Rapidan Homecoming

This little fella never came out of the water

I've been away from the Rapidan for too long and even though the water was close to unfishably high bouncing down the rutted ridge-road toward Junction Hole felt like a homecoming.

keeping low James works the left edge of this run

 In my quest to experience as many little blue lines as I can I've worn out my DeLorme and spent time on some great Va water since my last visit to the Rap, notably the Hazel, Big Run and Laurel Fork but the Rapidan just feels right to me.

Adams still in his jaw he awaits release

The road hasn't improved, fortunately it serves to weed out some of the 4x4-less, but we still found one truck parked ahead of us as James and I pulled up to the SNP Gate above the Rapidan Co-oP cabins. I couldn't tell if the truck brought an angler or hiker, prayed for the latter and headed down to the water geared up against the cold and ready with my 1-wt.

We'd tried to out elevate the rain swollen flow but it was running high, clear and cold it looked like blue liquid steel as we made our first cautious casts into tiny boulder protected pockets. This is normally a very productive stretch with fishable pools runs and edys every step. The beautiful but cold quick flow reduced the fishable areas by 2/3s.

Handsome brookie for James

reaching for the sky these trees were spectacular against the blue sky

We began picking up specks at a slow rate and I missed at least half of my strikes. The good news was that where we found fishable water and had some dry fly dwell time the trout were there and ready to play.

high sticking a pool

 We leap frogged fished past some of my favorite memories;  there's where Scott pulled one out from the long axis of the log on the right, there's where Fritz knelt and snuck a dry behind that boulder, there's where Bryan climbed the boulder to make a long upstream cast.  It occurs to me that this is my my favorite river not just because its filthy with brookies, but because of all the great-memories.  James and I made more today, climbing over huge downed trees, casting into tight swirls of water and celebrating each others' 6-inch trophies.

fallen logs frame James as he addresses this pool

this handsome speck took a BH Pheasant tail just below the Brown House

Knees aching but a smile on James' face

It's best to fish with someone else, because it takes shared experience to really understand the effort-earned joy of  catching a native trout while mountain climbing up a river. 

The upper Rapidan pushing the boundaries of its normal banks

A water level view taken from below the falls

two natives came out of the right side of this pool

We were both tired when James spied the roof-line of President Hoover's Brown House.  I fished right up to the foundation and lipped a nice brookie with a parachute adams in Mill Prong in the the pool under the foot bridge.  Feet elevated and happy to have stayed dry for the trek up we shared a few nips of Wasermanns Single Malt on Hoovers Porch as we reminisced about the days adventure.  James caught his share and I ended the day with 28 brought to hand.

in his element shadows and swirls mask this brookie

Come fish with me its easy

James enjoys a satisfying sip