Winter

Yesterday I woke up and felt out of sorts, not physically - just not all there.  The usual routine is have breakfast and work out for 45 minutes - tradmill, weights, etc.  I wasn't up for that.

A few years ago we bought snowshoes but never had the opportunity to use them.  There was still plenty of snow on the ground, so I decided to head over to the Pennypack and try them out.

It was cold, clear and windy.  The trails were all pretty well defined, people had been out x-country skiing or walking.  I put on the snowshoes and headed out across the fields of Raytharn Farm, away from the trails.  It was fairly strenuous and probably walking would have been easier, especially where the snow was shallow.  But I wanted a good workout, and it was easier to go over the drifts than through them.  Aside from one skier, I had the place to myself for two hours.

Despite the brisk wind, I warmed up quickly.  I had brought the little camera and left the binoculars at home, as I was not sure if I'd be vertical the whole time or spending some time in the snow - as I do when I ski.

Not too much wildlife around.  I saw fresh deer tracks but no deer.  Out in the open I found some small birds where the grass provided wind break and some seed.  The horses were not out grazing, for obvious reasons.

 

I continued on across the meadows and made my way down to the stream.  It was clear but unfrozen, still no one else around.  I stopped for a while by a spring where the snow had melted and watched the birds who had dropped in for a drink with friends.  Then I girded my loins and marched up the hill to the meadows.  I was puffing when I got to the top.  The snow had crushed a lot of the undergrowth making it much easier to navigate through the woods.  I was able to go places I normally would stay out of.

 

I returned the way I had come.  Already the snow was drifting over my tracks.  I was hot and thirsty, and glad to reach the car where I had a bottle of water (NOT THE DISPOSABLE KIND!)  Under my layers I was soaking wet - a good workout.  I no longer felt out of sorts.

Tonight more snow is coming.  Perhaps I'll venture out again.

Winter Fly Fishing

I'm republishing some blogs from my now defunct web site.  I'm just too busy with other stuff to continue with the web site, but I'll get the blog going again.   This is from last February.

When it comes to cold weather fishing, I'm a wimp.  Once the temperature drops below 45, I'm on the bank, so I usually take winter off for R&R.  By the time spring rolls around I'm pyched up and ready to go fishing.  This year is a little different.  We've had severe cold most of the time, but when the weather has warmed I've been out, either walking the stream or fishing.

Last week I went out on Tuesday.  The forecast was for temperature in the 50's and cloudy skies.  I had intended to hit the Pennypack, only  10 minutes from the house, but changed my mind.  The Pennypack is a nice urban creek, but I wanted to be in the woods and away from the world.  I also wanted to fish for wild trout.
I left just after rush hour for a small stream southwest of home.  An hour later I was climbing down a steep hill to the stream.  There was still a fair amount of snow in the valley and the footing was just a little treacherous.  I was happy to have a strong wading stick.  There were no footprints in the snow - a good omen.

I had tied on a Pink Squirrel and a Skinny Henry, two of my favorite nymphs.  The water temperature was close to 40, so I was not expecting any dry fly fishing.  Two tiny split shot and a a small yellow strike indicator rounded out the presentation.

This stream is heavily stocked and heavily fished for the first few weeks of the season.  After that, you rarely see another angler, and the water stays cool all summer.  Although the water is small, there is great character with plenty of pools and lots of pocket water.  Some of the pools are surprisingly deep.  It has a nice population of small but feisty wild browns.

I was glad I had made the trip, and was ready to go fishing.  Even though I had been out the week before, I had been fishing in a city park with walkers, joggers and other fishermen.  This was better.

The first two pools yielded nothing.  I backtracked downstream to the deepest pool on the stream, a long slow stretch of  dark green water. I drifted my flies through the pool 3 or 4 times with no result.  I tried a slow twitch retrieve and was immediately on to a nice brown.   Three more wild browns came to net in about 15 minutes, all on the Skinny Henry.  All were quickly released.

I headed back upstream - my plan was to fish up to a bridge and then walk back to the car for lunch.  I scrambled down a steep undercut bank to a deep run.  I could see a school of suckers resting on the bottom along what looked like some larger trout.  They turned out to be holdover rainbows from a fall stocking, still fat and colorful.   I took three before the pool went dead. At the lip of the pool the main current ran between two large rocks.  It was a trouty looking spot and I was confident that it would hold a fish.  After a few drifts I was rewarded with a nice hit and a slightly larger brown, perhaps two years old.  He posed on the snow and went back into his spot.

That was it for this pool, and my stomach was starting to grumble.  As usual when into fish, I ignored my stomach and continued upstream.  A nice pool under the bridge yielded two more yearling browns, and then it was time for lunch.  I walked back along the road, the tapping my staff on the pavement provoking a mournful howl from an old dog chained to a tree.

After lunch I walked downstream and fished back up to the car, catching three or four more wild browns from broken pocket water.   Aside from replacing flies lost to the bottom I had used the same patterns all day.  For the most part the browns took the Skinny Henry or a Copper John while the rainbows ate the Pink Squirrel.  Ten browns and three rainbows was the final tally, and I had missed a few more.  Not bad for February.

Arriving back at the car, I opened the hatch and a little black stonefly flew out and landed on my hand.  I had seen a few on the water but no trout rose to take them.  It flew off to find a mate and I headed back home to wait for another warm day.