Return to Penns Creek

Its been years since we had the twins at Penns Creek when they were just 11 months old. Prior to then, Penns was an annual tradition that Spence and I would do every year with Cooper. But, with a growing family and busy work schedules, we just haven’t had the time to get back. For this year, we made a commitment to make it happen at some point again.

I was super excited to take the family back out, but also a little anxious about camping on my favorite spring creek in the world and knowing that I would be skipping stones versus casting flies. I hadn’t fished yet all season, but it helped that I had a fishing trip coming up with some buddies down in Tennessee.

The decision to go back to Penns was sort of last minute and we lucked out with getting the last camp site. The big kids made a campground friend and if we didn’t have 1.5 yr old Declan, we could actually see the potential of camping being relaxing again. This year was also the first year without Cooper, who we just put down about a couple weeks ago. I knew going back here without him would be heartbreaking, so part of the driver to get back this weekend was to celebrate life in a place filled with so many of our memories. We had so many good times with him and I remember standing on the banks of that stream with both my Father and Cooper and now both were gone. But the amazing thing about Poe Valley and Penns Creek is that though life seems to change so fast, that river and valley does not. It’s like you are stuck in time and the only thing that’s changed in 20 years has been that tressel bridge and the tunnel. Hopefully one day, my kids will look at this stories and pictures and say the same thing.

And I was able to do some fishing in the morning and exceeded my expectation, which was zero fishing. We didn’t see a single Green Drake, but I caught a couple on the evening sulphur spinner fall. One morning I snuck down to some pristine streamer water with Hunter and hooked into a really big Brown on a big headbanger sculpin. The water was high and i tossed it directly upstream and stripped down a seam about a foto off the bank. I saw the trout swim from the weed bank and annihilate my fly head first in about 6” of water. It was a sick grab. I stuck him and he peeled to the center of the stream and start head shaking in the current. He was hooked good and my only thought was letting my 4 year old land a Penns brown toad, so I went downstream and handed him the rod.

He fought him really well and that picture of him holding that 10’ rod on that rock with a look of terror and excitement will never be lost. But, that fish turned and bolted straight at Hunter and though he did a nice job keeping the rod tip up, stripping line on a 10’ rod and keeping tension was just not something we had covered yet. I lunged at the line and quickly stripped to save what I knew already happened and almost knocked Hunter off his rock.

In a flash that fish was gone, but at that exact moment a fisherman was born. I had to break the news to him, because he had no idea and he was immediately crushed and even held back some tears. But, by the time we got back to the camp site, Hunter was telling a world-class fish story that sounded like a 30-year veteran. He told the story to Mom, Jack and then Clara and every time that trout got bigger to a point where his arms where as wide as his 30 lb frame would allow.

It was a great trip and as soon as we got home we booked our campsite a year out in the same place where cell reception doesn’t exist and life slows down a bit.

June Fishing Reprieval

I swore after last year this wouldn't happen again.  But, I missed fishing the month of May again.   Work travel, conferences, baby / kids / family commitments, soccer weekends, garden, yard work and flooded rivers all led to missing my favorite month of the year....for the seconds year in a row.  It was bad.  

Fortunately, we made up for it strong start in June when river levels dropped and I hit 3 of my favorite waters in a couple weeks fishing.  I got the drake bug and Mike and I pulled off an incredibly nonsensical out and back trip to Penns for the evening hatch that resulted in a 1030 pm river submersion, busted knee and 2:30 am drive home.  Bugs, rising trout and bent rods helped make up for missing May.  But, I promise it won't happen next year. 

Mountain Pond Bluegills for Kids

Every two years our family has a reunion up in the Ohiopyle, PA area.  All the kids love to fish and there is a little unknown mountain pond that we found with walking distance to the house we rent.  There is nothing more classic than fishing a worm under a bobber for some bluegills.  The kids squeal with joy every time that bobber starts dancing on the pond water until it finally darts down.  

I give the kids credit, we got drenched with a flash rainstorm on the way to the pond.  We asked them if they wanted to turn back, but they all screamed 'no way!'  So, we pushed forward and after 15-20 minutes the storm passed. Their perseverance was rewarded with dozens of bluegills and plenty of proud little fisherman.

2016 Cicada Fly Fishing Bonanza

I have honestly waited for this hatch to happen for the past 8 years.    Ever since the buzzing in my ears stopped from the epic 2008 hatch in central PA, I was researching the next southwestern PA emergence.  I was fairly certain this would be the year and I had prepared my family and my work that I may fall off the grid when this happened.  The time was finally here.  

We had a couple early outings with no results.  The cicadas where singing, but the fish just didn't know what they were.  But as they became more active and began flying, it didn't take long.  I remember the first brown trout that crushed my big black foam fly and I looked at my buddy and just smiled.  It had begun.  And from that point forward, it was fly fishing nirvana over the next 2.5 weeks.  It turned out to be everything I expected and binge fishing at its finest.

