salmonoid
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 19, 2007
- Messages
- 2,707
Before the slumber of a nap completely washed over me Sunday afternoon, I managed to get up off the couch and grab a few pieces of gear together to go fishing. The forecast called for sprinkles and a few flurries and wind gusts to 22mph, so I layered up a bit more than I normally would for early mid-fall. A lot of my fishing this year has been out of the area, so I was happy to be targeting some waters a little bit closer to home. I wasn't sure what I would fine, as water levels have dropped back down into that low and clear flow regime that often appears in late summer and early fall.
I thought I might be overrun with people, as it seemed from the fullness of the parking area that a lot of people had the same idea of being outside on a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon. I put on my waders and boots, and untied a wind knot in my leader as I walked, before rigging up. My goto setup for these kinds of conditions (low, clear small freestoners) is usually a black or olive wooly bugger and the olive bugger got the call this afternoon.
Things started out slow, and with the wrong species. A few small browns hugged the bottom of a little pool under a bridge, but they were skittish and not interested in my bugger. I worked my way upstream a bit and landed in quick succession three chubs and a couple of blacknose dace. I saw a few more small browns, but could not convince a single one to strike. I began to wonder if some of the vehicles had transported anglers to the stream. Or perhaps the foot traffic of hikers walking past had put the fish down.
A few more holes yielded not even a sighting of any fish. But if there is one thing I've learned about wild browns, it is that they are often present but not seen, particularly under low and clear conditions. So I told myself "Patience, Rabbit" and plugged on.
In the picture above, there is usually a fish in the right pool, but I couldn't connect with that fish. However, on the left side, the water goes way back in under the rock that is perched and I flubbed a hookup on a dark little brown that darted out to inspect my bugger three times.
I moved upstream, and finally connected with a pretty little brown.
He was hiding out underneath a rock beside a fairly decent side hole. And who knows how many of his friends and relations were also underneath that rock. I rolled a second fish of about the same size but was thwarted by the whirlpool of leaves that were swirling around in the eddy in the back of the pool.
The second little brownie that fell for the bugger lived in this little pool.
When I am fishing small streams, I like to predict where a fish where be hanging out. This hole has at least five possibilities - the plunge area below the little waterfall, the seams where the large rocks in the middle meet the left and right side of the stream, back in behind the large rock in the middle, and along the edge of the rock in the bottom left corner of the photo. I predicted wrong (back in underneath the large rock in the middle) but managed to catch the brownie that charged out from the seam below the rock in the bottom left corner.
Next up was this pretty little pool. There's an undercut ledge on the left, the boulder between the waterfalls provides shelter, and there's almost always a fish on the right under the logs. Interestingly enough, the flow is usually to the right side of the stream, but the logjam upstream is diverting the flow. As I started to fish this hole, the afternoon sun disappeared, and the sky started to spit melting ice balls and rain. It reminded me of Lake Erie lake effect weather, where you can be fishing for steelhead on a sunny afternoon and before long, the sun is obscured by clouds, and a howling snow squall is bearing down.
In the rain, I hooked up with this little brownie.
I moved ten feet upstream to the mossy covered boulder on the right side of the stream, and sure enough, a trout bolted from underneath the log. I cast my bugger through the V formed by the downed logs and under the rock and on a slow retrieve, a large dark shape darted out. He felt hook, I felt fish, but the battle was over in a second. Its a rare day when I can get a fish like that to strike again immediately and this would not be that rare day.
As the afternoon went along, I came to think about the fish that got away. I've had days where it seemed like everything was going right and my hookup ratio was running extremely high. And I've had days where I've caught fish, but the most memorable fish are the ones that I encountered but did not catch. This fish put himself in that latter category, as did several other fish of the day.
