May 28, 2023 – Patience Pays Off with Some Brodhead Bullies – Monroe County

Still keeping August-like hours.

I was suiting up at 5:30 AM this morning, and I landed at least two fish before 6 AM.  Seeing the gages is depressing in NEPA, but like last week I selected a creek and a section of creek based on taking advantage of low water.  I have never seen this creek so low, honestly, so I targeted an area that is unwadable during most Mays—or is just getting wadable around this time of the spring in drier years.  I definitely stood in places where I would not have stood without going heels-over-head and swimming, even when I used to wet wade and bass fish this area in August back the 90’s.  The lowest gage on the creek in Minisink Hills was like 200 CFS.  Crazy.  I was fishing closer to the confluence with the river on a crick that drains quite an area, and below at least two tributaries, and I still took a double take when I peeked over a bluff before first light.  Thank goodness for cooler nights while they last, as the water temperature was probably optimal.  Fish like the ones I ended the morning with—fat, healthy, full-grown adults—are dangerous in 60 F water!  Tailwalking, multiple jumps, dragging line under mid-river rocks, bulldogging into every nook and cranny, even breaking off 5X one time—those moves were all on the menu before I quit around 11:30 AM.  But first I had to pay my dues and get away from the footprints of other intrepid explorers.

Other early risers besides me.

There were clouds of micro-caddis early in the day, but fishing started out challenging.  Before some larger caddis commenced with their own far more low-density swarming, I think the trouts and other creek dwellers were tuned into those size 20 bugs, and I was not ready to dropshot 200 CFS with bugs that small or embrace the bobber just yet.  I actually did embrace the bobber by the morning’s end, and it paid off big time, but it took some time for me to adapt accordingly.  Instead, I did what I did last week, what I tend to do when flows get low in general, and that is to tightline nymph the riffles and runs with a heavier bug on the anchor and a little bug to match the hatch on the dropper tag.  I had some more success, landing a couple little wild boys, a stocker brown, and a few rainbows, but I was feeling cursed.  At least twice in a thirty-minute timespan, I dropped decent wild fish in that 11- to 12-inch range.  They just got off the size 18 dropper tag, it appeared.  Hits felt lighter and more tentative, but it could have been that most were taking a tiny bug on a longer dropper and not clobbering the anchor fly that was keeping the whole thing tight.  The other problem with the tiny bugs was all the rat-tat-tat from the YOY and even a couple fallfish, so I kept trying bigger caddis, a walts, a couple stones when I saw one adult, and then finally I noticed a spent sulfur spinner while releasing a fish.  It was in the film of a big back eddy, so the thing had been cycling around (getting rusty, you know?) since the previous night, I am sure, but my mind said, Duh! Frenchie with a yellow hot spot in size 14, I have dozens of them!

Didn't know they would get bigger before staging the selfish!

Forget these tiny caddis when there are larger adult mayfly nymphs in the water, you jamoke….  Not long after, and still trying to tightline over some current to the opposite seams, I started getting into some nice fish.  I lost a bow that was shaped like a smallmouth and that leapt like one too when it dragged my rig under and around a big boulder during one of its runs, but at least knew I was onto something, and more fish were to come shortly thereafter—and after another modification.  Even in 200 CFS, this area of the creek is deep, so even standing waist deep, I could not fish the opposite bank seams with a size 14 on the anchor fly, even with 5X, and 6X was not happening after I saw the fish I lost and another that broke 5X leaping straight away from me on a tight line.  As MC Hammer would have said had he been a fly fisher: Stop!  Bobber time!  I would still tightline the seams that I could reach comfortably with my 10’ 6” 4 weight rod, but when I couldn’t, or when I would benefit from a much longer drift, I popped the bobber back on.  Perhaps because many fish could see me unless they were across the way, perhaps not, but for whatever reason those farside bobber casts started getting eaten by some nice fish, angry river fish, fish used to relaxing in far more current than present this odd spring.  I had a blast with them for the next couple of hours!

Low, browns would come, spent from the previous evening.

