The morning after my previous day, I awoke about five o'clock with a stiff neck and only about four hours of sleep. That's what happens when you sleep in a truck seat.. The weather forecast had been calling for low 90's in the Northern Tier and I wanted to get an early start, for my sake and the fishes' sake. Naturally, it seems that no how well you think you pack your backpack when you leave, I always invariably end up repacking it, and that morning would be no exception. I made some coffee, added some water to my granola and strawberry breakfast and packed away. I had a couple of issues to deal with. First, in my infinite wisdom, I had packed two long sleeved shirts (one of them wool) and one short sleeve shirt (also wool). The prospects of a hot and humid day didn't excite me with that clothing; however, traipsing around the woods with just short sleeves on wasn't all that thrilling either, what with all the biting bugs flying around. I opted for the short sleeve wool shirt and the long sleeve nylon top.

The second issue was far more serious. My wading pants had developed a bad leak in the neoprene bootie. I had applied AquaSeal to one half of the side of the bootie's seam over Memorial day, and carefully smoothed it out with a knife. A few days after that, I decided to finish the job, but rushed through it; I didn't spread out the goop and globs of it ran down over the heel area and the right side of the bootie. I noticed some discomfort while using the pants a few weeks ago; the bootie was now dry, but my feet hurt. And just the one mile of fishing the previous evening had caused a blister to develop on my heel, to the point that I was hobbling around Wednesday night. Luckily, I had a piece of moleskin in my first aid kit, from almost 25 years ago. When I first started backpacking, I went with a group camp and judiciously followed their checklist in packing supplies. Over the years, I adapted my own list, but have been blessed to largely avoid blisters while hiking. However, I kept the moleskin around, just in case, and this was one of those cases. I cut the moleskin to size and adhered it on. The night before, after I returned from my fishing outing, I did a little surgery to the Aquaseal globs in the wading pants and was able to successfully move some of the clumps. When I put on the pants that morning, with the moleskin covered blister, the discomfort level had subsided. Apparently I had managed to remove the worst of the irritating globs and the moleskin protected direct rubbing of my raw heel, so I was geared for battle.




The humidity of the night before had turned into early morning fog, and despite my desire to be off at an early hour, it was 7:30AM until I was on the stream. The first big pool yielded a nice native brookie, but then things went quiet for a bit. This wasn't unexpected; the bottom part of the stream doesn't have too many pools and it has less trees and is subject to late summer (or early summer) thermal issues. Its mostly pocket water. But one thing I've learned over the years - don't overlook the pocket water. Sometimes it can be a complete bust; but there's always a chance for reward. I cast upstream into a rather nondescript looking pocket:




And I about wet the waders when the line went taut. A brown was on! He fought hard, racing around through the various pockets before I landed him and snapped a few photos, and then released him. The second 15" brown had come to hand during this trip. I have no idea where he went to after I released him, but he disappeared just as quickly as he was found.




I continued moving upstream; some promising holes yielded no fish moved at all, which always leaves me to believe that all the little guys have been eaten by the one big guy that remains. The fog held on tenaciously, but eventually, the sun won that battle and burned through. Because of the dampness, I was glad for the warmth of the wool top and I stubbornly kept both layers on the bulk of the day.

I picked up a handful of nice brookies and one or two more smallish browns..




Mid-morning, I was concentrating on fishing a log jam when I sensed something else was present. I turned to my left and almost stepped on this guy, before he continued on his merry way.




He moseyed on over to the pool and waded in a bit. He started flipping over rocks and I began to wonder if he didn't have a bit of raccoon gene in him, following the instinct to hunt for crayfish. I was half expecting him to float across the pool; I understand that porcupine needles are hollow and porcupines can float, but he opted for the dry route after he was skunked with the rocks.




The stretch where I saw the porcupine is a stretch where the stream has completely rerouted itself, jumping from the middle of the valley, almost all of the way to the left of a valley, following an old jeep trail. While freestoners move around all the time, this is one instance where the impact of vehicles literally rerouted a stream. Its also a stretch that has developed some good habitat over the past five years, since it jumped, but I didn't catch a single fish in it. I did see a boot track and wondered if someone hadn't fished up through recently and put the fish down.

A short while later, the momentary skunk ended and I hauled in this little guy. Problem was, he only had two-thirds of his tail. This was the second fish I caught recently that had a deformed tail. The other was from a local stream I fished a few years ago and was a brown. Predation? Genetic deficiency? Whirling disease jumped from 'bows to brookies? Something else?





