Big Meat Flies

     "The serious fly-fisherman's knowledge of these fish draws heavily on science, especially the easygoing, slightly bemused, English-style naturalism of the last century, but it periodically leaves the bare facts behind to take long voyages into anthropomorphism and sheer poetry." 

    - John Gierach (1/21/1946-10/3/2024). Rest in piece to one of the greatest writers to pick up a fly rod. Trout Bum is such an important book in my life. Thank you John Gierach, and I hope you're off catching brookies in that big celestial forever. 

    At this point in the trip, I was soaked to the bone. Central Pennsylvania has been covered by a rain for over a week straight, remnants of the hurricanes wreaking havoc to our South. We were more fortunate than our brothers and sisters on the other side of the Mason Dixon line though, and the Appalachians managed to dissipate most of the storms before it crash landed here. Instead of bouncing even further north, they lingered, heavily and steadily like a gray blanket. 

    I'm being a heathen, throwing a big black articulated meat-fly, force-feeding trout instead of nymphing or dry fly fishing. Hatch chasers can wax philosophical about the impurities and barbarisms of streamer fishing all they want, but that split second when a brown trout evolves from insectivore to piscivorous from the sight of a streamer swimming by will quicken the heart faster than a cup of good strong black coffee. 

    My first real foray into articulated streamer fishing began with a small rainbow that appeared from an undercut bank, jacking my fly and essentially hooking itself. A beautiful and deadly flash of silver and green that ignored all common sense, let himself be overtaken by impulse. 

    I pushed further up the creek, elevated by the rain and a sense of excitement for what lay ahead. Every raindrop every time my streamer hit an undercut bank and I slowly stripped it in, I watched behind for followers. I also found some autumn olives, a delightful ephemeral October treat. 

    Autumn is supposed to be streamer season, when big browns lose all sense of self preservation and decide it's time to start killing shit before the spawn and the chills of winter. My experience with seasonal river fish is slightly different. Even though fall can bring rains and overcast skies, after a long hot summer water levels are still typically much lower, especially compared to the snowmelt of spring. Still, you can run into some banner days fishing big baits in the fall.  

    After breaking my way across the whistling riffles I made my way to a piece of flat-water surrounded by willows on both sides. A half-hearted cast underneath one led to the biggest rainbow trout I've ever hooked coming out and crushing the streamer. I stripped most of the line in, but as soon as I pulled out the net she ran the fly-line back onto the reel and forced me to put on more pressure. Still, I had 12lb tippet on and it wasn't much of a fight. 

    Measuring at around 23 inches, this fish was a proper Spruce Creek specimen. Was it wild? Maybe. Did it also possible wander downstream from the private trout clubs where they're hand-fed pellets all day? Also a high possibility. Still, I caught it on public water a long ways-away enough from the private clubs that I was pretty happy with that fish and send her on her merry way to hopefully go sip midges and mayflies instead of dogfood.