Under The Willow Tree.

The Willow Tree

The holidays are more than just a chance to catch up with family and friends, down a lot of food, and open lots of presents. They present the angler with a chance to rediscover the home water they frequented during their days as a young angler. During my holiday I took a short walk to the local "creek" to hopefully catch some wild browns. The thermometer didn't reach the 30s and snow littered the landscape. My first stop was under a willow tree. During my young days my brother and I would swing across the creek using its long slim limbs as ropes. Little did I know at the time but the tree created the perfect home for some eager wild browns.

A Look Down At the Hole.

Indian Trail Park.

Ice Droplets.

Icicles.

Holdover Brookie.

First Wild Brown.

Soft Hackle Hares Ear.

One Big Blue Dot.

Pushed the 4wt to the Max.

Joking.

Stuck.

Wild or Stocked? I Say Stocked.

Small Parr Marks.

Wild or Stocked. I Say Wild.

Caddis.

Small Mayfly.

Cressbugs Were Everywhere.

Indian Stonefly.

One Last Wild Brown Completes The Experience.

What Was I Thinking?

I traveled home for my little sister's 21st birthday, and made an early morning trip out to fish some small streams. I was a little hesitant at first. It is hunting season and I passed several guys on the side of the roads carrying some big ass guns. I was wondering why they needed such heavy firepower for squirrel season when I realized all I cared about was whether or not they could shoot straight. Walking in the middle of the woods, I flinched at every gunshot ringing in the distance. When I finally reached the stream, my nerves finally began to settle. I was at home. 

Sick Falls, Lost A Nice Brown Here.

Chutes. 

Deep Plunge Pool.

I made a very poor decision on this particular trip. I decided on my 7 foot 4 weight Superfine after several long minutes of thought. I was going after small wild trout in tight quarters. At the time, it seemed like a very wise choice. However, the first hole I fished easily reached depths of 10 ft. plus and happened to be situated a few hundred yards from a very large lake. A large lake run brown was a possibility this time of year. After landing some smaller fish I tied on a size 10 tungsten bead golden stone with non toxic wire on the shank. It was heavy as shit, and I intended to probe the depths of this beautiful run.

Beautiful Run.

Jutting Rock Face & A Drop Off To Emerald Water.

Failed To Produce.

On my first cast with the golden stone, my indicator plunged under and I set the hook as best I could. A very large brown doubled my rod over and started peeling line off my reel. The full flex Superfine struggled under the trouts weight. I adjusted the drag accordingly and began worrying about my ability to keep such a heavy fly pinned in the corner of a large male browns mouth. After a struggle of no more than thirty seconds he made a very audacious move in the current and the fly shook free. What was I thinking bringing the Superfine? Better yet, what was I thinking tying on such a heavy fly when I was using my Superfine? I sat stunned for awhile thinking of the large male brown break dancing in the depths of the green water. His large palm sized fins were all I kept thinking about. He was born in this small stream and made his way out to the depths of the lake to feed and grow large. He survived countless seasons, every year returning to where he was born. I very much would have liked to hold him for a second or two before returning him back to the depths. 

Pennsylvania Brook Trout.

Gorgeous Brown Decked Out In Fall Colors.

At a later destination, I meandered through the woods listening to the roaring water rushing through a deep ravine on my left. Getting down into the mini canyon I stepped out into a very shallow fast run. About halfway across the stream, I saw a neon glow out of the corner of my eye. I took a glance before diving for cover. A large palomino was chilling in the current no more than twenty yards downstream. I sat contemplating this fish for a minute or two watching his every move in the current. He wasn't moving far at all for his food. I thought about how he got here. According to the PA Fish and Boat Commission website, this particular stream is not stocked. He was either introduced here by some proud fisherman or he sought thermal refuge in it's cold waters in the heat of the summer. He probably came from the lake as well.

The Ravine.

