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Little
Lehigh in the Cold Little
Lehigh REDUX Little
Lehigh Heritage
H2O Brookies fishing
buddy unbelievable a
couple of hours |
unbelievable June, 2003 A couple of years ago, a very good friend of mine shared with me a particularly secret stream filled with wild brown and brook trout. It has since become near and dear though I've fished it with him on and off with moderate success. Success for me on this small stream means a strike. I don't care what kind of strike it is either--dry or nymph--on tough water like this, it's all good. Actually hauling one in is shear bliss. This sunny Sunday morning started out not too differently from other ventures here. A group of four of us arrived very early, around 6:00 AM or so, and found evidence that we were not the only people wanting to get an early jump on the wary fish this creek holds. After splitting up, each of us heading of to our respective pools, I stood underneath of the bridge to tie on a wooly bugger to toss into what I've come to affectionately call the "impossible pool." Suddenly to my left, I notice a guy come tromping down from off of the bridge, pole in hand, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and barely 10 feet from me, began to pitch a spinner into the pool I was about to fish and, to my astonishment, pulled out two 12-inch brownies on consecutive casts. I stood there, stupefied, not at his success, but rather for his audacity and complete disregard of my presence. Seething, I marched downstream to fish below one of the guys in our party who was casting a dry caddis over a couple of submerged boulders. I quickly explained what had happened and we proceeded to vent over the recent influx of people abusing and molesting these precious, albeit unrestricted waters. I was the only one that morning going to fish upstream, so I decided that I wouldn't let Rudeman ruin my morning--I would just go fish above him. By the time I walked back up to the bridge, he had already headed up out of sight, so I stayed to fish the edge of the fast water leading into the impossible hole. 20 minutes or so later, all I had to show for my efforts was a baby tarpon--actually a chub, but it looks like a 4" tarpon nonetheless. As I was releasing the little annoyance off of my bead head PT, I saw Rudeman making his way back towards the bridge and heard him plunk that depth-charge spinner into the slick pool above me. I was then startled by the biggest splash I'd ever heard on that water and felt my guts twist as I witnessed him reel-in a 20" rainbow like it was largemouth bass. He made no effort to play the fish, but instead, yanked its head up to get a grip on it then proceeded to tear the treble out of its delicate mouth. He sort of stood there, posing with it like some sort of angling god--making sure I saw it. His next move reminded my of the 'ole boys on the Bassmasters circuit as he didnŐt gently release the porker. Instead, still holding it by the lower jaw, he proceeded to toss him a good 10 feet out into the center of the pool. I can only hope it survived. Reeling from what I'd just witnessed, my only thoughts were to head upstream and conduct a reconnassaince mission in areas I've never fished before. As I was reeling in my line, Rudeman made his way back down towards the bridge stopping long enough to tell me about a long pool upstream holding lots of big fish that were not eating. "Hmmph," I thought. I guess not all of the trout were stupid enough to get suckered in to hitting that gaudy thing. On my way upstream, I paused here and there to inspect a few deep pockets, a few riffles, and a couple of submerged trees, but thought that the risk of a snag was not worth it--there was too much more to explore. Another 100 yards upstream, I rounded a bend where I spied the long deep hole I assumed Rudeman had been blabbering about. As I crossed the creek at a shallow riffle below the long, slick pool, I witnessed two huge crashes, only a few seconds and 10 feet apart, right in the middle of it. I was suddenly exhilarated and filled with a newfound sense of hope that today was not lost. I was thrilled to see that Rudeman's hulking spinner, and total disregard for all things proper, had not put these fish down. The only bugs noticeable seemed to be the mosquitoes out on a blood hunt and the two crashes I'd witnessed earlier spoke to shark-like hits of subsurface critters and not the soft slurps of a true rise. Pulling out all of the stops, I tied on a small bead head pheasant tail 30" below a very large March Brown I was using as a strike indicator. I wanted to make sure I saw whatever little hit I may have. Standing on a pebbly shoal, which was probably under water a week or two earlier, I studied the opposite bank which was a 4 foot wall of eroding soil and root balls. I could only assume that there was a deep cut holding fish I could not see. That thought made my heart leap. With plenty of room to back cast, I got about 20 feet of line in the air (plus that long leader) and proceeded to place the tandem right into the current with a beautifully executed mid-air mend (much to my own disbelief). Not ten seconds after watching that drift, and gently stripping in the slack, the indicator twitched a couple of times then sank. Colorado had prepared me well as I set that hook as well as Tim Linehan--and I had hooked a big one! Mind you, the biggest trout I've ever pulled out of this creek was a wary 10 inch brownie that was rising in a foamline running through a slick pool. This guy was at least fourteen inches! That little Orvis 4wt. bent like it had never been bent before. Calming myself down, my thoughts shifted to landing this fish without busting the 6x tippet, and getting him released without spooking the rest of the pool. He was pulling hard, and crashed the surface a couple of times in a futile attempt to shake that size 16 hook out of his mouth. By now, I had reeled in the slack line and started to work him into shallower water. Being that I had about twelve feet of leader and only a 7 1/2 foot rod, I was going to have to grab the leader--so, holding my breath I did so, successfully. I was mentally speechless. This was one of, if not the largest trout I'd ever caught. 