There are several shark holes on this stream and I would encounter two of the holes next. These are holes where I have rarely caught fish, but the habitat screams out for holding a fish. Last year, while absent-mindedly retrieving a wooly bugger, a shark did show himself in the first hole. This year, I was not so absent-minded in my retrieve, the fish showed himself again, but the result was the same; a short strike, and a dark shadow fading underneath the ledge. With browns that spend most of their lives in the dark, the contrast against the lighter bedrock, under the lens of gin clear water is stark. Another uncaught fish (perhaps twice uncaught) went into the memory bucket and don't think that I'm not anticipating trying to catch that very fish sometime this winter.
I wasn't sure if I would encounter any spawn activity, but in areas I've seen redds in past years, I saw none this year and I saw no fish out in the stream doing the dance - they were all safe, tucked away. I worked myself up through some of the pools that had redds in the tailouts in years past, but took a goose egg.
This little gold-leaf flecked pool usually holds a fish or two. I fished it from downstream just a few feet and it is the type of hole that demonstrates why patience is important. There's a rock on the left side of the waterfall that fish can hide out under and the rock in the foreground provides excellent cover as well.
I made two casts and nothing showed. On my third cast, on a slow retrieve, a small brown darted out. But he wasn't after my bugger. He was moving instinctively out of the way of a much larger and very dark brown. And that brown was after my bugger. Of course, my initial reaction on attempting to set the hook was on the smaller brown. And I flubbed the hookset on the bigger brown as my mind realized what the actual quarry was. As quick as he darted out, the fish darted back under the rock. I cast again, to no avail, and a second time and was pleasantly surprised to see the shadow again. This time, I hooked him.
Another little nook and cranny hole yielded another fish. I was expecting the fish to be to the right of picture, just upstream. But he came out from the far side of the stream, almost straight across from me, and ambled is the proper way to describe how he slowly but deliberately swam halfway across the stream to take the bugger.
The afternoon would produce a few more fish and a few more memories.
You'll see this theme repeated throughout most of the stream photos - shallow, clear water and small boulders which form little ledges. This type of outing is why one needs to fish small freestoners which allegedly hold wild browns with patience. 9 times out of 10, the fish are there and just need to be coaxed out.
This fish came out twice from the large boulder directly upstream from me.
Probably the most memorable fish of the day is one of those fish that I did not catch. I should have. I had at least a dozen opportunities to do so. He was tucked away in one of those spots that you might just walk by. I'm sure I've walked by these spots many times, but in this spot, I knew it likely held a fish because I had coaxed one out a few winters ago. I guess I got caught up in the moment, because I neglected to take a photo of the stretch of stream this year, but here is a photo from a few years ago, stream flowing right to left.
There's just the tiniest bit of a ledge, where the rock meets water above the main sunlight reflection in that photo. The water isn't more than four inches deep at the rock. Standing downstream, I cast my bugger up to about where the small log is in the water (the log is gone now). On the second slow retrieve, a 12-13" fish shows itself and I miss it. I repeat this dance multiple times and the fish shows himself multiple times. But I can't manage to hookup. The fish mouths the bugger multiple times and spits it out and with the shallow water, it's hard to get much of a moving retrieve to entice a hard strike. I change to a black bugger with the same result and a green weenie (no interest). Then, I tie on something that is akin to a Shenks Minnow, but tied with sparkle thread - looks like a shiner. The fish absolutely crushes the fly on the first retrieve, and then resorts to eating it and spitting it out for the next minute or so. Eventually, I give up, outsmarted by a creature with a brain the size of a pea. But I add something else to my memory bucket.
The weather has alternated between sunny and spritzing and continues to do so. There's still some daylight left, so I continue to push upstream. I'm sitting at seven fish for the afternoon and mentally set a goal of ten. A few years ago, I fished this stream with Swattie, and remembered pulling a brownie out of a little nook underneath a rock. And I'm back at that little nook at this stage of my outing.
Really, there's not much flow here. The water is as shallow as it looks. The nook is the rock on the right side of the photo. From a vantage point slightly upstream, you can see just a tiny little hiding place for a trout.