I continued upstream and fished the pool that yields no fish. Jeff (wildtrout2) can attest to that. I never camp near this pool, but I'm sure if I did, I'd pull a pool boss out at night.




A short distance above this hole, another nice hole exists, sans rock, but with a nice exposed root system. It was here that I caught the biggest brookie of the trip, a nice 11" fish. I had no sooner released the fish and moved up slightly on the hole than I had an even larger fish chase the offering. He paused, seemingly to look at me, decided better of it, and turned tail around and went back into the roots.




I stopped for a bite to eat - lunch on these trips has been the staple of pitas (or some type of round, flat bread), cheese (somewhat disgusting in heat) and pepperoni. I washed it down with a bit of Gatorade, put on some bug repellent (also known as lighter and cigar) and continued fishing upstream. Right before the confluence of a small feeder stream with the main stem, the geology changes from bedrock that lends itself to weathering into a typical freestoner to a more solid shale, that yields long flat stretches of water, with seams that develop along the regional joint structures. Every now and then, a larger piece of the bedrock will break off and the force of high water events will lift it up and move it downstream. I've learned over the years that this stretch of the stream and those broken chunks of bedrock are brownie lairs. I fish each and every one of them, expecting to find a fish under them; about 50% of the time, my hunch is right.

In the picture below, the stream flows left to right. You can see the feeder stream in the background, and one of the pieces of bedrock in the right foreground. The water is about a foot deep above the rock, and there's a sort of plunge pool below it.




This particular hole did hold a fish. He challenged just above every assumption I make about browns. First, my beliefs:

Browns are spooky; larger browns generally don't hit during the day and they definitely do not hit in bright sunlight; and you only get one chance with them.

The fish that lived under this rock came out on about the fourth swing, and I missed him. I figured I was done but I cast again. And he came out again. And I missed him. And I figured I was really done. But I cast again. And he came out a third time and this time, I set the hook properly. The really was nowhere for him to run, so it was a short battle before he was landed, measured, photographed and released. Anyone nearby would have wondered what the low guttaral male-sounding "WHOOP!" noise was; that was just me celebrating, although they would have been justified in thinking they had heard a Sasquatch. The third 15" brown of the trip had come to hand. More on him Day 3..




Moving upstream, I came into nice concentration of brookies in the flat stretches, but oh were they difficult to catch. And even with a flat shale-like bottom, they still managed to disappear somewhere. I generally hold that you don't have to be as stealthy as some would lead you to believe to catch brookies, but in this type of flat water, with no plunge pools, that lack of stealthiness results in no fish. I did move a handful of larger browns (12-15") from other rocks but brought no more sizeable browns to hand that afternoon.

I came up to the pool that was my camping destination and was disappointed to find that for the first time in my arriving there over the past twenty years, someone else was camped there. I cast into the pool, and as has been the usual case, caught nothing, and saw nothing but a handful of suckers. In 2007, I learned one of the reasons why. A little before dusk on that year's trip, I moved a large fish out from underneath a large rock shelf that lies to the one side of the pool. The fish haunted me and I plotted how to capture it, throughout the next year, until I returned in 2008. At that point, the only rod I had that was more than two pieces and suitable for stuffing in a pack was a 6'6 3Wt Redington Wayfarer rod. And my plotting over the year had resulted in taking the biggest surface fly I could find and using it (a hopper) to attack the monster at night. Looking back, I clung to a naive hope that I would prevail, and you can imagine my surprise that summer night in 2008 when I brought the pool monster to hand on a tiny 3Wt rod. But 2009 yielded no night fish. By 2010, I had picked up an 8WT travel rod, but caught nothing, and only managed a 13" brown during 2011's night fishing episode. But this year, I was confident from my success the night before with the mouse and was awaiting for another four hours of daylight to pass. I crossed the stream, exchanged pleasantries with the campers, and searched upstream and downstream for a camp site. I found one to my liking downstream, one I had never seen before in my trekking in the area and setup camp.




I had set a goal of 50 fish for the day, so as afternoon turned into early evening, I set off upstream, above the pool that held my night time attention. I could not keep a fish on the line - they were there, but the water was shallow or I was jittery from too much cigar smoke (the bugs really were horrible). Whatever the case, I couldn't catch a fish for anything. About a hundred yards above the night pool, there's a stretch of exposed root, with a deep undercut bank and some trees hanging over the stream. In 2009, a beautiful 18" football brown charged out of that root mess. In 2010, the stretch held half a dozen or more brook trout, and I was sure the roots were uninhabited by a big brown that year. The same held true last year, but this year, I had one half-hearted take and that was it. But unfortunately, nothing charged out this time. I moved upstream a few dozen steps, directly across from the root system. I wasn't even in the water; I was in the grass on the left bank, but the inhabitant must have been reading my mind, because he darted out, went downstream, circled around, and pulled right back into the root system, all 18"+ of him. I had found a second location for some potential night stalking. The challenge, of course, was going to be the trees and the grass, and getting any sort of a cast right, without getting snagged up on either of those obstacles.




