March 23, 2022 – A Beating with No Witnesses – Brodhead Creek

Moving a bit but not unfishable by any means.

I took my first recon trip of the spring to the mighty Brodhead this morning.  Expectations were low, but not as low as they should have been.  I often jump the gun, but I don’t like to do the same things every year, I guess.  If not new streams, then I often try old streams at different seasons, and so forth.  Plus, I had most of the day to fish because I had planned to be on the Susky with Kenny today, so staying local just seemed a waste.  I drove past at least three creeks that would have been warmer and possibly a bit more productive, but the gages looked so fishable on the bigger creek that I had to try.  I did not leave the house until after 8:30 AM, so I probably was on the water from 10 to 2.  The flows were up but clear and certainly below typical early spring flows.  More importantly, the water was cold, having dropped over the last couple of days because of cold overnight temperatures.  Freestoners will do that, and even more drastically than creeks with some limestone influence.  The plan was to poke around a section I have not fished since the fall to see how the winter treated it, and if it was dead I would head over to the McMichael’s Keystone Select for a while.  Since it was cold and breezy, I had a usually popular spot to myself, so I just fished the entire stretch thoroughly for a thorough beat down.  The water looked great, and by 1 PM there were midges and small olives, but the fish may have been anticipating the front coming through or the drastic weather changes because they would not cooperate, not even a holdover bow. 

A streamer looking day if not so chilly.

The presence of a few bugs made me change from tossing a big bugger deep and slow to nymphs under a bobber around midday.  Even that change, and all the weight needed to get even stoneflies to the bottom, resulted in one or two half-hearted bumps that I did not connect with.  I even revisited a couple ringer winter holes and really worked to get in the strike zone, but that  just resulted in a few good snags.  I always find it easier to feed the creek tungsten when I get a little something for the effort, but with only one or two hits, I switched back to the bugger again before I quit the scene.  I even lost one of those streamers, so I was getting down to the uncooperative and lockjawed residents, I am sure.  Not the first and not the last challenging visit, or even skunk, from my home away from home crick.  I should have chased stockies, of course, but there is no growth in sure things….

March 21, 2022 – A Dozen in One Hand, One in the Other – Northampton County Limestoner

A good plan delayed delivered

I was going to fish this small stretch of a favorite creek on Sunday, but I decided to stay in bed instead, so it was still on my radar this morning.  A couple weeks back, I gave Eric some 5.5mm slotted tungsten beads and some long-shanked heavy-duty size 2 jig hooks, so he has been tying some big-water sized jigged sculpins in his spare time.  A few meant for the Brodhead, Penns, the Lehigh even have wraps of wire underneath!  The plan was to hop a couple of these around some very deep holes and runs for my first quality wild brown of the year.  It’s been a while.  I had a head cold that the boy brought home from school, and Tami was out of sorts too, so three days of not fishing became seven, then ten.  It happens.  On top of the annoying illness, it was the first week of a new teaching session for me, and I had a draft of my thesis due, so even if I was up for it I may not have had the time.  I guess I needed the rest on Sunday morning, especially because I had nearly four hours of meetings with students that evening.  That’s a lot of Zoom.  But I really needed to fish today, so I was grateful for the success.  Despite the sun in the forecast, I did get out early enough for the streamer but also late enough for it to be warm enough to move with said streamer some fish, including the one pictured above that was likely over 17 inches and just healthy and strong and perfect.  There were good flows and plenty of midges, but few olives, so I only nymphed for 30 minutes at the end of the morning, choosing to live or die by that new sculpin.

A couple bigger ones got the whole thing!

I was the only car in the parking area as I was suiting up, not even cyclists or runners, but I thought I saw a dude entering the woods from somewhere.  He was not a morning mirage, as I would run into him an hour later, but it all worked out since his plan seemed to be sitting in one hole that the local TU had stocked with brook trout.  Before I turned a deep bend and confirmed that there was another dude fishing this stretch, I had already landed half a dozen of these stocked brookies on the big jig, just hopping it through a quiet and very deep hole.  He was fishing small bugs under a bobber in water I would have called just a bit too bouncy for a chilly March 21 morning, but what did I know?  I had not fished in 10 days, so maybe spring is in full swing and not just on the calendar.  We chatted a bit, and I asked his plans and if he minded me fishing through.  He really did wish to stay in this one spot it seemed.  Anyway, I caught three of four more brookies in another hole or two above him, so I was getting annoyed.  This is a Class A wild trout stream, but it is a difficult one, so this club must put in some fun fish.  I did not renew my Trout Unlimited membership this year for reasons like this.  If you are for wild fish, then why the Forks (hint, hint) the stocking supplements?  Not the place, but just a brief description of what I feel when I see way too many stockies dumped in a creek that has plenty of wild fish.  This creek is stocked in other sections, so some awesome rainbows survive and thrive, but in my mind it is different to plant stockers in a section of creek managed as a wild fishery.  Okay, enough soapbox for now….

