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
The ninja and I managed to get out on the Little Lehigh once this weekend. We had awesome weather and managed to hook up with a number of fish. Spring has certainly sprung and the time is right to catch trout. It's a beautiful thing...
Labels: little lehigh
Here are some additional pictures from Friday's adventures in the rain.
That's ninja's fish from when we first met up with him, Neal netting his first of the day, and me with my skunk-buster brown.
That's ninja's fish from when we first met up with him, Neal netting his first of the day, and me with my skunk-buster brown.
Labels: little lehigh, photography, rain
No matter how tough the fishing, being on a river with friends will always be awesome. This weekend put that to the test in a major way, but the simple truth still holds. The company of good friends trumps even the worst of fishing.
As planned, Neal and I met with Mike at the Little Lehigh on Friday morning. For anyone not within a six-state radius of Pennsylvania I’ll tell you that it rained on Friday. And it rained a lot.
Perhaps not surprisingly, earliest in the morning proved the most productive for fishing. The ninja hauled some fish to hand between his really early arrival and our joining him at around 8:15 am. In fact, he was netting a fish as we strolled up behind him along the wall. Good timing.
We joined the fun and some fish were caught over the course of the morning. Only yours truly was left out of the action. It needed to rain some more before I got my fish. And rain it did. It rained and rained and rained.
This allowed us to test out our foul-weather gear. It also kept the crowds down. At one point I noted that I wasn’t sure if I should be proud that we were the only ones out fishing despite the weather or if I should think that we’re the only ones dumb enough to be out fishing in such weather. Either way, we only saw one other angler all morning.
After a thunderstorm came and went, I was able to finally hook up with a nice little brown. Landing a fish was all it took to make the morning well worth it in my book. Wet clothes and a sniffle are a small price to pay for catching fish.
The catch represented good timing as well. In the next half-hour or so the river went from quite bad to completely blown-out. We spent another hour hoping for the return of fishable conditions and trying to trick the last remaining trout we could find with everything from big streamers to a mouse pattern, but it was not to be. So we left.
Neal and I parted ways with Mike and made our way out to Carlisle, PA to fish the Yellow Breeches. This is an old haunt for us and a reliable source of trickable fish. We got in around dinnertime on Friday night, but knew better than to waste our effort after all the rain. We decided to wait and hope that Saturday would be moderately better.
It was, but the fishing was tough. Really tough. The water was, of course, murky from the rain. And Saturday was opening day in PA. The Breeches is a special regs section so it's been open, but the pond in the middle of Boiling Springs was packed with people. Oh, and it was windy too. Really fucking windy.
So, with this trio of impediments stacked up against us, we went at it all day. You could fish the run just below the pond where the water was still clear, but you would have to deal with the wind. Or you could fish the section further down where the streams come together --- which was pretty much protected from the wind --- but you had to deal with the off-color water. And in both places you'd stand and watch green Power Bait float by in quantities that made you pretty sure your size-18 PTBH wasn't going to entice Mr. Trout anytime soon. It was as if the buffet was serving Big Macs and you're offering rice cakes.
Needless to say, Saturday was frustrating. And long. And tiring. By evening I was full of aches and disappointment. We caught one fish each. The one I fooled was seven inches, tops. Neal's was a bit better, but not of any significant size. I barely had a nibble outside of that one fish. It might have been different if we were getting bites, but most of the day was just spent flailing blindly at trout who clearly were not interested in things I had to offer.
By Sunday, asking me to go back out there fishing was like asking Spinks if he wanted to get back in the ring with Tyson. I was hurt in pride, mind and body. Neal concurred. We packed it in.
Of course, we had fun with the Wii, the beer, the tunes and a random charging skunk that was clearly out to kill, kill, kill. My arm is sore from a wicked combination of Tiger Woods 2009, bowling, tennis and too many casts into a heavy wind. Nintendo will probably have to provide a warning sticker of some sort when my lawyer gets done with them.
And while he's at it, we should probably get the good people of Carlisle to post a sign of some sort about fishing the Breeches on opening day into a chocolate milk river with driving gusts that blow leaders back at your face no matter how hard you throw them.
As planned, Neal and I met with Mike at the Little Lehigh on Friday morning. For anyone not within a six-state radius of Pennsylvania I’ll tell you that it rained on Friday. And it rained a lot.
Perhaps not surprisingly, earliest in the morning proved the most productive for fishing. The ninja hauled some fish to hand between his really early arrival and our joining him at around 8:15 am. In fact, he was netting a fish as we strolled up behind him along the wall. Good timing.
We joined the fun and some fish were caught over the course of the morning. Only yours truly was left out of the action. It needed to rain some more before I got my fish. And rain it did. It rained and rained and rained.
