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By Anthony Naples, on October 21st, 2011
A little while ago I headed to a small stream in my little corner of the world (Southwestern Pennsylvania). This brook is a vassal stream of the mighty Youghiogheny River. The Youghiogheny or Yough (pronounced Yock) begins in West Virgina then flows north through western Maryland and continues northwesterly to join the Monongahela River southwest of Pittsburgh. It is generally believed that the Yough got its name from a native American term meaning “A Stream which flows in a contrary direction”. I think that’s a great name for a river – and I can relate to it, as I often feel like I’m traveling in a contrary direction compared to those around me.
So I parked in the lot, grabbed my stuff, 11-ft Tenkara USA Iwana, small fishing waist pack, larger pack for lunch and coffee thermos, and headed off down the trail full of expectations. The air was filled with the scent of pine and fallen leaves, so different than the suburbs. Often I exit my house to be confronted by a smell like burning brakes. I think this is from the steel plant over the hill – but I can’t be positive. Smells are so integral to our experience and so evocative and yet so often overlooked when we consider our experiences. When I think of the time that I lived in Maine I think of two smells – the sweet, astringent aroma of balsam and the slightly corrupted smell of ocean aerosols and lowtides. Other smells evoke other times and places.
Eventually I could hear the stream off to my right and down in a small valley. I could hear it but it was totally obscured by hopelessly, monstrously tangled rhododendron – the kind of rhododendron thicket that has you crawling on your hands and knees, praying that the snakes and bears are indeed more scared of you than you are of them. It was going to be tough fishing. The first bridge crossing that I came to revealed two anglers wading midstream – well that’s one way to tackle the brush I guess – but I hate to wade these types of streams at any time and especially in the fall, you know spawning trout and all. I don’t want to sound too judgemental and high-minded on this point though as some may question whether I should have been fishing at all at this time of the year – well that is a fair question, and frankly I have mixed feelings. I don’t do it so very often and I figure my impact is pretty small in the grand scheme – but nonetheless…at least I was not trampling all through the stream (maybe just a rationalization on my part). So with this section of the stream accounted for I moved on upstream to give the others some room.
Finally I found a few openings that I could navigate a bit easier. Now came the challenge – casting an 11-ft rod in tight brush. Easier said than done. Approaching the stream close enough to cast was a clumsy, crawling, scrambling over things, affair. Finally getting to the stream side I had no confidence that I didn’t spook every fish within 50 feet. So I would sort of weave the rod out over the stream and using a bow-and-arrow cast send the fly to the water (hopefully). Success was not forthcoming. I’m pretty sure that snagging the low-hanging branches and the subsequent shaking to free the fly was not helping in the stealth department. As expected this was tough going but fun anyway.
A little further on I finally found a spot where the stream spilled into a “large” pool and the canopy opened enough to allow a short-stroked side-arm cast of sorts. Still not easy but better. Crawling up to the stream and casting I finally found success on a size 14 Parachute Adams – a beautiful resplendent male brookie in full fall array. That’s what it’s all about. Certainly not the largest trout I’ve caught – but ranking right up there on the satisfaction scale.
The celebration didn’t last long. Somewhere in the landing of the fish I managed to snap the second segment of the tenkara rod. Kneeling down I had laid the rod across my thighs and, I think, my elbow came down on the rod to break it. Total user error – I want to make clear – not equipment failure. So that was the little bit of fishing that I was allowed that day, oh well it was a nice spot to sit for lunch anyway. As a footnote Tenkara USA has an easy system for getting the rod repaired. You can order the replacement parts online (for a very small fee), and so within a few days I was back in business for a lot less $$ and time than many other rod warranty deals, which usually require you to send the rod back.
