change, and another pause later to rig the same bugs to dropshot, I had steady success for 6 or 7 hours with a lunch break in there.  Most fish took Eric’s sexy walts, including the pig that opens this post, but a handful of the 20+ fish I landed also took the green caddis larva that served as my anchor fly. 

Worth the long ride, and before 6:30 AM.

Fish were not concentrated in the holes, which were running clear.  My second fish of the morning, a good 19-inch brute, was sitting in less than a foot of water on the seam of a heavy riffle.  After the deep braided hole did not produce, I just kept inching up into shallower water.  I found a fish near the bank in a pocket, which was encouraging.  The next good looking pocket was the one, though.  The hit was subtle, but this big fish started running for deep water the minute he was hooked.  Because I had snagged it three times already, I knew there was a sticky obstruction in the hole, but once I steered him around that, I was confident that this battle might end well.  I could tell before I even landed him that he was a stunner—just a big jaw and deep hues all down his flanks.  Even in low light, he was all lit up like a freshwater mahi mahi. 

The same little sexy walts all day long.

Once I landed that fish, I targeted shallow riffles and pocket water all morning with great success.  I took off the heavier pinky bomb and tied on a lighter green caddis larva as my point fly.  That seemed to strike the right balance and collect far less debris from the rocks.  Fish were spread out and in any dark spot or under any overhang in the riffles.  Most were small fish, but besides the first big buck, I landed two other quality fish, and there seemed to be two year classes out in force, one about 8 inches and the other closer to 10 or 11 inches—all of them strong and fun on my 3 weight nymphing rod.  I fished the first shift until around 11 AM and then paused for lunch before round two.  I packed a lot of water and food, even a La Colombe draft latte, so I was living large for me.  I even sat on a park bench in the shade at lunch and had a PBJ and a fresh plumb—in my waders of course.  Folks were out with bikes and strollers, but I was the only angler I saw in seven hours.

Dropshotted a decent one.

Before my lunch break, I fished a large plunge pool, nearly a waterfall in higher flows.  I have only caught little fish here in the past, but it is the kind of hole that holds a wise old one or two that still elude me.  When the tailout, which I could fish with a tight line, did not pan out, I took the time to dropshot the deep holes under the plunge with a bobber.  With the extra eighteen inches of tippet and a large split shot riding point, I missed a couple tentative hits before landing a quality fish—not the boss of the hole but one not in any danger of being eaten either. I would say it was just over 14 and was sporty.  He jumped twice when digging for the wall of boulders under the plunge proved fruitless.  I have the settings of the drag on my new reel dialed in correctly, though, so I did allow him to take a couple runs in the mostly obstruction-free tailout.  Even with all that depth and added tippet, he took Eric’s walts on the dropper.  I would not have hooked him had I not taken the time to re-rig, so that was positive reinforcement of my good instincts. 

If you squint, green caddis larva too.

The pocket water above this plunge was productive, so much so that I postponed lunch for 40 minutes or more while I hit every little potential feeding lane.  That was when I began to put up numbers, hitting at least a dozen fish before I finally did sit on that bench and enjoy the breeze and the people watching for a half hour before taking a drive upstream to another productive spot.  I was bounced and also landed a small fish in the first hole I targeted after lunch—encouraging start.  Shortly thereafter, and right behind a city playground, still cordoned off, I landed another good wild brown. 

Another good one in a park.

This one also fought well, though no jumps.  He just dug for wood and boulders and other obstructions in this deeper run.  He was over 14 inches too, so I was hopeful that the run of shaded pocket water or a couple bridges upriver might hold another pig.  I had two spots in mind where I have landed big fish in the past, but today neither offered up anything or anything memorable.  I saw one pig hanging out with suckers at a wing dam, but while the suckers ignored the bugs, he darted the minute they landed above him.  It was sunny in this spot, so the shadow from line may have spooked him more than the tiny splash.  Speaking of sun, for the second time this month I have worm my sun hoodie and was thankful that I brought it along.  The solstice is near, so the midday sun is intense.  Besides a little glow on my face from the reflection, I stayed protected all morning.  It was nearly too hot to wear the 90+-degree day on the Lehigh River, but today it was perfect for the conditions.

Perhaps a future pig among them.  Same two bugs.