What the Forks?

Eventually I began to see the willing stockies as target practice, beta testing for Eric’s new streamer, and after my ten day hiatus, they at least provided plenty of action.  A few even fought well and exceeded 12 inches in length.  I moved more than I stuck with such a big hook, but I was still hopeful that my plan hatched Saturday night might still work out today.  In fact, I stuck every fish that hit the jig as if it was the target species, and eventually I found the one I was looking for.  The brookies were sitting in the softer water all morning, but I had moved a bigger bow and maybe a smaller brown in slightly faster water.  I had Sam in my head saying something like, the bigger fish are often tucked up in the bouncier stuff.  I have found that to be true, even in the winter, and so it proved true on an average March morning too.  I was tossing the big jig into the whitewater above deep pockets and plunges and letting it slide in there with a push from the heavier current when I came tight to a good fish.   He went right into the air, then took a drag peeling run, and then went up again, nearly 2 feet in the air.  In pocket water, the big net came in handy.  With all the obstructions around me and the good flows, the longer he got to play, the more likely I would lose him.  Thankfully I made the most of my very first opportunity to net him.  

First quality wild fish of 2022, methinks.

I moved a couple and snapped one off of a midge in the last hole on this stretch of crick.  The breeze had picked up, and I was fast approaching the midday lull, so I hiked it back to the ‘Ru a little after 12 noon.  Because it was so nice out, I sat in the lot for a bit and ate something before heading for home early.  I thought about one more spot about 10 minutes away, but at this hour more dudes hunting olives would likely be out, and I would only have 30 minutes to fish before I had to leave to be home for the boy anyway.  It looks like Wednesday on the Susquehanna with Kenny is postponed, but I will be somewhere that day ahead of the rain.  Depending on how much, Thursday morning looks open too.  Eric claims he can fish on Sunday, so more days of March fishing on tap.

The full photoshoot....

March 10, 2022 – The Consolation Prize is Never That Great – Northampton County Limestoner

Something to pass the time?

Yeah, still no trip to State College this week, and Friday is now off the table too.  As I was arriving late this morning at a limestoner about an hour from home, I got a text from the boy asking to be picked up from school at 10:30 AM because he wasn’t feeling good.  Just cold symptoms, but miserable enough for a kid who doesn’t complain to complain and go to the school nurse.  Thankfully, Tami was home and was able to go get him, but if he needs a sick day tomorrow, I am up because she is due back to the office on Friday.  I guess I am not seeing Sam this week, and next week is booked with work and school stuff, so I may end up fishing solo when I do get out there this month and just giving him a high five at the shop (or maybe a drink or dinner or something).  At least I found the motivation to fish for a few hours today.  I will thank myself tomorrow for this small consolation prize, I am sure.  Even though it was midday and sunnier than forecasted, a few fish were caught.  This creek has not been the same this winter, but I am hoping it is the weird weather this year and not storm damage and added pressure.  There were again spinners and bobbers in the trees today, too.  I guess everyone wants to catch a wild trout, and I can’t blame them, I suppose.  A few olives were active, as well as midges, but not enough of them to get any fish to suspend up and eat.  I had a size 16 pheasant tail soft hackle on the dropper just in case, but all the fish took a bottom rolling caddis larva.

A couple of the target species despite dropping water temps.

