An STFF Thanksgiving…

Perhaps you’re one of the lucky ones, like Jeff, a recent visitor to this blog, who, in the company of another angling friend, celebrates the start of Thanksgiving Day on Fall Creek every year.  Most of us with families, and especially those who have angling-averse families, must resign ourselves to the traditional family get-together; watching football, drinking, and eventually sitting down at table adorned with turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry relish, gravy, more drink, pumpkin pie, and more drink.  It’s not all bad, mind you.  It’s just that the holiday is all about giving thanks, and what better way to give thanks than to catch and release a few.  Symbolism is great…

Thanksgiving at STFF headquarters. Note the happy faces, the gala atmosphere...

No matter, my destiny this year, as in all years past, is chewing on a drumstick while visions dance in my head of jigging for stripers and blues on the DorisMae’s Thanksgiving trip off Barnegat Light.

Now mama always said, if you’re handed lemons, make lemonade, and so I decided to assign a little research regarding this historic event to the ever-scholarly STFF staff in hopes that their findings might support a change in the family tradition – a change that might even extend to a cultural renaissance of this feasting holiday.  What follows is sure to enlighten thee…

First off, a little background for those non-history types.  The Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620 – towards the end of the striper run, oh by the way.  Apparently the Pilgrims were not too skilled with jig or fly, because their first winter was terrible.  They lost 46 of the original 102 who sailed on the Mayflower.  The next year, however, smiled on the survivors, as the harvest of 1621 was bountiful.  The colonists, along with 91 Wampanoag Indians (credited with saving them from complete disaster), decided to celebrate their good fortune with a feast.

Some broiled bluefish, Squanto?

And what did that feast include?  Well, our research shows many variations in the menu, but by most accounts, one controversial item that may have been missing was, of all things, turkey.  Turkey were present in the wild at the time of the first Thanksgiving, but the word “turkey” was used by the Pilgrims to mean any sort of wild fowl.   Good ole’ gun-toting Governor William Bradford apparently sent four men “fowling”, so more than likely, any “turkey” in the center of the table were wild sea ducks or geese.  Also missing from the feast was the potato, considered poisonous by many Europeans at the time, and dairy products, since there were no domestic cattle available.

From other accounts and records of daily life in Plymouth, we know that rabbit, chicken, squashes, beans, chestnuts, hickory nuts, onions, leeks, dried fruits, maple syrup and honey, radishes, cabbage, carrots, eggs, and possibly goat cheese were available, although not necessarily all used in the same meal. The corn was most likely in the form of meal rather than on the cob, and pumpkin would have been served in the form of a pumpkin pudding or stew, and not in a crust.

Most noticeably “on the list” were some items few Americans would ever consider to be Thanksgiving table fare.  Governor Bradford lists bass, cod, and “other fish of which they took good store”, these fish being herring, bluefish, and lots of eels. Clams, lobsters (without the drawn butter), mussels, and oysters were undoubtedly part of dinner, too.

All they need is a little cocktail sauce...

So seafood, yes, seafood, made up a good part of the original Thanksgiving meal.  And how might that seafood come to our modern-day Thanksgiving table?  You guessed it; flyfishers and hardware fishers alike could go out and catch, and maybe this one time not release, their favorite piscatorial delight for part of the feast.  Imagine the pomp and circumstance as the weary fishermen return in the early afternoon and spread their bounty across the table for all to marvel over.  This addition to Thanksgiving would strengthen the tradition, put smiles on the multitudes, and kill TV ratings around all the damn football games that play that day.

I therefore propose that the readership spread the word.  This isn’t your grandfather’s Thanksgiving anymore – go forth and fish up some fare, and put a little Thanksgiving in Thanksgiving…

To all, a safe, belly-expanding, and joyous holiday…

Tight lines…

Fall Creek Blues

Sometimes you get the fish, and sometimes the fish get you.  That’s what happened to me on Fall Creek today.  I avoided the skunk once again this year by catching a small brown and a small rainbow at the falls pool at the end of the day, but I certainly didn’t bring home the bacon.

