I was looking at an old keepsake fly that resides on my bookshelf and it reminded me of a great day on Yellow Creek, in Bedford Pennsylvania. This was years before the water below the public access became off limits to only the rich who pay to play for hatchery pigs. Usually big dumb rainbows.
Continue reading Pop-up Timer Nymph
You can’t catch fish if you are malnourished. When fly fishing in hot temperatures dunk your candy bar in to the water to firm-up the melted chocolate. Survival tip at its finest. It’s hard work out there, swift currents, rising trout; the last thing you need is a melted candy bar…
The film of salt on my windshield is getting thicker and I’m wondering how I’ve forgotten to check the wiper fluid before taking off this morning. I pull over one more time to throw snow on it and hoping it’s the last time before getting to the creek. I don’t get here too often, probably because the big water has such an appeal to me lately. I remember cutting my teeth here years ago. Learning each pocket and pool, tightening my loops, and understanding the way of trout. I could wax poetic about small mountain runs and their charm, like the special sound small water makes, and the shimmering gem-like brook trout that live there but I’ll refrain before I give myself a bellyache from too much wax. Continue reading Winter Fly Fishing One Day at a Time
Every now and then I discover something that really makes me take a step back and see the big picture. Today while talking with a friend, it wasn’t long until we started reminiscing about our early fly fishing trips. They routinely consisted of camping, hanging around the fire too late, and occasionally discovering a little hatch magic. Back then we’d hop in our cold rubber waders at the crack of dawn fish all day, and stay up all night; sleep who needs it. Our flies were comprised of Hares Ear nymphs, Wooly Buggers, and the classic Adams in an assortment of sizes. With flies like that we were fly fishin’ and darn well equipped. Our conversation kindled memories of rolling fish, wet flannel shirts, and clinking metal stringers all under the bough of a stream-side pine tree. Continue reading Eureka Fly Fishing!