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.

The Return of the Indian.

The Browns Are Back.

Home waters hold a special place in all fly fishermen's hearts. These waters are often where we honed our craft learning how to cast, mend, fight, and land fish. They are usually the spot where we landed our first trout on fly fishing tackle and our first trout on a fly we tied all by ourselves. These firsts, are some of the defining moments in a fly fishermen's career. It is these moments, on our homewaters, that we cherish most. In these moments we develop a lifelong passion that eventually becomes an addiction.

Home Water.

Little Caddis House on the Rock.

Primary Food Source.

I can still remember my first trout on the fly. I had just turned 13 and had received a new outfit for my birthday. That evening, I geared up and headed with my father down the street to the local creek. I had tied on a prince nymph from some assortment that came along with the outfit. I began fishing the deep pool under the bridge. I had no luck, but I remained patient and persistent. As the sun faded behind the trees, I turned my attention to a small riffle at the head of the pool. At this moment I did not have the ability to read water and the spots where trout often hold, so I had no expectations for where I was about to cast. It was only a few inches deep, but I cast anyway. My fly landed along the edge of the riffle and as my leader and line drifted back towards me they suddenly paused. I lifted the rod to set the hook and on the other end a small rainbow began fighting back.

Young of the Year.

Beautiful Brown.

Since then, I have had many more moments on my homewater, Indian Creek. In ten years I have witnessed the rise and fall of its bounty. Each year environmental factors such as floods change the landscape of the small stream filling in previously deep pools and creating new holding water behind log jams. I have also witness the effects of development on the wild brown population. Over the past few years their numbers had dwindled. An outing would often yield zero native fish. I stopped fishing the Indian and reserved it for special moments once or twice a year just to see how it was doing. Over my spring break, I returned to the Indian and was astonished to find that the browns were back and they were larger, prettier, and smarter than ever. On my last outing, I landed one of the largest browns I have ever caught out of the Indian. In small riffle under a heavy canopy of evergreens, I drifted my flies along an edge of slate. Out from under the slate, the big brown emerged and gently took my caddis. He put up an amazing fight on my 2wt before coming to hand.

Landed in the Rain (the best time).

Nice Fins.

Full of Caddis.

I Was Pumped.

Release.

Powering Away.

Back To His Lair.

The Return of the Indian.

The Browns Are Back.

Home waters hold a special place in all fly fishermen's hearts. These waters are often where we honed our craft learning how to cast, mend, fight, and land fish. They are usually the spot where we landed our first trout on fly fishing tackle and our first trout on a fly we tied all by ourselves. These firsts, are some of the defining moments in a fly fishermen's career. It is these moments, on our homewaters, that we cherish most. In these moments we develop a lifelong passion that eventually becomes an addiction.

Home Water.

Little Caddis House on the Rock.

Primary Food Source.

I can still remember my first trout on the fly. I had just turned 13 and had received a new outfit for my birthday. That evening, I geared up and headed with my father down the street to the local creek. I had tied on a prince nymph from some assortment that came along with the outfit. I began fishing the deep pool under the bridge. I had no luck, but I remained patient and persistent. As the sun faded behind the trees, I turned my attention to a small riffle at the head of the pool. At this moment I did not have the ability to read water and the spots where trout often hold, so I had no expectations for where I was about to cast. It was only a few inches deep, but I cast anyway. My fly landed along the edge of the riffle and as my leader and line drifted back towards me they suddenly paused. I lifted the rod to set the hook and on the other end a small rainbow began fighting back.

Young of the Year.

Beautiful Brown.

Since then, I have had many more moments on my homewater, Indian Creek. In ten years I have witnessed the rise and fall of its bounty. Each year environmental factors such as floods change the landscape of the small stream filling in previously deep pools and creating new holding water behind log jams. I have also witness the effects of development on the wild brown population. Over the past few years their numbers had dwindled. An outing would often yield zero native fish. I stopped fishing the Indian and reserved it for special moments once or twice a year just to see how it was doing. Over my spring break, I returned to the Indian and was astonished to find that the browns were back and they were larger, prettier, and smarter than ever. On my last outing, I landed one of the largest browns I have ever caught out of the Indian. In small riffle under a heavy canopy of evergreens, I drifted my flies along an edge of slate. Out from under the slate, the big brown emerged and gently took my caddis. He put up an amazing fight on my 2wt before coming to hand.

Landed in the Rain (the best time).

Nice Fins.

Full of Caddis.

I Was Pumped.

Release.

Powering Away.

Back To His Lair.

Change of Plans.

The end of fall semester was capped off by one hellish week of papers, finals, and portfolios that seemed to never end. Awaiting me at the finish line was a planned 10 day excursion across New York and Pennsylvania sleeping in the car and living off pp&j while fly fishing for some steelhead. This would have been the capstone to our steelhead adventures for the year and our third long road trip. Unfortunately, I fractured my patella playing a little sport called Ultimate and combined with some snow storms the trip has pretty much been canceled. Maybe, my parents will change their minds and let me take their truck out for some fun but with another storm on the way it seems highly unlikely. This has left my buddy Adam and I with our home waters to toy around with providing us with an opportune time to take and edit some footage for some upcoming films.

Missing Out On Some More Steel We Are.

I Was Looking Forward To This.

One of these films, Rocky Mountain High, began the editing process today as I waited out the storm. In August, my brother Matt and I took our first fly fishing excursion together out to Colorado. There we picked up one of my best friends, Alex Edelman, who was stationed at Fort Carson and went on a six day trip across Colorado. We put over 1,000 miles on our brandnew Suburu Outback rental car and did some 4x4 high clearance only off-roading with it over some mountain passes. The trip was an absolute blast and we were able to catch cutthroat, cutbows, and even a greenback trout. Normally, I would have the film of the trip up in a matter of weeks but Alex was soon shipped to Iraq and the footage has escaped my grasp. Despite this, I finally decided to take a look at it all and sit down and get to work. It is all finished and awaits the pig rainbows Alex filmed before I get to share it.

Colorado Pig Bow.

Frying Pan Cutbow.

A Rocky Mountain High Brown.

Speaking of homewater we get to toy around with, I fished Indian Creek this morning in the first few hours of the snowstorm while Adam fished the Hokendaqua. These two streams were our play and testing grounds in our young years as fly fisherman. This is where we learned and honed our craft and caught our first wild trout on the fly. Both creeks hold good numbers of wild brown trout, especially the closer one gets to their headwaters. In 45 minutes of fishing in 30 degree weather, with a driving snow, I landed three of these wild browns all on a size 18 tan caddis pupa. They were beautiful little fish 8-12 inches and in great condition.

Brown Number One.

Fish of the Day.

Brown Number One About To Depart.

Homewater: The Indian

Brown Number Two Flashes Her Good Side.

And Shows Off Her Spots.

Number Three: The Outcast.

Over the next week, there is going to be a lot of fishing taking place despite the weather and the holidays. Adam and I are heading out to our "Spot" tomorrow to catch some more beautiful trout on a stream you can jump across. Look for some pictures from the "Spot" and some of our other local streams in the coming days.

Riley Striking Her Best Pose.

She Loves the Snow.

And Chasing Snow Balls.