The ninja and I met up at the Little Lehigh early Saturday morning. It was grand.
The weather was ideal and we managed seven or eight hours of solid fishing before canine-related chores chased me back home. We met at 7:30 am, downed some coffee and ambled upstream to check out the scene. A week previous I'd seen solid surface activity as fish in every stretch chased a prolific trico hatch. Conditions were pretty much the same, but the risers were more bashful, for sure. I'm guessing that since Friday night's showers gave the water a little color, it took a while for the fish to get going. The water would clear nicely, all the way to gin-clear, over the course of the morning.
Our favorite run, just below the bend by the wall, was taken. In fact, despite modest crowd levels for a Saturday in July, the near bank was being fished such that it would be tough to fit two anglers in on any run so we worked our way around to fish from the wall. From there, those big, dumb, aggressive, foul-hooking fish were the order of the morning. I quickly brought three fish to hand and each time noted that the hook was not in the mouth of the fish. I had one come up to the caddis on the surface, strike, spit the fly, only to get taken by my brassie (in the belly). Next, I think the fish took the brassie, but my hook-set was late and I ended up snagging him on the dime pattern trailing at the end of the rig. The "back-up plan" was working well.
I'd been tricking fish and landing fish, but by the time I got a fourth, a small brown, I was thrilled to catch one on the lip.
The ninja had a frustrating morning. He'd make up for it later.
Seeing that our run had opened up below the bend, we made our way back around to the near bank. We grabbed two holes that we know hold fish and went at it.
Nothing. Ninja had one take. He thought it was a snag and didn't set the hook. I got wind knots.
Disappointed, we decided to walk downstream and see if we could find more promising holds. But first, we wanted a few more casts in that run. You could see fish in here and it seemed a shame to leave a known spot while there was still hope.
We fished this run with one rod for the next two-and-a-half hours. We'd take turns on the rod, with the other standing on a large rock just off the left shoulder of the caster. From this perched position, the guy on the rock could see an entire stretch of clear water very well. At times, when the sun would peak between branches and shine directly in on the water on the far half of the river, you could see clear down to the bottom of even the deepest stretches.
And we caught fish. First, and for a good long while, it was on my caddis/brassie/dime rig, with the brassie coming up big for a second straight weekend. After a solid stretch of time landing fish and passing the rod back and forth, the action slowed on this rig. You could see the fish moving less and less in the water column, but they were still occasionally active. Finally, we weren't catching anything at all, but it was a good enough location that we decided to stick it out and see if we could make some other trick work.
I don't know that I ever have fished a worm. I certainly have nothing against the pattern, it's just not something that I think of all that often. Heck, I don't even have any San Juan's in my fly-boxes. My attempts to tie them have been doomed by cheap chenille. Still, for some reason the idea jumped into my mind. It had rained the night before and standing on that slightly elevated rock looking at the water, I thought the fish might take nicely to something strange and delicious floating by.
As I said, I don't have worms in my fly-boxes, so I asked Mike. He has plenty of them and first pointed to an over-sized red Pure Midge Larva-looking thing. It was a nice worm pattern, and I'm sure it would have worked --- maybe even better --- but I had something else in mind. In another box, I grabbed this.
I must confess, I've always wanted to fish this silly pattern. It's too right not to. So we did. With Mike on the reel, we cast to these fish. And cast. And cast. Perfect drifts, strained drifts, new drifts, more slack, or tight line, and back through the cycle again. No luck. It was a damn shame too, because occasionally a fish would jerk its head and look. You could see the bright pink silly fucker clearly
floating in the water. The caddis was a nice back-up indicator, but not even needed most of the time. And every now and then a fish would turn and follow briefly, only to turn away.
I'd given up. But I wasn't the one with the rod so my thought didn't count. And Mike decided a few more cast couldn't hurt.
On the far bank, past the money-hole, behind the tail boulder on the bottom, is a long stretch of slack water. Fish -- good-sized fish --- moved in and out of this water over the course of the day. They were active in there, but it's a tough spot to land a fly and get any amount of drift. We'd worked the area occasionally, but most of our attention was on the upper end of the run.
At the tail end of one of those more common casts, we both saw one of the fish move in that slack water. He turned on the worm, but only a passing glance. Still, it was enough to catch our interest. And so Mike tossed a Hail Mary. I'd call it something else, but it's not what you would think of as a high-percentage cast. If it lands long, it's in dead calm water and only provides hope for mere moments before the
line gives in to the current. A short cast is in that current. And in the middle, there is only a dinner-plate sized area for you to land a fly in order to get any length of drift at all. Mike hit it.
