B&B Family -- All Over the Water

What a wonderful time of the year for the Brookies and Bronzeback Team.   Last week Fritz and brother Paul nailed bull, redfish, amberjack and speckled trout in LA where the Mississippi runs into gulf! Two days ago Henry worked the Gallatin River in near Big Sky bringing to hand a grand slam or browns, bows, cutts and white fish and now the shad are here in force here in Northern Virginia.

Paul and Fritz and AmberJack

Hen and Family w a new snowy brown on the Gallatin

I hadn't been back to the Piney River in years, my last trip there was with Scott before he headed to Florida.    It's a place with nice memories.    Its hard to access with only a single bridge-side parking spot then a climb over a forbidding fence to reach the public SNP right of way.   A .3 mile brings you past the private cottages and to the SNP trail pillar.  Another 5 Min upstream brings you to a river gauge station.    Use this water gauge as a catching feature and force yourself to walk another 15-min past beautiful water before you drop in.  The further you walk the greater the fish density.

This beauty was caught by James on his last  cast of the day!

Spring has Sprung

Things are looking up to include this spec

Every Spring my soul anticipates the start of trout season.  There's a sense of longing that's only quenched with a spring brookie in hand.  In mountain streams catch and release waters the start isn't marked on a calendar, it's
when the water pushes 41-42 degrees, usually in the first week of March. With forsythia blooming and red-budded branch trips ready to burst their winter shackles I decided to hit my home waters of the Rapidan.

The water above the second bridge is amazing

As I jeeped around a familiar bend in Criglersville I glimpsed a full pool on the Rose, but I knew my destination waters would be a fishably lower a thousand feet up the Shenandoah Ridgeline.   I love the process of getting to the river and sipped coffee as James and I crept up the deeply-rutted Rapidan Fire Road noting new trees chain sawed across the road and rock slides.  Normal cars don't make this trip.  People would be normal(er) if they did.  Descending the switchbacks we found three trucks at Junction Pool, a gang of grey-haired children gearing up.   

My destination waters were above the second bridge.  Scott taught me that the steep terrain there keeps less hearty anglers from questioning its narrow walls and the river sees less pressure.  The holes are to die for.  Fly-fishing in this stretch is alot about rock scrambling and unlocking the beautiful mysteries of the next pool.

We geared up with 2 and 3 wts and high hopes.   The cold water soothed deep knee bends and we found small black stoneflies creeping on rocks and brook trout stirring from their winter lethargy.   As the sun peeked down over the high ridge line surface strikes increased, but the majority of the takes were on size 18/20 BH droppers suspended under dries. 



This wasn't a day for long casts, but more for micro swings and placement into quiet water giving the dropper an opportunity to fall to depth rather than being trailed through the froth and current.   "Watch you drag", "rod tip up",  "line off the water" and "that's a fish" were our refrains.  

View from below the 'log-pool' ref below, the trout hit about 4' in front of me

We lunched on PB&Js and pretzels in a setting I wouldn't have traded and leapfrog-fished all the way up to the Rapidan Cabins.   I thought I'd caught my last trout and wasn't planning on taking another cast when James scooted ahead determined to catch one more.  I chased him and found a newly created log-pool stretching the
width of the river creating a 3 foot waterfall along its length.   I LOVE standing below a waterfall and fishing chest-level into the pool.  With cold silvery water finding a hole in my waders (I was deep) I lower my sight line
just a few inches above the pool and watched my dry in profile.   When the small trout lifted 2" out of the water to snatch my dry I gave a whelp of joy and hustled him in, only to find another larger trout on my dropper!  A
double on my last cast.   With that great memory we called it a day and made our way back to the muddy jeep.

Men in the Arena

The more I fish the more apparent it is all I do not know.