I was hoping that it was warm enough and buggy enough to start getting fish outside of the usual winter holes, but I worked a lot of pocket water today in a short time with only one wild brown to show for it.  There was snow in the region this week, and still some left in the shady spots, so the stain may have been the cold kind from melt, but it looked sexy at least.  I did stick another wild brown in a deep hole, and I caught the rare rainbow from this creek too.  I think I have caught maybe three that I can remember, and two of them were tagged fish from a club tourney way upstream or something.  I also landed a tiger here once, but the wild browns used to rule the day exclusively.  This was one of those bows I talked kindly about in my stocker post this month, however.  It had been around a long time by the looks of her.  The fins were perfectly shaped, translucent, and tipped in white, and she fought really well too.  Sadly, because the fish was long but skinny and took the caddis larva in a spot where I have fooled a few good wild browns in the past, it took me a minute to see it was a rainbow in the stained water.  I was a little disappointed, of course, but when I tried to end the fight prematurely, she had other plans.  She was one of those respectable stockers, a rolling stone and a survivor—roughly 16 inches too.

Refused to be underestimated.

I spent a good bit of time at a deep snaggy plunge after that and stuck another average wild brown, but not before losing two nymphs, a jigged bugger, a couple midges, and nearly a bobber too.  That eventually popped up in the tailout and made itself available for a net job.  The water was cold, so the mist and depth of the water (plus losing all that tungsten, of course) chased me back to a couple favorite holes.  I actually caught my first brown of the morning at the head of a favorite pool, but I was convinced that there had to be more fish in the softer water in the back that were not ready to eat the first time through.  As a result, I really took my time and pains not to muddy it up the second time I fished it. I was encouraged to see one or two blue winged olives on the water, too.  Actually, I stopped a few times today at some flatter, dry fly water and just watched and waited for nothing to show.  Maybe another week, or maybe just another day when the snow melt didn’t send most of the fish into shock.  Anyway, I fished the slow, deeper stuff at the back of this hole and eventually hooked a pig.  Okay, to be honest, I did invoke the name of Karen, at this point almost like my pet white sucker.  I may have thought something like, Man, at least Karen must be in that sweet pocket.  Something, anything.  I did that once last year and landed Karen AND a huge stocker brown, the only one I can remember catching in this creek, but that is an improvement on what happened today.  When this pig rolled over after one run, I knew it was not a big brown trout.  It was Karen, but Karen was not alone today.

Karen, Karen, and suitors.

I know that I landed three more suckers in five casts after that.  The smallest was 16 inches and maybe a male suitor.  He actually fought a lot harder than Karen or the slightly smaller Karen twin I also landed.  The females were over 18 inches.  All were hooked on or around the mouth too, so at least THEY were interested in food today.  Or maybe they were territorial because they are spawning.  At any rate, I put quite a bend in the 3 weight and muddied up the hole pretty good.  The chances of getting a wild brown out of here now were slim to none.  I tried two other spots that were dry earlier in the day, but they were still dry, so it would have to be a flurry of eager white suckers that would close out this brief trip.  I did sit and watch a few bugs flit about, hoping that one particular flat near my parking spot might come to life, but it was not happening today.  I figured I would be better off at home checking on the boy and letting Tami get out of the house for a bit if she wanted, so I cut the afternoon short.  On the drive home I came to terms with the reality that I would not be taking the long drive on Friday, but the year is young.  Not counting the one good day Eric and I had last month, I am long overdue for my first slaying of the year, but it will happen eventually, I know.

March 8, 2022 – A Reconnaissance Walk with a Fly Rod – SEPA Blueline

A little messed up, but long-term prognosis is up in the air still.

I technically have been off this week, but the weather has been a puzzle like most of this late winter.  It’s close to 80 degrees one day, and then it drops to 20 and blows for a day, then it swings back to the 40’s.  Of course, the trouts do not love these wild swings any more than I do.  Since I am off, I am trying to plan a trip out to Central Pennsylvania to fish with my buddy Sam.  Last year and the year before, the weather was much more predictable and warm too, so he was picking up guiding trips early.  I actually drove out and fished myself the last couple of early springs because he picked up trips, and with the lockdown and hit to the hospitality business that supplements his main gig, Sam had to work.  I am no stranger to the long drive and the long day solo, but I do miss the guy too!  The upside of this weird winter that is still hanging on between odd one-day warm ups is that he is available this week, but the damn weather won’t seem to cut me a break.  It was blowing 20 mph today, with gusts to 40, not to mention bright sun, and it may rain and snow pretty well on top of already high flows out there later this week too.  The last time I had the time to fish and the weather was like this, I just decided to do some recon on an old spot I used to visit, and it ended up being a fun day—and really just an excuse to be outside.  After our mediocre brookie opener, the Silver Fox had me going through this blog, and even photo archives that predate this, looking for pics of some past blueline success.  I did not have the time or motivation to head to any of the old NEPA brookie or brookie/brown mix spots I used to fish, but I did have the time to visit a small creek within an hour of home that is on the natural reproduction list.