I landed a twin of the bow I lost and, because there was a convenient rocky backrest for my phone, took a selfish with it in case this was the highlight of a challenging day, especially after losing two of them.  This was a fat fish, but bigger fish would come.  The very large hen I caught not long after looked damn near wild with nearly perfect fins and a wide tail.  Like most of these bows a long way from where stocking stops, she had done some travelling and had spent some time in the usually mighty Brodhead.  I was content to catch beauty holdovers who thought they were wild, so I was surprised to see a wide-bodied brown take to the air three times, but I would land at least four more gorgeous browns before I quit.  They made me work all morning, but they cut me some slack in the tenth or eleventh hour—well, they cut me some slack in being willing to eat, but they did not really want to come to the net or be photographed.  I discarded a few blurred hand-without-fish shots, and I had to be content with a couple fish shots just in the net, but I got at least three to cooperate with me.  More bows were mixed in, as well.  I took the water temperature when one of the biggest browns took his time sitting next to me in the calm depths, but as the thermometer came back 60 degrees, I think he just gave it almost everything he had.  River fish don’t quit, and these browns were acting like rainbows—for which the hand-without-fish B roll is often a given when editing photos.

Pretty one.

So, it could have all been timing, or that I got away from footprints, or that I eventually made the right moves, but I can say that I stuck with it and never stopped trying to solve the current day’s mystery.  That is all fishing really is, I have learned: perseverance, not staying stagnant, making informed and sometimes intuitive moves, and just time on the water.  I know this creek, and I know what swims here—in fact, I ended up near the one-time home of one of my white whales, should he still swim this earth.  This fish was all of 25 inches and just as angry as his cousins I landed today.  Even in this low water, his lair, a rock ledge with a rather deep cavity, was sitting in four feet of water.  No wonder I didn’t stand a chance landing him in double the flow and in winter.  No sign of him today, but I do believe all the fish on my side of the crick knew I was coming in the high sun and clear water and were moseying off.  Holes, even very deep ones, are not your friend in these clear, sunny conditions.

Getting better and better...

Thank god that I still have a selection of bobbers in my wader pockets for moments of inspiration like today.  No matter what, it is still a blast to see that thing give a sharp telltale jerk or get completely buried by a nice fish.  And who knows, the extra drag from pulling the thing around the crick may have tired out a couple of these little studs a little faster too?  I will take any help I can get some mornings, especially when my powers of observation are suffering from a short night of rest and not nearly enough water or calories to think straight.  Another successful weekend trip, and even on a holiday?  Don’t jinx it, yo!!

...and better.

May 21, 2023 – (No Pussyfooting) the Mitch is Back? – Lackawanna County

Stud.  The fish not the hooded dude.

I wake up early enough for fishing that I often get to hear overnight radio programming, which is definitely a throwback to another time.  This morning at 3:30 AM, I was lucky enough to hear side one of (No Pussyfooting), a collaboration between Brian Eno and Robert Fripp (King Crimson), in its entirety.  It had been years since I’ve heard it, and I got lost in the loops of space guitar—think the mature era of Bill and Ted’s Wyld Stallyns, for which Fripp and Eno were definitely inspirations, and you somewhat get the idea.  I got so lost in the analogue experiments that I neglected to read modern electronic signs telling me that the PA Turnpike was closed ahead.  Thanks for letting me know Google Maps!  I downloaded Waze a long time ago, but old habits die slowly.  After a 20-minute detour to Route 33 north, I was back in business, but I decided that no pussyfooting was a good theme for the day.  A weekend warrior I am, and that is a new challenge, but I think I rose to the challenge today, even when the going got really tough and really small.

One nicer fish on a bugger early, and then hours of dinks, many dinks.

Not only did I get up at 2 AM to fish for trout, but I chose a challenging location and paid my dues until I eventually cracked the code.  Honestly, I feel like I’ve made a deal with the devil when it comes to this particular watershed.  I have yet to have a bad day, and I have come to count on catching multiple fish in the 15 to 20+ range.  This river and I seem to have some tacit understanding that if I make the effort, no pussyfooting, then it might just reward me.  Man, it did today!  That is not to say that I didn’t have my doubts creeping in.  I have had dink days here, but not as dinky as today’s early shift.  I stuck a nice 13-inch fish on a jigged bugger before 6 AM, and I had a monster charge and not come back, and then it was probably 15 nymph fish after that, not one bigger than 10 inches and most in the 5-to-7-inch range.  There was certainly a successful spawn a couple years ago, and probably last year too because I saw many uber-dinks chasing my flies in the likely spots for YOY as I lifted to recast.