The caddis settled on the water and our eyes shifted quickly to our gaudy worm friend. And then the fish. After a second or two of calm drift downstream, the fly was gently tugged across the nose of the trout. The fish turned, keenly interested in this easy meal, but not yet ready. And just as the worm was about to pick up speed in drift, the fish turned again and followed. He positioned himself so his mouth was coming straight at not only the fly, but us far across the stream.
And he gulped the thing.
I let out some sort of guttural holler. I wasn't just surprised that it had finally worked, but the way it worked was so incredibly cool to see. The bright sun and now clear water allowed for a picture-perfect view of the action. The bright pink worm was easy to see, even a few feet down. And the angle of attack that the fish took showcased the scene ideally for both Mike and I. It was the coolest thing I've seen
on the water this year.
Mike didn't need my completely incoherent signal to set the hook. He saw the action as plain as I did firmly tugged the line. After a brief fight, a nice, sleek brown trout rest in the bottom of my net, a funky pink worm protruding from its lip.
Now, I realize catching a decent-sized fish on a San Juan Worm is not typically cause for celebration, but the entire scene played out perfectly. It, along with another fish the ninja landed on a Yellow Soft Hackle after some more persistent work, capped a terrific day.
The weather was ideal and we managed seven or eight hours of solid fishing before canine-related chores chased me back home. We met at 7:30 am, downed some coffee and ambled upstream to check out the scene. A week previous I'd seen solid surface activity as fish in every stretch chased a prolific trico hatch. Conditions were pretty much the same, but the risers were more bashful, for sure. I'm guessing that since Friday night's showers gave the water a little color, it took a while for the fish to get going. The water would clear nicely, all the way to gin-clear, over the course of the morning.
Our favorite run, just below the bend by the wall, was taken. In fact, despite modest crowd levels for a Saturday in July, the near bank was being fished such that it would be tough to fit two anglers in on any run so we worked our way around to fish from the wall. From there, those big, dumb, aggressive, foul-hooking fish were the order of the morning. I quickly brought three fish to hand and each time noted that the hook was not in the mouth of the fish. I had one come up to the caddis on the surface, strike, spit the fly, only to get taken by my brassie (in the belly). Next, I think the fish took the brassie, but my hook-set was late and I ended up snagging him on the dime pattern trailing at the end of the rig. The "back-up plan" was working well.
I'd been tricking fish and landing fish, but by the time I got a fourth, a small brown, I was thrilled to catch one on the lip.
The ninja had a frustrating morning. He'd make up for it later.
Seeing that our run had opened up below the bend, we made our way back around to the near bank. We grabbed two holes that we know hold fish and went at it.
Nothing. Ninja had one take. He thought it was a snag and didn't set the hook. I got wind knots.
Disappointed, we decided to walk downstream and see if we could find more promising holds. But first, we wanted a few more casts in that run. You could see fish in here and it seemed a shame to leave a known spot while there was still hope.
We fished this run with one rod for the next two-and-a-half hours. We'd take turns on the rod, with the other standing on a large rock just off the left shoulder of the caster. From this perched position, the guy on the rock could see an entire stretch of clear water very well. At times, when the sun would peak between branches and shine directly in on the water on the far half of the river, you could see clear down to the bottom of even the deepest stretches.
And we caught fish. First, and for a good long while, it was on my caddis/brassie/dime rig, with the brassie coming up big for a second straight weekend. After a solid stretch of time landing fish and passing the rod back and forth, the action slowed on this rig. You could see the fish moving less and less in the water column, but they were still occasionally active. Finally, we weren't catching anything at all, but it was a good enough location that we decided to stick it out and see if we could make some other trick work.
I don't know that I ever have fished a worm. I certainly have nothing against the pattern, it's just not something that I think of all that often. Heck, I don't even have any San Juan's in my fly-boxes. My attempts to tie them have been doomed by cheap chenille. Still, for some reason the idea jumped into my mind. It had rained the night before and standing on that slightly elevated rock looking at the water, I thought the fish might take nicely to something strange and delicious floating by.