A pair from 2015.  One was under the roots of the before and after shot here.

Expectations were low.  The last time I was here was two years ago and with the boy.  The water was high and dirty, but we did not move a thing with a streamer or even a Rapala.  There was some roadwork happening too, but that is now complete.  I had not seen this creek post-Ida either, which was another reason to check it out.  Well, it was pretty jacked up, like many streams I have visited this year.  I spent about 3 hours walking the creek, or driving to a couple access points and sliding down hills into the water when possible.  I say when possible because some of the banks were cut so deep by the floods that it would have been an 8-foot leap to the water.  I caught nothing.  Most importantly, even throwing a midge or two, I did not even find any of last year’s young of the year.  There is hope, however.  With the water low and clear, I spooked at least 4 fish, including one that was close to 20 inches.   Just getting within 50 feet of them in the deep, clear wintering holes was impossible today.  I almost wished I had the ultralight, but a spinner or plug making entry would have spooked them too, I am afraid.  Besides the 4 I spooked, I did stalk one other pig that eventually refused a stonefly after swimming a foot over to take a look.  I also had a decent 10 or 11 incher take a slow run at a jigged streamer before seeing me and quickly disappearing.  I wish there were signs of small fish, but at least these mature ones may find each other and make more babies, I hope.  I may rest this one for another couple years, but it did give me a reason to get outside for some color—not sure if it was sunburn or windburn, however.  Still hoping for a run out west this week, maybe Friday now.

March 4, 2022 – A Couple Hours Chasing the Fresh Stockers – SEPA DHALO

Not a wet sock, at least not this one.

Once a defender of stocking programs and the fish themselves, I am beginning to understand more clearly the other side of the argument too.  I still have love for those wily enough to hold over and wild out.   Living where I live, too, stocking provides more fishing experiences than Valley Creek, which is hardly big enough or challenging enough alone to sustain me when I don’t want to travel far.  I respect wild browns for their now generational survival skills, so I concur with my boy Reelin Ron that those first generation survivors, like rogue rainbows and long-ranging brownies, deserve some respect too.  To go from ceeement pond to the mighty Lehigh River and thrive, that is something worth celebrating in a stocker, and a small percentage of them do have the right stuff.  But there is the other side, too.  People privately stock streams because they can’t catch enough wild fish for their liking or skill level, for example.  More personally, I feel like a fraud standing there with my 600 dollar waders, 250 dollar boots, 150 dollar net, and so on watching former bucketmates chasing each other around a muddy hole in a creek that may have no business hosting a trout—or worse, wild fish potentially exhausting themselves chasing ignorant stockers out of their prime generational real estate holdings.  This is probably happening in a few Lehigh Valley limestoners—in particular, one with a very “porous” hatchery nearby—at this very moment!

"I'm a franchise player and we're out here talking about stockers?  Stockers?" - AI

This creek I fished today is not that bad—hence it’s been given the small privilege of being a DHALO.  It does have very decent bug life and even a wild fish or two—they are even trying to reintroduce natives in the headwaters of a couple of these particularly clean creeks in SEPA.  Like many a crick in the region, Ida effed this one up pretty bad, however, so a couple times I was fishing muddy, nondescript holes just to land fish that I could see in there when much of the rest of the creek was barren.  I don’t know the particular date, just that the stocking was done last week, so perhaps we just need a rain to spread them out.  I saw some adult stoneflies today, too, so I did tell Eric I would sneak over here again this month for some dry fly action, but the overall experience today felt off.  Perhaps it was the aforementioned lazy planting of fish, or the fact that with the exception of one fish that may have survived the year they fought like wet socks, or maybe it was all the flies and tippet and thingamabobbers laced through one particular deadfall in water too deep to retrieve one’s errors safely. Whatever the case, I don’t think I want to chase stockers again anytime soon, at least not until they get a chance to acclimate and let survival instincts and genetics begin to work their combined magic.

Oh, Ida....