TR- Back to the Old School

I have a lot of fly rods. Generally speaking this is a good thing. But
it also means that there are some rods I own that rarely or never get
fished. A few years ago I had convinced myself that I liked slower
rods and ended up getting a couple '50's era fiberglass rods. I fished
them quite a bit for a few years but eventually I gravitated towards
faster graphite rods and the fiberglass and bamboo rods started to
spend the season in their cases.

I was free this last Monday, at least until I was due at work at 10
pm. Jacci was working. The kids were both in school. I arranged for
the eldest to watch the youngest after school let out and found myself
with the day to myself.

I threw my glass and bamboo rods in the back of the Taurus and headed
out to the watershed of the "Mayfly" River. My plan was to give the
little 7', 5wt a workout on a feeder creek that I had never fished
before and afterward head to the River proper and exercise the bamboo
and longer glass rod.

The Seven Foot St. Croix

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1581a.jpg

The Delorme showed me the way to the lowest bridge on X Creek, a
quarter mile before it merged with the River. Parking the wagon at the
bridge I suited up and waded downstream. There was a pool at the
bridge and, after the creek made a bend, a small rapids flowing into a
dense alder tangle. I floated a wet through the fast water and brought
a couple small brookies to hand. Reeling up my line and hooking the
fly in the keeper I plunged into the alder jungle hoping to find more
open spots to fish. A couple hundred yards later I was still looking.
The creeks floodplain had opened up and the nearest high ground lay a
football fields length away from both banks of the creek. I suspect it
remained an almost unpassable tangle all the way to the River although
I didn't confirm that fact. Throwing in the towel I clambered back to
the car and went to look upstream for a more fishable stretch.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1582a.jpg

I pulled onto a dead end road that lead down to the creek. As I
approached the crossing I was surprised to see a new bridge and a
short length of paved road on either side of it. The creek downstream
from the bridge was open enough to cast and it appeared to remain that
way downstream.

Casting in the pool below the bridge brought a handful of brook trout
to my fly. While not large by any means they still dwarfed the 4" fish
I'd caught below.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1586a.jpg

Going further downstream it became apparent that someone had spent
many hours with a chainsaw cutting back the alders. The little rod was
the perfect length to cast side armed under the overhead canopy. I
picked up a couple more fish but it soon became apparent that more
work was needed to give to fish some deeper holding water. Most of the
stream was ankle deep with a few pockets that might have come up to my
knees. There was scant cover for fish to lie in.

I went back to the bridge and explored upstream. The creek there
flowed through a swampy, open meadow. The water had dug a little
deeper there and I spooked some small fish but failed to hook any.

As I was wading upstream I happened to glance to my right. There,
under a clump of alder I saw a small patch of brown fur. Expecting to
find the remains of a road killed deer I instead found a deer that ws
very much alive and trying as hard as possible to remain still. The
fawn was tiny, about the size of our rat terrier, Frodo. Every once
and a while its eyelashes would flutter in the wind and I was half
expecting it to jump up and run away from the guy in waders who was
standing only 10 feet away from it. I snapped a couple pictures and
backed away and waded back to the car.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1587a.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1588a.jpg
I had caught all the fish on wets and, although the bottom was paved
with stick builder caddis cases, didn't see any insect activity at
all. I cased the short rod and headed up the road to the nearest
access point on the "Mayfly". I planned on taking the bamboo out next.

The Eight Foot Norling

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1600a.jpg

By the time I made river side the wind had really picked up. My first
choice in beats would have been to fish downstream from a certain
bridge with the wind at my back. But a truck was parked there. So
instead I parked about a mile downstream and walked a couple hundred
yards to a more protected stretch of the river and fished up.

There were still no bugs hatching when I first waded into a fast slot
below an old shed. I tied on a Hare's Ear nymph and fished my way up.
The river was a bit higher than normal and the faster current made
constant mending a must. But even though I fished through spots that
always held fish in the past, I didn't get a bump.

After an hour or so, I saw the first rise. A few Hendricksons had
started straggling off the water while I had waded upstream. I kept
the nymph on but took off the split shot and tried to fish it as an
emerger. The trout were having none of that. So I rummaged around my
fly box and took out a Red Quill Sparkle Dun. That turned the trick.