Though no pigs showed in this second spot as I had hoped, I did land a lot more fish.  I texted Eric around noon to let him know that his bug was still killing it, and by the time he responded I was shooting for an even 20 fish on which to quit.  The same pattern held.  Fish were right up in the meat of the riffles, under plunges and in pockets with overhead cover and bouncy water.  I landed five fish on five casts in a spot that had all those elements working in unison.  I began to accept that another big fish was not coming at midday, and 2 AM is an early time to start one’s day, so unless I took a nap under a tree for a few hours and regrouped at 4 or 5 PM, it was going to be more of the same or probably less for the rest of the afternoon.  When I reached that arbitrary number 20, I started looking for a way out that did not involve back—or someone’s backyard!  Before I waded to a spot where I have exited the creek in the past, right in the middle of a small business district, I landed one more average fish, so I exceeded my goal…. Quitting time.

20 and 21

Looking back, I see I had a similar day last time I made this drive: a pig early and then smaller fish the rest of the day, which felt like downhill at the time.  Today did not feel like a decline, more like added flash in the dubbing.  I have never put up these kinds of numbers on the Lack, so that alone was memorable.  I love to hunt pocket water with precise casts and be rewarded with fish.  The fact that the best of the day also came this way was even more memorable.  The river has yet to disappoint me, so it will remain a destination worth the “long drive.”  One of these days I have to get a cheap motel in Scranton and explore the many miles of equally cold and productive water—get a day of trees one day and day of cement walls the next?  What’s a little graffiti?  I am making the drive for the fish, after all.

22?

June 14, 2020 – Despite Low Water, Cool Temps Let (Almost) Everyone Have a Little Success – Northampton County Limestoner

So his wife knows he wasn't up to no good.

I met Wardman at one of my late spring go-to spots today to continue his fly fishing journey.  With more free time this spring, mostly due to fewer coaching hours with his athletic young daughters, he has invested time, money, and energy into fishing more.   He has gotten out with me a couple times, once with Eric and me, and a couple times by himself too.  That is more than he has fished in the last five years or more combined!  I remember how fun it was to buy stuff and try stuff and hope for the best.  I also remember the frustrating hours alone figuring stuff out.  Videos and magazines want it to look easy, as if the right fly is all you need; books want to tell you to park here and catch fish.  But there is no substitute for time on the water.  In this latest iteration of my fly fishing life, maybe one of three different phases since my early teens, I came out the other side of six years and nearly 500 trips with the attitude of, “Give me a frenchie and a walts worm in three different sizes, and I will catch fish anywhere in PA you point me.”  A lot of that came from the help of others over the years.  I may have mentioned a couple friends of my dad who took me out when I was in my twenties and showed me a lot, especially about dry fly fishing, and I know I have mentioned a certain dude who guides in State College when not giving me a few pointers on the nymphing and streamer game each time we fish together.  I still fish alone a lot, and I need to, but I have fished with others more over the last few years, and I enjoy teaching and learning along the way—it is what I do for a living, after all. 

Low and clear, caddis, pretty wild brown.

The water at this particular creek was low today, which was good and bad.  The bad was that much of the prime water I was hoping to target, or did target, with Ward today was devoid of life—more accurately devoid of life as we got within 50 feet of the water.  The good thing is that the fish that were catchable were easy enough to locate in the bouncy, deep riffles.  That is just a good summer pattern, anyway.  There were two different kinds of caddis out, sometimes in force, but even that could not lure the reluctant fish from taking their heads out of the plunges and spreading out to eat.  Everything I hooked and/or landed today came on a sparse size 16 frenchie, barely a fly in the grand scheme of things.  And even with this small bug on 6X, the fish barely registered a hit.  I am sure the high sun had them spooked, low water and high pressure had them feeling a little off their game.  Thankfully, I was on my game enough to capitalize of the limited opportunities, even landing a good wild brown about 16 inches and plump, but I did drop at least three that I can remember after a couple brief head shakes.  I worked with Ward much of the day, and he too had success in rather tough fishing conditions. 

Pretty holdover bow, brookie not as cute.