And from the opposite side of the stream, it doesn't look like much.
But dap a bugger just upstream, and out charges this little guy, ready to eat. Its pretty amazing the little nooks and crannies small stream brownies can hide out in.
I had in mind to fish two more holes. The first hole you can barely see at the top of this photo, but its deeper and has several rocks on the right side, which provide a good hiding place for browns.
Of course, in this almost ideal habitat, I don't even move a fish. I reached the second hole, with fond memories of a fish that toyed with me on several different outings a few summers ago, before I finally landed him. He was a beautiful fish then and I had hoped that he had grown up even more in the two years or so. But, if he had, he was no longer in the second hole, as the undercut rock he had lived under was now buried under a mound of gravel. Or maybe he was permanently entombed under the gravel. Either way, it was time to begin the trek back to the car.
On a whim, my mind went back to the shiner minnow pattern I had tried out on the trout that had thwarted all my overtures. I decided to fish that pattern as I walked out. Sure enough, in the first hole I tried it on, where I had moved no fish previously, I moved two fish and caught the smaller one.
And I filled my memory bucket on the way out. I'm not sure if it was the time of day or the pattern, or the fact that I was fishing downstream instead of upstream, but I moved fished in holes on the way out where I had not spotted anything on the way up through. I hooked two or three of them, some of the fish being sizeable for this particular small stream. I only landed one more fish.
But while fishing on the way out, the memories of the ones that got away, the explosion on the top of the water as the fish fought, my minnow fly getting thrown by a fish and flying up into a sapling ten feet over my head (later retrieved by climbing the sapling a few feet and letting my weight gently bring the top of the tree back down to the ground), and two larger fish shooting out from under large rocks on straight across casts are the memories that justify a return trip. That little shiner minnow is going to get first billing on the next outing.
The leaves are not yet at their peak, but those that had changed are a beautiful golden color. Some of them matched the beautiful golden bellies of some of the browns. Before I leave to go fishing when the water is low and clear, I sometimes debate whether it is worth making the trip. And sometimes I end up falling asleep on the couch. But dapping buggers into nooks and crannies is just a really fun way to fish small streams and I'm always glad when I don't let sleep inertia fully set in.
I thought I might be overrun with people, as it seemed from the fullness of the parking area that a lot of people had the same idea of being outside on a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon. I put on my waders and boots, and untied a wind knot in my leader as I walked, before rigging up. My goto setup for these kinds of conditions (low, clear small freestoners) is usually a black or olive wooly bugger and the olive bugger got the call this afternoon.
Things started out slow, and with the wrong species. A few small browns hugged the bottom of a little pool under a bridge, but they were skittish and not interested in my bugger. I worked my way upstream a bit and landed in quick succession three chubs and a couple of blacknose dace. I saw a few more small browns, but could not convince a single one to strike. I began to wonder if some of the vehicles had transported anglers to the stream. Or perhaps the foot traffic of hikers walking past had put the fish down.
A few more holes yielded not even a sighting of any fish. But if there is one thing I've learned about wild browns, it is that they are often present but not seen, particularly under low and clear conditions. So I told myself "Patience, Rabbit" and plugged on.
In the picture above, there is usually a fish in the right pool, but I couldn't connect with that fish. However, on the left side, the water goes way back in under the rock that is perched and I flubbed a hookup on a dark little brown that darted out to inspect my bugger three times.
I moved upstream, and finally connected with a pretty little brown.
He was hiding out underneath a rock beside a fairly decent side hole. And who knows how many of his friends and relations were also underneath that rock. I rolled a second fish of about the same size but was thwarted by the whirlpool of leaves that were swirling around in the eddy in the back of the pool.
The second little brownie that fell for the bugger lived in this little pool.