I began to catch little brookies. They were still a little spooky and
hooking one would put the other risers down but I was feeling the
satisfaction that comes with casting to and fooling actively feeding
fish.

Before I go any further, let me point out that this particular river
has lots of small brook trout and very few bigger ones. An average
fish is about 7". A 9" fish is a better than average one and a 12"
fish a memorable one. Not exactly a "destination fishery", which is
maybe why I like it.

I'd worked my way upstream to a shallow riffle that in the past had
usually held smaller trout. There were rising fish scattered all over
the surface of the riffle. The Red Quill Comparadun had gotten beat up
and soggy. I tried a regular, Catskill style Red Quill and that worked
just as well. Most drifts would get a hit. My actual hookups were far
fewer. I had turned a corner and was now casting into the face of the
literally howling wind. I tried to overpower the grass rod to get the
leader to straighten but was only rarely successful. So most of the
hits came on a very slack leader and I missed three fish for every one
that I hooked.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1592a.jpg

While I had been catching the little guys in the riffle I'd
occasionally heard the deeper chug of a "bigger" fish that was feeding
from under an alder branch sticking out into the stream at the foot of
the riffle. I started casting to him and picked up a couple of his
compatriots. Finally I drifted the fly right against the debris field
in front of the limb and a satisfying *plop* reached my ears just as I
struck. The fish first tried to run back under the branch and then,
finding that impossible, ran across the river into some flooded grass
directly below me. But after I tugged him free of that he came to my
hand, I snapped his picture and he was back in the water. That was
fun.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1597a.jpg

The next few hundred yards continued to be exposed to the full force
of the wind. I kept casting to rising fish but was having trouble with
accuracy and slack. The occasional fish kept it from being frustrating
but I found myself wishing a had one of my faster rods to help with
the blow.

I turned another bend where the river flowed under the lee of a hill.
The wind was now blowing harmlessly overhead and my limited skill set
allowed the bamboo rod to cast the full leader with some accuracy. The
Hendricksons were petering out but there was still the occasional gray
winged bug floating on the water along with the odd Mahogany Dun,
several varieties of caddis and even a few yellow stoneflies. The Red
Quill kept taking fish. The rises had changed from splashes to sips,
the fish perhaps taking the occasional cripple or emerger.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1601a.jpg

But by the angle of the sun (I had forgotten my watch) I knew that I
was running out of time and needed to head back towards the car. I
snipped off the Red Quill and tied on a brace of soft hackles, a
Pheasant Tail at the head and a smaller Hare's Ear at the point. The
combo worked well (the Hare's ear outfishing the Pheasant tail about 2
to 1) and with the wind at my back I hooked and released brook trout
with a satisfying frequency all the way back to the shed where I had
put in.

It occurred to my simple brain that the camera had a clock on it and I
checked the time. If I walked back to the car I could get home in time
for a good nap before work. That would have been the sensible action.
I'd been up since 5:30 am and would be working the whole night per
usual. But there was a fast stretch of water below and a couple of
pools below that that in the past had held a few bigger browns. So
throwing sensibility to the dying wind I fished down. A few small
mayflies had started coming off but there were still more caddis and I
kept the soft hackles on and continued to catch fish. When I got to
the pools they were empty of rising fish. I hurried through them and
walked up the trail to the Taurus.

The Seven Foot, Eight Inch Herters

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1615a.jpg

The clock in the car read 7pm. Even with the half hour travel time
home, I'd have time for a quick snooze before work. But the last rod I
had brought, a 7' 8" Herters rod, dated 2/6/55 and inscribed with the
name "Bud" Deacon in India ink on its woven, brown glass blank, was
still in its case in the back of the wagon. I drove a short way to
where the river flowed near the road, hopped out and strung up the
rod.

