Winter Grabs

 

Come winter in the Great Lakes, the players are scarce and many of them don’t play fair. “Player” is a term steelhead swami and swing guru Jeff Liskay, aka Great Lakes Dude, uses to describe the minority of steelhead that are eager to chase down a swung fly. And players are the target of those anglers seduced by the allure of using a highly ineffective, yet adrenaline-rush-inducing method to hook the freshwater version of the migratory rainbow trout that swim up the Great Lakes tributaries in the fall and winter.

December means cold north winds and short days. They combine to drop the water temperatures into Walter Payton (#34) territory. Trout, like all fish, are cold blooded and cold water slows their metabolism to something less than a bear’s in hibernation. Shivering fish prefer to hang in slow, soft water where they expend as little energy as possible while waiting for warmer days. For reasons that maybe only a fish biologist can understand, there’s usually at least one fish in the pool that’s willing to hop off the couch and pursue a fly. This is the player.

Every once and awhile the winter player will act like a Red Bull-fueled teenager and crush the fly with enough aggression that they hook themselves and the angler is just a bystander happy to go along for the ride. More often, the player will test the angler with something less than an enthusiastic grab; in other words, they don’t play fair.

While we imagine fish inhaling flies, sometimes it seems that they are more interested in inspecting than eating. It is impossible to say exactly what a fish is doing during its inspection but sometimes it feel as if they’re plucking at the feather or fur hanging off the end of the fly. Often, the pluck occurs at the end of the swing, when the fly is dangling directly below the angler. A fish striking a fly from the rear doesn’t provide much of a hooking angle. Also, an angler may ease up at the end of the swing or even fall into a bit of a trance. A pluck at the end of the swing sends a jolt up the tight line and the angler is prone to respond by raising the rod tip. Unfortunately that just pulls the fly away from the reluctant suitor. After making that mistake recently, I quickly hung my head in shame, bent over in disgust and put my hands on my knees. The fish plucked again. I was double plucked. I over-reacted, again.

The “pluck and duck” occurs when the fish pulls at the fly briefly and then quickly ducks back to the couch. The fish may be enticed off the couch again by a slightly different swing angle or a smaller (or brighter or larger or duller) fly. But more than likely, the fish is on the couch for the duration.

If the “pluck and duck” gets the imagination racing, the “pull and drop” just gets the angler muttering and wondering why bother at all. The pull and drop is like a half-hearted handshake. The fish grabs the fly, makes the classic turn and the angler responds with a proper hook set, but there’s nothing there. No weight. No fish. Nothing. Was the pull real? Maybe the sink tip was simply dragging across the bottom? No, it was definitely a pull. But where did the fish go? Maybe the drag was too tight and the fish felt the tension of the line too soon? Maybe the hookset came too soon? Or maybe the fish just decided the feather and fur isn’t protein? All fishermen overthink the fish’s decision-making. Swing fishermen excel at over thinking.

And sometimes we think wrong. We think that the swing is slower than normal because the

sink tip is dragging along the bottom when what’s happening is a lethargic, yet hungry, fish has grabbed the fly without sending a tell-tale signal up the line. Instead of pulling the line, the fish is just a weight on the end of the line. An angler who thinks the sink tip is dragging might try to mend the line or gently raise the rod to get the tip higher in the water column. This manipulation of the line when a fish has the hook in its mouth usually results in the fish shaking its head. That head shake sends a signal up the line, into the rod and finally to the angler’s hand. When the signal arrives, it often results in the angler jerking the rod back. Sometimes the hook is set, but rarely well. The fish has the advantage over the surprised angler and the fight often ends quickly with a slack line and an angler thinking about how they will respond the next time they feel the “weight,” and wishing for an early spring, when the players are more likely to play fair.

Thank You Allan Bright of Spruce Creek Outfitters

If you are like me and only have a few chances to stream trout fish a year, then you know how important it is to get helpful advice from the locals. Allan Bright at Spruce Creek Outfitters provides just such advice in a no nonsense, direct fashion.

I called him twice during the week to check on conditions and both times he assured me the evening hatches were done and the conditions would be iffy. No sugarcoating. I arrived at his shop on the banks of the Little Juniata about 4:30 p.m. on Friday and he cautioned not to have too high of hopes. He handed me a few promising nymphs and a cahill spinner. One of the nymphs was a simple pheasant tail bead head, but with a casing and legs made of copper flashabou, rather than pheasant.

He encouraged me to start with a green weenie with the pheasant tail about a foot behind.

That combination worked just fine in the slightly murky water of the Little J. I landed my first brown trout shortly after starting to fish in the runs above the church. It's a heavily fished area, but I didn't want to spend any more time driving. And Allan's little nymph, green weenie and a caddis nymph Allan recommended all resulted in trout being landed before nightfall. One small trout slapped at the Cahill spinner at dusk, but no other rises could be generated. Nonetheless it was a productive Friday night on the Little J thanks to Allan Bright and Spruce Creek Outfitters.

Sadly, rain pounded the area that night and the Little J wouldn't fish again this weekend.

State College Lessons

I spent the weekend in State College, Pennsylvania, home of Penn State University. The intent was to get schooled by some brown trout. I did. But, mostly I learned that even spring creeks get muddy when the monsoons hit.

I should have taken some pictures of Penns Creek, flowing brown and full to its banks, but I didn't want to take the time to stop the car... Even little Elk Creek was raging fast, although up by its head it was still fishable Saturday afternoon. Dreams of fishing Spruce Creek on Sunday before heading back home were dashed by high and muddy water. A few cars were in the public access parking area run by Penn State, but I cannot imagine what the anglers were thinking they'd catch. I guess they believe, as do I, better to wear waders than anything at all. But I just kept driving and headed home.

The above picture shows the water on Big Fishing Creek Saturday about noon. A few hours later it was unfishable. The next few blog posts will include some other lessons learned fishing Central Pennslyvania's most beautiful streams.

Stream Trout Interupted

The plan was to start May with some stream trout fishing in Pennsylvania. The gods of thunder and rain had other ideas. First stop was the Neshannock Creek Fly Shop where I picked up some flies and got myself organized. I hiked to the broken pine tree run and worked my way back up stream. I lost two trout and landed one small rainbow and was just getting settled into casting a 5-weight again when the thunder started to rumble. Holding a nine-foot long piece of graphite isn't a bright idea in a thunderstorm and I headed back to the car just as some large fish had started to roll along the riverbank.

The rain hit hard before I got back to the car and by the time I drove back to the fly shop the river had turned brown. I then used the Blackberry for its only worthwhile purpose -- checking conditions of nearby streams. Blow out city. Decision time. Head east to the Little J or head home and try the Grand in the morning. After a convincing argument from Jon, I headed home and swapped out the stream trout gear for the steelhead gear in the fish car. So much for plans...