Working my way into position, I was careful not to spook the thick fish. Palomino are usually super skittish and they have to be. They have no where to hide. I tied on a size 16 flashback soft hackled pheasant tail on 6x and made a few casts. I made the cast, the one that looks perfect as soon as you make it, and got my game face on right before the fish slowly moved to his left and inhaled my pattern. I set the hook and once again, thoughts of my Superfine mistake came to my mind. The rod once again bent to the cork and the fish could not be controlled. For several minutes he worked me real good in the current. The high point coming when he literally bull dogged his way into some rhododendron protruding into the stream. My heart sunk when he made the move, but to my surprise he popped out the other side. The end came fifty yards downstream. He was even thicker than I thought. My largest palomino to date, and my most memorable for sure. 

One Healthy, Thick, & Perfect Finned Palomino.

The Superfine Did Mad Work.

Next time, I will be thinking long and hard before grabbing the Superfine to go tangle with a possible lake run November brown. 

What Was I Thinking?

I traveled home for my little sister's 21st birthday, and made an early morning trip out to fish some small streams. I was a little hesitant at first. It is hunting season and I passed several guys on the side of the roads carrying some big ass guns. I was wondering why they needed such heavy firepower for squirrel season when I realized all I cared about was whether or not they could shoot straight. Walking in the middle of the woods, I flinched at every gunshot ringing in the distance. When I finally reached the stream, my nerves finally began to settle. I was at home. 

Sick Falls, Lost A Nice Brown Here.

Chutes. 

Deep Plunge Pool.

I made a very poor decision on this particular trip. I decided on my 7 foot 4 weight Superfine after several long minutes of thought. I was going after small wild trout in tight quarters. At the time, it seemed like a very wise choice. However, the first hole I fished easily reached depths of 10 ft. plus and happened to be situated a few hundred yards from a very large lake. A large lake run brown was a possibility this time of year. After landing some smaller fish I tied on a size 10 tungsten bead golden stone with non toxic wire on the shank. It was heavy as shit, and I intended to probe the depths of this beautiful run.

Beautiful Run.

Jutting Rock Face & A Drop Off To Emerald Water.

Failed To Produce.

On my first cast with the golden stone, my indicator plunged under and I set the hook as best I could. A very large brown doubled my rod over and started peeling line off my reel. The full flex Superfine struggled under the trouts weight. I adjusted the drag accordingly and began worrying about my ability to keep such a heavy fly pinned in the corner of a large male browns mouth. After a struggle of no more than thirty seconds he made a very audacious move in the current and the fly shook free. What was I thinking bringing the Superfine? Better yet, what was I thinking tying on such a heavy fly when I was using my Superfine? I sat stunned for awhile thinking of the large male brown break dancing in the depths of the green water. His large palm sized fins were all I kept thinking about. He was born in this small stream and made his way out to the depths of the lake to feed and grow large. He survived countless seasons, every year returning to where he was born. I very much would have liked to hold him for a second or two before returning him back to the depths. 

Pennsylvania Brook Trout.

Gorgeous Brown Decked Out In Fall Colors.

At a later destination, I meandered through the woods listening to the roaring water rushing through a deep ravine on my left. Getting down into the mini canyon I stepped out into a very shallow fast run. About halfway across the stream, I saw a neon glow out of the corner of my eye. I took a glance before diving for cover. A large palomino was chilling in the current no more than twenty yards downstream. I sat contemplating this fish for a minute or two watching his every move in the current. He wasn't moving far at all for his food. I thought about how he got here. According to the PA Fish and Boat Commission website, this particular stream is not stocked. He was either introduced here by some proud fisherman or he sought thermal refuge in it's cold waters in the heat of the summer. He probably came from the lake as well.

The Ravine.

Working my way into position, I was careful not to spook the thick fish. Palomino are usually super skittish and they have to be. They have no where to hide. I tied on a size 16 flashback soft hackled pheasant tail on 6x and made a few casts. I made the cast, the one that looks perfect as soon as you make it, and got my game face on right before the fish slowly moved to his left and inhaled my pattern. I set the hook and once again, thoughts of my Superfine mistake came to my mind. The rod once again bent to the cork and the fish could not be controlled. For several minutes he worked me real good in the current. The high point coming when he literally bull dogged his way into some rhododendron protruding into the stream. My heart sunk when he made the move, but to my surprise he popped out the other side. The end came fifty yards downstream. He was even thicker than I thought. My largest palomino to date, and my most memorable for sure. 