As I said, I don't have worms in my fly-boxes, so I asked Mike. He has plenty of them and first pointed to an over-sized red Pure Midge Larva-looking thing. It was a nice worm pattern, and I'm sure it would have worked --- maybe even better --- but I had something else in mind. In another box, I grabbed this.
I must confess, I've always wanted to fish this silly pattern. It's too right not to. So we did. With Mike on the reel, we cast to these fish. And cast. And cast. Perfect drifts, strained drifts, new drifts, more slack, or tight line, and back through the cycle again. No luck. It was a damn shame too, because occasionally a fish would jerk its head and look. You could see the bright pink silly fucker clearly
floating in the water. The caddis was a nice back-up indicator, but not even needed most of the time. And every now and then a fish would turn and follow briefly, only to turn away.
I'd given up. But I wasn't the one with the rod so my thought didn't count. And Mike decided a few more cast couldn't hurt.
On the far bank, past the money-hole, behind the tail boulder on the bottom, is a long stretch of slack water. Fish -- good-sized fish --- moved in and out of this water over the course of the day. They were active in there, but it's a tough spot to land a fly and get any amount of drift. We'd worked the area occasionally, but most of our attention was on the upper end of the run.
At the tail end of one of those more common casts, we both saw one of the fish move in that slack water. He turned on the worm, but only a passing glance. Still, it was enough to catch our interest. And so Mike tossed a Hail Mary. I'd call it something else, but it's not what you would think of as a high-percentage cast. If it lands long, it's in dead calm water and only provides hope for mere moments before the
line gives in to the current. A short cast is in that current. And in the middle, there is only a dinner-plate sized area for you to land a fly in order to get any length of drift at all. Mike hit it.
The caddis settled on the water and our eyes shifted quickly to our gaudy worm friend. And then the fish. After a second or two of calm drift downstream, the fly was gently tugged across the nose of the trout. The fish turned, keenly interested in this easy meal, but not yet ready. And just as the worm was about to pick up speed in drift, the fish turned again and followed. He positioned himself so his mouth was coming straight at not only the fly, but us far across the stream.
And he gulped the thing.
I let out some sort of guttural holler. I wasn't just surprised that it had finally worked, but the way it worked was so incredibly cool to see. The bright sun and now clear water allowed for a picture-perfect view of the action. The bright pink worm was easy to see, even a few feet down. And the angle of attack that the fish took showcased the scene ideally for both Mike and I. It was the coolest thing I've seen
on the water this year.
Mike didn't need my completely incoherent signal to set the hook. He saw the action as plain as I did firmly tugged the line. After a brief fight, a nice, sleek brown trout rest in the bottom of my net, a funky pink worm protruding from its lip.
Now, I realize catching a decent-sized fish on a San Juan Worm is not typically cause for celebration, but the entire scene played out perfectly. It, along with another fish the ninja landed on a Yellow Soft Hackle after some more persistent work, capped a terrific day.
Labels: brassie, dimes, little lehigh, san juan worm
Yesterday I made an impulsive decision and beat tracks to the Little Lehigh for an afternoon of easy fishing. It was easier than expected too, as it seems that they've recently dumped a number of heavy stockers into the stretch by the wall near the hatchery. But hell, I'll take dumb trout over household chores any day.
And being the occasionally intelligent sort who knows a good thing when he catches it, I made a return trip today. I did even better, with probably ten fish landed and plenty of others missed or let loose a long way from shore.
The highlight was a solid 17-incher pulled from the bottom on a Stonefly - Barr Emerger rig. She was a beaut, though you'll have to take my word for it as I wasn't able to take a picture.
I did snap a shot of perhaps the oddest thing I've ever come across on a stream's bank though. I'm not sure what a bowling pin is doing in a river, but it made for a handy spot to stash a fly as I tied on a new trailing nymph.
And being the occasionally intelligent sort who knows a good thing when he catches it, I made a return trip today. I did even better, with probably ten fish landed and plenty of others missed or let loose a long way from shore.
The highlight was a solid 17-incher pulled from the bottom on a Stonefly - Barr Emerger rig. She was a beaut, though you'll have to take my word for it as I wasn't able to take a picture.
I did snap a shot of perhaps the oddest thing I've ever come across on a stream's bank though. I'm not sure what a bowling pin is doing in a river, but it made for a handy spot to stash a fly as I tied on a new trailing nymph.
Labels: barr emerger, bowling pin, little lehigh, stonefly