When I am fishing small streams, I like to predict where a fish where be hanging out. This hole has at least five possibilities - the plunge area below the little waterfall, the seams where the large rocks in the middle meet the left and right side of the stream, back in behind the large rock in the middle, and along the edge of the rock in the bottom left corner of the photo. I predicted wrong (back in underneath the large rock in the middle) but managed to catch the brownie that charged out from the seam below the rock in the bottom left corner.
Next up was this pretty little pool. There's an undercut ledge on the left, the boulder between the waterfalls provides shelter, and there's almost always a fish on the right under the logs. Interestingly enough, the flow is usually to the right side of the stream, but the logjam upstream is diverting the flow. As I started to fish this hole, the afternoon sun disappeared, and the sky started to spit melting ice balls and rain. It reminded me of Lake Erie lake effect weather, where you can be fishing for steelhead on a sunny afternoon and before long, the sun is obscured by clouds, and a howling snow squall is bearing down.
In the rain, I hooked up with this little brownie.
I moved ten feet upstream to the mossy covered boulder on the right side of the stream, and sure enough, a trout bolted from underneath the log. I cast my bugger through the V formed by the downed logs and under the rock and on a slow retrieve, a large dark shape darted out. He felt hook, I felt fish, but the battle was over in a second. Its a rare day when I can get a fish like that to strike again immediately and this would not be that rare day.
As the afternoon went along, I came to think about the fish that got away. I've had days where it seemed like everything was going right and my hookup ratio was running extremely high. And I've had days where I've caught fish, but the most memorable fish are the ones that I encountered but did not catch. This fish put himself in that latter category, as did several other fish of the day.
There are several shark holes on this stream and I would encounter two of the holes next. These are holes where I have rarely caught fish, but the habitat screams out for holding a fish. Last year, while absent-mindedly retrieving a wooly bugger, a shark did show himself in the first hole. This year, I was not so absent-minded in my retrieve, the fish showed himself again, but the result was the same; a short strike, and a dark shadow fading underneath the ledge. With browns that spend most of their lives in the dark, the contrast against the lighter bedrock, under the lens of gin clear water is stark. Another uncaught fish (perhaps twice uncaught) went into the memory bucket and don't think that I'm not anticipating trying to catch that very fish sometime this winter.
I wasn't sure if I would encounter any spawn activity, but in areas I've seen redds in past years, I saw none this year and I saw no fish out in the stream doing the dance - they were all safe, tucked away. I worked myself up through some of the pools that had redds in the tailouts in years past, but took a goose egg.
This little gold-leaf flecked pool usually holds a fish or two. I fished it from downstream just a few feet and it is the type of hole that demonstrates why patience is important. There's a rock on the left side of the waterfall that fish can hide out under and the rock in the foreground provides excellent cover as well.
I made two casts and nothing showed. On my third cast, on a slow retrieve, a small brown darted out. But he wasn't after my bugger. He was moving instinctively out of the way of a much larger and very dark brown. And that brown was after my bugger. Of course, my initial reaction on attempting to set the hook was on the smaller brown. And I flubbed the hookset on the bigger brown as my mind realized what the actual quarry was. As quick as he darted out, the fish darted back under the rock. I cast again, to no avail, and a second time and was pleasantly surprised to see the shadow again. This time, I hooked him.
Another little nook and cranny hole yielded another fish. I was expecting the fish to be to the right of picture, just upstream. But he came out from the far side of the stream, almost straight across from me, and ambled is the proper way to describe how he slowly but deliberately swam halfway across the stream to take the bugger.
The afternoon would produce a few more fish and a few more memories.
You'll see this theme repeated throughout most of the stream photos - shallow, clear water and small boulders which form little ledges. This type of outing is why one needs to fish small freestoners which allegedly hold wild browns with patience. 9 times out of 10, the fish are there and just need to be coaxed out.
This fish came out twice from the large boulder directly upstream from me.