Before we went our separate ways around 11 AM, we figured he landed 1.75 fish.  I got a pic of neither, but we were close to “touching the leader” as offshore fishermen say on two occasions.  He accomplished the hard part of rigging, selecting a bug, presenting the flies well, and hooking the fish, one in a technical little spot with heavy water and tree limbs overhead.  Like others I fish with, even young Eric who is pretty darn good, the next step in their process is landing fish with confidence!  Like learning to re-rig or change bugs quickly, that takes reps, a luxury that I have been fortunate enough to have, but there are a few moments each year that I would love a do-over on—including with my white whale that lives in the very creek that Ward and I fished today.

The smallest bug I could get away with as anchor fly.

The first spot was disappointing, though it did net us a few fish, including a beauty holdover bow and some club stocked brookies.  The second spot we drove to was also disappointing, but it did yield the aforementioned wild brown, which was a lot of fun.  Small dark caddis were going off, and we were eventually parked in a prime hole, but nary a splashy rise took place.  We still had to dig a few out of the white water, and we almost had to force feed them small bugs.  I had two hits, and lost a smaller fish, nearly in the same line, before the best fish of the day actually opened up and ate.  I am accustomed to fish being difficult at times on this creek, but with all the bugs hatching, I was hoping they might be cooperative for Ward today.  The water was so low and clear in one spot that I could clearly see a piece of structure that has eaten many of my bugs over the years.  I still don’t know what it is, but it looks construction-y, like cement sewer or storm drain debris—urban fishing spots tend to have decades of obsolete nonsense in the water.  I have known to avoid this drift for years, but now I know what I am avoiding, sort of….

Took about 6 drifts in the same riffle....

The day began cool, like in the mid-50s, and it remained comfortable until quitting time, but by 11 AM, shade—the only chance we had for some potential stealth—was at a premium.  It was a beautiful morning to be outdoors.  We saw a momma merganser with a brace of ducklings following her and even twin fawns trying to keep up with a pair of mildly inconvenienced does.  At this second spot, I also picked up one and lost another stocked bow in a riffle before we quit, but we could not get one to eat Ward’s bugs.  The caddis had me hopeful, so I gave Ward an elbow bump at the parking lot and gave a favorite run of pocket water one more shot before I too left for home.  In high sun, the water looked even lower and clearer, so I covered the beat in about 15 unsuccessful minutes and called it good, well, decent anyway.  I do not see any rain in the forecast, so I am not sure what I will do this week, but I do want to get out at least once before Friday when this writer’s retreat begins.   

My new phone obeyed Ward's verbal command to shoot.

The funny thing about today was that all my fishing buddies, many of them also proteges, I guess, were sending me pictures of success!  Eric went to our secret spot and landed fish on his new hares ear hybrid we are calling Jessica (i.e. Rabbit) and the Silver Fox caught a PB small stream pig wild brown at his tiny brookie spot that we have fished together.  Before I went to bed, I was also exchanging texts with Bucci, who’s son David caught a mess of porky stocked brookies, even a tiger, on a NEPA trip last month.  Team Bucci wanted to get out with me on Monday, but I had too much work to do, and no clue where to go in these meh flows.  To that end, Pete made a visit to the Pennypack, which is probably warm as hell right now, and etched his first skunk, which usually means it’s over until the fall.  He has been slaying on the multispecies front up until today.  I am glad my little fishing network is having success.  If I don’t get out this week, I will be back in the game by June 27 when I come up for air.

June 12, 2020 – Wet Wading Solo on the Early Shift – Valley Creek

Lot of creek pics, so I guess I missed the place.

I have not fished Valley Creek since March 19th, back when we naively thought this shelter in place thing was a two-week, maybe a month, campaign to flatten the curve.  Last year being the exception because I needed to stay close to home for a variety of reasons and to fish small creeks because of much rain, I don’t usually fish Valley often during the prime fishing season.  I have established that I don’t like crowds; I like to move around and fish where I wish to fish without finding someone else already in the spot or watching over my shoulder, just waiting to be high-holed.  This is especially true on small creeks where the approach counts for quite a bit and is often the difference between a good day and a day.  A trio of Northampton County limestoners, at just 20- or 30 more-minutes’ distance, often become my Valley once the crowds converge, but even they received mad pressure this spring, as evidenced by the spinners and bobbers, even braid, in the trees and deep snags near easy access points.  The average fish is a tad to significantly better at these other SEPA creeks when I need a quick fix (and, this year, can stomach the stream abuse).