I can't explain how strange this is for our trout to eat these size of dry fly bugs.  We don't get the epic salmonfly hatches or hopper fishing that the western states get.  On these waters, midges, BWOs and small caddis are the mainstay.  And catching a good brown on anything than a big streamer can be difficult, or just plain lucky.  But, to see the way these fish reacted to this new floating, fluttering filet mignon was awesome.  

Without a doubt, the big browns stole the show.  The rainbows ate the cicadas but many times they would nip at it, nudge it with their nose, and just flat out pussyfoot around.  Many rainbows I missed never really tried to eat it (at least that is what I tell myself).  The browns were completely different, a different species, a predator.  At times when the fly hit the water, it was an instantaneous explosion hellbent on not only eating that cicada, but utterly destroying it.  It was awesome.  And if you weren't ready for this to happen the second the fat bug hit the water, then you were most likely surprised when it happened.  And if you were surprised, that most likely resulted in pulling the fly out of the fishes mouth instead of coolly just coming tight to the fish.  And most likely it was the biggest damn fish of the day.  It always happens this way.  To be clear, I didnt catch a 2 foot brown in these couple weeks.  But I missed and lost a couple that will haunt me for the next 17 years.  

Over this time, we learned a ton and found large trout in new waters that we never fished in the past.  In one section of stream the most productive part was the section I used to wade across to get to the 'prime' water. My perception of where these big fish lay was completely flipped in these few weeks.  This will pay dividends in the future and it could take me another decade to figure out what I did in this short time.   

This year, the summer solstice happened on June 21 and the cicadas seemed to end with the setting of the new moon.  They didn't just disappear that night, but the volume of the cicada song and activity dramatically decreased.  It was an obvious and strange milestone.  

In the end, I am almost glad that this hatch only happens once every 17 years.  Most people have no idea fish even eat cicadas and an even smaller percentage figure out when and where this is happening.  By the time the 'word' actually gets out, its almost about over.   For those that fish, the fishing is almost too easy.  It's a welcome change to for the seasoned angler, but if it was always this easy more people would be flyfishing, and that same seasoned angler would find another hobby that was a more difficult.

In 17 years, I will be 53 and my kids will be 19 and 20. Somehow, this is exciting and depressing at the same time.   I pray we're all still here and the trout waters that I know are still here.  It sounds crazy, but a lot can happen in 17 years.   

Rolling Rock Creek

My buddy hooked it up and got us a pass on to Rolling Rock Creek in Laughlintown, PA for the day.  This creek sits within the exclusive Rolling Rock Farms, which is part of the Mellon family estate.   In my opinion, this part of southwestern Pennsylvania is some of the most scenic and historic in the entire country.  Normally, I don't spot-burn with these details and location, but anyone can fish this stream for the right price.  And while we're typically not the pay-to-fish type (unless it’s on DePuy's in Paradise Valley, Montana), this was great opportunity to fish a beautiful stream that I had only heard about growing up a few miles away.  And it was free.  

The stream has had some significant overhauls to the structure, mostly identifiable by all the downed trees creating plunge pools every hundred yards or so.  Actually, the entire stream was manicured and the well established trails were labeled with signs more akin to a golf course than a stream.  There was no brush-beating through jagger patches and branches that impeded casting were simply non-existent.  The deep plunge pools in the stream allowed many sizable fish to be stocked and sustained.  Of course its not normal to have hundreds of 15-16” brook trout in a stream this size, but again it is what it is.  Rather than overthink it, we got some Rolling Rock beers and fried chicken and had a hell of a fun afternoon.  We caught fish on nymphs and a Cahill hatch started and fish fell to a size 14 Cahill Usual pattern. 

But when we switched to large articulated streamers, we started banging the big ones.  The big brooks were aggressive and every cast had a couple solid fish in pursuit.  At this point, nothing under 16” ate the big stuff.  And the trip was capped off with a big Tiger trout. Only my second Tiger trout I ever caught.  We were going to stay to the evening hatch, which was supposed to be great.  But we had our fill and there was some playoff Penguins hockey to get back to on the home front.  Let’s go Pens!

2016 Brood V Cicadas - Fly Tying

I haven't really had much time to tie flies lately.  Fortunately, my buffer stock from years of pre-kids tying is still going pretty strong.  But the Brood V cicada hatch has me in a complete tizzy and I can't think about anything else.  

Bust out the foam and deer hair!

Return to Penns Creek

For many years, a camping retreat to Penns was an annual event for the family.  As I got into fly fishing, I would go every year and try to hit the Green Drake hatch.  I went with my girlfriend, who eventually became my wife, along with our first born (our Lab Cooper :)  I got my Dad into fly fishing late in his journey and we took many trips to Penns, even when he was battling through the end stages of cancer.  The periodic cicada hatch of 2008 (Brood XIV) on Penns Creek will go down in history for me as one of the best outdoor events of my life with my wife, Father, and many friends. 