The fish were there – I saw two – and one fellow with a centerpin rig reported he had caught 4.  I also saw one guy hook-up and LDR a fish.  But that was the extent of it.

 

The fish I should have caught...

 

Conditions were ideal – almost too ideal, considering the high water we had on Friday.  The water was almost clear and running just a little higher than it was on my maiden voyage to Fall Creek (http://stflyfisher.wordpress.com/2009/11/03/falling-for-fall-creek/).  Unfortunately, there were also plenty of fishermen, including one guy who fished a nice pool for quite a stretch, and then cycled his friends into the slot, while I waited patiently upstream.  After each had fished, this group proceeded to hold the position and chat and smoke.  Not sure where that falls in terms of stream etiquette, but it seemed to me a violation to some degree.  Maybe its sour grapes on my part, but I waited upstream at least an hour before they finally moved on.

Anyhow, I gave it my best shot – threw everything I could – and left feeling good that hopefully this was one of those dues-paying trips.

 

The kind of blues I like to get...

 

Next week, weather permitting, I hope to try my luck in the salt.  Word is, there’s some hungry critters heading south right now…

 

Old linesides...

 

Best wishes for a Happy Thanksgiving…

Tight lines…

 

The Finger Lake Tribs are Up!

Finally, a good drenching rain…

Fall Creek is no longer falling...

Fall Creek had dwindled down to what seemed a comparative trickle.  There’s no USGS chart for Salmon Creek, but I suspect that it was in the same shape.  Last night’s rains might have been just the ticket to trigger fresh browns and landlocks, staging in the lake, to move up the tribs.  Air temps will be cooler the next few days too.  Could be a nice weekend!  Get out and enjoy…

Tight lines…

Ida – Not Ideal

Here at STFF headquarters, the plans for a great bluefish / striper weekend were well underway.  The forecast for the Barnegat Light, NJ, area was ideal, up until Wednesday evening.  Granted, this trip is a bit of a departure from my normal fly fishing fare.  I’m not accomplished enough in the salt, nor do I own a boat, to really “assault the salt” with feathers.  Instead, I generally fall back on the mono with jigs or bait.  Ardent fly fishers – give me a few more seasons, and the hardware will go…

Anywhoooooo, I was pumped for a long weekend, until I decided to check the weather Wednesday night, just before I began gearing up.  What I found got me down, big time…

Enough to make you bite the cyanide capsule...

Horrified, I called STFF field headquarters in Barnegat, NJ and learned it was all true.  The Grandpadre – my Dad – said the winds were very strong out of the northeast – 25 to 35 mph – and gusting to 60 mph.  A classic Nor’easter spells really rough seas and bad fishing.  After swigging at my martini on the rocks, I gained my composure, and announced the trip was dead.  Grandpadre did not disagree…

Today's confirmation...

I checked again today, and the weather continues to deteriorate.  Thanks to Ida, and a stubborn high pressure system, the mid-Atlantic is taking a pounding.  The party boats in Barnegat Light are surely not venturing out and who knows how long this will impact the great fall migration of hungry stripers and blues…

I guess I’ll need to look north – to the tribs.  The flows on Fall Creek are mighty thin, and the temps have been so-so.  Not sure what will develop for the weekend, but I’ll keep my eye out…

Tight lines…

Taunted by Waters…

Most fly fishermen who watched the movie, “A River Runs Through It”, or better still, who read the novella of the same title, know the intriguing sentence that ends the story; “I am haunted by waters.”

That sentence came to mind several months ago when the Madre announced that we’d be attending our niece’s baptism in Pittsburgh on the very weekend of the much celebrated, always anticipated, blues / striper fishing trip out of Barnegat Light, NJ. For reference, this blog had not yet breathed words into the blogosphere when the first trip took place, but it was a BEAUTY – one of the best days of saltwater fishing I’ve ever experienced, to wit; over 20 bluefish in the 10 – 14 lb. range, including a few real gators, and numerous stripers, one of which was the pool-winning fish of a lifetime…

I'm in the back row, under "For info" on the sign...