Probably the most memorable fish of the day is one of those fish that I did not catch. I should have. I had at least a dozen opportunities to do so. He was tucked away in one of those spots that you might just walk by. I'm sure I've walked by these spots many times, but in this spot, I knew it likely held a fish because I had coaxed one out a few winters ago. I guess I got caught up in the moment, because I neglected to take a photo of the stretch of stream this year, but here is a photo from a few years ago, stream flowing right to left.
There's just the tiniest bit of a ledge, where the rock meets water above the main sunlight reflection in that photo. The water isn't more than four inches deep at the rock. Standing downstream, I cast my bugger up to about where the small log is in the water (the log is gone now). On the second slow retrieve, a 12-13" fish shows itself and I miss it. I repeat this dance multiple times and the fish shows himself multiple times. But I can't manage to hookup. The fish mouths the bugger multiple times and spits it out and with the shallow water, it's hard to get much of a moving retrieve to entice a hard strike. I change to a black bugger with the same result and a green weenie (no interest). Then, I tie on something that is akin to a Shenks Minnow, but tied with sparkle thread - looks like a shiner. The fish absolutely crushes the fly on the first retrieve, and then resorts to eating it and spitting it out for the next minute or so. Eventually, I give up, outsmarted by a creature with a brain the size of a pea. But I add something else to my memory bucket.
The weather has alternated between sunny and spritzing and continues to do so. There's still some daylight left, so I continue to push upstream. I'm sitting at seven fish for the afternoon and mentally set a goal of ten. A few years ago, I fished this stream with Swattie, and remembered pulling a brownie out of a little nook underneath a rock. And I'm back at that little nook at this stage of my outing.
Really, there's not much flow here. The water is as shallow as it looks. The nook is the rock on the right side of the photo. From a vantage point slightly upstream, you can see just a tiny little hiding place for a trout.
And from the opposite side of the stream, it doesn't look like much.
But dap a bugger just upstream, and out charges this little guy, ready to eat. Its pretty amazing the little nooks and crannies small stream brownies can hide out in.
I had in mind to fish two more holes. The first hole you can barely see at the top of this photo, but its deeper and has several rocks on the right side, which provide a good hiding place for browns.
Of course, in this almost ideal habitat, I don't even move a fish. I reached the second hole, with fond memories of a fish that toyed with me on several different outings a few summers ago, before I finally landed him. He was a beautiful fish then and I had hoped that he had grown up even more in the two years or so. But, if he had, he was no longer in the second hole, as the undercut rock he had lived under was now buried under a mound of gravel. Or maybe he was permanently entombed under the gravel. Either way, it was time to begin the trek back to the car.
On a whim, my mind went back to the shiner minnow pattern I had tried out on the trout that had thwarted all my overtures. I decided to fish that pattern as I walked out. Sure enough, in the first hole I tried it on, where I had moved no fish previously, I moved two fish and caught the smaller one.
And I filled my memory bucket on the way out. I'm not sure if it was the time of day or the pattern, or the fact that I was fishing downstream instead of upstream, but I moved fished in holes on the way out where I had not spotted anything on the way up through. I hooked two or three of them, some of the fish being sizeable for this particular small stream. I only landed one more fish.
But while fishing on the way out, the memories of the ones that got away, the explosion on the top of the water as the fish fought, my minnow fly getting thrown by a fish and flying up into a sapling ten feet over my head (later retrieved by climbing the sapling a few feet and letting my weight gently bring the top of the tree back down to the ground), and two larger fish shooting out from under large rocks on straight across casts are the memories that justify a return trip. That little shiner minnow is going to get first billing on the next outing.
The leaves are not yet at their peak, but those that had changed are a beautiful golden color. Some of them matched the beautiful golden bellies of some of the browns. Before I leave to go fishing when the water is low and clear, I sometimes debate whether it is worth making the trip. And sometimes I end up falling asleep on the couch. But dapping buggers into nooks and crannies is just a really fun way to fish small streams and I'm always glad when I don't let sleep inertia fully set in.
