High in SNP & Wary of Bear

Wary of bear, a reasonable product  of an earlier encounter, James and I crackled through crusty spring snow descending physically and spiritually into the realm of gurgling water, mountain trout and serenity.    

During a stop James mentioned that during a visit to Orvis Mark had asked him what he liked so much about fly fishing.  A few switchbacks later, in the woods an instant response isn’t needed, James noted it was a simple question, without a simple answer.  I reflected on this for close to an hour as we descended deeper into the hollow and our own thoughts.  It hit me while I was climbing a small waterfall, old knees straining against weight and waders, trying not to slide into the frigid water.  For me fly fishing is a portal, a looking-glass to boyhood joy; the confluence of adventure, simplicity, peace, and excitement.    This may not be the perfect answer, but for today it’s close.  

I’d had my eye on this day for a week as a mid-60s forecast held the rare promise winter dry fly action.  I’d planned to hike down the run 15-minutes further than I’d been before, but I was seduced and slid, yes literally slid, mud and all, into the water at the same place I had before.  

This would be my second adventure through his gorgeous stretch.  As I watched James enjoy lunch and ply the pool below me my thermometer settled at 39.8 degrees a few inches below the water..brr.   Just north of 40, brookies become more active and with air temperature in the mid 50’s and climbing I rigged a parachute adams and a pheasant tail and began working the water. 

 I figured I’d have success with the dropper, but hoped for a surface strike.  On my third cast into a run shielded by a moss wall on one side and idyllic cobble bed on the other a good sized brookie came 90% out of the water apparently elated to see a hunk-o-mayfly drift by.   He struck again on the next cast, Shamu'ing out of the water and then a 4-incher latched onto my dropper and spooked the narrow run.  A great day high in the mountains had begun.   

We had the most consistent action in the top of runs just out of the frothy seams where the trout lay in wait for food, but by FAR the most fun was casting to top of runs, tending and mending and waiting in giddy anticipation for a surface strike.     

The trout who struck on the surface were a year group older/bigger that the dropper-trout and bent my 1-wt, the inverse of the grin on my face.   James who started with a double dropper under an indicator quickly moved over to a Mr. Radidan spinner followed by a #16 nymph with good success.  

 The river warmed to 41.6 degrees by 1300, the bite improved every hour. We leap-frogged until 1430 trading pools and spotting for each other.   We marveled at the speckled finery of these aggressive winter trout and tried not to lose sight of how lucky we were to be with them on such a special day. 

 

The Rapid Anne

Why do they call brook trout specks?   Oh I see.

Fritz hadn't been able to come with me on Wednesday, but Saturday opened for him and even though it was finger numbing cold we decided we'd give it a shot.   Any day on the river is a great day.   We met along 28 and I was very happy to see Jacob too.  

Chilly Gear up

We loaded up Jamie and had a nice time catching up on the way into the mountains.  When the chances of trout are low it seems that I almost always head to the Rapidan as that's where I have the most confidence, and, OK, I like the four-wheeling to get up the mountain.  

first (micro) trout of the day

Jacob had never been to the Rapid Anne before so we had fun showing him our favorite spots.  We got up to the SNP gate and like Wens was the only car on the mountain.  The forecast teased us with hints of 45 at 1600 but it was only 34 when we hit the water at 1010.  Fingers didn't work as well and the 6x tippet with #18 eyelets was a challenge, but heck we were together on a trout stream and out of cell coverage! 

This what its all about

Icy entry point

We geared up with nymphs under colorful indicators and were ready to go. We literally slid into the icy water and  I was happily surprised when I caught a game spec in the first couple casts.   As it turned out the trout were there and more active than I would have thought for such a cold day.  

Weird to be trout fishing with the air at 34 and the water at 38.   We moved up the stream slowly, successfully avoiding a would have been day ending tumble, spotting for each other and willing strike indicators to twitch out of system. 

The art and learning point of the day was differentiating the difference, as evidenced by the movement of the strike indicator, between a dropper bumping over a rock and the gentle sub-surface sip of a cautious brookie, no easy feat.  Answer: when in doubt lift that tip and see if there's an answer. 

Jacob watches his strike indicator 'Like a Hawk'

Jacob at rock face run

Rock face run -- always good for a strike

Fritz and Jacob at long log run

cold hands cold fish

The (active) fish were holding in water at least a foot or deeper in the slack water just out of the main flows and there were enough small brookies to keep smiles on our otherwise cold faces.

one of my favorite pictures --  father shows son the best way to fish Long log run (Jacob doesn't need a lot of help)

together we BTH 15 brookies

Jacob at island intersection pool

icicles guard the river

The most fun of the day came when we were able to guide each other onto fish and have some success together.   After a stream-side lunch Jacob caught two in a row with Fritz and I watching -- great success.  With that as our high point we decided to call it day, walk up to Camp Hoover and take our winnings (dry clothes, smiles and trout) to the bank. A great February fishing day.

these icicles formed on root threads -- amazing -- they looked like dipped candles

Presidential smiles at the Hoover Cabon

thanks for looking

Rainy Rap

The promise of 60 degree temperatures had me planning to give GunPowder Falls in Md a look this Wednesday but I didn't foresee the increased discharge from Prettyboy Reservoir which made the Gunpowder unfishably high. Lefty Kreh's home waters would have to wait.

Jamie loves mountain climbing

With heavy rain forecast for Wednesday I decided to forgo my recon to the GunPowder and set my sights on my home waters of the Rapidan.

The jump in at the SNP Gate -- cold and rainy

It was 43 and raining when I left the house and still 43 when I got my first glimpse of the muddy and swollen Robinson in Criglersville. I went with the only option and was happy to be in Jamie so I could gain elevation and reduce the flow. As I slid down the rutted road to Junction Pool I knew it would be fishable, but the combination of the snow melt and steady rain had the Rap flowing at high pool.

# 16 bean head pheasant tail was the ticket today

Alone on the mountain I parked at the SNP gate the thermometer stuck at 43.   I houdinied into my rain gear in Jamie's back seat as a gust of wind shook down a good sized tree branch just in front of the bumper. Fortunately gear made to keep me warm and dry in 40 degree water did a bang up job against the rain as long as I kept my hood fully up and my head canted down to the river.

first trout caught in the back-eddy to the right of the flow

Any thought I'd had of a winter dry fly hatch disappeared with the large splattering rain drops and I rigged a tandem dropper rig below a strike indicator on my Orvis 2wt. There wasn't ice on the river but the snow crept down to the water making my upstream advance tricky. This might went slowly this being an unforgiving day for a fall.

All my Rap friends know there's ALWAYS a trout along the base of the rock

The colors were all shades of hunting rifle, deep browns of the trees, gray rocks and the steely blue and silver of the icy water. I was questioning my sanity and whether I'd have any luck when a flash of silver rose and swiped my nymph at my feet.  I wasn't alone. 

I call this kneeling run as its best fished kneeling on the left

                                                                   

I had to end my soggy adventure after a prolonged downpour turned my (yes) gin clear Rapidan murky and brown.  I fished for 2.5 hours and bought 8 brookies to hand and truly appreciated each one for their beauty, resilience and tenacity.

rising from the steely blue depths

this is long log run -- always catch one here -- today was no exception

Island pool, "which side so you want to take?"

thanks for looking!