I knotted on a #14 Adams and cast upstream. A couple fish splashed the
fly but then it floated untouched for a half dozen more casts.
Snipping the fly off and sticking it on the sheep skin patch to dry, I
plucked a Pass Lake from the same patch and tied that on. I turned
around and cast downstream into a chute in a minor rapids that
splashed below me. I immediately had a hit and soon hooked and landed
a small trout. I fished down through the fast water hooking fish on
the skittering, black fly. There were no risers that I could see but
the fish were keyed to floating bugs and I caught a half dozen or more
in short order, including the most colorful of the day.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1619a.jpg

Soon after I landed that fish my back cast lodged the Pass Lake high
in a bankside willow. Breaking the fly off I started to reel in the
line to go... but couldn't. Leaving feeding fish is almost an
impossibility for me and even though I knew I was cursing myself to a
night of exhaustion at work I rapidly tied on a couple feet of tippet
and put on a larger Pass Lake. I hooked a few more small fish but
either the larger fly wasn't as appealing or the fish were settling
down for the night. So I snipped off the fly, clambered up the bank,
threw the rod in the back and headed home.

Jacci rolled her eyes at my late appearance. I scarfed down a couple
BBQ's she had made earlier, drank a several cups of coffee and drove
to work. By 3 am I was dead on my feet, but another large cup of java
kept me awake enough to make it home and into bed by 8am.

Was it worth it? Hell yes.

So what did I learn from fishing the old school rods?

One, the faster rods I fish with now have made me a worse caster. The
old rods worked well... if I hit the timing just right. But if I was
off even a bit I ended up with tailing loops on my tailing loops. I
had wind knots like I hadn't had since 1987, when I got my first
graphite rod. I don't have to be as precise to get a tolerable cast
out now and it shows in my casting when confronted by a less forgiving
rod material.

Second, I came to feel that the graphite rods I use now have,
conversely (or perversely), made me a more successful fisherman. Along
with being more forgiving casting machines, their ability to generate
high line speeds make them more effective in a wider range of
conditions (I'm thinking wind, here). The stiffer material makes my
striking to rising fish more immediate and my hooking percentage is
greater. Their over all lighter weight is less demanding on my aged
body. After fishing the bamboo for 4 hours the sense of relief I had
when I switched to the Herter's rod, itself no lightweight, was
palpable. While I'm sure that my ass would have been dragging after
fishing all day anyway, I'm also sure it was dragging a little lower
after waving the grass rod all day.

So... I'll put the old rods away. The little St.Croix will come out
again, if and when I plan on making short casts in very tight
quarters. It worked as well as any rod could in those situations. But
my general fishing kit will revert back to my carbon and plastic rods.
It was an interesting experiment and my obligation to sentiment and
tradition was paid in full, I think. Also with the side benefit of
making me appreciate the advantages of what I usually cast now. I
can't wait to get out and fish with my Diamondback VSR.


g.c.



http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1621c.jpg

"George Cleveland" wrote ...
I have a lot of fly rods.


As always, a great read.

Thanks.

-Dan

On May 22, 9:56*am, George Cleveland
wrote:
I have a lot of fly rods. Generally speaking this is a good thing. But
it also means that there are some rods I own that rarely or never get
fished. A few years ago I had convinced myself that I liked slower
rods and ended up getting a couple '50's era fiberglass rods. I fished
them quite a bit for a few years but eventually I gravitated towards
faster graphite rods and the fiberglass and bamboo rods started to
spend the season in their cases. *

I was free this last Monday, at least until I was due at work at 10
pm. Jacci was working. The kids were both in school. I arranged for
the eldest to watch the youngest after school let out and found myself
with the day to myself.

I threw my glass and bamboo rods in the back of the Taurus and headed
out to the watershed of the "Mayfly" River. My plan was to give the
little 7', 5wt a workout on a feeder creek that I had never fished
before and afterward head to the River proper and exercise the bamboo
and longer glass rod.

The Seven Foot St. Croix

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1581a.jpg

The Delorme showed me the way to the lowest bridge on X Creek, a
quarter mile before it merged with the River. Parking the wagon at the
bridge I suited up and waded downstream. There was a pool at the
bridge and, after the creek made a bend, a small rapids flowing into a
dense alder tangle. I floated a wet through the fast water and brought
a couple small brookies to hand. Reeling up my line and hooking the
fly in the keeper I plunged into the alder jungle hoping to find more
open spots to fish. *A couple hundred yards later I was still looking.
The creeks floodplain had opened up and the nearest high ground lay a
football fields length away from both banks of the creek. I suspect it
remained an almost unpassable tangle all the way to the River although
I didn't confirm that fact. Throwing in the towel I clambered back to
the car and went to look upstream for a more fishable stretch.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1582a.jpg

I pulled onto a dead end road that lead down to the creek. As I
approached the crossing I was surprised to see a new bridge and a
short length of paved road on either side of it. The creek downstream
from the bridge was open enough to cast and it appeared to remain that
way downstream.