By Anthony Naples, on May 23rd, 2011
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Brook Trout and the Writing Life
The Intermingling of Fishing and Writing in a Novelist’s Life
By Craig Nova
Foreword by Ann Beattie
Eno Publishers 1999, 2011
Originally published in 1999 this version of Brook Trout and the Writing Life The intermingling of fishing and writing in a novelist’s life is newly expanded, though it is still a fairly slim volume at 145 pages. Brook Trout is writer and fly fisher Craig Nova’s memoir and to be absolutely truthful I had some trepidation about this book based on the title. Fly fishing writers can sometimes be guilty of imbuing the act of fly fishing with too much meaning, meaning that really doesn’t exist. Every part of the fishing act becomes a metaphor. This kind of writing can work, but often it becomes too heavy handed and forced for my taste. Mr. Nova avoids that trap with ease and grace. In Nova’s own words from the preface:
Of course, this book was never really about fishing. I meant it to be about people I cared for and about the passage of time.
And so it is. The act of fly fishing and it’s quarry the trout are a sort of mnemonic device that allow Nova to reach back through time and locate the memories that he wants to share. Fly fishing is not shoe horned and bullied into meanings. Instead the fly fishing stories in the book act more like the lepidopterist’s pins, piercing and holding a life-long collection of otherwise fleeting memories. For instance the story of his first brook trout is used as a backdrop for the story of how he met his future wife. The memory of his early romance is intermingled beautifully and naturally with the fishing. While reading I was often left with the feeling that I discovered something hidden and maybe even natural, native and organic. But I’m sure it is all very carefully crafted writing, extremely subtle and rewarding, such as in this passage:
One Saturday morning I got up early and went out with the fly rod. It was foggy when I got to the wood road, and when I came to the seep, the mist in the woods was filled with slanting rays of light as you might see in a dusty room, the lines defined by the long streaks of shadows made by the spruce and hemlock that grew on the steep sides of the hill. I followed the rill. In the mist, which was a little cool, and in that light, which came in as through a cathedral window, I thought of the warmth of the space under the blanket where Christina was sleeping.
In those days, I really didn’t know what I was doing in the fishing department, but at least I had some notion of the theoretical aspects of catching fish on a fly.
I enjoyed this book quite a bit. Craig Nova’s writing is peaceful and graceful, never heavy-handed. It is like a peaceful day alone on the the stream, winding along casting, picking up a fish here and there. Just as fly fishing is for him, the author has created a book that is a respite, a place to be quietly lost for a while. This book is first a personal memoir and second a book about fly fishing. But there is plenty for the fly fisherman to enjoy in its pages.
By Anthony Naples, on May 13th, 2011
 Prior to the trip two days ago it had been a few weeks since I was last on the water. Things have finally settled down weather-wise a little bit. I know rain is a good thing for the most part, but the rain has made spring fishing a bit difficult here in PA (a small inconvenience in the grand scheme of things). Streams have been flowing high – while spirits may have been sagging. Nature has a way of doing her own thing, in spite of our wishes. Most likely With the perspective afforded by time and space, in the late summer, we will look back longingly at this weather and then fold our hands and pray for rain. I have been reminded this spring that if you are a person who stakes his happiness on the whims of weather and bugs and of fish then you are indeed bound to be disappointed a great deal of the time. For these things take no notice of men and if they do occasionally consent to align themselves just so, and provide a sublime day of perfect fishing, do not confuse this with obeisance or even acknowledgement.
The weather was beautiful however, and the stream, Yellow Creek in Bedford County, Pennsylvania was in good shape. Perhaps it was flowing higher and faster than I would have it, but eminently fishable. I’m reminded of a story that I heard. A man was in a diner eating breakfast and he liked to have ample sugar in his morning coffee. Glancing at the sugar shaker he saw that level was getting low. So rather than risk running out he waved the waitress over and asked for more sugar. The waitress looked at the sugar and then said “Honey, before I bring you more sugar you got to stir the sugar that you got.” And so looking at the stream, which was not perfect, I decided to stir the sugar that I had.
