December 31, 2022 – We Finally Found Big Papa Moving Through Our Little Oasis – SEPA Blueline

I will call him Uncle Grandpa, the fish not the guy holding him.

Since we first started fishing this little creek in February of 2020, Eric and I have slowly built on our successes.  It takes time to learn a creek, of course, so I did not expect to have “Northampton County Limestoner” success with this one without logging the hours.  Just one example: It took at least five years of concerted effort to crack Valley, which I had fished for a long time before that with expectations of small, pretty fish.  Nothing beats time on the water, and as you may have noticed my job over the last five years has afforded me plenty of time to fish and crack the code on several creeks, many of them creeks I had fished for a long time on an average, normal fisherman’s timeline.  Last year, Eric and I finally found a grown-ass fish, one big enough to account for all the 6 to 12 inchers we had previously caught, sometimes in huge numbers. 

A couple more shots.

Today, we found the alpha, a fish old enough to be the Pop Pop to most of these fish, and he may well be.  I picture Maury Povich opening the DNA test: Uncle Grandpa, you ARE the father….  The water temperature was between 36 and 38 degrees, and I only fought him a short while, so I am confident that he went back no worse for the encounter.  I had to stay calm, even telling Eric that I did not need his help, that I had been here before and knew full well what to do, but that was as much positive self-talk for my own sake as arrogance and experience with large fish.  Eric, well, he was going nuts on the bank asking, “What can I do, what can I do!” This was after tossing his own rod into the woods and scrambling for his own net!  Despite the fish’s proximity to an ugly root ball that had just recently claimed one of Eric’s own jigged buggers, I stayed calm and landed a beauty of a male that had some character from a long life, as well.

A foggy one.  The colors of fall remain on the fish, at least.

The morning started out good enough.  We were hole hopping because it is winter, and the water is cold regardless of mild air temperatures (fish live in water, you know).  At only our second honey hole, I stuck a nice fish likely 12 inches on the jigged streamer, a bug that I only clipped off once all day, and that was only to retie in an abundance of caution (and subconscious hope of finding a winter piggy?).  I caught 7 more trouts on the same bug, and a dozen rough species too, so something about it was working, perhaps many things: sink rate, size, good movement on a dead drift, and so on.  Eric messed with a few and landed at least two fish—not bad for winter fishing, a relatively new technique in jigged streamer fishing, and simply not fishing since July!  He has been immersed in a home improvement project since the summer.  I missed the guy, so I was glad he was here for this one, as much as I enjoyed him sticking a good 15-inch fish on this same crick last winter.

More fishes on the dead-drifted buggers.

We tried at different points to hop the buggers or swing them, but I think all but one took them on a dead drift in soft water or soft seams along deeper pockets.  Eric nymphed a couple holes we knew held fish when nothing moved on the bugger, but he switched back right after each more nymph-friendly spot.  I chose not to fix what was not broken, but my cold hands were also content not to tie knots for the first two hours, too.  No risers, and no need to mine any flat, deep holes with midges and a bobber.  Chubs were in the chub water, not the trouts, and even they were close to cover and would not move far to eat.  Despite evidence of some springs, and spring creeks in the region, this creek is basically a freestoner for much of its length, so there was even some ice in the spots that don’t get much sun.  We did not get midday sun to warm things up and turn on the fish and the bugs, but the streamer bite certainly benefitted from rather dense fog and solid flows—all the creeks are still slowly flushing the last storm, I gather, because the side rivulets were still trickling clean, cold water.  It was so foggy that we could barely make out geese flying just above the treetops.  Since it was a Saturday, it was either a good thing or a very dangerous thing that visibility for deer hunters was poor.  This spot is littered with (empty today) treestands and even evidence of some trapping.  Eric was rocking the blaze orange, and I stayed close.  Safety first, safety first....

Safety first, yo, safety first....

We landed Uncle Grandpa nearer to the end of the beat we typically fish, and we knew there was nowhere to go success-wise from there, so we turned back shortly after.  As a result, we essentially beat all but a steady drizzle marking the start of the next rainstorm.  We picked a good day to get out.  Yesterday was a lovely day for humans, but today was a prime day to find a good fish, and we did.  It only took, what, nearly four years?!  We don’t abuse the privilege of fishing here, so that probably only amounts to 15 trips. I guess I could count, but that is not the point.  We put in the time, used our combined brains, fished every season and condition, and finally found the resident piggy or two—or at least have learned that big browns, who are documented to have the wanderlust, use the upper reaches of this crick for fall, redd-making getaways.  Now I am singing, “Feel Like Makin' Redds” by Bad Company, which is only slightly better than a Maury Povich reference, so it is time to end this one.  Happy New Year, mitches!  Thanks for all the comments, questions, and reading(s).  A new career for me likely early in the new year, so a change of pace and perhaps changes to my schedule and the blog.  At my age, change is good, anyway.  

Some bonus footage until 2023?