TightLinesHigh5s
New member
- Joined
- Aug 23, 2016
- Messages
- 15
After over two weeks of work travel, I made a brief pitstop at home before spending three days with my wife and kids at our cabin. We spent some time fishing but mostly relaxed and spent a day bouncing around the valley, getting a feel for what was happening on the water.
On Monday, the family headed for home, and I made my way to Weikert with a few stops along the mountain roads to throw dries at brookies. I found a few friends along the way.
The trees at Weikert were spattered with a few small male spinners, but nothing that told me I should spend a lot of time there. At Cherry Run, I found a good fish, but the bug situation seemed about the same as Weikert. By 3 PM, the parking at Cherry Run was overflowing with anglers anticipating a big spinner fall, but I was headed upstream.
I found a relatively empty campground at Poe Paddy, where I was planning to spend the night. I worked upstream and quickly found what I was hoping for. Duns and spinners, both male and big females, covered the trees. I looked for some slow water where I would spend the evening relaxing, occasionally fishing, and waiting for the bugs to leave the trees.
As the sun fell, it was clear that I was where I wanted to be. The bugs took flight and did their dance. The fish were eating spinners earlier than expected, and I found success on smaller traditional patterns. As the light faded, I tied on some of my larger patterns, and the action continued. It's hard to explain how it feels to stand waist-deep in Penns Creek in the dark and lift your rod to feel the line come tight on a healthy wild brown trout.
I foolishly decided not to set up my tent when I arrived at the campground, and it made for an interesting 15 minutes of stumbling around in the dark at 11 PM when I finally made my way back there. The sound of Big Poe Creek and a few IPAs made quick work of me once I found my way to the tent.
In the morning, a short walk to the creek showed that the fish were still eating spinners. I hastily broke down camp, imported some photos from the day before as the water boiled, and threw on waders that hadn't had a chance to dry. An hour later I pulled out of Poe Paddy, thinking about a few missed hooksets, but excited about what awaited me upstream.
A small window of cell service allowed me to connect with a film crew, the fine folks from Fly Fishers International, and my boss to get a feel for their ETAs. I made my way to some new water to continue scouting. Five fish in the net in under 20 minutes. Back up the road to find some service and let the group know where to meet.
I have the pleasure of calling Kate Fritz a friend, fishing buddy, and boss, and she's pretty damn great at all three roles. She made quick work of the interview, connecting our work in the Chesapeake Bay watershed to the health of local streams and robust macroinvertebrate populations. The bite unfortunately shut off while we were busy with the interview, and we could not fool a fish in the hours that followed. As the sun began to set, the film crew made their way downstream, hoping to intercept the swarm. I temporarily connected with a solid fish on a sulphur as the sun disappeared. I felt the weight of that fish and losing it will haunt me for some time.
Food and conversation with friends awaited us at the Airbnb. Here we would spend the next few days getting slow starts and enjoying the hatch. For tourists, we did pretty well at Elk Creek Cafe's trivia night before picking off risers in the dark back at the cabin. It was slightly humbling casting to rising fish with legendary angler and author Shawn Kimbro, Orvis endorsed guide Joe Evans, and Kate as an audience!
The Green Drake hatch here in Pennsylvania has quickly become one of the big events that I look forward to every year. The weather is amazing, the woods are alive, the sky is filled with massive bugs, and the fish are on the prowl. Everything about it feels like a grand finale of the spring trout season. If you play your cards right, you stand a good chance of setting the hook on a good one in the pitch dark. What's not to love?
On Monday, the family headed for home, and I made my way to Weikert with a few stops along the mountain roads to throw dries at brookies. I found a few friends along the way.
The trees at Weikert were spattered with a few small male spinners, but nothing that told me I should spend a lot of time there. At Cherry Run, I found a good fish, but the bug situation seemed about the same as Weikert. By 3 PM, the parking at Cherry Run was overflowing with anglers anticipating a big spinner fall, but I was headed upstream.
I found a relatively empty campground at Poe Paddy, where I was planning to spend the night. I worked upstream and quickly found what I was hoping for. Duns and spinners, both male and big females, covered the trees. I looked for some slow water where I would spend the evening relaxing, occasionally fishing, and waiting for the bugs to leave the trees.
As the sun fell, it was clear that I was where I wanted to be. The bugs took flight and did their dance. The fish were eating spinners earlier than expected, and I found success on smaller traditional patterns. As the light faded, I tied on some of my larger patterns, and the action continued. It's hard to explain how it feels to stand waist-deep in Penns Creek in the dark and lift your rod to feel the line come tight on a healthy wild brown trout.
I foolishly decided not to set up my tent when I arrived at the campground, and it made for an interesting 15 minutes of stumbling around in the dark at 11 PM when I finally made my way back there. The sound of Big Poe Creek and a few IPAs made quick work of me once I found my way to the tent.
In the morning, a short walk to the creek showed that the fish were still eating spinners. I hastily broke down camp, imported some photos from the day before as the water boiled, and threw on waders that hadn't had a chance to dry. An hour later I pulled out of Poe Paddy, thinking about a few missed hooksets, but excited about what awaited me upstream.
A small window of cell service allowed me to connect with a film crew, the fine folks from Fly Fishers International, and my boss to get a feel for their ETAs. I made my way to some new water to continue scouting. Five fish in the net in under 20 minutes. Back up the road to find some service and let the group know where to meet.
I have the pleasure of calling Kate Fritz a friend, fishing buddy, and boss, and she's pretty damn great at all three roles. She made quick work of the interview, connecting our work in the Chesapeake Bay watershed to the health of local streams and robust macroinvertebrate populations. The bite unfortunately shut off while we were busy with the interview, and we could not fool a fish in the hours that followed. As the sun began to set, the film crew made their way downstream, hoping to intercept the swarm. I temporarily connected with a solid fish on a sulphur as the sun disappeared. I felt the weight of that fish and losing it will haunt me for some time.
Food and conversation with friends awaited us at the Airbnb. Here we would spend the next few days getting slow starts and enjoying the hatch. For tourists, we did pretty well at Elk Creek Cafe's trivia night before picking off risers in the dark back at the cabin. It was slightly humbling casting to rising fish with legendary angler and author Shawn Kimbro, Orvis endorsed guide Joe Evans, and Kate as an audience!
The Green Drake hatch here in Pennsylvania has quickly become one of the big events that I look forward to every year. The weather is amazing, the woods are alive, the sky is filled with massive bugs, and the fish are on the prowl. Everything about it feels like a grand finale of the spring trout season. If you play your cards right, you stand a good chance of setting the hook on a good one in the pitch dark. What's not to love?
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