Casting in the pool below the bridge brought a handful of brook trout
to my fly. While not large by any means they still dwarfed the 4" fish
I'd caught below.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1586a.jpg

Going further downstream it became apparent that someone had spent
many hours with a chainsaw cutting back the alders. The little rod was
the perfect length to cast side armed under the overhead canopy. I
picked up a couple more fish but it soon became apparent that more
work was needed to give to fish some deeper holding water. Most of the
stream was ankle deep with a few pockets that might have come up to my
knees. There was scant cover for fish to lie in.

*I went back to the bridge and explored upstream. The creek there
flowed through a swampy, open meadow. The water had dug a little
deeper there and I spooked some small fish but failed to hook any.

As I was wading upstream I happened to glance to my right. There,
under a clump of alder I saw a small patch of brown fur. Expecting to
find the remains of a road killed deer I instead found a deer that ws
very much alive and trying as hard as possible to remain still. The
fawn was tiny, about the size of our rat terrier, Frodo. Every once
and a while its eyelashes would flutter in the wind and I was half
expecting it to jump up and run away from the guy in waders who was
standing only 10 feet away from it. I snapped a couple pictures and
backed away and waded back to the car.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1587a.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1588a.jpg
I had caught all the fish on wets and, although the bottom was paved
with stick builder caddis cases, didn't see any insect activity at
all. I cased the short rod and headed up the road to the nearest
access point on the "Mayfly". I planned on taking the bamboo out next.

The Eight Foot Norling

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1600a.jpg

By the time I made river side the wind had really picked up. My first
choice in beats would have been to fish downstream from a certain
bridge with the wind at my back. But a truck was parked there. So
instead I parked about a mile downstream and walked a couple hundred
yards to a more protected stretch of the river and fished up.

There were still no bugs hatching when I first waded into a fast slot
below an old shed. I tied on a Hare's Ear nymph and fished my way up.
The river was a bit higher than normal and the faster current made
constant mending a must. But even though I fished through spots that
always held fish in the past, I didn't get a bump.

After an hour or so, I saw the first rise. A few Hendricksons had
started straggling off the water while I had waded upstream. I kept
the nymph on but took off the split shot and tried to fish it as an
emerger. The trout were having none of that. So I rummaged around my
fly box and took out a Red Quill Sparkle Dun. That turned the trick.

I began to catch little brookies. They were still a little spooky and
hooking one would put the other risers down but I was feeling the
satisfaction that comes with casting to and fooling actively feeding
fish.

Before I go any further, let me point out that this particular river
has lots of small brook trout and very few bigger ones. An average
fish is about 7". A 9" fish is a better than average one and a 12"
fish a memorable one. Not exactly a "destination fishery", which is
maybe why I like it.

I'd worked my way upstream to a shallow riffle that in the past had
usually held smaller trout. There were rising fish scattered all over
the surface of the riffle. The Red Quill Comparadun had gotten beat up
and soggy. I tried a regular, Catskill style Red Quill and that worked
just as well. Most drifts would get a hit. My actual hookups were far
fewer. I had turned a corner and was now casting into the face of the
literally howling wind. I tried to overpower the grass rod to get the
leader to straighten but was only rarely successful. So most of the
hits came on a very slack leader and I missed three fish for every one
that I hooked.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1592a.jpg

While I had been catching the little guys in the riffle I'd
occasionally heard the deeper chug of a "bigger" fish that was feeding
from under an alder branch sticking out into the stream at the foot of
the riffle. I started casting to him and picked up a couple of his
compatriots. Finally I drifted the fly right against the debris field
in front of the limb and a satisfying *plop* reached my ears just as I
struck. The fish first tried to run back under the branch and then,
finding that impossible, ran across the river into some flooded grass
directly below me. But after I tugged him free of that he came to my
hand, I snapped his picture and he was back in the water. That was
fun.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1597a.jpg

The next few hundred yards continued to be exposed to the full force
of the wind. I kept casting to rising fish but was having trouble with
accuracy and slack. The occasional fish kept it from being frustrating
but I found myself wishing a had one of my faster rods to help with
the blow.