One Healthy, Thick, & Perfect Finned Palomino.

The Superfine Did Mad Work.

Next time, I will be thinking long and hard before grabbing the Superfine to go tangle with a possible lake run November brown. 

Salamanders & Brook Trout.

I slept in far too long a few Sunday's ago. I awoke worried that there would be someone in my favorite fishing spot but those worries subsided once I opened my front door. I stepped out into the cold autumn air that my lungs felt first. Taking it all in, I noticed the wind next. It was wrecking havoc on all the fall foliage. It seems, like every autumn once the leaves reach that perfect shade, a long night of wind, cold temps, and frost destroy one of nature's best events. There would not be anyone brave enough to fish my small stream in this weather. I gathered up my gear, hopped in the truck, and hit the long scenic road to my destination.

When I hit the trail about an hour later it was like stepping into another world. The wind was deflected away from the small ravine and the tall pines surrounding me seemed to block out the sound of rushing leaves. All I heard and focused on was the babbling brook crashing through this perfect scenery. I made my way down to the stream and began searching for some trout. The water was low for this time of year but gin clear. The stream was chocked full of leaves and in some areas it looked like there wasn't any water. The colorful oranges, yellows, and browns covered everything including the stream bottom. It just looked like one big continuation of color. This made finding a few trout quite the challenge.

The Trail to the Stream.

Looking Down & on the Lookout For Browns.

As I made my way upstream looking and hoping for a migratory brown running up to its birthplace, I nearly stepped upon a creature I have never seen before. Sure, they may be common place in many areas of the country, but for where I am from, they are a rare occurrence. I spent a large part of my life playing alongside streams and I have never seen a salamander like this before. The large Northern Spring Salamander laying upon the side of the stream peeked my curiosity. He was out in the open and upon closer inspection, it was likely due to his injured tail. It looked like a it had been chewed upon. The back of the the Northern Springer lacked any moisture. I took several pictures before placing him in a moist spot under some cover. I lapped some water on his back and hoped the little guy would survive the day.

Northern Spring Salamander.

Sweet Little Guy.

He Was Injured.

Fire Eyes.

Farther upstream alongside an old dam, I spotted my first trout. As usual it positioned itself near a very difficult lie. The water was still, deep and protected by a crumbling concrete wall and overhanging branches on the other side. I positioned myself upstream around a slight bend hidden behind the bank and overhanging trees. The brook trout slowly glided in and out of plodding current. I only noticed him because of his movement. Once he stopped I had a hard time seeing him from my position. I gathered up my line and my butch caddis and made sure all was ready to go.

The View From My Casting Position.

The Brook Trout.

I carefully crawled into the best position, my knees aching atop the small rocks. I let out some line by using the downstream current before arching my rod up for a roll cast. The seven foot rod barely fit between the bank I kneeled upon and the dam on the other side. I had to be careful to fit my roll cast between the calm water and the four feet of clearance under the branches without spooking the fish. The sideways roll cast arched my line downstream and my caddis plopped about a foot above the fish. The brook trout slowly rose from his bed of leaves extending his ten inch frame vertically towards my fly. With a small sip the brookie took the caddis down. I waited a split second longer before setting the hook with a sideways tug. I carefully played the brook trout to my knees and gently cradled him for two shots. I let him go and he waddled down into the depths slightly camouflaged by the bottom.

Gotcha.

Stocked Fish, But Sweet Nonetheless.

Underwater Release.

Back To His Lair.

Fishing a small stream for trout surely cannot produce the same knee shattering adrenaline rushes a hundred pound tarpon torquing a ten weight can. However, around every bend a different scenario and challenge awaits those willing to give it a try. Sighting a fish hidden in a labyrinth of colors and figuring out the right way to coax him into eating a dry fly is a challenge in itself that produces an entirely different form of satisfaction. Different species produce different moments and they always keep you coming back for more.