Shrugging those fond memories, I tried to act enthusiastically supportive about the weekend plans, but as reality set in, made the mistake of letting my true underlying feelings fly from my mouth like bats out of a cave:  “But that’s my striper trip weekend!”  The conversation went way downhill from there…

The route through flyfishing heaven...

Roll time forward to this past unseasonably warm and sunny Saturday, and Madre, Padre, and Sadre #2 are happily driving along Rt 14 through the “pennsyltucky” countryside, following STFF Staff Hydrologist Dan’s directions and a fine travel guide of notes he provided for the trip that read like the National Park pamphlet you’d pick up at Gettysburg or Yellowstone: “You’ll travel on Rt 14 south of Canton through the towns of Roaring Branch, Ralston, Bodines, and Trout Run, paralleling the famous freestone trout stream named Lycoming Creek…”

Looking upstream to a nice riffle on Lycoming Creek in Ralston...

Naturally, I had negotiated conditions for this trip.  I’d be allowed a few photo-op stops along the way, one such stop being Ralston.  Two springs ago Dan and I fished a pleasant riffle on that section of Lycoming Creek and had caught a number of nice rainbow trout, when amidst the creek-side tranquility of that cool spring day, an older lady sporting rubber hip boots and plaid lumberjack shirt and wielding a spinning rod that could have been used for surfcasting, waded bow-legged down below us.  With a Camel dangling from her yap, she most politely and eloquently asked; “they ‘bitin’?”.  Needless to say, we moved not long after she made her first cast with a bait rig that consisted of a bank sinker and a gob of nightcrawlers that could choke a 14″ trout…

Ralston's world-famous historical marker...

Photo’s complete, we drove on down Rt 14, past Bodines and Trout Run, yours truly at the helm, driving with one eye searching that beautiful roadside creek.  Eventually we entered Williamsport and from there headed west, past the thriving metropolis of Jersey Shore – famous birthplace of, you guessed it, our very own STFF Staff Hydrologist Dan.

Not long after driving by Jersey Shore, Dan’s travel notes alerted us that we’d be over-passing the longest “creek” in the world – Pine Creek – pronounced “pine crick” in those parts – a major trib to the West Branch of the Susquehanna.  I was expecting some middling water, rife with riffles and brush-lined pools, but in fact, this “crick” is a wide river – a clone of the upper Susquehanna.  Dan noted this section is full of smallmouth, and that farther upstream the creek turns very trouty, looking more like a great western trout river than a central Pennsylvania limestone stream.

We soon entered the hallowed Nittany Valley, famous, in Dan’s words, for its class “A” wild trout waters.  Here we’d find the state’s two most noteworthy coldwater fisheries; Fishing Creek and Spring Creek.  Dan suggested a stop in the town of Bellefonte, and waxed poetic in his little guide; “If you get a chance, stop in Bellefonte and park downtown, walk by Spring Creek and witness mammoth rainbows feeding leisurely on sowbugs and midges.”

I was able to convince the Madre to make the detour – a minor diversion in our 6 hour trip – and have to agree with Dan that Bellefonte is, indeed, well worth a look-see…

Rainbow city...

The town, architecturally speaking, was beautiful, but my eyes were drawn to Spring Creek – an absolute urban fly fishing paradise…

Those long dark shapes below the ducks are not weeds...

Rainbow trout were everywhere, holding in the current, along with a few huge Palomino trout.  For those not familiar with this “swimming billboard” of fish, the Palomino is a golden-orange rainbow trout raised under artificial fish culture conditions and stocked as a state novelty.  The golden rainbow was developed from one fish, a single female trout with a genetic mutation that gave her a mixed golden and normal rainbow trout coloration.  She was found in a West Virginia hatchery in 1954, and through selective breeding with regularly-marked rainbow trout, a golden rainbow trout was developed.

