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Little
Lehigh in the Cold Little
Lehigh REDUX Little
Lehigh Heritage
H2O Brookies fishing
buddy unbelievable a
couple of hours
Evening on Pine Creek off of Rt. 414 in the town of Blackwell.
Rainbow taken on a wooly bugger on Pine Creek at dusk.
A cloudy morning over the Pine Creek Gorge. This shot was taken on an overlook in the state park on the west side of the gorge.
Flinging line on Pine Creek in the heat of the day.
A lovely shot of Kettle Creek near its headwaters. This is one to fish this coming year.
A gorgeous shot of Slate Run looking upstream towards where all the action was about to take place.
One of a few of the beautiful, wild and native brookies that Slate Run has to offer.
...and another. |
Pine
Creek Gorge Pennsylvania is home to some of the most famous trout waters in the world. Fame aside, it also hosts many other lesser known jewels such as Pine Creek and its tributaries like the Heritage Trout waters of Slate Run and Cedar Run. Tom and I took a run up to the gorge to check things out one weekend this past June. With Dave Wolf's book, Flyfisher's Guide to Pennsylvania, in tow, we headed off in search of trout water. On the way up the river, we stopped at the Slate Run Tackle Shop, a combination deli, gift shop, post office, and Orvis-endorsed fly shop, all in one. With a bit of local knowledge as to what had been coming off the water for the past few days, we bought a few flies and made our way up to Blackwell. Once checked in, we didn't have too much daylight left, so we geared up and made the 50 yard drive down to the water and try our luck before dinner. Tom headed downstream towards an old train tressel, while I stayed around a riffle a little upstream of that. There were very few bugs coming off the surface and consequently, very few rises. I tied on a bead head pheasant tail as a dropper and hooked up almost instantly. I had two fish on and failed to bring either to hand. Daylight waning quickly, I tied on a reddish/brown wooly bugger to mimic a crawfish and started to work it downstream. As soon as I was about to reel in, a nice fat and strong rainbow took it for a joyride. One quick photo and it was dinnertime. We stayed at a decent place with great food, the Blackwell Inn, in the small village of Blackwell. Aside from a decent menu and comfortable rooms, the hotel offers easy access to the Pine Creek Gorge trail, and the creek itself. The next morning came more quickly than expected, but we were ready to fish on. First things first, however, and breakfast was on our agenda. For that, we headed to Wellsboro and ate at the famous Wellsboro Diner. That said, I highly recommend it when in Wellsboro. It was June, it was hot, and the fishing was only "on" in the early morning and the late evening, about an hour or so before dusk. We had been scouting the area after a scorching hot afternoon where we'd ridden our mountain bikes 4 miles up the gorge trail to look for some local legend German Brown trout in the upper 20-inch range. Having arrived at our destination and given ourselves the "Silkwood" treatment with insect repellant, we hit the water for a couple hours of futile casting. It was just way too warm for trout...we should have had bass flies on given the conditions. Back from our jaunt, we decided to head down back down to Slate Run Tackle for a sandwich. Being out that direction, we wanted to take a run over the mountain to see the waters of Kettle Creek, but with daylight waning, we had only a glimpse before heading back over the mountain to the Heritage Trout Water section of Slate Run. Stifling heat and humidity aside, the larger concern we had was the blood-thirsty mosquitos and, RATTLESNAKES. Apparently, the surrounding area is FULL of timber rattlesnakes—just a couple of days before we arrived, the next town above Blackwell had a sort of "Rattlesnake Roundup." Making a hurried path down the hillside towards the water, we were ecstatic to find the most beautiful water we'd seen this trip. At a glance, as far as we could see, it all looked like good water. Tom positioned himself to cast underneath the branches of a large conifer where we'd seen a rise, I on the otherhand decided to try a nymphing approach to a fast-moving slough that appeared quite deep. Without luck with the nymph, I reeled in and walked downstream of Tom, who was tirelessly casting to a fish that kept rising near him. I made my way down to a nice pool that was well-guarded by very low-hanging branches. Wanting to be able to make tight, precise casts, I tied on a small Royal Wulff and started to methodically work my way up the pool. My first series of casts were noticeably short of the area protected by the branches. Throwing caution to the wind, and my fly 10 feet further, the Wulff was slurped under the surface rather abruptly. I quickly raised the rod to find that the hook had not found a hold. After two dozen more casts, at least a dozen "takes," it was evident that the little brookeis in this pool were having their way with this fly, and there didn't seem to be anything that I could do about it. After landing a fish of his own, Tom made his way down to try his luck, or lack thereof as it was. Darkness starting to seep into the small canyon, we started working our way back upstream. As we did, we started noticing some bug activity, and a rise in some pretty fast water. I cast the Wulff upstream and watched as in awe as a little, wild brookie came our from lying tight against the bank to swamp the fly. I set the hook and proceeded to bring him in, but he needed no help in being released as he saw to that himself once I had the leader right at the first eyelet. Satisfied that I had at least hooked one, and Tom had actually landed one, I deemed this venture a success. Upon reaching the spot where Tom had first been taunted by a rising fish, there were now multiple rises. I left him to his torture while I headed to a pool at the foot of the path we'd come down. I could hardly stand it, there was a decent number of some bug flying around, laying eggs, and there were rises all over the pool. Still with the Wulff, I started casting to the rises, but again, the fly was getting swamped, but not taken. It was then one of the yellow flies buzzing around came with close enough proximity that I was able to swipe it in my hat. What I originally thought to be a sulpher, or a yellow drake, ended up being a small, yellow stonefly! I was probably more excited to see such an important fly as I was the rising trout. Digging through my box, the only thing I had that matched the approximate size and color was a size 16 sulpher "cripple, " one that I had tyed with an antron tail, instead of cock hackle. Once I had it tied on, I cast to the closest rising fish who didn't hesitate in taking it without abandon. This one I had hooked quite well and was amazed at how strong this little thing was. Tom arrived with a video in progress, and once it's uploaded to this site, you'll see just what happened. Over the next 15 minutes, and drifting dangerously close to total darkness, I proceeded to land a 3 more, all as beautiful as the two in the attached photos. Tom and I both agreed that the few wild brook trout we caught on this quiet, mountain stream, were well worth the drive. I can't wait to get back here next year... |