Henry and I had planned on a two day red fish adventure to break the grey cold wintery cycle and we decided to focus on the Wilmington, NC area as, in our mind, the most northerly watershed where we might reasonably expect winter redfish action.  It turns out that our anticipation to fish caused us to hustle past our (great) guide’s local knowledge of his water.   Capt. Jud and I had linked up about a month ago and agreed to a go-no-go decision about 48 hours from the trip.   Jud knowing the tendencies of the micro climate suggested we hold for more favorable weather, but fortified by excitement and plans made we took our chances.  

After picking up Henry in Raleigh we made our way down Hwy 40 to Wilmington and had a great dinner at Georges on the Wilmington Riverwalk.   Strengthened by ribeye and beer we checked the weather and it still looked decent 65 and 12-15 MPH wind.  After a hearty breakfast we headed to our link-up boat ramp at Fort Fisher on the tip of the Wrightsville Beach (Barrier Island).  As we left the hospitable climes 5-miles inshore and felt the bite of the Atlantic winds the weather as Jud forecast it would grew rougher, grayer and windier.    The plan was to fish the grass flats of Bald Island refuge which sits right in the mouth of the Cape Fear River, with Southport, NC to the south across the shipping channel and Fort Fisher to the North.

Henry and I exchanged “oh-shit what have we done” glances for a second, then silently decided to do our best with the conditions.  Fortunately this trip was as much about red fish flats education and area recon as about catching and we knew we’d learn a lot. Jud pulled in a few minutes later pulling an elegant 17’ Beavertail skiff.    I’m not a skiff expert (yet) but this skiff was a perfectly tuned fishing machine; clean lines, simple, high quality.  We stowed our gear (grabbed an extra jack or two) and headed out.  With steady 15-mph winds and choppy discolored water we knew we wouldn’t be sight casting so we didn’t take extra fly rods knowing we’d be survey-casting spinning rods to cut through the wind and cover all the water we could. We had a great time on the water.   The boat, Jud and the flats were right out of a World Fishing network Redfish Spot, but the weather, probably mostly the change in the barometric pressure conspired to keep the reds from biting.   As Jud poled us through semi-sheltered tight estuary channels as the tide went high then fell.   We saw mud boils as we spooked the reds but couldn’t get them to activate.  

We’ll be back to this area and with Jud again.    If you are looking to book reds in the Wilmington Area look him up http://www.muddyflyguideservice.com/

34 Air // 37 Water

A Cold Day but great flow on the Hughes

James invited me to get out of the office and have a mountain fishing adventure so who was I to say no.   We's hope'd the weather would be warmer, the forecast high was 52 but when we arrived at the Hughes River it was 34 and the wind had a bite which made us wonder if we had another layer.

James tip-toes up to casting position, one fall ends your day out here

 We rigged up w 2 and 3 wts and high hopes that we'd be able to lure a trout into a strike.   Up the road, over Brokenback Run and 35 minutes up Nicholson Hollow Trail we decided we'd out walked any pressure (who else would be crazy enough to be out fishing) and we hit the Hughes.   I love the Hughes, Its not quite such a high gradient as the Rapidan or Hazel and has a really nice bed.

When this male struck he turned over and his bright yellow belly made my day -- I didn't have him out of the water more than a few seconds

We decided to go with double dropper rigs w adjustable indicators so we could match the depth of each pool and run.   With a copper john on the top trailed by a #20 BH pheasant tail we worked each pool slowly trying to find the slow deep water.   Leapfrogging pool to pool James Picked up the first trout, a fingerling brookie, but hey any trout is infinitely better than no trout and the excitement of a catch renewed our attentiveness. 

By the end of the day we'd picked up another fingerling and a few respectable sized specs.   It wasn't much, but in February, in these conditions it was very rewarding start to the 2018 fishing year.