No place to hide but broken water.

The water was low and pretty clear, so the holes and runs were not productive at all.  There were some larger caddis, but only some, and many smaller bugs, but fish were not showing, not even the aforementioned dinkers.  I cycled through some things in the old honey holes, even fished the spot where I got my first decent fish of the morning a second time with bugs this time around.  More dinks.  It was when I committed to finding fish in the riffles that things got interesting.  I have fished this place in June and only fished pocket water and have had 40 fish days, mostly smalls and average fish, but it is still fun, and there are often surprises too.  I knew from experience that I might find the random piggy hiding in the best water of these same spots—little potholes and depressions, under overhangs, tight to snags and bankside rakes of wood.  I rigged up with a bomb walts on the anchor and my favorite little brown nothing hares ear in size 16 (it is dressed as an 18 or 20, I bet, just on a 16 hook) and decided that if I was going to catch dinks then I was going to do it in the most fun way possible short 15 dry fly takes or something.

A couple more shots of the piggy.  Clouds and sun, but mostly clouds helped too.

Fun I had.  Before my expectations were recalibrated, I turned a big old fish with a half-committed hookset.  With that evidence that I was doing something right, I focused on what I was doing and was rewarded with a good 20-inch class fish from 18 inches of water.  He sort of behaved, sort of, and did not require a long, stumbling, downstream chase, but the rest of the fish were not nearly so cooperative.  Not long after the pig above and that opens this post, I landed a skinny 18-inch hen in a foot or less deep pocket below a large mid-riffle rock.  Pattern now established, I had a blast for the next 90 minutes.  I had a handful of fish over 12 inches and at least 3 in the 15-16-inch class.  They were taking the size 18 brown nothing hares ear, so the anchor walts was dragging, I guess, and I eventually lost it when a particularly angry buck got shallow in some snaggy bottom.  I changed to a sparse size 14 French pheasant tail on the anchor fly after that, and the fish started hitting that too, probably because it cuts the water and gets down like a perdigon.

More nice fish in the shallows.

I lost another big male in the 16-inch range that leaped three times and then found the only stick in the riffle to wrap around.  It was a popular evasive maneuver because I was fortunate enough to land another similar sized fish that I captured right from the same stick as he fortunately dropped off into my waiting net.  It was pretty bonkers for a while, and I was getting winded chasing these fish around, trying to keep pressure on them while keeping my rod out of the overhanging trees, and trying not to fall into the 57 degree water.  All good problems to have after such a dinky morning, and no one said charmed had to be easy.  I hope I did not jinx my next visit to this area, but it surely warranted mentioning (and a little digging through past blog posts to confirm) that I have not had a bad day here.  It’s that kind of experience that hopefully helps the future me push through a tougher day/morning and come out the end as an old mitch grinning with a stud fish (or two) in his hands.

Some insurance net shots in case they didn't cooperate and more nice fish.

May 19, 2023 – Sandy Dunkin Puts Me to Shame (Again) – Ocean County

Happy googan, lovely night!

Jeff and I met up on Friday night to fish for whatever was biting in Ocean County.  I got down there about 5:15 PM after hitting a bit of traffic, and we fished the inlet like a couple of googans until sunset before poking around the beach looking for a bass or two.  I took a skunk again in the salt, so I should be careful with the term googan!  Jeff landed a couple shorts and one beauty fluke that measured 24 inches and was probably over 5 pounds, especially if you count the shells it ate as, true to form, he dropped it in the sand.  Better the fish than his gear or himself, which is what he tends to do most times.  The fish went back healthy.  The water was dirty and weedy, so a chore with a bucktail, and I was too stupid or lazy to rig up the way Jeff was with a 3 oz weight and a long leader keeping the hook above the mess most of the time.  We were hoping that some blues might cruise through the inlet with the high tide and sunset on the way, but we had nary a blow up on top.  Some snappers hit the point for a while, but we decided to poke around a couple beaches, just so we had more stuff to hose off at 11 PM when we got home, I guess.  The grass in the inlet should have been a sign.  The surf had plenty of whitewater and very fishable current and swell.  The grass in the surf is what convinced us to call it after less than an hour of picking weeds in the dark.  As always, it was good to get out with a mitch, even if he brings a chair to the bulkhead like he’s 80 years old.  Granted, it’s in our shared future if we are lucky enough to be around that long!  As the T-shirt from Ward pictured below that he sent for my birthday without telling me says (and then forgot he sent it, I think, which only thickened the plot), I wouldn't make this ride on a Friday night for just anyone (maybe Ward himself, maybe Dolf, maybe, but don't tell them).