At least a couple decent ones.

The National Park was closed eventually this spring to enforce social distancing, but before that a lot of dudes who rarely fish during the week, perhaps rarely fish period, were out in force.  Closing the park would only push them to the fringes in my estimation, and by all reports, so I stayed away even more than usual.  I do like the creek though, honestly, I just don’t like to compete for small fish with anglers that often reek of privilege just to land a few decent ones and maybe two or three good fish all year.  I have had as many positive experiences with others as negative ones, but the negatives stick longer.  It’s not like you remember every decent spicy tuna roll you’ve eaten, but you do remember the bad ones, you know?  As a result, I still fish Valley a lot (not as much as the Wissy, which I have not fished at all this year for only slightly different reasons!) but I tend to hit it in the rain, in the winter, in the snow, and in the wee hours.  Today was a wee hours visit, and I landed over 20 fish from 5:30 to 8 AM, a few more on the last half hour walk back downstream too.  Unless you are a night owl, we are in wee hours season, anyway, so it just works.

They are lookers here.

I was watching the gages all day on Thursday as we received some rain that was not a total blow out.  The creek still hit over 100 CFS on a second spike midday, so the timing of a streamer visit never worked out for me.  Instead of sneaking over at 5 or 6 PM and throwing a bugger until dark, I opted for a late afternoon nap too—I was still tired from the long day that we put in on Wednesday, I guess.  The water temps were getting dangerously high each evening, which was another reason to nap.  The next best thing for a dirty nympher who missed the streamer window was a morning of euro nymphing the creek with the benefit of some cover from the residual stain and remaining 10 CFS shot of extra water.  Small bugs were on the menu.  It was pretty dark in the wet woods, so I had success early on a size 16 dark purple CDC jig.   As it got brighter, I eventually went to one small bug on 6X tippet, a sparse frenchie with a hot spot.  Some fish were rising before 7 AM and fishing was not great for the first 30 minutes, so I was wishing I had rigged to dry fly fish until I finally found the right hole and a few willing fish.  From that point on, it was a steady pick of mostly small fish, but I did land a skinny one in the 11- to 12-inch range and several Valley-respectable “keepers” up to 10 inches.

Many pretty, healthy smalls.

Granted, I was on the road for home before 8:30 AM, but I had the stretch of water to myself, and as a result caught fish coming and going.  Because a few favorite spots were barren, or I had the wrong bugs the first time, I had to try them again on the way back to the ‘Ru.  I caught fish at all of them, though the bonus piggy eluded me.  I saw one though, and it made me question the decision to leave my streamer rod behind more than my dry fly rod!  I had a plump 14-inch fish dart out and try to eat one of the dinks I landed.  He would not eat a size 16 frenchie after that, or on my second visit to this blow-down, go figure.  The fish were frisky enough that I did not take a water temp.  It was warm enough that I was wet wading, however, and I did not have purple lips or “shrinkage.”  I like the simplicity and comfort of wet wading, so I was happy that I did not have to question my deeper creek crossings.  Moving around and getting a bit warm, it actually felt alright to get a little wet this morning.

A #16 frenchie on 6x did some damage.

I had a meeting at 10 AM this morning, my last of this academic year, so I could not be late to the Zoom room.  I was loading up to head home by 8:20 AM, having promised in my pre-dawn note to Tami that I would be home by 9 AM—she never believes me for some reason.  I resisted the urge to get too greedy and fish downstream of my parking spot too, so I was home early even.  I had a set of riffles and holes in mind when I started walking this morning, and they produced fish, so I can target the other spots some other stolen morning shift this summer.  I am hoping cooler air returns, at least for a while.  Today was more comfortable than the last two days, so that was welcomed, but I would like a cool morning on Saturday or Sunday to sneak in another trip.  There are at least 8 days in a row this month that I can’t fish due to a writer’s retreat (virtual this year, so my butt might hurt) and I want to get some more time in while the water temps are for the most part favorable.

See you in three more months?

June 10, 2020 – Jay and I Tough Out August Weather in Early June – Lehigh River

Hard-earned brookies to end.