This allowed us to test out our foul-weather gear. It also kept the crowds down. At one point I noted that I wasn’t sure if I should be proud that we were the only ones out fishing despite the weather or if I should think that we’re the only ones dumb enough to be out fishing in such weather. Either way, we only saw one other angler all morning.
After a thunderstorm came and went, I was able to finally hook up with a nice little brown. Landing a fish was all it took to make the morning well worth it in my book. Wet clothes and a sniffle are a small price to pay for catching fish.
The catch represented good timing as well. In the next half-hour or so the river went from quite bad to completely blown-out. We spent another hour hoping for the return of fishable conditions and trying to trick the last remaining trout we could find with everything from big streamers to a mouse pattern, but it was not to be. So we left.
Neal and I parted ways with Mike and made our way out to Carlisle, PA to fish the Yellow Breeches. This is an old haunt for us and a reliable source of trickable fish. We got in around dinnertime on Friday night, but knew better than to waste our effort after all the rain. We decided to wait and hope that Saturday would be moderately better.
It was, but the fishing was tough. Really tough. The water was, of course, murky from the rain. And Saturday was opening day in PA. The Breeches is a special regs section so it's been open, but the pond in the middle of Boiling Springs was packed with people. Oh, and it was windy too. Really fucking windy.
So, with this trio of impediments stacked up against us, we went at it all day. You could fish the run just below the pond where the water was still clear, but you would have to deal with the wind. Or you could fish the section further down where the streams come together --- which was pretty much protected from the wind --- but you had to deal with the off-color water. And in both places you'd stand and watch green Power Bait float by in quantities that made you pretty sure your size-18 PTBH wasn't going to entice Mr. Trout anytime soon. It was as if the buffet was serving Big Macs and you're offering rice cakes.
Needless to say, Saturday was frustrating. And long. And tiring. By evening I was full of aches and disappointment. We caught one fish each. The one I fooled was seven inches, tops. Neal's was a bit better, but not of any significant size. I barely had a nibble outside of that one fish. It might have been different if we were getting bites, but most of the day was just spent flailing blindly at trout who clearly were not interested in things I had to offer.
By Sunday, asking me to go back out there fishing was like asking Spinks if he wanted to get back in the ring with Tyson. I was hurt in pride, mind and body. Neal concurred. We packed it in.
Of course, we had fun with the Wii, the beer, the tunes and a random charging skunk that was clearly out to kill, kill, kill. My arm is sore from a wicked combination of Tiger Woods 2009, bowling, tennis and too many casts into a heavy wind. Nintendo will probably have to provide a warning sticker of some sort when my lawyer gets done with them.
And while he's at it, we should probably get the good people of Carlisle to post a sign of some sort about fishing the Breeches on opening day into a chocolate milk river with driving gusts that blow leaders back at your face no matter how hard you throw them.
Labels: little lehigh, rain, Yellow Breeches
As noted in the report from a few weeks back, the ninja and I have taken on some rising/sipping fish at the Little Lehigh with only modest success. These fish are really active --- rising multiple times a minute --- and appear to be barely gurgling tiny midges in the surface film. And yet, the only thing we've managed to trick them with is a comparatively huge caddis (size 16, if I recall correctly).
Well, according to recently email, Mike plans to come with a new ninja trick this week. Time permitting, he'll have an arsenal of these beauties. I sure hope time permits.
Oh, and if you haven't yet, be sure to watch the video at that last link. It's been posted here before, but it's worth posting again. It is a terrific look at a tiny life.
Well, according to recently email, Mike plans to come with a new ninja trick this week. Time permitting, he'll have an arsenal of these beauties. I sure hope time permits.
Oh, and if you haven't yet, be sure to watch the video at that last link. It's been posted here before, but it's worth posting again. It is a terrific look at a tiny life.
Labels: bug learnin', little lehigh, midges
This past weekend I managed to get out on the river twice. The first, on Saturday, was a quick, half-hour trip down to the local creek. It was also my first trip to Skunksville in quite a long while. It was a tough lesson to learn, but I now understand that the fish in my local creek aren’t quite as dumb as I once imagined. I can’t decide if I’m happy about that or not.
On Sunday, ninja and I met up at the Little Lehigh outside of Allentown. Sunday was supposed to be a picture-perfect day around these parts and we decided that was as good of a reason as any to get out there.
Since the wife was off on her own adventures for the day, I took Chloe along with me. She did fairly well, though she would whine if she felt she was being ignored for too long. And that got frustrating after a bit. Still, all-in-all she was her pleasant, cheerful self and performed her mascot duties well.
Mike and I did well too. We started out on a surprisingly empty bank at around 9 am. The Lehigh can get pretty packed and seeing as the day called for temps in the sixties, I was sure the place would be somewhat of a mob scene. It wasn’t, at least not at the beginning. The crowds would grow over the course of the day, but the chilly morning kept things mostly quiet at first.