Showed up in the mail with no note, like Amazon was stalking me or something!

May 13, 2023 – Well, I Am the (Weekend) Warrior – Northampton County

Bang, bang....

I am at least two for two with finding solitude and fish on the weekends, maybe three for three, and I didn’t have to resort to the secret spot with Eric (yet).  This weekend warrior thing is just a new puzzle to figure out each week.  Today was easy: a perfect cloudy morning with average flows nearly everywhere and bugs as expected, mostly caddis.  Had today been a Wednesday, I definitely would have had FOMO, even while I ate Jose Garces tacos or something fancy for lunch in Center City.  Still paranoid about crowds, I admit, I was up at 3 AM, on the road by 4, and fishing before sunrise.  I did get a jolt of anxiety when I passed a dude in a monster truck way too close to civilization and with his fly rods mounted to his windshield like Allentown was Denver or something, but he was going the other way, at least.  I imagine he was probably all swole and smoking a big old stogie at 5:30 AM.

On the board early.

Despite the paranoia and suburban lift kit scare, besides one dog walker, I had this particular stretch of crick to myself for five whole hours this morning.  The reason I chose it is because I had a great late morning at this little spot last year, and it was around this time of year—a bit earlier and in higher flows, actually, but close enough—so I figured this was worth a shot for the early shift.  Plan B was to fish the same creek much closer to its confluence with the river, which would have been a quality over quantity proposition, although last year it was all primo, club stocked rainbows over 14 inches long and very little sign of big wild browns.  I did not have to consider Plan B, however, since Plan A worked out perfectly.  I love small stream sneaking, especially in pocket water with fish tight to cover and requiring precise casts and fast reflexes.  Even the hits are sharper in this type of water.  It is just a good time all around.

Love the small stream sneaking.

Caddis in two sizes were active very early, so I landed about ten fish in the first hour on my dropper tag—a #16 CDC soft hackle.  A couple took the perdigon I had on the anchor spot too, including a largemouth bass—one of two I landed today, which is pretty odd in a creek that supports a healthy wild trout population and has a steep gradient, so fast current.  I think they get in from a nearby pond flooding in high water or get washed over a dam.  I used to find random panfish in other cold, spring-influenced creeks that have small impoundments nearby.  I also hooked and lost what I pray was a sucker, but it acted like a big old brown too.  No worries, as I landed a great small stream fish, the one that opens and closes this post, a few minutes later.  This creek is stocked, so while I started out catching many wild browns, as the morning wore on, I probably landed close to as many rainbows.  They were fun because they were in bouncy rainbow water too.  Healthy leapers all of them, bow and brown.  Without exaggeration, I can say I landed 30+ fish in 5 hours, so a good morning, you know?

First mostly browns and then the bows joined in earnest.

Once I fished a known honey of a stretch twice, I switched to just a single caddis pupa and worked my way through a bunch of skinny pocket water.  Because the sun was low and it was cloudy, I was able to catch a half a dozen more smaller wild browns, most of them very close to roots and other cover.  The last time I was here, a couple bait guys were above me fishing a few prime plunge pools, but today I had the place to myself, and those plunges did not disappoint.  I started out catching a few small stream solid wild fish in the softer seams and pockets, and then just as many bows right in the white water.  Young Pete, who actually fishes in the City and at night, will bust my chops about this one when he reads it, but this creek above these plunge pools becomes pretty urban, maybe more urban than it already is.  I fish a couple creeks that I consider industrial, and this area was once that, but right now the only word that comes to mind is urban.  We are not talking mountains, not even grassy suburbia, pergolas and backyard patios and fancy barbecue grills.  Nope.