When Jay and I fished together late last fall, we discussed doing some easy fishing for spring stockies on the Wissy or something.  We were fishing the Brodhead that day, in late November, so the context of that proposal makes total sense.  But when we finally got around to fishing together this crazy spring, we landed on the mighty Lehigh, on a day with a 95-degree heat index, so I guess we don’t much know our way around easy.  In my defense, this one was his idea—I just invited myself along when he texted me saying he was off this week and going fishing, asking for any input about spots on the river.  Water temps were okay and flows were normal, but it was too hot and humid at times to be a truly enjoyable experience.  The photos speak of success, pretty fish, arguably prettier surroundings, but we had a few ugly hours in between the good moments.  All that said, I do look forward to the time each year when the big rivers become more accessible.  While walking the gorge of a mighty river, there are always encounters (sometimes wet and/or painful ones) with what we poets call the sublime.  Even when fishing is meh, the day is often a memorable one.  We saw big water, big sky, big vistas, even a mother fox with a posse of curious kits, so in the end what’s a little swamp ass and sore muscle?

Even when fishing is not great, there is always this.

We started out at a spot not too far upriver from the tunnel, a spot shown to me by the inimitable Tom C a couple years ago.  The water is bigger here, but it was also warmer and less buggy today.  Because Jay and I both arrived before our proposed 5:30 AM meeting time, we were fishing early.  I even brought two rods down to the river because I wanted to toss a streamer before the sun got up.  I was picturing lower water conditions in my head, hoping to be capable of moving around more and covering the water more thoroughly, although I had not checked gages.  Jay was aware of a fishermen’s release on Memorial Day weekend, and we had some rain since, so the water was clear but with rather solid flows.  No takes on the streamer, not even a bump.  When I switched to my nymphing set up, I jumped a little wild brown, and that was a theme for the day—I lost many small fish throughout the day after a leap or two.  I was using Eric’s big old black stone as my anchor, so these little wild browns, and at least one stocked brookie later in the day, ate the big meal, but could not hold it for long—if it was not the size 8 barbless hook it was the weight of a 4mm tungsten bead that helped the hook drop right on out!  No biggie, of course.  Admittedly not great for photos, but any action and affirmation of a good presentation on a tough day are welcome.

At least one did not get away at first stop, pink tag fly on dropper.

Due to user error or that super thin nymphing line’s properties or both, I did lose a horse shortly thereafter, and that was more disappointing.  I fought a bigger fish in close for a minute before he took his first run.  I realized as he took the slack from my hand that drag was going to be a problem because I had managed to loop the line over the butt of the rod.  I quickly loosened the drag on the second run, so the friction of the line wrapping around the rod blank and looser drag kept him on for a while longer.  When I decided to try and get him on the reel for real and successfully looped the line back over the reel and the butt of my rod, then the drag was too loose, of course, and the next run just ended in limp line.  No!!!  I landed the 15-inch consolation brown pictured above a couple minutes later, all this while Jay was out of the picture fishing the shallower riffles around the bend.  This second fish fought really well too, but nothing like the first one I miffed, so I can only assume one of two things: the first fish was much bigger and/or wild, or I foul hooked it.  Since my anchor and dropper were a good 24 inches apart, and the fight seemed normal enough for big bouncy water, I don’t think it was the latter.  I exposed one more downside of the ultra-thin nymphing line, I suppose.  I may just be on the learning curve still, as well.  We shall see.  The irony is that I was carrying another reel in my pack with a WF floating 3 weight line, but I never put it on, even when I started trying a bobber to reach out further.  Too hot to do too much re-rigging or too lazy or a combo of both. To that end, Jay actually brought along his daughter’s drone and had discussed trying to take some cool pics for the blog, but it was just too hot to do any of that today.  By midday, we just wanted to get him on a fish or two, so we could quit!

Hazy, deep, a bit cooler though.