We fished off the wall to start, ninja hooking up almost right away with a decent fish on a TCTK (aka “dime”). I flailed and frustrated myself by deciding to try other patterns. None worked. Duh.
Sensing the need for a change in scenery along with a change in flies, we walked around to the other bank (wading is prohibited in this stretch). Casting from that side and having switched over to the tiny midge patterns that I know work, I finally caught a few fish. It felt nice to wash that skunk off.
Having brought a few fish to net, Mike and I set about try to trick trout with a surface fly. By mid-morning a number of fish were actively feeding off the surface. We took turns casting and changing flies. Nothing worked. At least, nothing worked well. I threw every small bug and emerger pattern in my box at them without so much as a wink. The only action came from a take on Mike’s large caddis, which was really being used as an indicator at that point.
It was just one of those days for dry flies I guess. You see them sipping tiny midges and the only thing they take from your line is a size 16 caddis. It just goes to show you: Sometimes trout are weird.
On Sunday, ninja and I met up at the Little Lehigh outside of Allentown. Sunday was supposed to be a picture-perfect day around these parts and we decided that was as good of a reason as any to get out there.
Since the wife was off on her own adventures for the day, I took Chloe along with me. She did fairly well, though she would whine if she felt she was being ignored for too long. And that got frustrating after a bit. Still, all-in-all she was her pleasant, cheerful self and performed her mascot duties well.
Mike and I did well too. We started out on a surprisingly empty bank at around 9 am. The Lehigh can get pretty packed and seeing as the day called for temps in the sixties, I was sure the place would be somewhat of a mob scene. It wasn’t, at least not at the beginning. The crowds would grow over the course of the day, but the chilly morning kept things mostly quiet at first.
We fished off the wall to start, ninja hooking up almost right away with a decent fish on a TCTK (aka “dime”). I flailed and frustrated myself by deciding to try other patterns. None worked. Duh.
Sensing the need for a change in scenery along with a change in flies, we walked around to the other bank (wading is prohibited in this stretch). Casting from that side and having switched over to the tiny midge patterns that I know work, I finally caught a few fish. It felt nice to wash that skunk off.
Having brought a few fish to net, Mike and I set about try to trick trout with a surface fly. By mid-morning a number of fish were actively feeding off the surface. We took turns casting and changing flies. Nothing worked. At least, nothing worked well. I threw every small bug and emerger pattern in my box at them without so much as a wink. The only action came from a take on Mike’s large caddis, which was really being used as an indicator at that point.
It was just one of those days for dry flies I guess. You see them sipping tiny midges and the only thing they take from your line is a size 16 caddis. It just goes to show you: Sometimes trout are weird.
Labels: dimes, little lehigh, mascot
Yesterday was a day of firsts for the denizens of Tricked Trout. It was the first Spring-like day of the year, our first casts on the water in months, and the first of the annual goals being completed --- We’ve now caught fish during the month of March, 2009.
The ninja and I met at the near exact mid-point between our homes. That just happens to be near trout water. We fished the fly-only stretch of the Little Lehigh, as it runs along Trout Hatchery Road.
We both caught fish, ending our winter hiatus. The best of the day was a 17-inch ‘bow that Mike took from the first run to which he cast. Unfortunately, the cameraman was upstream at that point so there are no pictures of that ‘first’.
The word of the day --- as it often is around the Lil’ Lehigh --- was, “small”. Most of the hooked fish were taken on tiny nymphs, like size-twenty disco midge patterns or Ten-Cent Trout Killers (aka, “Dimes”).
We caught most of our fish just downstream from the bend by the fish hatchery. The ninja netted two more from farther down-river beyond where 76 crosses overhead. We fished from about 8:45 until just after 2:00 pm with fairly steady action throughout.
And damn did it feel good to get back out there.
The ninja and I met at the near exact mid-point between our homes. That just happens to be near trout water. We fished the fly-only stretch of the Little Lehigh, as it runs along Trout Hatchery Road.
We both caught fish, ending our winter hiatus. The best of the day was a 17-inch ‘bow that Mike took from the first run to which he cast. Unfortunately, the cameraman was upstream at that point so there are no pictures of that ‘first’.
The word of the day --- as it often is around the Lil’ Lehigh --- was, “small”. Most of the hooked fish were taken on tiny nymphs, like size-twenty disco midge patterns or Ten-Cent Trout Killers (aka, “Dimes”).
We caught most of our fish just downstream from the bend by the fish hatchery. The ninja netted two more from farther down-river beyond where 76 crosses overhead. We fished from about 8:45 until just after 2:00 pm with fairly steady action throughout.
And damn did it feel good to get back out there.
Labels: 2009 goals, dimes, firsts, little lehigh