Montana it's not.

Retaining walls made of old barrels and cement blocks, fencing and railroad ties holding banks in place, at least three BMX bicycles, a shopping cart or two, but still the cold water and steep gradient and a mix of both wild and holdover stockies.  One hole was loaded.  It was looking like the lair of the biggest wild fish in the crick, but if he or she was there today, they were beat out by half a dozen bows and five smaller wild fish too.  I even put on a jigged bugger to see if I could move a pig even if it didn’t commit.  No dice.  There was an equally sexy plunge another 50 feet upstream, and I tossed the bugger there too.  Nope.  This time, however, I landed that aforementioned second largemouth bass of the morning.  Smallies here, especially small ones just getting by on bugs, I get.  But nothing about this water says a LMB could thrive here.  They looked cool too, almost like spotted bass, but I think the mouth says largemouth even if the colors and spots say spottie.  

Where'd you two come from?

It was humid all morning, but it was getting hot and swampy by now, probably after 10 AM, and I was out of drinking water too.  I decided to end my uphill walk here and double back to the ‘Ru to get a snack and refill my water.  It was hot out of the water, but I wanted to walk back downstream and see if I could spot any risers at the first hole I fished before sunrise.  I was not all that hopeful, but I figured I could throw a dry dropper and catch a couple more even if no fish were active on the surface.  I also have never explored much below this honey hole because it looks like it gets wider, which usually means shallower.  At 10:30 AM in bright conditions and lower water, I was lucky that I landed a nicer bow on the dropper and had two little browns come up and hit the caddis.  Neither riser stayed on.  My suspicions about the nearby downstream waters were confirmed.  In fact, it was probably worse than I thought because it was so wide that the creek braids after storms and remains braided for a while.  I did take a shot at one of a pair of little risers in a tailout, but after one cast the 3 AM wake up call probably was catching up because I stumbled and my own wake and/or noise put two fish down for longer than my late morning patience could tolerate.  Did I really need two more fish, anyway?  

Bonus crick pic for RR in less "urban" stretch.  One more of best fish of the day.

May 11, 2023 – A Stockie Trifecta but No Gold – Wissahickon Creek

A lovely morning in the big city.

I fished from about 8 to 10:45 AM this morning at the local crick, just a little deeper in the better conditions of the City.  Eric caught some fish down the street last week, but I have a feeling it is getting warm close to home.  A water temperature reading where I was fishing at 9 AM was a solid 60 degrees Fahrenheit, so I am hopeful that the fish here will live on for a few more weeks if we are lucky.  It was a nice cool morning to fish today and a cooler week overall, too.  The temperatures close to 90 on Friday won’t help, but there are a lot of fish left and cooler temps on the way for the weekend, maybe even some rain.  The creek is very clear and getting lower, but there is now shade a lot of the day and still deeper places to hide.  Selfishly, I would like to get a couple more shots at them, just to get out in the morning on a weekday before tackling the day’s work.  I did see another guy with a spinning rod upstream of me about 400 yards, but I spent most of my time nymphing some pocket water, which was very productive, maybe more productive than the one deep run and hole that I fished before I quit.  I probably landed 20+ fish and dropped a few too because I was lazy about retying when my dropper tag got too short….  Oh, the lazy luxury of catching a mess of stockers and not caring if they get off!  I think I only netted two or three just to get a picture or two or three.

Caddis imitations two ways and a sampling of three trout varieties.

I was tossing a caddis larva on the anchor and a size 16 CDC tag fly on the dropper, and both got eaten about equally.  There are midges everywhere, so I am sure even smaller bugs would work, but there are enough caddis around that they must be eating those natural bugs too.  Midges would probably get destroyed by the local sunfish and bass.  I caught a couple of each, but the larger bugs likely culled out most of the panfish.  When trout are eating, I sometimes ignore hits that occur when I land in the slower pockets because I kind of know what they are by the telltale rat-tat-tat.  The trout were definitely eating this morning, especially from about 8 to 9:30 AM before the sun lit up the clear water.  I spooked a couple monsters left over from the tourney, and there are several palominos visible to all who care to look in these low flows.  I tried to get one this morning to complete the set, but I had to settle for the rainbow, brookie, brown combo instead.  A couple of the browns look really good, especially the smaller ones, and the smaller fish are right up in inches of water when actively feeding.  Most were happy and feisty, with plenty of jumps and runs, but a few were sluggish enough for me to take the water temperature, which was totally fine, as I noted above.  I did not overstay my welcome and was driving home by 11.  Maybe a bigger adventure on Saturday if the weather cooperates.  Right now it looks like mainly clouds and sprinkles.

