270 Degrees and Overcast

With a little help from Dr. Trout, I found the lane he suggested to get me down to the river. After a short walk to the grassy bank my destination came into view. Like a hole in the wall that you might miss if you didn't know it was there, the slow mouth water, of the mountain creek, lay almost unnoticed with its high bank growth of weed and brush. The water almost looked motionless except for the scattering of pine needles and a few early morning risers. The mouth was across the river, to deep for one to wade across. I brought my float tube but looking downriver I was able to see rippling water over shallow areas. Hence, my stepping stones to the other side.

At the van I put on my 5mm chest waders for warmth in the cool Sept. morning, besides I wasn’t sure how deep the crossing would be. I fitted my 5wt. Scott rod with Orvis silver label wf-5-f line. This should give me delicate enough presentation of long dry fly casts yet is able to haul heavy woolly buggers out into the deeper water. I transferred freshly tied beetles and spiders to my terrestrial box and a new Tennessee bee pattern. Along with my standby summer flies I brought along my bugger and streamer box for an occasional smallie offering should the trout not cooperate.

Down river I began to cross the inconsistent wavy river water. I was in a hurry to present the early risers with imitations of breakfast but couldn’t resist casting a brown bugger into an occasional tail out. A short ways into the river I came across well placed submerged old telephone poles and RR ties that could make any sober fisherman look like a stumbling idiot. Loose round rocks shifted under my felt wading boots as my knee joints tried their best to cushion and steady any missteps. My hurriedness was slowed down to a controlled cautious short stepping wade. Through waist high water to again a section of thigh high water I came within casting distance of the far brushy shore. Looking up at the gray blue sky there didn’t seam to be any indication that the sun would appear nor warm things up. The clear water though would give tell tale signs of bad imitations, thick leaders or tippets. From below the water surface the sunless sky should prevent any reflective glare, hopefully, from suspicious trout. I tied on a 6x tippet and to this a fresh gray barking spider. A beetle may have worked but the current was a little on the fast side near shore and a sprawled out spider may attract more attention. The first cast I came up short. The next few I was on target but nothing came up to investigate. Either the fish weren’t hungry or they weren’t hanging around the area.

I walked towards the bank and into the soft sandy dirt. Keeping my feet moving I got to an uphill trail and climbed onto land. Strands of weeds and overgrown greenery grew over the small game trail. I followed the trail a bit then veered off, through the chest high shrubs and such, towards the edge of the creek mouth. Instantly I could see a few suspended trout waiting a morning meal. Bottom white tipped fins with orange bellies signified brook trout. I slowly entered the shallow water and waded out enough to give me back casting room. The stage was set!!
Up to my left the creek appeared from around a bend and flowed slowly towards me. Across the creek an overhanging tree hugged the bank and overshadowed dark waters. Between that tree and me there was plenty of space and deep enough water to keep me busy. To my right the mouth opened up to shallow water than dropped off into the flowing river. Even behind my right shoulder I had a shallow run of cool water near the bank that I could cast to if I heard a rise. A 270 degree arc of castable fishing water should keep me content for sometime under the overcast skies.