I fished upstream for another mile or so, but mostly struck out. I came back downstream to another small feeder stream. It has a small waterfall on it that helped me confirm that water striders must taste horrible. One year I was up there, the waterfall hole was teeming with water striders and three or four brookies were trapped there, but apparently, they wanted nothing to do with them for food. This year, my first cast into the hole, I brought a beautiful brookie to hand. The second cast into the hole, I brought a second beautiful brookie to hand. When I released the second fish, I spooked a third fish - amazing how you can fish one stream for a mile and strike out and then find just the right hole on a small stream and strike gold.






Anyway, evening was closing in and I still had not supped yet, so I wanted to return to the campsite. But before I did that, I wanted to recon again the root bank system, to see if I could come up with any better insights on how to fish it at night. And when I got there, I'll be darned if the big bruiser wasn't out in the middle of the small pool that was there, just hanging out. Of course, I tossed at him, and of course, that spooked him. And my recon revealed no good way to fish the hole (not like I expected anything to have changed from when I was there earlier in the evening).

By this point, I was in some serious foot pain and had noticed my fishing pace had slowed down dramatically that afternoon. When I got back to the camp site and took my boots off, I discovered that the damp environment of the day had allowed the moleskin adhesive to come off my heel, so my buffer of protection had disappeared sometime in the middle of the afternoon. I cooked up some dinner, got the bear bag situated and sat down to wait. I meticulously put together the 7 pieces of the 8WT rod. I pulled out the deer hair mouse, who was really too large for my fly box, so he had spent the day mashed into my chest pack. I fluffed him up a bit and waited some more. When I had left the truck that morning, I was wishing I had some duct tape or athletic tape, but I had neither. However, it dawned on me that I did have some electrical tape, so I threw that in the first aid kit. So, in the growing dusk, I used some more moleskin and three strips of electrical tape and rigged up a comfortable heel protector.

Dusk came to the valley, but it remains light late into the evening; at 9:45, there was still a hint of light in the air, but I decided it was time to move. I had tried out a new backpack setup for this trip. My previous pack was a Gregory Baltoro; Gregory packs will allow you to carry a ton of weight comfortably, but the packs themselves are six or seven pounds. And to that, I had lashed on a William Joseph Coastal II pack, primarily because it has a built-in net holder in the back, but the whole setup felt awkward. I wanted something lighter weight this year, so I had purchased a Golite Pinnacle pack. It saves weight by replacing aluminum or plastic stays with a foam stay, which achieves its goal at the expense of allowing you to carry extra weight; the lack of a rigid stay also makes the pack sag a bit. I also downsized my Coastal II pack to just a small front chest pack and instead stuck the net handle in one of the packs bottom side pockets. All of this left a lighter setup that wasn't so awkward to wear, but meant I didn't have a great place for a net when not carrying the backpack.

I strapped on the chest pack, ditched the polarized glasses, put on the hat, grabbed the headlamp and the rod, stuck the net inside the belt of the wading pants and went down to the stream. Ironically enough, the campsite I had chosen was right beside a stream section that held one of the larger browns, under a chunk of bedrock. I thought I might move him at night, but nothing was doing there. And, of all things, I got the mouse stuck in a tree, which nearly turned into a disaster, but I somehow managed to shake it loose, violating the probability of the unwritten rule that 99 out of 100 times, if you shake the line trying to loose the fly, you usually rip the tippet, lose the fly, or wrap things up even worse. I took it as a good omen and walked upstream the 100 yards to the pool. The campers had a fire going and were smoking something. Every now and then, they'd turn their flashlights on and shine them all around, or go down to the stream upstream from me. I half expected them to come over to the pool and start throwing rocks in. It was still light enough to see just a little bit; I could see bats swooping down but I figured that big fish, if they existed, might be starting to move anyway. To put the fishing vantage point in perspective, take a look at this picture:




The thing that makes night fishing at this hole great is you have a sort of mini-gorge upstream from you (to the left), which is wide open for your back cast. You're elevated a good three and a half feet off of pool level and you've got a radius you can cast across the pool in front of you. You can really pick anywhere to stand on the top ledge and be fine - the only challenges are if you want to get further downstream, its helpful to move further to the right of the ledge, at the risk of taking a misstep in the dark and falling in. And, if you do tie into a fish, you have to make it to the lower ledge in the dark to be able to land it.

