Opening day, early afternoon, and the wife took the kid to a birthday party. I had all afternoon to kill, so I thought I'd strap on my wellies and hike a tributary from my house down towards the Brandywine. There was a slight chill in the air, overcast, with spits of rain here and there, so I donned my cap, fishing vest and grabbed a small stream flyrod. Filled a flask with scotch and I was set.

Was really only expecting to do more hiking than fishing, and that I did, but on the first pool I came to, landed a wily brown trout on a prince nymph, with my third cast. Smarted a bit, pondered my catch, let the fish go and took a nice pull from my flask. Further down I explored. I get to thinking about that trout, since the waters I’m travelling in are certainly not stocked. In fact I’ve caught on the fly a few native brookies a bit further up. Did a blue heron drop him here from another creek? Did he find his way up, in between pools, rocks and logjams, about a ½ mile from the stocked area? Interesting.

The trees were on the verge of exploding with leaves as a bit of green peach-fuzz appeared along the sides of the creek. Skunk weed was just popping out of the soil, ready to unfurl its leaves. The creek itself - a bit murky from the previous night’s rain. Early spring indeed. Flipped a few rocks looking for bugs and revealed a surprised salamander, but nothing in the way of nymphs.

Another pull from the flask, I hobbled over the rocks and finally made my way to the Brandywine - in utter shock. The creek is always slammed on Opening Day. Always. I usually try to stay off it for a few weeks, until the crowds die down a bit. Though upon my discovery, there was no one present. And no sign of anyone either! No fishing line wrapped in trees. None of the styro-foam cups of worms left behind. No careless beer cans tossed into the stickers. Nothing. Shocked indeed.

I get to fishing. It’s not long until there’s some splashing upstream as a fisherman reveals himself from around the bend. He fires up a smoke, crouches, and studies my fishing attempts. I slowly move down into the pool to give this fellow a bit of room in the pool. About a half hour later from exploring the vacant stream below there, I move back up and ask if there’s anyone above him fishing, thinking I might be able to do a bit of upstream fishing. He explains that the stream is slammed with every lot filled in the parking area with people parking well into the grass. Nah, no thanks, not for me.

It’s getting a bit chilly, so I warm my bones with a bit more scotch and decide I should be getting back and make my way back up the trib I had followed down. As with tradition, I pick out a large flat rock in the middle of the creek and get a nice little stick fire going. Smells great and the warmth on my hands is welcoming. I sit on a nearby rock and enjoy the rest of my scotch taking in the early spring. Best be heading back. About halfway home the wife calls and immediately picks up I’ve been drinking. Funny how that works. I can float like a butterfly from rock to rock, through teaming riffles, under fallen trees, over steep banks, all the while keeping my footing well in place, but one incoherent sentence later and the wife is well on to me.

LOL try having a 7 month pregnant wife with the nose of a blood hound. No cigar or beer gets past that nose. LOL!!!

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They have a 6th sense about crap like that!

great read. thanks for for sharing!

So what's your poison of choice whilst angling? Dewar's, J&B, Cutty?

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while those are indeed enjoyable(actually any whisky will do), I prefer the single malt, and with that on Saturday had McClelland's Islay..

[/quote]while those are indeed enjoyable(actually any whisky will do), I prefer the single malt, and with that on Saturday had McClelland's Islay..[/quote]

Ah, a man of exceptional taste. My budget usually limits me to the pedestrian blends. But when I'm fishing it works just fine.

Nice Post.