Jay and I both explored some shallower riffles above this run and pool, but as I mentioned above, he stayed up there a bit longer and did not see any of this.  While he was upstream, another fly guy walked in and was swinging bugs well downstream of us.  I saw him land one and when we spoke later he said he dropped one too.  I had planned to fish this flat and maybe should have earlier in the morning, but there were no risers early (or later) so it would have meant nymphing with a bobber over pretty nondescript water, just hoping.  Exposed to the sun, dude did not last long out there and neither would we, so when we met up again Jay and I decided to head about thirty minutes upstream into the gorge.  I knew there would be a chance of shade and definitely colder water with all the tributaries and cataracts that enter in this second spot and upstream.  The water is also colder the closer one gets to the dam.  This upcoming weekend begins the whitewater releases, but this access was much quieter today than it will be.  Plenty of bikers and hikers, even a shuttle bus for cyclists, but no one else on the water.  By now, I had my sun-hoodie up full time and was hoping that some of the dark clouds would actually give up some moisture, but the only moisture was inside my waders.  We took a walk twice, not long but some distance, to fish a couple favorite spots, but we hugged the tree line and paused at two waterfalls for some natural A/C.

Finally, you know?!

We only fished two spots and landed some fish here near the Rockport access.  I jumped yet another small wild brown before digging up a quality one on Eric’s pinky bomb.  I would say he was in the 12-inch range and gave quite a tussle in heavy water on my 3-weight rod.  Sadly, he was the only one we found at this often-productive bend, so I suggested a hail mary to end the day.  The final spot is a plunge pool at the mouth of a small tributary, and it’s not that far of a hike from the parking lot, even on a hot day.  The sky looked unsettled and it even drizzled for a minute, but we still got little relief from the heat once we climbed down to the river again.  I quickly landed a decent brook trout here (which the picture will attest really hates cameras) so I stepped out and asked Jay to shake off the skunk and have at it.

Team work/dream work.

He landed two pretty brook trout here on a small pheasant tail dropped above a heavy walts.  His fish, and two of the three others I landed here, took the bugs on the swing at the end of the drift.  No surprise, as even though few fish were showing, a steady parade of small dark caddis were marching upstream—the most consistent bug action I had seen all day.  We saw isolated large mayflies and larger tan caddis, many stonefly cases, but not enough to get these stubborn river fish to come out of the depths where they are often difficult or impossible to catch.  We needed a little help, and in the end nature provided.  It looked like we might even get a shower to cool off, but since we heard rumbles of thunder, we decided to enjoy the waterfall again for a minute and start walking back instead.  At this point, it just felt like mission accomplished after putting together a short flurry of fish, even if they were stockies!  It is a novelty to get into brook trout sometimes, no matter how they got there and definitely better than rainbows—well, maybe, as there are some monster bows in this river that I would have loved to have seen today.  

Nature's A/C, green caddis, camera shy brookies.

Because the state park facilities were open, Jay got to use a real bathroom facility before heading home, a sign advising a mask the only clue that we are still in some color level in this part of the state.  I was happy that I packed a clean dry shirt and plenty of ice packs, even more happy that I had cold water remaining and a bit of cold caffeine for the ride home.  Besides construction traffic, par for the course this time of year, I still benefited from lighter than usual traffic and was home before dinner.  Earned a nap, but I toughed it out until about 10 PM before passing out cold.

Colored-up novelty.

June 7, 2020 – What a Weird Week We’ve Had – Berks County Limestoner

Before sunrise.

Yes, it has been a week since I have fished, and a full seven days have come off the June calendar page, but this past week has not been a normal one.  Early in the week, while I was just getting some work done, cool air and hot air met and by midweek set in motion some violent storms.  There were rumors that a derecho blew through Montgomery County, but all I know is that we lost power about 10 minutes into the first storm, and we did not get power back on for about 54 hours.  It sounded, as they say, like a freight train passing in the distance.  Thankfully, my many trees were spared, but much of the area looked bad.  As if that and the ongoing Covid 19 situation were not enough, a week of protests had businesses boarding up windows in anticipation of looting and had folks on both sides of the issue on edge.  Dystopian af.  I saw a meme featuring aliens wondering if it was their turn to show up to the perfect storm. 

Almost a wild trophy in my experience with this creek.