14-15 inches to be certain. This was bigger than the biggest fish I'd pulled out of the Arkansas just two months prior! Looking around for a witness, and cursing myself for not bringing my camera, I graciously released him back to the depths. Hearing another splash, I saw the remnants about ten feet in front of where this guy had hit my fly, but I decided that there were still more fish to be had here. That thought processed, I cast to the same spot, with the same drift--nothing. Again. Strike!!! It felt like the same fish, but it seemed to move differently. He splashed a couple of more times than the previous one and my only thought was, "Rainbow?" I worked him in the same manner that had worked before and as he got nearer to the bank, I suddenly felt myself go stiff. Brookie. I had never caught a brook trout. Not with my father on the little streams in upstate New York. Not with Tom on the little streams feeding into the Lehigh. Here. A half-an-hour from my house. A brookie. A BIG brookie. Like the brown before, this guy was at least 14" and I could not get my hand anywhere near completely around his girth, which attests to his size. After getting the nymph out of his upper lip, I took a moment to study its beauty. I marveled at the brilliant green sides dotted with small yellow spots--his back with the unique, unmistakable pattern of a brookie, and as I released him, the white stripes along the bottom of his fins. I finally felt it. Not the obsession I've been dealing with after being in Colorado, but instead, the spirituality of it all. Peace. Quiet. Doing the right things on a wild trout stream, and being rewarded for it. Fly fishing for wild trout. Is it a calling? A few minutes later, I was still pondering that question when I noticed movement a little further up into the pool. There I finally saw what I'd been missing. Not sporting polarized glasses, the light was perfect enough to allow me to see that this pool was LOADED with big fish. Most of which I'm sure I still couldn't see--but I saw this one. I made one poor cast too far to his left to make him notice, but I settled down enough on the second to put it down six feet in front of him--knowing it was going to drift right over the top of him. The fact that I had such a long dropper is probably what made a difference in this pool. Instead of watching the dry indicator, I watched the fish. He tilted a little upward to spy the oncoming object, then started to slowly swim up towards it, not waiting for it to come to him. I lost him in a surface glare so my attention turned to the dry. Within a second, it went down hard. I set it well, and the fight was on. This one took off downstream in one hell of a hurry as I was fumbling to keep the rod up and strip slack line like crazy. When he reached the shallow riffle, he spun around 180 and headed back up into the pool, thrashing all the way. After what seemed to be at least five minutes, I was able to get my hands on him. This guy was a good couple of inches bigger than the last two! And he was tired. I on my knees and started moving him around in the slow water. I was starting to get a little nervous about whether or not he was going to be alright, but as I followed him downstream a bit, he seemed to totally come to and swim up towards slow spot under an overhanging tree. That small scare was enough to make me consider packing it up, call it a tremendous success, when another splash put that thought to rest. With the same nymph, just having scored his third trout of the day, I cast this time into the middle of the pool instead of its far edge. After a couple minutes without success, the dry was jerked underwater like something had taken that nymph on a burst. This was probably the biggest fish I'd ever had on that rod, but I wouldn't know as he snapped that 6x clean. That was my last bead head PT too! I begrudgingly started reeling in line when a quick glance at my watch revealed that it was only 9:00. I had at least another half hour left. That said, I pulled out my fly box and starting looking for a suitable replacement for the PT. I had never fished a prince, and I actually had a bead head version of one. It was considerably larger than the PT--probably a 10 or 12 I guess. I started stalking towards the upper third of the pool when I saw another big brown staked out waiting for something tasty. I mucked up at least three casts when I finally put one about four feet in front of his nose. He didn't budge. "Maybe I misjudged the distance?" I thought. Another cast landed 7 or 8 feet in front of him. My eyes stayed affixed on his movement as I saw that nymph float right overtop of his head. He didn't like that, did he? Not wanting to change flies so quickly, I gave up pursuing him and moved back down to the deeper midsection of the pool. The first cast into brought a strike almost immediately. This was the smallest one today not counting the chub. It didn't take long to realize that this was not a trout. A bluegill? What was a bluegill doing in here? Oh well, I couldn't believe he hit something so big, but, it was a little fancier than the other, and on further reflection, is about the size of a popper. I pulled him in quickly and got him and my line back into the water. Not two minutes had gone by when the dry was heaved under again. Another big brown--around the same size as the third. There's no way I was going to get tired catching 16" trout! I made it imperative that I get this fish in a little more quickly than the last one. I proceeded to land this one without much fanfare and got him released just as easily. I need to take a couple of minutes to clean my line as I had been stepping all over it in landing this one. Four trout ranging from 14-16 inches was the last thing I expected this stream to yield to me. 9:20. Five more minutes is what I allotted myself before heading back down to meet the gang. Turns out, I wouldn't need that much time. This cast being towards the back side of the pool, a fish hit with shocking vengeance. I saw a flash that I swear must have been about 20 inches as the fish raced downstream. All it took was one turn back, and an amazing leap out of the water--he seemed to pause and spit the fly out at me as if to say, "You've had enough." He was right. It was time to go. The fishing gods had smiled on me and as I made my way downstream to find my companions, I could only describe this morning as "unbelievable." |