That long orange-yellow shape is a Palomino trout - advertising itself...

Moving along the creek wall, I quickly observed that mallards and black ducks would immediately position themselves below anyone standing along the creek, anticipating a feeding.  The trout would then hold just under and below the ducks, knowing what was coming.  Armed with handfuls of trout pellets, Sadre #2 and I had a ball “feeding the fishes”, in godfather-speak…

Padre and Sadre #2 - sight feeding...

The throwing of pellets was great fun.  Those big Spring Creek rainbows knew the game and in some cases beat the ducks to the bait, streaking downstream to intercept the drift.

After a nice afternoon lunch break in Bellefonte, we got back on the road, passing Beaver Stadium which was already swelling with fans for a Ohio State – Penn State football game.  We sped westward, beyond trout country, to our destination just east of Pittsburgh.  The air continued to warm, the sun shined bright, and I thought of all the fishing I was missing.

I survived the family gathering of in-laws and out-laws.  In all actuality, our stay went far batter than I imagined.  But driving home on Sunday evening, I listened to the splat of mayflies and caddis at every river and creek crossing.  Worse still, upon arriving home, I made the mistake of jumping on the internet and learned that the striper opener on the Miss Barnegat Light was an apparent slaughter.  I am taunted by waters…

Falling for Fall Creek…

When it comes to fishing new water, I’m a believer in humbly paying my dues.  I grossly lower my expectations and fish with head bowed low, hoping the fly fishing gods take notice.  These first trips are more “recon” than fishing – an attempt to learn the water with eyes wide open.

Some of my loyal readership know I’ve been itching to take a trip to Fall Creek.  I had heard the fishing can be great in the fall, when lake-sized browns and landlocked salmon feel the ancestral urge to spawn, but I had also heard it was a place requiring tribute (read, many fish-less casts) before one could “bring home the Cayuga Lake bacon”.

Those who angle the tribs in the fall know that a big push of cold water is all it takes to signal the lake’s trout and salmon to make their annual spawning runs, so last week’s heavy rains and cool weather were just what I was waiting for…

The kind of chart for trib fishers love...

After spending a good chunk of Saturday “leaf-plowing”, I decided to give Fall Creek a try early Sunday morning.   I set up my gear the night before, turned back my Seiko Monster for Daylight Savings Time, and hit the sack.  I was up and on my way at “0″ dark-thirty Sunday morning; it was still dark when I pulled into a local McDonald’s / Express Stop for an Egg McMuffin and a fill-up of petrol.  By the time I crossed the river bridge in Owego, it was just light enough to see a high and muddy Susquehanna, a river far different from the one I fished as summer transitioned to fall.  The trip up route 96B to Ithaca was relaxing – the Catatonk Valley’s mix of heavily forested hills, serpentine brooks, and bucolic farms made for a nice drive.

I arrived at the parking area off Lake Street and quickly rigged my rod and donned my gear to the roaring music of Ithaca Falls, the largest of the Finger Lakes falls at 150 feet in height and 175 feet in width.  It was a short hike down to the creek and the gorge pool…

Looking upstream from the tail of the gorge pool to the falls...

I fished the gorge pool using a sink tip line, a 1X tippet, and a weighted purple streamer.  As the sun rose and lit the morning, fishermen began to arrive in numbers I was not used to after fishing the Susquehanna in late summer / early fall.  I watched one angler below me expertly flipping a long orange bobber with what looked like a fly rod.  I spoke with him out of curiosity as he moved by me on his way upstream and found he was fishing a centerpin rig.  He had hooked a few small fish but was still in search of bigger fish, like the 27″ male landlocked salmon he reportedly caught on just such a rig the previous year.  For those not familiar with centerpin fishing, it’s a deadly way to fish a bait, typically an egg sack or worm, using a bobber for a drag-free drift.