We hunkered down in the house for the first day without electricity, and it was fine, but by night two no one slept well in the heat, humidity, and continuing thunderstorms.  My mom lost a tree but had power, so we violated social distancing eventually and spent some time in her central air.  The boy and I caught up on some work and used some bandwidth after putting our frozen food in her fridge.    I certainly peeked at the gages to see what was happening on the creeks, but I could not see fishing in the heat, especially when water temps had spiked due to the rain and preceding abnormally hot days.  Relative normalcy and cooler temps seemed poised to return by Sunday, so I did a half-hearted prep on Saturday night in case I was up in the wee hours.  As luck would have it (?) I got up to use the bathroom at 3 AM and never got back to sleep, so I was on the road at 4:30 AM and catching my first fish long before 6.

Grubby hares ear, CDC jig early, pretty morning once the sun got up.

The last time I fished this creek, I estimated that I landed over 30 fish, most of them small wild browns.  This is a stocked creek with fluctuating pockets of wild fish, but this year they are out in force.  Another perfect storm, I suppose: a good year class a couple seasons ago, a mild winter, fewer stocked fish because they were all dumped at the easiest access points.  The creek has limestone influence and clean water, so bugs are usually prevalent.  The wooded areas benefit doubly from cold water and heavy shade, so it typically fishes safely into July.  The water was in the mid-60’s when I quit today, so maybe a bit warm for early June, but I am expecting they will go back down with cooler nights and normal flows.  Either way, I am hopeful for the fall on this creek because I landed three wild fish in the 12- to 13-inch range that were plump and healthy too.  I have always caught wild fish on sections of this creek, but they are rarely this large.  Because I wanted a realistic measure of how well I did last visit, I made a point to count trout today, and I landed an even 20 of them, with 17 wild browns—not too shabby for 5 hours of fishing, 4 of which were actually productive.  

A few 9- and 10-inchers too.

I was surprised but not shocked that another car was parked near the creek when I arrived; it was a Sunday in June after all and a beautiful day.  I was happy to see that the fisherman was fork-sticking it on the bank right at an easy stocking access.  I encountered two other dudes who ventured further upstream later in the morning, but they did not show until I had already fished the hole they did all the wading to reach.  My return trip, the last hour of my morning, was not very productive, so I am sure the lower reaches of the creek were targeted after I worked through.  I did see two other vehicles in the siding when I was leaving.  The first four hours, however, the entirety of my upstream nymphing excursion, were very productive.  I landed the first three or four small wild browns before official sunrise.  Like last Sunday morning, splashy rises revealed willing fish up until at least 10 AM.  I saw a couple sulfurs and smaller adult caddis, but the fish were keyed in on bugs below the surface, so likely the caddis emergence.  Several, including the two best fish, took the bugs on the fall after giving away their presence with a splashing rise.

Pinky came on strong by 9 AM.

I only caught one rainbow, with white-tipped and translucent fins, so he may have been around for a year or more.  He was a long way from where the stocking happened this year, but rainbows do have wanderlust.  Unlike last time, when one of the two stocked browns I landed looked like a long-term holdover, the two stocked browns I landed this morning were not as pristine.  High water may have pushed them downstream.  One of them fought really well, however, and since I landed him not long after catching a 13-inch wild one, I thought I had eclipsed that 13-inch wild mark today until he got close enough to see.  I actually landed three between 12 and 13 inches, plus this larger stocker, from the same deep hole where 3 or 4 other fish were also suspended up taking bugs—and my bugs.  I landed fish early on a purple CDC jig, which stopped being as effective once the sun was up.  Many took a brown hares ear grub, and still more took pinky on the dropper, all size 16.  I fished a mono-rig the last time I was here, and it was deadly, but I lost little ground using the competition nymphing line today, especially since the hatches were not as prevalent nor the bugs as large.

More nicer holdovers

Fishing began to slow around 10 AM, but I fished until after 11 because is was so nice out.  I am sure I fished “used” water on the way back downstream, but sometimes I like the challenge of picking up a couple more in really tight spots that may have been skipped by others (even me).  That may have worked out once or twice on the return trip, but I also started landing more chubs or getting bounced by little fish or hooking dinks that jumped right off the barbless hooks.  I know I had to work for number 20, that the odd number 19 hung out there for a good 30 minutes or more, but I did manage to reach my arbitrary, impromptu goal before I quit for good.  It was nice to drive home with the windows down and see few remaining detours due to down trees, some folks dining in western Montgo al fresco, even some young small town activists holding up signs at busier intersections—relative peace following a perfect storm.

The fall could be exceptional.  Keep eating!