UUF

Even after the interesting stream interactions on Saturday evening, for some reason, maybe I bumped my head or it was the pollen or something, I decided to head back out on Sunday evening -- again after 5 PM.  I went the complete opposite direction to a different stream.
 
When I arrived at the first place that I might have wanted to start, there were at least a dozen cars parked there.  I swear that the local farmer had a $3.00 parking sign out.   I continued to the next possible location with the same result, more cars than there were probably fish, so onward I went.  The third and forth spots were parked full as well and I was beginning to think there was a free raffle or something going on that I hadn't heard about.
 
Just as I had resigned myself that this may be a big circular vehcile ride with no fishing, I came upon a spot that has a decent pool that travels under a private lane bridge.  There was only one car parked there, but there also is only one real fishable pool.  Because I didn't see anyone, I pulled off to check out the possibilities.
 
Well, the anglers, a father and about a 7-year-old boy, were under the bridge.  I was not going to bother them, but get back in the vehicle and move on.  Just then a trout rose in the pool.  It wasn't long until another broke the surface.  Thinking this may be as good as it gets, watching fish rise, I struck up a conversation while the father and son took turns with a single rod zipping a spinner across the pool.
 
When I asked if they had done any good, the father says, "Nah, they keep jumping, but they won't eat anything."  I told him that it appeared that they were feeding on the egg-laying caddis that were bouncing around the pool like lottery balls before Nick Perry.  I offered to get out my fly rod, rig it with a CDC caddis, and let his son give it ago.  He declined saying he had fly rods, didn't like them, and besides, "the boy fishes bait, that's all."
 
Contented to watch the fish ignore the metal whirling blade while happily rising away, I just stood by.  It wasn't another minute and the spinner became snagged hard enough that it was broken off.  Since they didn't have another with them, they climbed the bank and announced they were quiting.
 
With fish still rising, I rigged up a # 16 CDC caddis and slipped into the bottom of the pool.  They hadn't pulled away when the first trout rose to the second cast.  As fish continued to rise, they continued to be fooled rather easily.  I was paying attention to what I was doing and not the time or my surroundings, but I did know that at least four cars stopped, but declined to disembark, and that a dozen fish came to forceps.
 
A voice came from the privagte lane bridge and I looked up to see a young man standing there.  He said he was there to see if the rumor were true.  When I asked what rumor he told a tale of a two-foot palimino that was supposed to inhabit the pool.  I fought the urge to correct him to the PFBC correct golden rainbow terminology and what I thought about those genetic freaks, but did inform him that I had seen no such thing there.
 
He told me that he was above with his three-year old son and that the boy had caught his first trout -- a ten inch brown.  He described the joy for both man and boy, but lamented that some others had moved into the pool and it was now difficult for the boy to fish.  Unhooking another from the dry fly, I told him to go get the heck out of here and quit bothering me.  No, actually, I told him to go get his boy, I would hold down this pool, and when they got there, I would leave so they could have it.
 
I was releasing another trout when he and his troup -- son, girlfriend, and puppy -- arrived.  I happily gave up the spot, feeling like the Grinch as his heart grew three sizes that day.  While storing my gear, they hooked and handed a trout to the youngster.  Before I left that had been repeated that several times.  The father came up the bank to thank me and I told him "just don't tell anyone I did that, I have a UF reputation to protect, you know."
 
Having given up the spot, I drove until I found the least crowded parking area and pulled in.  It was surprising to not see anyone at the first pool and to also have a rising trout, which eagerly ate the elk hair and duck's butt.  It was the same for the next three pools, with one of them giving up three fish.
 
But I tried to get fancy and from an angle I should have known better than cast from, an attempt to lay the flyline over one log and land the fly in the frying pan size spot between it and the next one failed by a few inches and I snagged the fly.  I few shakes and some line strumming popped the fly loose, but I noticed that the hook was broken off at the bend.  I probably over bent it while doing an offset.
 
Call it laziness in not tying on another fly or call it UUF, Ultra Ubersnob Flyfishing, I continued downstream for another 1/2 mile tossing the hookless fly at visibily feeding fish and known lies -- rising a good half dozen before calling it quits for the evening.  With the smallish cookie-cutter stocked trout, this may be the way I go in the future -- no chance of harming them, and no annoying fish smell on the hands for when wants to have a snack of cheese and jerky or a nip of something special.

nice way to represent our small circle of friends. i like the idea of broken pointed hooks when fishing by yourself but we can't go around in front of the rest of the bait guys and hardware chuckers not giving a woop, now and than, when we catch a fish on top, not bringing any to hand and releasing those big ones back into the water to the surprise of all. 

on second day, in the morning, of fly fishing on the tionesta i was catching fish between two conventional tackle guys in the middle of the creek. they caught absolutely nothing but maybe a cold in the drizzling rain..

ORIGINAL: mohawksyd

VERY generous of you. Nice to see a member of the brotherhood tarnishing his reputation "for the children." Now go drink a microbrew before you forget your roots.

 
My reputation was already tarnished when I didn't push the Bozo in that waded down through surface feeding fish on Saturday.  He deserved a good dunking and a good talking to.  But, alas, I did neither.  I must be getting soft in my old age.
 
Maybe you are right and a few craft brews will right this listing ship.