Penns Creek is a special place and I hold it close to my heart.  It’s crazy then its been a couple years since I have been out here, but with a few munchkins all in diapers, it is explainable.  I was glad to make this trip happen again and spend a night out here.  Penns is 3.5 hours from me, so its not really a day trip and anyone that knows me, knows I don’t like to be rushed.  

There were a few noticeable differences with the new trestle and tunnel renovations.  The improvements are nice to see, but I liked it the old way.  I liked the raw, wet, cool dark feel of the old tunnel, the dripping water and knowing there were probably thousands of bats above, watching me.  Of course there was the chance of a rock tumbling from the cavernous ceiling, but I figured if that happened, I probably deserved it for some reason of another.  Every time I walked through the heart of that stone mountain I felt I was leaving all worries behind and renewing my soul.  I didn't quite get the same feeling walking through the new steel tunnel, but I am sure I am in the minority camp on this one.  

The one thing that didn't change was the wild brown trout were still the prettiest fish in the state.  Something special about these trout.  They never disappoint.

Happy Anniversary Float

For our 8th anniversary, I asked my wife what she wanted to do for the special day.   And without hesitation, she said "I want to float the river"...

...And I fell in love all over again...

With two year old twins and a one year old, we have floated the river together once in the past 3 years.  So with Grandma babysitting, we felt like we were back out in Montana again.

It was an odd morning, with a mysterious layer off dense fog that hovered about 10 feet above the river.  This created pretty challenging conditions as lines were impossible to run in the rapids and big rocks had a tendency to sneak up real fast.  We did pretty well on one specific fly that the fish couldn't resist.  

We took our time and had a really nice stream side lunch as the fog lifted and the day was really starting to shape up...until the skies started to darken.   This particular valley is notorious for summer storms to sweep in out of nowhere and I have paddled through a bad storm before.  It really sucked.  Trying to avoid this, I picked up the pace, but it was of no use.  With still another 1-2  miles left the first thunderclap roared over our heads.  After a few more, I made my way to the bank to wait it out.  The problem with waiting it out was daylight was quickly falling and the only thing worse then paddling the last rapid sets in a lightning storm, was paddling the last set of rapids, in a lightning storm, in the dark.  So as the last two fishing guides drifted by on the river, I figured we had to go for it.  Being last guy out is not always fun.  

My wife, God bless her, was a great sport.  I think I definitely was more nervous than her as the lighting lit up all around us floating liking ducklings down the river.  And just when I thought it couldn't get much worse, that damn fog settled in again for the last 3/4 mile. I didn't even think fog could exist in the rain, during a storm, but I'll be damned  if it didn't just pile onto the current situation.   Stupid.  Needles to say, things weren't going well.  

As we paddled the last 500 yards into the take out, the rain conveniently stopped and the storm began to lift.  It felt like a mockery.  But somehow once we made it to shore, it was an easy thing to almost laugh off.  With no rain jackets, we were completely soaked to the bone and the boat had about 4" of water in the bottom.  Spencer just shook her head  and laughed.  I've seen that exact same expression a few times before..and it probably wont be the last.

So Happy Anniversary, sweetie.  I'm just glad this wasn't "my" idea.  

Chasing the Grannom hatch ...

Years ago I walked blindly into one of the best hatches I've ever encountered with the Grannom Caddis.  It was so good I drove the 3 hours the next day again with my wife so she could see it first hand.

Since that year, I've been chasing this hatch and trying to recreate the insanity that happens on a few mid-April mornings.  The challenge is that the hatch is really short-lived and a 3-5 day cycle.  Being 3 hours away + work + Easter + weather + blah + blah = a bunch of recent swing and misses on hitting this hatch.  But not this year,...I was convinced the timing was PERFECT.

I met my good friend for a two day mini-trip to a central PA limestone stream.  We fished the mornings and camped and drank beer in the evening.  A pretty good plan for sure.  I'll skip to the punchline...we never hit the Grannoms.  I saw a few emerge and I thought it was going to be on like Donkey Kong, but it just never happened.  It was a cloudy day and what did happen (once I abandoned nymphing the high water) was one of my best streamer days.  The wild browns were absolutely pounding the streamer and it was so much fun.  

The next day was a blue bird day and after I acknowledged this bug was a no show again, I switched back to my same exact streamer set up.  Conventional wisdom says streamer fishing isn't nearly as hot on a sunny day and conventional wisdom was right again.  I didn't even get one chase.  I reluctantly went back to dredging the bottom with some HEAVY nymphs and managed a couple to salvage my pride.  

Yellow Creek winter outing

Weekend getaway at Bedford Springs resort and I made it out to Yellow. Couldn't believe how much of this limestone stream was frozen over, but was able to coax a couple little brown trout to eat a nymph and kick off the 2014 season.   Peaceful little winter fishing outing.