I was going tenkara for this trip – which is now my go to small stream mode these days. The rod of choice was the new Iwana Series II 11-ft from Tenkara USA. This is a sweet rod, light and easy to cast. I miss the reach of a 12-ft rod a little, but when fishing under overhanging trees, the 11-ft rod is a little easier to keep out of the branches. Speaking of which, I started fishing tenkara with furled lines but have since switched to level lines. I couldn’t stand the way the furled lines became all hinky after being pulled from an over hanging branch. The line that I had on during this trip was Tenkara USA #3.5 level line. According the T-USA website the #3.5 line is a fluorocarbon line approximately equivalent to 12-lb line. I will say that the clear line can be difficult to get used to. There are two problems with the clear line: 1) it’s hard to see where the line ends and the tippet begins. Therefore it’s hard to know exactly how much tippet is subsurface; 2) it’s just plain hard to see the line. This leads to problems with casting accuracy (if you can’t see your line very well then you don’t know where your cast is hitting the water) and strike detection. I like to watch the portion of my leader where it enters the water for any hesitation that indicates a strike, if I can’t see it i can’t do that. The solution that I used on this trip was to attach an 18″ section of hi-vis yellow mono to the end of my line before the tippet. This solution worked out pretty well. I could see my casts a little better and when I cast I could lift the rod until I saw the yellow and I knew exactly where the tippet began and I could also watch the yellow section for strikes. Well enough of the technical detail…
Bugs were fluttering around the stream – little black stones, black caddis, orange craneflies – but the fish were not in evidence. There were only a few surface rises that I saw. So I went subsurface with a tandem of a soft-hackle dropper and size 16 shop-vac point fly. The shop-vac was the winner. I began picking up fish on the shop-vac right away. I don’t prefer the tenkara set-up for dredging the bottoms of deep pools and runs so I concentrated on the heads of the pools and on the pocket water above. Nice fish came to hand from water that many folks walk past or walk through or stand in to cast to the pools.
I am a pocket water addict. Fishing pocket water is what heaven might be like. The rushing sound of it creates a cozy nest of white noise to compete with the static and rush of the world. Moving along step by step, each step a challenge in the current and the ankle breaking rocks, each step a tactical decision and a small victory. Pocket water is full of possibilities, the fish can be anywhere. The water is so full of soft-spots where a fish can sit and wait and then tilt a fin, move a few inches and suck a bug in. And the depth is nice too – not too deep, not too shallow. A well-fished size 16 bead head sinks nicely and doesn’t snag up too often, but gets deep enough to matter. Add to the pocket water a tenkara rod and now you’ve got it made.
The shop-vac has been a good producer for me this spring. I’ve used it here on Yellow Creek and on Spring Creek with good results. It makes a nice tenkara fly in my opinion. It is not too heavy, but just heavy enough and the slim profile sinks quickly (especially when powered in with a nice tuck cast). The white antron tuft is, I believe, a great attraction to the fish. I like to tie them both with and without tails. I believe the shop-vac was created by the folks at Blue Ribbon Flies in West Yellowstone.
The shop-vac was my magic fly. The problem with magic flies is that they always run out, especially if they’re nymphs. Magic is fleeting and hard to contain. Sometimes we are the aerial that attracts the magic and for a brief time we are the king of the stream, catching fish when nobody else is (no that that matters to us high-brow fly anglers), but then we lose the last magic fly…and then what? The problem for me when a fly is working so well is that when I have run out of that fly I can’t decide what to put on next. I put on this then that then another thing, then panic sets in and I lose all confidence and just go through the motions casting with no heart and no conviction, telling myself that I need to go home and tie more size 16 shop-vacs! And then…finally a fish takes pity and eats another fly, in this case it’s a fly I call the big-fat caddis. I tied them up to match a hideously fat and juicy looking caddis larva that I found on the Yampa at Stagecoach.
I think it looks pretty realistic when wet and a couple of fish thought so too. It’s basically just bunny fur with gold ribbing and a head of dark brown dyed bunny with some hares mask mixed in for legginess. After ribbing with the tinsel rough it up a little.
I don’t really like snakes all that much. This little fellow can swimming down the current in a hair-raising way that snakes have. He hit the bank and immediately climbed a tree. Creepy. So now I need to watch out for snakes, on the bank, in the water and in the trees. Great. It was just a black rat snake – so, not dangerous. But if that thing had come down the stream toward me while I was in the water…well it wouldn’t have been pretty.
I ended the day in the same spot that I started and picked up another on a size 18 black midge pupa. All in all a fun day on the stream. Conditions were not good for traditional tenkara flies – but the western flies stepped in and saved the day. East and west working together.
