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.

First Snow.

An early wake up call has me up and out of bed. I have a date with some brown trout I have been meaning to catch. I slowly ease into several layers of fleece and head out into the kitchen, my dogs at my heels. My 83 year old grandmother is already busy cleaning the house. She resembles more of a 65 year old and moves more like a 50 year old. Her life based around hard work, always moving, always fixing, always cleaning. Non-stop. A work ethic honed on the home front during WWII. She takes one look at me and pops the question. "Are you going fishing?" I answer "yes," and she gives me a short lecture about how I shouldn't be going out in this kind of weather, especially alone, during hunting season. I mentally register her wisdom knowing full well that she is probably right. She usually is. I quickly grab some breakfast and get my gear together. Only the essentials. The date will be short and I need to be back in time for a wedding.

Tight Quarters.

Caddis Pupa.

First Brown of the Day.

The air outside is bitingly cold and feels of snow, the forecast saying several inches are on the way. It will be my first snow fall of the year. I hit the road and head up over the mountain taking note that it is December and the ski slopes are snow less. Not for long. I decided on taking the scenic route rather than the highway. I prefer a narrow windy road over the boredom of monotony. Along the way I take note of all the water I am passing over. The flows are high and slightly off color. Perfect for where I am heading. A tiny freestone stream home to beautiful wild brown trout. In the summer, they are almost impossible to catch, spooking well before you see them. This time I will have the advantage. Arriving the water is roaring and the stream has turned into a mini-Savage River. Heaven. I hit the stream just as the first snow is falling from the sky.

Mini-Savage.

Soft Hackle.

The Water Was Really Warm.

Spots.

A lot More Spots.

Short Unexciting Clip.

I ease into the fast water careful not to make too much of a disturbance. Casting room is tight. Evergreens hang over the water on the far bank and thorn bushes and other foliage on the other side. I almost regret bringing an 864 rod but it actually comes in handy managing my line in the current conditions. Soon, several nice browns come to hand working a slow seem under the evergreens. The fish are taking shelter in along the edges, away from the fast currents. They are eagerly picking off anything floating their way including a heavily weight soft hackled hares ear. The browns are gorgeous still sporting their fall colors. They fight extra hard in the fast currents. Some pulling as hard as a twenty inch stocky. I start to make my way upstream. The higher flows have created wading conditions similar to the Savage too. I am extra careful.

Elevation Change.

Snow, Cold, & Camera = Blurry Pictures.

Awesome Dark Spotted Brown.

Small Stream Love.

I approach a long deep hole that I know holds a very large brown trout for the stream. I have fooled him twice before and he has also schooled me twice before. I start working the long deep run and catch several fish. Puzzled I stand up out of my kneeling stance checking out the new seems created by the high flows. A new small back eddy had formed along the far side cliff. I moved upstream and drifted my nymph through the eddy high sticking to keep my line away from the current flowing downstream. The nymph follows the back eddy against the current and the big brown takes. He is pushing sixteen inches and I bring him slowly towards me as he does his best to pull into a slate overhang. He tires and I bring him into my feet. As I bend over, he makes one last move and shakes the barbless hook darting back to his lair. All I can do is smile. The snow is coming down hard now and all is peaceful.

Golds.

Deep Hole, Browns Hanging Out in the Slow Stuff.

Biggest Landed of the Day.

Gorgeous Fish.

Thanks, Little Guy.

As I return home, the ski slopes are covered in a nice layer and the mountain is obscured in an enveloping snow storm. Everything has a fresh coat of white and it adds to the overall experience. A little over an hour on a small stretch of wild water and my addiction is satiated for the day. Arriving home, my grandmother is still cleaning. She is surprised to see me back so soon. She thinks the weather scared me off the water and is happy to see me back home. So are the dogs and I head back out into the fray for some fun.

Mountain Top.

Riley Wants Hunting Season To End.

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.