Many of the stocker brown stocks have been getting nicer looking over time.

May 7, 2023 – It Was Taking Too Long to Come Down, and I Couldn't Wait Any Longer – Brodhead Creek

An early start.

I can usually catch fish on the Brodhead when the Analomink gage is 250 CFS or less, but many spots are a lot of work in that 250 to 200 range.  Of course, I decided to fish one of those spots this morning, and I got what I expected, good and bad, I suppose.  One very nice kicker fish would have made me delighted, but I have few complaints about my decision to fish this warm Sunday morning.  Despite the expected challenges of higher water, I got high sun and clear water as well, but I also tangled with half a dozen fish.  Only the one rainbow I caught at first light was a dink, with the rest running between 13 and 15+ inches.  After the two early bows, it was slow, but the next four fish were solid wild browns, strong and angry in water that is still in the 50’s.  The two best ones even took a jigged bugger, and I broke one off on a bugger too—well, technically, it came back a squiggle, so a bad knot for sure.   I think I was dealing with a sub-par roll of 5X because I lost a few flies early that I thought I should have gotten back.  Granted, throwing 5X on the Brodhead in 220 CFS, I was asking for it.

A couple bows early, one a little piggy

The issue was that most of the bugs I was seeing were small caddis and midges  There were some bigger tan caddis and even some bigger mayflies, possibly March Browns, but not enough to get the fish to come up in these flows.  I swore I saw a brown stonefly too, but it was windy during that time period, and it raced on by.  I could not even get a fish to take a dropper tag a couple feet off the bottom—everything (all 6 fish, of course, and in pocket water) was hugging or hiding right behind cover tight to the bottom.  The bows took a big pheasant tail jig, and one brown took a bomb pt too, but I think I just got it in front of them.  Case in point, when I grew tired of trying to figure out what bug they might take, I decided to throw Eric’s olive jigged bugger with an added 3.8mm bead for more weight. I also committed to 4X by this time too.  That was probably the pattern I should have committed to early and stuck with because I netted two nicer fish, jumped another, and had a couple bumps during the hour I committed to the bugger.  Earlier in the morning, in a spot just crying for a streamer, I also sacrificed another jigged streamer on 5X—so if you count squiggles, that was two, and I eventually lost Eric’s bug too.  Today was sort of like fishing stoneflies in the winter and finding all the hidden snags.  I have not been here since the fall, October, I believe, so a lot has changed, including even more, or at least more passionate and committed, posting.

Eventually found some wild boys in the heavier flow, but it took some work in the conditions.

I am not yet used to this weekend warrior thing, but I think I chose well despite (or in spite of) the flows.  I was fortunate to have the creek to myself all morning, so instead of moving I was able to go back and fish a couple favorite spots that did not produce early.  In fact, I caught the two good browns in a spot that produced nothing at 8 AM the first time though.  I did consider taking a ride to another creek that is on the way home, a much smaller creek, but I just took my time and tried everything to crack the Brodhead code this morning instead.  It is unclear whether I succeeded or not, but it was great to be back.  I know that there are plenty of fish waiting for me here in like 150 CFS.  Sadly, it will be perfect while I am working this week!  Wah, right?  I think it was Wardman who said recently that I have to fish like a mere mortal again!  That is even more true only a month into a new position, but I have plenty of vacation time to use once the probationary period is up.  Speaking of Wardman, I have a story about a t-shirt for the next blog.  I don’t think it will be nine days before the next trip this time, so maybe the story will arrive as soon as tomorrow.  Had it rained more tonight, I would have been out on Monday morning for sure, but I still might sneak out for a couple hours, even if it’s just Valley or the mighty Wissy. 

A couple chunks on the small, jigged streamer.