I decided it was “recon” time after working the gorge pool and watching fishermen stack up above me.  I slowly waded downstream, swinging my streamer – an easy and enjoyable way to fly fish on such a beautiful fall morning.  Below the gorge pool was some fast deep water, and further below these runs the river broadened, slowed, and ran largely featureless, save a few deep pockets in isolated spots.  I fished all the water the same – exploring this delightful Finger Lake tributary one cast at a time.

The N. Cayuga Street and Rt 13/34 bridges, looking downstream...

I could see bridges below me and figured I’d fish downstream to them and then get out and hike upstream to fish the falls pool before heading home.  But as I closed the distance to the bridge pool, two things convinced me that this spot was worth a longer stay: 1) a fat and feisty rainbow nailed my streamer on a swing through a riffle, and 2) I almost stepped on a small landlocked salmon, holding mid-stream, as I got in position just above the bridge.

I changed my fly to an olive bead-head soft hackle wooly bugger, having read that olive was a good color for landlocked salmon.  I swung my streamer across and down, periodically wiggling my rod tip to give the fly some life.  The water appeared to deepen just above the bridge, and it was there, that a man scanning the water from the bridge above, spied two large shapes holding in the current.  “There”, he said, pointing just downstream and across from me.  “I’m not sure whether they’re browns or salmon, but they’re big fish”, he said.  “If I were you I’d move upstream a little and swing your fly just above that deep water”.  I thanked him for his advice, and did as he said.  A few casts across and down and my fly stopped dead as it swung.

I set the hook into solid head-shaking, and below me I could see the white of a big jaw, whipping angrily back and forth.  I stripped in my slack line and put the fish on the reel.  The fish, a nice landlocked salmon, held in the current, solid as a planer board trolling a spoon.

So unprepared was I for this early success, that my thoughts immediately turned to where the hell I’d land this fish.  I had no net, and the channelized banks on either side of the creek were fairly steep, so beaching was out of the question.  I let the fish hold upstream of me until I could find an area of slower water and, after two thrashing jumps, dragged him with side pressure to a slow water eddy along the bank.  I’d like to say I executed the perfect Lee Wulff atlantic salmon tailing, but in reality, I slipped as I moved shoreward, ending up flat on my back in the water with rod held high.  My salmon slipped under a tree branch hanging in the water, but I did manage to tail him.  A nearby angler helped me unhook my fish as I held him, and moments later was kind enough to photograph the evidence for posterity purposes…

Well worth a dunking...

The kype on this male was, well, garish, to say the least.  The kype is to salmon, like antlers to a buck, formed when the testosterone starts flowing for taking care of the competition.  This bad-ass had marks from scraps he had already undertaken in the quest for some lucky salmon maiden.  I released him back to the creek and watched him effortlessly swim away.

I had read the temp of the creek to be 46 – 48 degrees, so it wasn’t long before I was shivering cold.  I got out of the river, shed my soaking shirt layers, and walked back to my car in my t-shirt and waders, like some bass-fishing river rat on a summer’s day, an odd sight for the many anglers dressed in heavy wading jackets and topped with ski hats.

Fall Creek in late fall...

I left Fall Creek with mixed feelings.  I was delighted to land a truly magnificent fish – the original upstate version of the atlantic salmon that none other than Lee Wulff proclaimed to be the king of gamefish.  On the other hand, no angler likes beginner’s luck.  It often spells doom for subsequent outings until the fly fishing gods deem said angler is finally due again.  Better to get the lay of the water and work into good fishing than to start off with a bang and go fishless.

Racing back home with my car’s heater on high to fight the chill, I couldn’t help but stop to take this photo from a high point at the south end of Cayuga Lake…

"Far above Cayuga's waters, with its waves of blue..."