I started prospecting the pool, listening to the satisfied "THWAP!" as the mouse hit the water each cast. I'd cast downstream most of the time, but every now and again, I'd cast upstream and let the mouse float downstream. I had one half-hearted and smallish take and after about 50 casts, decided it was time to head upstream to the root system and see if I could coax that brownie to hand. So I headed upstream and positioned myself between the two trees. I couldn't really cast with the rod, so I ended up doing hand casts; with a fly the size of that mouse, it was actually quite simple. I targeted the area I had seen the fish in earlier in the evening but managed only to toss the fly into the tree branch a couple of times. I moved upstream around the one branch to target the head of the pool, but nothing. I turned on the light, expecting to see him lying there, but the pool was bare. I decided it was time to go back downstream. It must have been about 11PM and was finally dark. Just like the night before, the stars were out, the fireflies were winking, and a fog was rolling off the water. It was, in a word, surreal.

Back downstream to the rock ledge I went. Not wanting to awake the campers, I stayed in the stream and climbed up to the rock ledge from the landing ledge. I cast upstream and downstream. I stripped out additional line and cast farther downstream. At one point, I moved down the rock ledge closer to the pool, and lost my balance and all but fell into the pool. And after another 50 casts, feeling like maybe it was futile, I lay down on the rock and looked up at the stars. And watched the fireflies. And started to get drowsy. So I sat up and cast again, only to find myself dozing off, as if in a dream, telling myself that no active fish is going to seek out a dead-drifted mouse. They want to see a mouse that they think is struggling for its life. So I'd cast, strip the line a few times and then stop and doze off. Finally, I guess the mini-power nap paid off, because I snapped out of it and stood up. Another ten casts, the eleventh cast was to the far side of the pool. Strip, Strip, Strip..wait. Strip, Strip, Strip..wait. Strip, Strip, BAM! The pool exploded with the sound of crashing water, a screaming reel and a fisherperson in the big woods at night, who was suddenly very, very wide awake. My thoughts immediately went back to the 13 inch brownie I had caught at night last year; I had myself convinced that fish was a monster, until I switched on the light and saw it was a paltry 13 inches. So I switched on the headlamp to see what the damage was and knew immediately that this fish was no 13 incher. And all of the above actually happened in about two seconds

There was a realization that I had hooked a pool monster again, and whereas the 2008 fish pretty much rolled over and gave up (otherwise I don't know how I would have landed him on a 3Wt), this fish was all over the place. He dove for the rock ledges on each side of the pool; he went for the center of the pool, which is the deepest. It was all I could do to turn him; he slashed right and left and I could imagine him throwing the hook. And I was still three and a half feet above the water, with a net jammed in one side of my waders, a bum heel and a landing ledge that sloped slipperily into the pool. But somehow, I managed to climb down the short distance without falling, extract the net from my waders, and make some headway on reeling the beast in. But true to his form, every move that brought the fish closer to me was met with a hard run away from me. The first net swipe missed, as did the second, but the third scored the fish. He went up over the bank, I went up over the bank, and I basked in the adrenaline rush of another night-time brownie. I only wish I had emptied out my net after a day of hiking, as it had filled up with leaves, which served to camoflage some of the beauty of the fish. A few photos (again I hate how poorly my smartphone takes pictures at night), a little revival time, and the beast circled around once and went back to the depths.






Huge blue gill spot...


The deer hair portion of the mouse is 2.5 to 3 inches in length, to put some perspective on the size of the mouth of this creature. The fish inhaled it.. My hand all but fit into its mouth.






As I sat there, I debated with myself it was greedy to go back upstream and try for trophy #2. And I decided I could be satisfied with what I had just caught. And then I told myself that the opportunity was now or never, so I trudged back upstream. I wish I could say that I landed another fish, but after several more futile casts in the root system hole, I heard nothing, and saw nothing when I turned on the headlamp. I have dubbed that fish "Solomon", for he is wise.

As I walked back down through the stream towards the campsite, Thursday dissolved into Friday. But what a Thursday it was...

Good story Kevin. I love reading the details and seeing the pics from a wild trout excursion in the mountains. Thanks for taking the time to share that with us.

Wow. Absolutely great stuff. Deep woods treks, beautiful brookies, monster browns. So much of it brings back memories, I don't get to do these kind of trips very much anymore.