I turned another bend where the river flowed under the lee of a hill.
The wind was now blowing harmlessly overhead and my limited skill set
allowed the bamboo rod to cast the full leader with some accuracy. The
Hendricksons were petering out but there was still the occasional gray
winged bug floating on the water along with the odd Mahogany Dun,
several varieties of caddis and even a few yellow stoneflies. The Red
Quill kept taking fish. *The rises had changed from splashes to sips,
the fish perhaps taking the occasional cripple or emerger.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1601a.jpg

But by the angle of the sun (I had forgotten my watch) I knew that I
was running out of time and needed to head back towards the car. I
snipped off the Red Quill and tied on a brace of soft hackles, a
Pheasant Tail at the head and a smaller Hare's Ear at the point. The
combo worked well (the Hare's ear outfishing the Pheasant tail about 2
to 1) and with the wind at my back I hooked and released brook trout
with a satisfying frequency all the way back to the shed where I had
put in.

It occurred to my simple brain that the camera had a clock on it and I
checked the time. If I walked back to the car I could get home in time
for a good nap before work. That would have been the sensible action.
I'd been up since 5:30 am and would be working the whole night per
usual. But there was a fast stretch of water below and a couple of
pools below that that in the past had held a few bigger browns. So
throwing sensibility to the dying wind I fished down. A few small
mayflies had started coming off but there were still more caddis and I
kept the soft hackles on and continued to catch fish. When I got to
the pools they were empty of rising fish. I hurried through them and
walked up the trail to the Taurus.

The Seven Foot, Eight Inch Herters

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1615a.jpg

The clock in the car read 7pm. Even with the half hour travel time
home, I'd have time for a quick snooze before work. But the last rod I
had brought, a 7' 8" Herters rod, dated 2/6/55 and inscribed with the
name "Bud" Deacon in India ink on its woven, brown glass blank, was
still in its case in the back of the wagon. I drove a short way to
where the river flowed near the road, hopped out and strung up the
rod.

I knotted on a #14 Adams and cast upstream. A couple fish splashed the
fly but ...

read more »

Great report. Every rod deserves to be taken for a walk now & then.

George Cleveland wrote:
excellent TR snipped

So what did I learn from fishing the old school rods?

One, the faster rods I fish with now have made me a worse caster. The
old rods worked well... if I hit the timing just right. But if I was
off even a bit I ended up with tailing loops on my tailing loops. I
had wind knots like I hadn't had since 1987, when I got my first
graphite rod. I don't have to be as precise to get a tolerable cast
out now and it shows in my casting when confronted by a less forgiving
rod material. ...

Thanks for the TR. I love it when you go fishing. ;-)

As far as faster rods being more forgiving of a sloppy casting
stroke I think it's true only to a point. The new super fast
rods are very unforgiving. If you're not a practiced caster you
may as well be using a broomstick. I have the old Sage RPLs in
5 and 6 wt and I've always considered them fast, but compared to
the things on the market today they're better described as
medium fast.

--
Ken Fortenberry

On Fri, 22 May 2009 17:30:10 -0500, Ken Fortenberry
wrote:

George Cleveland wrote:
excellent TR snipped

So what did I learn from fishing the old school rods?

One, the faster rods I fish with now have made me a worse caster. The
old rods worked well... if I hit the timing just right. But if I was
off even a bit I ended up with tailing loops on my tailing loops. I
had wind knots like I hadn't had since 1987, when I got my first
graphite rod. I don't have to be as precise to get a tolerable cast
out now and it shows in my casting when confronted by a less forgiving
rod material. ...

Thanks for the TR. I love it when you go fishing. ;-)

As far as faster rods being more forgiving of a sloppy casting
stroke I think it's true only to a point. The new super fast
rods are very unforgiving. If you're not a practiced caster you
may as well be using a broomstick. I have the old Sage RPLs in
5 and 6 wt and I've always considered them fast, but compared to
the things on the market today they're better described as
medium fast.


