With Thanks – and Apologies – To Jerry

With a full year of fly-fishing under my wader belt, I started this season with high hopes – a breakout year – something to write about on Monday mornings, and adorn the new Mancave walls with pictures of my experiences. Then the tree fell on my vehicle…then I fell in the water – twice – in consecutive outings. So while I’ve enjoyed modest success on stream this year, I’ve been a little disappointed that my banner season of hero shots had quickly turned into a blooper reel.

I read with great interest – and admitted appreciative jealousy – the Monday morning blogs that Doubletaper has put up, and as I scan them over my coffee cup, I find myself inspired. “I’m doing that this year. Swear to God, I’m doing it.” And every time I’d make plans to venture, reality would cancel them: someone’s birthday, a relative came to town, work...oh yeah, and a tree fell on my truck.

Finally, this past week, I said, “That’s it. I’m going.” I re-read some of DT’s posts. I grabbed my Meck book and scanned the interweb for info. And late Friday afternoon, I was Eastbound and Down, destination: Young Woman’s Creek.

I no sooner arrived at my campsite when I realized that I did not pack my lantern. This oughta be good. Fumbling through the dark, I got the tent to a “sleepable” condition and dove in for some much-needed shuteye. I awoke early Saturday morning to the peaceful sounds of a babbling brook and the neighbors preparing for a hiking trip. I quickly arose and got started on the essentials: coffee and a hearty breakfast.



Then I was off to the creek. Solo and guideless, I relied upon maps and a GPS to get me where I was headed. The first thing I noticed was that the water was horribly low. I kept thinking to myself, “You waited too long, Idiot. Before this day is over, you’re going to find yourself fishing in the river.” But I pressed on, found a place to park, and after a little exploration, found some water to fish. It looked promising, but I knew these fish would spook easily. So rather than wade across the stream, I hid behind some trees. All of a sudden, I felt like I was deer hunting. Stay low, move slowly, and don’t sneeze, or these fish will be on to you.

I tied on a little March brown imitation and gently cast my line WAAYY upstream. With a “SPLISH” my fly disappeared and a light tussle ensued. I crouched down and made my way upstream before bringing to hand the first behemoth of the outing.



Well, I got that out of the way quickly. And hey! They could only get bigger, right?

A few more drifts and I was convinced that these fish weren’t having anything to do with this offering. So I tied a few different flies that I thought might work (there weren’t many bugs around, except the ones trying to bite my face). I don’t tie dries, yet, but I did tie up a Klinkhamer a while back and thought to myself, “Why not?”



Three drifts later, the little "SPLISH" begat a big “SPLASH!” A quick lift of the rod tip and it was ON! I managed to get him upstream of the pod so as to avoid spooking any other fish, and then carefully netted him over the embankment.




With nothing else happening on top, I tied on a nymph and let it drift in the back of the pool, desperately trying to keep my fly line off the water, and was rewarded with this handsome guy.



After that, the bite ceased and I moved along. It was very difficult to find fishable conditions. Despite the protective canopy of the Sproul State Forest, I couldn’t escape the heat. I could feel the fatigue in my lackluster and sometimes outright sloppy casts. I head back to the truck for a cold brew, then back to the campsite for lunch.



I sat and rested for awhile then made my way back to the stream. I thought to myself, “Maybe those fish will be active again.” Just as I arrived and donned my wading boots, two young ladies beelined for the exact same spot I was hoping to fish. And with a gentle splash, I heard, “EEK! This water’s cold!” I stood there, dejected…like a young boy who just got dumped as the ladies waded upstream, turning over rocks, shrieking, and giggling. No pics...didn't need Chris Hanson showing up.

So I drove farther up the road and found another place to park. To my amazement, I found a school of at least 15-20 fish. I tried everything I had in my fly boxes: dries, wets, nymphs, streamers, and nothing. These fish were too saavy. I could not connect. And then – with apologies to Jerry – and may God have mercy upon my soul - I tied on an egg pattern. Finally a hit. I set the hook, felt the headshake, and just that quickly, the line went limp. Bad knot. The little ball of yarn cut back and forth along the pool as my naked tippet revealed my mistake. “That’s enough. I’m tired.” That egg pattern was bad mojo. I returned to my campsite, drank a couple of frothy beverages, showered and called it a night.



I awoke Sunday to the call and response of two ravens. They were like an alarm clock with a 12-second snooze button. No time for breakfast today. I grabbed a couple of granola bars and a cream soda on the way out to the stream.

I started my day where I had ended it. Those fish weren’t having any of what I offered. I got plenty of looks, but the water was too slow and too clear for these shrewd fish. I worked my way upstream to other signs of promise. I returned to the truck for a snack and a cold brew…and took in some of the scenery.




Then made my way to an area I had noted on my way in. I walked in to inspect it. It looked like the perfect place…too perfect…long, deep pools separated by riffles, nice current along the far bank, and a feeder spring coming into the head of the pool.



Fish were splashing with wild abandon. I would finish my day here with some great fish. The Klink got a workout again as even the stupid fish were getting into the act.



From dries to Prince nymphs (again, apologies to Jerry) to even a wooly bugger or two, I fished here for about an hour and was well rewarded before I made my way back to break camp.




Here's one for you, Jack!






Happy and rewarded by the success of the weekend and the beauty of God’s Green Earth, I settled in for the long drive home. The majesty of the hills Susquehanna river basin was beautiful in the high afternoon sun. I fumbled with the stereo until I found some good Springsteen traveling music, looked at the "mountains" one more time and said, "Oh yeah...I'll be back."

Thanks for the inspiration, DT!

syd, well, what can i say? looks like a great time spite the low and warm conditions. glad i could be of help but you caught the fish and evedently was determined to do so. nothing like a little stealth and be rewarded.
food looks yummy also.
no apologies necessary, you gotta use what you are comfortable is going to catch fish at the time. 
 
here's to you.

That was great! Did a whole lot better than me!

syd, totally missed your post on this. Beautiful pics and great reading my friend. Am so glad the Klink worked for ya. Very nice post!!!

Very, very nice. took me back to my PA days. A friend and I would disappear for a day or two on those little streams, till the beer ran out! You caught some nice fish!

Great story and beautiful pics! Like doubletapers does, you made me feel like I was there with you.