As I was tying on a beetle a surface rise caught my attention up creek against the bank about 35 feet away. I false cast away and then laid the beetle near the bank. Two separate small wakes appeared and headed away from the shallow area where my beetle sat. These two trout won’t be that easily fooled!
I than worked the beetle towards the far overhanging tree casting near me than into the middle of the creek. Not being able to overhand cast to reach the tree against the far bank, because of high standing weeds behind me, I resorted to a 45* angle side arm cast. At the end of my forceful forward cast I lift my wrist sharply; this caused the falling fly line to rise and thus drops the beetle to the water first followed by the leader and line. A swirl tells me breakfast was eaten and I set the hook. The fish swims and darts like an early spring brook trout than a warm September lazy limb. After a good hearty fight I release a silvery blue brook trout. The first catch isn’t that hard. The next few will take time from the now wary trout.
Changing dry flies and casting within my stationary spot I produce 2 more brookies on a #14 gray barking spider. Things just weren’t going as well as I thought they should have. I didn’t want to resort to nymph fishing but my patience was running thin not doing well with terrestrials.
I recalled seeing mayflies coming off the river the past weekend similar to slate drakes. I decided to tie on a #14 Quill Gordon to a longer piece of 6x tippet. In slow clear water I refrain from using liquid floatant because of the film it sometimes leaves on the water surface. I’d rather switch flies more often than use a fly that will leave a silicone slick trail.
Within 5 or 6 casts my Quill Gordon takes on enough water that it wouldn’t stay afloat too long. On one such occasion I let the dry sink and drift about a foot or so beneath the surface. A streaking fish flashed in the vicinity of my sunken dry and my fly line tip jerked. I wrist set the hook and a nice male brookie fought with spirit and vigor. After another fish was quickly caught using the same method I was sure I found the right formula to produce more caught fish at a quicker rate. I twisted a small piece of matchstick lead just above my 6x tippet knot. This got my fly down quicker and yet kept it in the slow moving water column. I was having a good time wet fly fishing with a submerged dry fly. Brookies took the fly aggressively and fought like they were ****ed in being fooled beneath the surface.

Eventually the action slowed down between me and the far bank in the deeper water. I noticed a rise up creek where I scared the two off earlier. I tied on a piece of 7x tippet and removed the lead weight. My black beetles didn’t do well earlier so I decided to tie on a #18 black ant. I sidearm arc-looped a cast so the leader/tippet wasn’t directly over the fish’s head. With a soft landing, a fish head rose in the vicinity of my ant. I lifted the rod quickly and the surface water swirled with activity. The fish took line through my tensioned fingers as the rod flexed forward following the trout. He left the shallows and swam into the deeper middle of the creek. After a short tussle I turned him around and brought in a beautiful male brookie. His belly bulged beneath the rich orange pigment of his skin. His black and white lipped mouth seamed too large for his 13” frame. I detached the small hook from his pierced lip and he settled down near my feet. Letting him catch his breath I moved my foot towards him and he swam off to join his other sore lipped buddies.

Satisfied with my day’s performance, and hungry, it was time to leave the peaceful area. I clipped off the 6x/7x tippet and knotted on a short piece of 4x. I knotted a fast-snap to this and clipped on an olive woolly bugger for the way back across the river.
Down river I caught 2 smallmouth’s and another brook trout while crossing the submerged foot obstacles. About 30 feet from the brushy bank, in the shallows, I saw a rise just beyond a riffling run. When the fish rose again I couldn’t resist. I knotted on a piece of 6x tippet and tied on a #14 brown Elk hair caddis, a Clarion River favorite. Being a little upstream would give my fly a little more time to sit atop the slow water before the current sweeps my fly line down river. I pinpointed my overhead cast into the shallow feeding zone. Within a second of touch down the fish took the fly. The small fish fought its way across the current and into my hand. I was surprised to see the small brookie on the opposite side of the river.

When I got to the van I checked the time. It was 3:00pm. I was out for about 6 ½ hours, know wonder why I was so hungry. After putting the rod away and taking off my chest waders I relaxed with a bacon spam sandwich and a tin of sardines. Since I was having such a grand snack, from my emergency stashed food I keep in the van, I decided to wash it down with an awful Drifter pale ale.
On my drive down rte. 949 I recalled the day’s events and thus got me in the mood for a cigar. Being out of imports I resorted to a Dutch Masters Palma. It was comparable to a watered down light American beer compared to the robust import cigars I’m used to enjoying. I was sure glad the fishing was good.

Now let’s see, I believe fishenfool46 should be at the kids’ fishing pond in Cooksburg with his granddaughter and sisters kids. I wonder if he could use some help.
　
_______________doubletaper