I agree. I fail to see the difference between a super fast 5 weight
and an under lined 6 (or 7) weight.

GeoC

On May 22, 9:56 am, George Cleveland
wrote:
I have a lot of fly rods. Generally speaking this is a good thing. But
it also means that there are some rods I own that rarely or never get
fished. A few years ago I had convinced myself that I liked slower
rods and ended up getting a couple '50's era fiberglass rods. I fished
them quite a bit for a few years but eventually I gravitated towards
faster graphite rods and the fiberglass and bamboo rods started to
spend the season in their cases.

I was free this last Monday, at least until I was due at work at 10
pm. Jacci was working. The kids were both in school. I arranged for
the eldest to watch the youngest after school let out and found myself
with the day to myself.

I threw my glass and bamboo rods in the back of the Taurus and headed
out to the watershed of the "Mayfly" River. My plan was to give the
little 7', 5wt a workout on a feeder creek that I had never fished
before and afterward head to the River proper and exercise the bamboo
and longer glass rod.

The Seven Foot St. Croix

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1581a.jpg

The Delorme showed me the way to the lowest bridge on X Creek, a
quarter mile before it merged with the River. Parking the wagon at the
bridge I suited up and waded downstream. There was a pool at the
bridge and, after the creek made a bend, a small rapids flowing into a
dense alder tangle. I floated a wet through the fast water and brought
a couple small brookies to hand. Reeling up my line and hooking the
fly in the keeper I plunged into the alder jungle hoping to find more
open spots to fish. A couple hundred yards later I was still looking.
The creeks floodplain had opened up and the nearest high ground lay a
football fields length away from both banks of the creek. I suspect it
remained an almost unpassable tangle all the way to the River although
I didn't confirm that fact. Throwing in the towel I clambered back to
the car and went to look upstream for a more fishable stretch.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1582a.jpg

I pulled onto a dead end road that lead down to the creek. As I
approached the crossing I was surprised to see a new bridge and a
short length of paved road on either side of it. The creek downstream
from the bridge was open enough to cast and it appeared to remain that
way downstream.

Casting in the pool below the bridge brought a handful of brook trout
to my fly. While not large by any means they still dwarfed the 4" fish
I'd caught below.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1586a.jpg

Going further downstream it became apparent that someone had spent
many hours with a chainsaw cutting back the alders. The little rod was
the perfect length to cast side armed under the overhead canopy. I
picked up a couple more fish but it soon became apparent that more
work was needed to give to fish some deeper holding water. Most of the
stream was ankle deep with a few pockets that might have come up to my
knees. There was scant cover for fish to lie in.

I went back to the bridge and explored upstream. The creek there
flowed through a swampy, open meadow. The water had dug a little
deeper there and I spooked some small fish but failed to hook any.

As I was wading upstream I happened to glance to my right. There,
under a clump of alder I saw a small patch of brown fur. Expecting to
find the remains of a road killed deer I instead found a deer that ws
very much alive and trying as hard as possible to remain still. The
fawn was tiny, about the size of our rat terrier, Frodo. Every once
and a while its eyelashes would flutter in the wind and I was half
expecting it to jump up and run away from the guy in waders who was
standing only 10 feet away from it. I snapped a couple pictures and
backed away and waded back to the car.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_1587a.jpg

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I had caught all the fish on wets and, although the bottom was paved
with stick builder caddis cases, didn't see any insect activity at
all. I cased the short rod and headed up the road to the nearest
access point on the "Mayfly". I planned on taking the bamboo out next.

The Eight Foot Norling

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By the time I made river side the wind had really picked up. My first
choice in beats would have been to fish downstream from a certain
bridge with the wind at my back. But a truck was parked there. So
instead I parked about a mile downstream and walked a couple hundred
yards to a more protected stretch of the river and fished up.

There were still no bugs hatching when I first waded into a fast slot
below an old shed. I tied on a Hare's Ear nymph and fished my way up.
The river was a bit higher than normal and the faster current made
constant mending a must. But even though I fished through spots that
always held fish in the past, I didn't get a bump.

