July 27, 2025 – The Accidental Storm Chaser or Right Place Right Time Five (Almost 6) Times – Lehigh Valley Limestoner

A cool reprieve with many fishes.

I intended to toss terrestrials around this morning, but when I arrived at my destination at 5:30 AM, I could hear the creek....  The roads were wet, and isolated showers were around all day, so I wasn't THAT surprised, but I did have to pivot.  Yesterday was cooler and cloudier, so the water temps this morning were great for a short, early trip.  By 10 AM, I was wishing it wasn’t late July, and I could keep the magic going, but I stuck to my own summer rules about 10 or 10:30 AM quitting time.  Fishing was that good for those 4.5 hours.  I likely landed over 15 trout, from my first golden of the year, to several hot rainbows, to 5 solid wild browns, to finding a new white whale.  I hooked and jumped one that was probably 24 inches long and just massive.  I did not have the adrenaline dry heaves after he got off because I was pretty sure I was never going to land him in the current situation.  He ate a size 18 bug on 5X at the end of my 3 weight nymphing rod, and he hit on the swing in a hole that is just full of big boulders and tree limbs.  I think the small barbless bug simply pulled.  He jumped once and then took off downstream.  When I lost the angle that I never really had to begin with, I knew it could not last.  One more leap, and he was gone.  It’s good to have white whales, I think?  It definitely helps get me out of bed at 3:30 AM while keeping these summer trout fishing hours.  I could not call this one a grind, however.  It was humid, but only 73 degrees when I quit, and the water temperature was 64 F.  Despite another predawn drive after very little sleep, the rest of the outing was quite a pleasure.

Pretty holdover bows and my first golden of 2025 before some wild browns appeared.

With the brush (and poison ivy) so grown up with all this rain we’ve been having, I had to walk out on a bridge to assess the creek fully.  It was up for summertime, but I convinced myself that it looked higher and darker than it was.  With the water in the low 60s and the air about 70, there was fog and mist added to the low visibility, but I estimated that I had two feet of visibility to start.  Streamer time.  My dry fly rod was probably not going to cut it, so I put a black jigged sculpin on my nymphing rod that I was wise enough to pack and took the predawn plunge—quite literally.  This stretch of crick involves some deep wading, so I was waist deep and having to piss 12 times in no time at all.  I caught fish right away and kept on catching, just with different methods as the conditions changed.  Two hours into my trip, the streamer window was already closing, and I saw tricos everywhere, so I rigged to nymph small bugs under a small Oros bobber.  Even when tossing the sculpin, I had a small soft hackle on the dropper tag, and that got eaten early and often too.  I caught a palomino, a stocker brown, and several stocker bows on the dropper tag on the swing.  I caught several better bows on the sculpin, most on the hang not just stripping, before hooking something a little different. 

A crick pic and just a perfect specimen of a "North American Brown Fish," and a streamer eater.

With few exceptions, I can always tell when a wild one eats (most holdover bows that have been around for a long time still give themselves away with a leap).  This fish dug and shook his head and simply would not give up.  He ate on the swing, and they always have the advantage downstream, but I roped him in twice, once in the soft water behind me, only to have him take off again.  I generally try to end the fights faster this time of year, but he was like, “Dude, I am feeling more than fine in 64-degree water full of bugs and tasty little fish eating those bugs.  Let’s do this!”  This was objectively the handsomest fish I encountered all day, but it would not be the last good fish by a longshot.  Because streamer eats are fun, I stuck with it a while longer, but when I approached a deep, shaded, honey hole, it was bobber time.  I thought that the first of two high teen hens I landed next was a snag until she took off.  She just sipped the 18 perdigon on the anchor and stayed put, so the bobber sunk slowly like it had hit a stationary snag. I was a little surprised that the fish wanted a bug I would find invisible in the stained water, but its proximity to the bottom may have mimicked trico nymphs, which I am told crawl.  I caught another hen in the same size range not long after on the same nondescript brown bug, so I did not doubt its effectiveness again.

Hen 1 and hen 2, maybe hen 2 and hen 1.  Both solid fish.

I may have landed another if I didn’t have the bright idea to take off the bobber and swing a couple casts through there.  One fish hit so hard that it just snapped my tippet off at the tippet ring.  Oooof.  I wanted to tightline the bouncier head of this hole, anyway, so I rerigged with a single perdigon and, after hooking a couple more rainbows, I landed a toothy male that was arguably the best fish (landed) of the morning.  He was an angry one and would not quit, not even in the net.  I had to sit with him for a minute after a gentle release.  He just chilled at my feet breathing hard, and it was my chance to have the conversation, “Dude, why would you struggle more in the net when you knew you were had?  What were you proving then?”  I took that moment with him to hang the thermometer again just in case it was me.  It was 64 F, so it was both of us, but mostly him.  I thought the pocket water between this hole and the next was going to be bonkers, at least with small wild fish, but that did not play out as expected.  I did catch two average wild boys and another rainbow in some fun water, but they were not spread throughout the pockets and riffles.

A studly male and another gorgeous female before losing a true monster.

That may have been a sign that the water temps were getting warm during these hot weeks, and they have moved from the riffles to the deep holes to ride it out.  That jibes with all the active fish close to deep, cold water.  They moved up to the first drop off to eat nymphs, and there were some risers early despite the color of the water, but they were not ready to spread out like the summer was over.  This happens on the fish-active winter days too.  The bobber can be key.  That said, I enjoy nymphing without it more, so I was happy to hook another mid-teens fish before the aforementioned encounter with my new white whale.  It was about 9:45 AM by now, so losing that pig convinced me that it was best to go.  I don’t like to overstay my welcome even if the fish are telling me there is still time.  The stream thermometer concurred, and the air temp was only 73 on my car thermometer too, but why be a glutton?  These days in the summer are rare, especially if you are not a trico chaser.  I had streamer eats, bobber eats, tightline eats.  No dry fly eats on big terrestrials as planned, but I have no reason to complain about that.  That will likely be the move the next time I head out, unless I am lucky enough to stumble into another post-storm bonanza.  Then I will act accordingly, of course.

Bonus college.   Some of the bows were solid too.