Beginner’s luck or not, I’d be back to this special place, where salmon once ran so thick, native Indians speared them by the hundreds on their fall spawning runs.  To hold the progeny of evolution just once was well worth the risk of never holding it again…

Tight lines…

Good Gear – The Seiko Monster

I’ll admit I’m a watchie.  I get the watchie genome from my Dad, and only discovered this mechanized-kronos addiction in the middle-aging of my life.  Dear old Dad, you see, kept showing up in retirement visits, wrist-clad with different timepieces – chronometers, hoitey-toitey dress watches, dive watches, sport watches – and they appealed to me…

One day I found this thing called ebay, and I might have well been a drunk living next door to a tavern, because over a few years I built a timepiece collection (true watchies would never call it a watch collection) of some 11 watches – err, timepieces.  It started with a basic Seiko design – the Seiko 5 (also recommended as a great, inexpensive, all-round beater watch) – and soon carried over to others in the Seiko brand, most notably the vaunted “monster” – a dive version of the Seiko 5 on steroids…

Seiko monster steel - WEC Extreme Cage-fighting certified (pic courtesy of thepruists.com)

At first I wasn’t sure what to make of this diver watch.  I don’t scuba and I don’t snorkel, so why would I purchase such a mass of ticking steel? I tried to ignore it, but the watch grew on me.  I took a liking to its bullet-proof looks.  Could it be, I wondered, the “uber” fly fishing watch, if there were ever such a thing?  Eventually, I broke down and bought the orange monster, and after giving it a thorough field test for the past year, I contend this is a great fly fishing watch. Follow with me to find out why…

All monsters  feature, first and foremost, a screw-down crown for deep dive water-resistance – in this case good for 200 meters.  While it’s doubtful you’ll ever truly need 200 meters of water resistance while fishing (you could wear it scuba diving at the bottom of Seneca Lake – the deepest of the Finger Lakes at 600+ feet – looking for that Orvis Helios you dropped overboard), it is a nice feature that assures a huge margin of safety for any type of immersion that might be encountered – streamside or surfside.

Here fishie, fishie, fishie...

In addition to water-tightness, the heart of the monster beats to the tune of the legendary Seiko automatic 7S26 movement.  For the watchie newbies out there, an automatic movement never needs winding as long as the watch is worn.  Movement of the wrist causes the cams in the watch to move and in effect, wind the watch.  The 7S26 boasts a power reserve of over 42 hours, meaning the watch can continue to function without motion for just shy of 2 days. Some automatic movements offer features referred to as hand-winding, meaning the watch can also be mechanically wound (i.e., you can wind it by hand every day, never wind it, and the watch still ticks away).  Some also off a “hacking’ feature, meaning that pulling the crown outward stops the movement for time synchronization.  The monster offers neither of these, but then again, these features come at a serious price adder.

Deep in the monster’s steel-encased chest cavity, the 7S26 ticks away at a relatively slow 21,600 bph (beats per hour), a pulse that won’t get you the precision of the Omega on the hoitey-toitey Orvis and Hardy flyguy upstream of you, but one that is surprisingly accurate for its price; from +8 – +12 seconds a week to under +5 seconds a week after break-in, according to some reports I’ve read.  Some inaccuracy is very desirable for a fly fishing watch when you think about it, i.e., “gee honey, I couldn’t have been late for the opera – my watch said it was 9 pm, the time we agreed I’d leave the river”).

Where you really want this watch to shine is in its ability to withstand abuse, and it’s in this department that the monster really roars.  The 7S26 automatic uses Seiko’s patented Diashock shock protection which is based on the ingenious use of a soft plastic spacer ring in the movement and a relatively low mass rotor.  In combination with a massive steel case, this provides a great deal of additional shock resistance to the watch.  Bang it up while wading the boulder-studded pocket water of the West Branch of New York’s Ausable River, and you’re assured you won’t be late for happy hour at the local tavern.

The big heart of the monster - the automatic 7S26 movement - get your motor running...

The orange monster face is fishing-cool, and not coincidentally has been tested to show best under water (monsters also exist in black, blue, yellow, and most recently, red).  The monster’s watch case is 41.5 mm across and 12.5 mm thick, adding to its big, visible, and rugged looks.  The three hands and hour markers are filled with Lumibrite…

Lumibrite at work in lower light conditions (courtesy of John B. Holbrook II)...

What you'd see while fishing for those big nocturnal browns...

