December 22, 2020 – Thank Goodness for Magic Hour – Berks County Limestoner

Just past magic hour.

I was in a holding pattern by mid-morning today, having caught up on my grading but still waiting on a few well-intentioned if disorganized stragglers to submit work before my deadline of tonight.  I had a feeling this was going to be the case, as it often is, so I had planned to fish the surf with Jeff this morning.  He had to bail last minute when a client needed to see him today, but the forecast at the beach had changed to snotty, so we probably would have bagged it anyway.  It was supposed to get milder today, but with snow on the ground, that is a catch 22.  Too warm, and the snow melt drops the water temperature and shuts off the bite right when it should be getting good during the warmer part of the afternoon.  Even with the minor snow earlier in the month, the melt affected the day Jay and I poked around Northampton County.  

More of this soldier below.

With all this in mind, I decided that if I was clear of responsibilities early enough, or I had gotten up and graded what I needed before 9 AM, I was going to head north to a couple favorite limestoners.  I did not finish what I needed to do until 10:30, however, so I now had even more decisions to make.  I got dressed around 11 AM, still not knowing what I would do.  I thought of just catching some stockies close to home, even some wild fish at Valley Creek, but the snow on my roof and gutters was melting pretty steadily.  Around 11:30 AM, I just got in the car and drove west, watching the thermometer on the dash.  It was hovering around 41 or 42, so I decided to visit an old favorite in Berks County that does not get much pressure this time of year.  Some solitude in the snow sounded good even if the fish did not cooperate.  It started out slow, with maybe 3 fish and a chub in the first two hours, but magic hour produced 6 more, even a nice 13+ inch post spawn warrior, so in the end a good winter afternoon of impromptu small stream fishing.

Not a bad winter outing after a slow start.

I think I landed one chub in soft water under a bobber in the first hour or more on the water.  I tightlined a few softer seems, and eventually landed what I thought might be my only trout of the day.  Thankfully, I did not walk past a long flat pool on the way up to two favorite winter holes.  Instead, I popped on a bobber and landed two decent fish on a blue perdigon.  I missed one other too, so my confidence was restored.  I pressed on to my honey hole.  I was shocked that I got no hits slowly drifting small bugs through the deep flat part of the hole, so I added a sj worm with two beads to dredge the bottom, eventually dropping the bobber and just nymphing the entire hole, focusing on deep water and soft edges of current.  I almost didn’t react when I felt a subtle but unmistakable hit transferred through the rod blank.  I reacted late and missed, but the next cast netted a decent little wild brown on the worm. 

Snow, San Juan, and wood.

The next cast also ended with another fish, this one on the perdigon on the dropper.  Four fish!  I worked up the head without any more takers, so I considered hoofing it to one last hole, which is a bit of a walk upstream.  The sun was starting to dip low in the sky, so I chose to save this other hole for another day and just fish this productive hole one more time with more intention and confidence now that fish had been caught.  Good call, because in that magic final hour before sunset, I landed 6 more fish, including the best of the afternoon.  This guy was lucky to be alive!  He was still colored up from the spawn but had quite a chunk taken out of him.  I don’t think it was a spawning injury, at least not from a rival.  Instead, it looked like he almost took a flight in a raptor’s mouth in recent days.  The wound was pretty fresh.  Fish are certainly vulnerable on redds.  The redds I saw on this small, relatively shallow creek were quite exposed in the tailouts, so fish make themselves easy pickings for birds and other predators.  The water was ice cold, so the wound might get to heal slowly.  I have caught other fish in the past with dark, black scars from similar battles, but this was the freshest I could remember seeing.  No blood, but pink flesh clearly showing.  I kept him wet while I took a few pics and then let him go.  Based on his colors I can assume that at least his DNA is in the creek even if he doesn’t make it until spring—tough guy DNA is a good legacy to leave behind.

If he doesn't make it, at least there's tough guy DNA in the creek for the future.

This fish and at least two others ate the worm in the same slow, deep section before the hole slopes to the tailout.  No takers on the bobber the first time through, but now that magic hour was upon us, they decided to get up off the sandy bottom and get a snack before bed.  My muscle memory of similar evenings was telling me to strip a bugger or hop a big jig, but daylight was waning, and I had a walk in order to get back.  There were a lot of new posted signs I noticed on the way in, likely from hunting season, but that still gave me reservations about bushwhacking out to the road.  Instead, I had to hike back in the creek, the way I came.  Of course, I had to try a few spots that did not produce on the way up.  The sun was probably too low by now, so I did not get a touch on the walk back downstream.  Magic hour is short, but that is part of what makes it magical, I suppose.  I fish the morning so often, especially in the spring and summer, that it was a treat to be out in the cold evening light of winter.  There will be more of these afternoon excursions to come now that the winter has officially arrived.

More of a spinner/Covid crowd wound on this pretty one, number 9 of the afternoon.