Closing out 2017 with rainbows

Brrrr..... 16 degrees - you've got to be friggin' (frigid) kidding me as I headed west from Prince William County down familiar roads enroute the Rose River in Madison on New Years' eve.  I figured temps might bump up once the sun come up, but 18 wasn't the number I had in mind and the sun never did poke through the overcast skies.  The beauty of the Shenandoahs along with the much anticipated thrill of jumping into a prime Virginia trout stream was met by trepidation as I made my preps. Slip on the waders and boots - jump back in the car to warm up. String up the rods - jump back in to warm already numbing fingers. What the heck - it wasn't getting any warmer so I made my way down to the river.  Much of the river was frozen over. I'd say 70% ice coverage. Of the 10-12 prime holes and runs, only 3-5 were fishable.  Not going to be easy today.

Anyone who has fished in this kind of weather knows it's fingers and toes that really get tested. Despite foot warmers in between my socks, it didn't take long for the toes to achieve a mind-numbing state. Fingers - not much better.  And then there's the icing of the guides.  Every 2-3 casts (if fortunate) could be made before the guides became emergency brakes preventing line from shooting out the rod.  Today was a test of the maxim - a day of fishing is always better than a day of work. 

I strung two rods - an Orvis 954 rigged for nymphing and my vintage 1965 Orvis Battenkill 972 rigged with a sink tip and streamer.  Changing flies streamside was kept to an absolute minimum to prevent prolonged exposure for my fingers.

All that said, I was fly fishing for trout so let's do this thing.

Morning was a bit slow as only a couple of rainbows were brought to hand.  After an hour or so, I desperately needed to thaw my frozen toes so I hopped in the car, shed the boots and drove around Madison County for 30 minutes as some semblance of feeling returned. Sufficiently thawed, I headed back to the river for another go at it in the afternoon.  I'm glad I did.

The key to getting takes was fishing slow - really, really s-l-o-w. While nymphing, it was tick, tick, tick along the bottom - a single drift seemed to take forever. Streamer fishing wasn't much different as a short strip, prolong pause (repeat) worked best.  I locked into a decent rhythm and managed to find better success in the afternoon, landing a half dozen or so rainbows. After one particularly well-placed cast and hookup with my dad's old bamboo rod, I decided to call it a day thereby meeting my last cast, last fish mantra.

Today was ripe with some major obstacles, but I'm glad I pressed ahead.  Every day on the water isn't going to be postcard perfect nor is every day going to be one where the fishing is so good you need to be dragged off the water. Fishing is work sometimes.  But a day of fishing will still always be better than a day at work.

Last fish of the day.

Tight lines until next summer in northern New Hampshire!

December Trout

With my freestone SNP streams entering cold water dormancy and Henry and I anything but we set our eyes on the Pohopoco tail water in east-central Pa to slake our fishing thirst.

Hen surveys the spillway and start of the fishable Pohopoco

It’s a hike from Va so I joined the Ritchie’s for one last stay at their Gaskell home and Henry and I headed out Friday morning.  Beyond the fishing excitement it was also the maiden journey for some new fishing gear for Henry...  A handsome F-150 that like a sled dog is begging to pull something. 

It was warmer than we expected, about 45 when we stepped into the water, but with a High PA ridgeline defining the East side of the river and the low December sun, no warming rays ever kissed Pohopoco.   The river was running at 48 degrees and at a healthy 60.6 CFS which looks to be the sustainable release level at the time of the year from the Beltsville Dam which loomed just upstream.

There was a bit more green river snot on the rocks than Hen remembered and we had to really work to find the runs amid a uniformly shallow shale-gravel bottom. We fished together exploring hidden runs and chutes which I'm sure sheltered resident browns, but just couldn't raise a strike despite throwing everything at them.  After we were skunked at a particularly lovely deep fast cliff-side run we knew it wasn't to be our day on the Poho.

While reassessing  our day we met a local who was also having a slow day and he offered that we might drive 30-minutes north and wet a leg at Hickory Run.  Fortified by Subway and coffee and excited to check out another well known PA trout stream we motored north on 476 (damn we needed an easy pass) and worked out way into Hickory Run State Park home of both Hickory Run and its somewhat lesser known sibling Mud Run.  For geographic reference this is deep in the Poconos,  about a dozen miles NNE of Jim Thorpe and just East of the Lehigh Gorge where Hickory Run lends its flow to the Lehigh River.