Other monster features that make it a must-have in your fly fishing arsenal are a Hardlex (mineral) crystal, quickset day and date display, and a uni-directional bezel with minute marks.  My orange monster is equipped with the black ribbed Seiko dive watch band.  Besides its comfort and great looks, I found this band offers less opportunity to scratch that nice fly rod you might be cradling in your arm.

But I’d suggest buying the monster with the standard solid-link brushed stainless steel bracelet that is both incredibly sturdy and heavy enough to balance the hefty watch it holds.  It is a very secure bracelet, featuring a two-button folding case with safety and a wet-suit extension clasp for those who fish and dive.

Monster bracelet with security clasp and wet suit diver extension - courtesy of pmwf.com

After taking delivery of your new fly fishing companion, hop on over to one of the many watch stores on the internet and purchase the soft rubber Seiko dive strap.  Change out the watch bands for fishing use, knowing you have a beautiful stainless steel bracelet for formal occasions.

The price of this watch is very affordable at $100 – $150 online.  You’ll find a lot of these watches on ebay auction.  There are other automatic divers out there with similar features, but there’s nothing like having a monster by your side…

Tight lines…

A Look Back – A Look Ahead…

I spent Saturday at Nazareth College in Rochester, visiting the collegiate dadre, soaking up the mild weather and the last of the fall colors.  I was back home Saturday night, and after going into work on Sunday and then doing some “leaf-plowing” at the expansive STFF homestead, I decided the time had come to see if the bass were in the mood to eat.  Pondward I headed…

A nice westerly breeze made for a good drift along the far shallow shore...

The pond water was on the cool side for bass at 52 degrees, so I shed the popper and tied on a rust-colored, unweighted wooley bugger, and paddled out to the shallow end of the pond and let a westerly breeze push me  parallel to the shore like a slow rolling trolling motor.  Casting the bugger to the sunny shallows, I let it drift along, barely stripping it.  It wasn’t long before I picked up some bass – little and feisty and fat.  I continued the drifting cycle and as the sun started to set, the bass got a little more aggressive.  I caught a half dozen 12 inchers – and lost one big guy that fought like a drunken sailor at first and then woke up and zipped up and down the shoreline before the hook pulled.  Considering the pond temperature, the bass were indeed, still in the mood…

Pond-side maple - late to shed its gold...

The first two days of the week have been on the warm side – tugging at the hearts of the STFF staff as they toil away in corporate ivory towers.  Last night the rains started.  The rest of the week looks very wet and cooler – spelling “possibilities” if you’ve got your eyes on the Finger Lake tribs…

Ugggleeee...

Fall Creek has more water in it as a result of some rain last week…

Fall Creek is finally filling up...

We’ll cross our fingers that we get enough rain and some cold to send a strong signal to the landlocks and browns – “come on up”…

Tight lines…

 

Choconut Creek

Pioneer Joseph Addison established a farm on the banks of Choconut Creek in 1811.  Back then it is said that Mr. Addison could shoot deer from the porch of his farmhouse to provide meat for his family and the trout were so plentiful in the creek that he could wade in and catch them with his bare hands.

Joseph Addison's farmhouse, as it appears now, close to 200 years old (pic courtesy of 1811 Addison House B&B)

Historic Addison House stands proud with years, now a restored bed and breakfast inn, and Choconut Creek still flows the same 40 circuitous miles through hemlock-wooded gorges, valleys thick with hardwoods and across farmland that has been tilled for nearly two centuries.  The creek passes by modern-day Vestal, once the site of Iroquoian longhouses, on its destination to the Susquehanna River.