After an hour or so, I saw the first rise. A few Hendricksons had
started straggling off the water while I had waded upstream. I kept
the nymph on but took off the split shot and tried to fish it as an
emerger. The trout were having none of that. So I rummaged around my
fly box and took out a Red Quill Sparkle Dun. That turned the trick.

I began to catch little brookies. They were still a little spooky and
hooking one would put the other risers down but I was feeling the
satisfaction that comes with casting to and fooling actively feeding
fish.

Before I go any further, let me point out that this particular river
has lots of small brook trout and very few bigger ones. An average
fish is about 7". A 9" fish is a better than average one and a 12"
fish a memorable one. Not exactly a "destination fishery", which is
maybe why I like it.

I'd worked my way upstream to a shallow riffle that in the past had
usually held smaller trout. There were rising fish scattered all over
the surface of the riffle. The Red Quill Comparadun had gotten beat up
and soggy. I tried a regular, Catskill style Red Quill and that worked
just as well. Most drifts would get a hit. My actual hookups were far
fewer. I had turned a corner and was now casting into the face of the
literally howling wind. I tried to overpower the grass rod to get the
leader to straighten but was only rarely successful. So most of the
hits came on a very slack leader and I missed three fish for every one
that I hooked.

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While I had been catching the little guys in the riffle I'd
occasionally heard the deeper chug of a "bigger" fish that was feeding
from under an alder branch sticking out into the stream at the foot of
the riffle. I started casting to him and picked up a couple of his
compatriots. Finally I drifted the fly right against the debris field
in front of the limb and a satisfying *plop* reached my ears just as I
struck. The fish first tried to run back under the branch and then,
finding that impossible, ran across the river into some flooded grass
directly below me. But after I tugged him free of that he came to my
hand, I snapped his picture and he was back in the water. That was
fun.

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The next few hundred yards continued to be exposed to the full force
of the wind. I kept casting to rising fish but was having trouble with
accuracy and slack. The occasional fish kept it from being frustrating
but I found myself wishing a had one of my faster rods to help with
the blow.

I turned another bend where the river flowed under the lee of a hill.
The wind was now blowing harmlessly overhead and my limited skill set
allowed the bamboo rod to cast the full leader with some accuracy. The
Hendricksons were petering out but there was still the occasional gray
winged bug floating on the water along with the odd Mahogany Dun,
several varieties of caddis and even a few yellow stoneflies. The Red
Quill kept taking fish. The rises had changed from splashes to sips,
the fish perhaps taking the occasional cripple or emerger.

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But by the angle of the sun (I had forgotten my watch) I knew that I
was running out of time and needed to head back towards the car. I
snipped off the Red Quill and tied on a brace of soft hackles, a
Pheasant Tail at the head and a smaller Hare's Ear at the point. The
combo worked well (the Hare's ear outfishing the Pheasant tail about 2
to 1) and with the wind at my back I hooked and released brook trout
with a satisfying frequency all the way back to the shed where I had
put in.

It occurred to my simple brain that the camera had a clock on it and I
checked the time. If I walked back to the car I could get home in time
for a good nap before work. That would have been the sensible action.
I'd been up since 5:30 am and would be working the whole night per
usual. But there was a fast stretch of water below and a couple of
pools below that that in the past had held a few bigger browns. So
throwing sensibility to the dying wind I fished down. A few small
mayflies had started coming off but there were still more caddis and I
kept the soft hackles on and continued to catch fish. When I got to
the pools they were empty of rising fish. I hurried through them and
walked up the trail to the Taurus.

The Seven Foot, Eight Inch Herters

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The clock in the car read 7pm. Even with the half hour travel time
home, I'd have time for a quick snooze before work. But the last rod I
had brought, a 7' 8" Herters rod, dated 2/6/55 and inscribed with the
name "Bud" Deacon in India ink on its woven, brown glass blank, was
still in its case in the back of the wagon. I drove a short way to
where the river flowed near the road, hopped out and strung up the
rod.

I knotted on a #14 Adams and cast upstream. A couple fish splashed the
fly but ...

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Thanks for taking me fishing.