Hand casting. hehe. I've done it!

Thank you for taking me there, it was a great way to start my day.

Great read again Kevin. Enjoyed every word of it. Beautiful fish, and congrats on the big Brown.

I laughed when I read what your streamside lunch is on these trips...I do something similar for my camping/fishing trips...pepperoni rolls. Basically a simple sweet, pizza like dough with the pepperoni and cheese stick baked inside. They're very big in SW PA and northern WV. No need to refrigerate which is great for camping and the cheese holds up pretty well since it's baked inside the bread.

Here's a pic from the Jam of one...Let me know if you want the recipe.

http://www.paflyfish.com/modules/myalbum/photo.php?lid=2161&cid=5

Very, very, nice. Sounds like you had an awesome time, beautiful fish too.

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Whenever I fish with the wvangler boys, thats what they always seem to bring.

Great tale of wild troutin' and mousin' monsters. Beautiful fish. All of them.

Awesome story/stories and can't wait for the next one. Love the color of the second brownie! And that nighttime fish is a freaking hog, any idea what its length was? Over 20"? Amazing fish regardless of what it actually measured, I'm gonna have to try the whole night fishing thing soon!

Awesome post I enjoyed every word. Thanks for taking us there with you.

Small world! I was one of the guys camping at " the pool." The heavy set guy you talked to was my non-fishing friend. I only fished a little here and there as to not abandon him. I did pretty well fishing dries on top for brookies. I imagine that creek was tough trampling up and down after dark. I fished the pool untill a little after dark and gave up when threading 6x became a chore. Golite makes great stuff. My "tent" was a Golite poncho tarp. It wieghs like 8oz and works awesome if you don't mind a little exposure. You know my friend and I swam in that pool, jumping off that ledge and everything, around 4pm. I'm suprised that fish came out after all that commotion. I also saw the biggest rattlesnake ever on my hike out. I'll post my trip pics when I get home from work tonight. Awesome fish...

Kevin, Great post ,glad your trip was so successful. a series of these would make for fine reading in a lil book.Keep up the gret posts.
Tight Wraps & Tight Lines
Rick Wallace

My wife is from SW PA, and while she doesn't make pepperoni rolls, her sister does, so I'm sure I'd have ready access to a recipe. I've never considered using that for lunch, but will have to experiment with it and see how it holds up. It sure would be less work - no need to break out the knife for the cheese or pepperoni, no pepperoni oil greasing up the food bag or knife.. Could even munch on it for a heartier trail mix between meals!

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I taped the fish at over 20". Looking at the official PFBC "How to Measure a Fish" definition, my measurements are conservative, as I use a fork length measurement. Mouth closed, tail compressed it would have gone 21-22".

Night fishing can be boring; I'm not exaggerating that I had over 100 casts. But it can pay big dividends. The little bit of experienced I've gleaned:

1) Target water that has big fish (or has the potential to hold big fish). This might be a "duh!" statement but with so much water out there, you almost have to hone in on specific pools or runs to increase your probability of success.
2) Big fish eat big meals (when they can). Fish a fly that displaces water or makes noise when it hits.
3) Be prepared - unless you like the challenge, go with a heavier weight rod. And because its dark, 3X or bigger is fine for tippet. Delicate presentations are not needed
4) Persevere

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I wanna know what you were smoking

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Yeah, they're definitely convenient that way. I wrap them individually in foil and just take one out when I'm hungry. The other advantage of making them homemade is you can control the size...I'll make some about half as big with only half a cheese stick, and less pepperoni as "snack size."

The Golite Shangri-La can pitch as a tarp, a nest (bug screen), or a ground sheet, or any combination of them. While I'd like to save the weight and not carry the bug nest, I find I like the comfort of knowing the critters can't get to me. Not so much the bears or larger mammals, but I absolutely hate having mice run over me at night. Thats also the primary reason I bear bag food; to keep the mice away.

In the summer time, the nest alone would work if it doesn't rain, but that comes with the potential downside of waking up soaked from a heavy dew. So I end up using both the tarp and the nest. Depending on the dew point, the walls of the tarp can still get soaked, but I was dry the two nights I was out last week. I haven't used the shelter in the winter, but there the nest wouldn't be needed; just the tarp, or the tarp and the ground sheet. I forgot my trekking poles this trip, but you can replace the single (heavy) tent pole that comes with it with two trekking poles lashed together and save some more weight.

I'm curious if you had any takes at the pool at dusk; there were one or two brookies that I saw there, but for the most part, I think the fish biomass there is concentrated in that one big brownie and the suckers..



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