By Anthony Naples, on May 11th, 2011
A new issue of Rise Forms online literary fly fishing magazine went live today.
By Anthony Naples, on March 29th, 2011
I just started reading the 1999 John Gierach book Standing in a River Waving a Stick – I’m not all that far into it yet , but so far so good.
The first chapter is called, The Happy Idiot. In this chapter Gierach mentions a TV News program that he watched on which a monkey and an investment guru each chose stock portfolios – the monkey’s portfolio outperformed the professional’s. The comparision to fly fishing is of course the fact that no matter how much you read, practice, study, turn over rocks, cast in your back-yard, no matter how expensive your fly-rod or how many fly tying books you own, sometimes the monkey wins.
This got me thinking of those times when the monkey won. When, regardless how well prepared I thought that I was, my plans did not coincide with the fish’s – and dumb luck beat out my years of accumulated fly fishing skill and “wisdom”.
Most recently I remember a trip to Colorado’s Elk River not far outside of Steamboat Springs. A buddy and I were fishing up opposites banks of the river – I was catching fish here and there. I would have been having a pretty good time, but I couldn’t help noticing that every time I looked up my buddy was hooking, reeling in or releasing a fish. I know that I should have an internal locus of control, but…well it was getting to me. Every few casts I would turn back to the fly boxes, open and close one after another looking for that perfect fly. In between fly changes I tried to convince myself that I was just on the wrong side of the river – it was too sunny, all the fish were along the other bank.
Finally I cracked open a re-purposed Altoids container full of terrestrials that I’d gotten in a fly swap. I sorted through the ants, beetles, crickets, hoppers, and then in a sort of self-defeating irony and desperation tied on the biggest fly in the box – a fly that I would never use if anybody was watching. It was a multi-layered foam, rubber-legged affair about the size of a hummingbird, easily bigger than the rest of the flies combined. I tied on the monstrosity of trembling foam and rubber and cast it into the head of a plunge pool – it landed like a flip flop smacking the water. There was a second or two of placid drifting and then an explosion of fish and white water. I hauled back like I was trying to embed the hook into an the snout of an alligator gar – the 5x tipped did not hold. I am convinced that I would have really cleaned up with that fly. A fly that I would never have chosen based on any set of facts that I was familiar with, but a fly that a monkey would have probably picked in an instant.
Another time, I was fishing Pennsylvania’s Spring Creek in mid-summer. The section that I was on had grassy banks down to the stream with long stems of grass arching out over the water. I tied on a black LeTort Cricket and crawled up to the stream, pulled out some line, carefully rolled it out to the stream behind me before casting tight to the bank, brushing the grass. I had a nice long leader, I was careful not to false-cast over the likely bankside lies, the fly would bump into the grass and plop pleasingly onto the water. I felt like the cover of the summer issue of a fly fishing magazine. It was all so perfect…except for the catching fish part. Not a fish – not a flash, not a swirl…nothing. Time for a fly change, I let the fly line drift below me and went for the fly boxes. You guessed it, fish on. I brought in a nicely colored rainbow. released it and did what I wasn’t supposed to do. I cast the cricket downstream, let it drag, creating a v-shaped waked – bam! Another one, and another and another…the monkey won again.
I could go on. The monkey wins more often than I’d like to admit. It sometimes makes me wonder. All of those times when I did everything right and caught fish, when I was so self-congratulatory, was it all just self-deception? Is it all smoke and mirrors? Is it a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes? I guess I need to get a pet monkey and test it out.
By Anthony Naples, on March 28th, 2011
I always enjoy Roger Maves’ interviews on his Ask About Fly Fishing Internet Radio podcast. The latest is especially interesting to me – an interview with fly fisher and author Steve Schweitzer. Steve recently published the must-have book A Fly Fishing Guide to Rocky Mountain National Park (read my review here). The interview covers his book and many of the aspects of fishing the lakes and streams of the park, including when, where and how. Steve also discusses planning backcountry camping/fishing trips in the park’s more remote locations.
Listen to it at the Ask About Fly Fishing website.
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