Hickory Run is a small freestoner about the size of the uppermost Rapidan or Hazel with lovely drops, pools, and chutes.   Henry joked that I was very much at home.   There are many fishable sections and we concentrated on the stretch to the left from just below Camp Daddy downstream.  Trout were not rising in the shaded cut the run had worn into the shale(y) old mountain so we stayed we stayed with standard nymphs under dries and indicators.  It was slow as the water was cold, clear and low but eventually we enticed a few small trout to hand.   As many of you know, on a slow day any trout is IMMEASURABLY better than no trout so these game little fellows put smiles on our faces.

Hickory Run ... a lake section looking upstream on a perfect late fall afternoon

Ne'er was an angler more happy to make this brookie's acquaintance

Thanks For checking out our adventure!

Big Hunting Creek

 The Catoctin Mountains opened in front of me and I couldn't suppress a deep smile as I jeeped north my stomach grumbling me onward to breakfast with Henry at the Kountry Kitchen in Thurmont.

We've caught trout on several presidential waters; the Rapidan and Spruce Creek and wanted to add Big Hunting Creek to our list of POTUS escapes.    It'd been a balmy 47 when I left Virginia and it was 41 when I pulled into Thurmont, a taste of the finger numbing cold to come.  I wasn't finished my first cup of coffee when Henry jostled in for a great breakfast and review of our plans.   Big Hunting Creek is the major watershed in this section of the Catoctin Mtns and draws water from both sides of Hwy 77 as it flows both into and out of Hunting Creek Lake. Above the Lake is Cunningham Falls where our adventure began.
 

After working around some construction we found hwy side access to the section above Cunningham Falls and the fall beauty took our breath away...ok sliding down the water worn rocks of the falls
took our breath away too. 

Armed with a 7' TFO BVK 3wt Henry got the first action of the day with a surface-roll to his top dropper in the plunge pool at the bottom of the cascade of falls but try as we might we couldn't get the trout to hook-up.  Trusting the metal crews in my boots (too much) I scampered up the smooth rocks and found a bathtub sized plunge pool 3/4 of the way to the top and dipped my dual dropper rig into a plate sized back eddy....WHAM, much to my surprise a 9-inch fall speckled brown nailed my offering.   I net netted him and hollered to Henry to check out my net when he scaled the cliff.  With a big smile on my face I sat among the Polar Cave-like boulders and didn't need to leave.

The Big Hunting Creek above Cunningham Falls quickly reaches the saddle in Catoctin ridge and loses the steep gradient which channelizes and gives it its character, we fished it for another 200m and walked back to our vehicles looking forward to checking out another portion before lunch.  We surveyed the feeder trip in the lower left hand corner of the map above and decided our better option was to fish the special regs tailwater section along Hwy 77. 

We noticed the nice flow and pocket water on our drive in and were soon questioning riffles and pools with dropper combos.   We both got a few stikes but Henry was the the only one able to land his quarry. 

With temperature dropping the the wind starting to whip up the river cut we decided to try our luck 15 Miles West at Beaver Creek.  After gas station sandwiches we found our way to Beaver Creek Fly Shop and must have met the owner on a bad day as he didn't seem appreciative of our support your local fly shop ethos and seemed put upon to offer advice...weird.    After I told him I wasn't interested in getting lectured about fall redds he broke out a map and gave us some advice (not sure if it was good or a false flag).

Beaver Creek is a classic spring-fed limestone creek.   I don't have alot of experience on them and in my view they are advanced degree fly fishing.   We tried a bit of everything (scuds, midges, nymphs, streamers) as we hunted likely flows, pools, undercuts, etc. w/o any hookups.    As the our line guides were freezing and the sun was dropping behind the trees to the West we finally found a lovely pool with good sized trout feeding subsurface and occasionally breaking the water.   Battling numb fingers, iced guides and the fading light we couldn't get these trout to come tight and left only when we weren't sure we could find out way back on the trail.