The Addison House and farm (http://www.1811addison.com/index.htm)

The unusual name of the creek is of Native American Indian origin; “Choconut” is a corruption of the Nanticoke word “tschochnot” meaning “place of tamaracks”.  A second interpretation is derived from the word “chugnut” which was the name of a small Indian tribe living under the protection of the Iroquois. The “chugnut” established villages on opposite sides of the Susquehanna River at the mouths of Choconut Creek and its northern sister-stream, Nanticoke Creek.  The Continental Army made it their mission to destroy these settlements since the Iroquios supported the British during the Revolutionary War, and this paved the way for the first European settlers, who came by way of New York and Connecticut in 1806 and built homes along the Choconut.  One among those new arrivals described this area of Pennsylvania as follows:

“The country is, as respects the surface, what is generally called a ridgy or rolling surface – very few of the hills too steep for cultivation, and their summits equally fertile with any other part. In the hollows or valleys there are delightful clear streams, a proportion of  which are large enough for any kind of water-works, and they abound with trout and other kinds of fish. I think it is the best watered country in my knowledge.”

In some ways, the area surrounding Choconut Creek has not changed much since the pioneer days.  There are still plenty of deer, bear, turkey, and even a few bobcat roaming the rural hills and valleys.  Coyote have taken the place of wolves, one of which treed a neighbor of Joseph Addison.  But it’s the creek that’s of interest here, and my research shows it may not be quite what it was when old Joe Addison waded its spring-fed waters.

The stream is classified as a warm water fishery by the Soil and Water Commission, but the commission also reported in 2001 that native populations of Brook and Brown trout can be seen in the Choconut Creek and many of its tributaries.  Indeed, some earlier posts in this blog prove that brookies are resident in at least one of the creek’s tributaries.

NoName Brook - a Choconut Creek tributary.

Flyfishers are aware that mayflies, stoneflies, and caddisflies are indicators of good water quality. At several creekside stops on a recent fall outing, caddis could be seen in abundance along with a few mayflies.  Their presence on the Choconut is encouraging…

A nice rocky run by a roadside bridge...

Also encouraging was stream structure – from pools with some depth…

The head of a deeper pool on the Choconut...

to well-shaded runs…

The kind of shade that brookies like...

and long pools with nice flows.

Upper Choconut Creek pool - not far from Addisn House...

But noticeably missing in all the places I checked were trout.  As much as I looked, with polarized sunglasses I might add, I could not find a one.  Could old Joe’s accounts of brook trout heaven in his backyard be accurate?  The landscape has not changed much from the days of old, or has it?

After much thought and more research on the matter, I contend that Joseph Addison was, in fact, not sipping whiskey when he made his claims of a creek stacked with brook trout.  When he first settled his piece of heaven, every inch of the hills and valleys were dense with hardwood and fir.  The hemlock shaded the ground, preserving the snow pack deep into late spring, and kept groundwater and the flows of the brooks and creeks cool during the heat of the summer.

The history of the Catskills is testament to the deforestation that changed that region from a haven for brook trout, to a fishery for brown and rainbow trout – “invasive” species if I dare say so.  In this historic mountain forestland, hemlocks 4 feet in diameter were once commonplace in what can best be described as an ancient climax forest, deep in duff with topsoil intact, covering the mountains like a huge sponge that retained cool water and absorbed the shock of heavy rains.  The white pines were claimed first for ship’s masts in the early colonial days and then the great hemlocks were felled and bark-stripped to feed the leather-tanning industry.  By the 1880’s, the effect was a bare mountainous landscape covered only in scrap, slashing, and broken trees.

As the Catskills went, so, most likely, did the Choconut Valley.  Just north of the place were leather tanning factories that fed a burgeoning shoe industry in Endicott, NY.  And beyond that, the farms blossomed to feed a growing America.

Choconut Creek flowing through pasture...

While the upper stretches of Choconut Creek may hold a few brookies or browns – and even a few small creek trophies that have the place all to themselves – the creek is indeed a shadow of the fishery it once was in the days of “old Joe”.  The best measure of what it could be can be found just up the road in Jones Park.  There, as previously posted, the hemlocks and hardwoods have been left alone to do their job.  The result, in mere puddles in the fall, is clear to anyone who wants to look.  At least there, Joseph Addison’s claim lives on…

Tight lines…

Weekend Wrap – Further into Fall

The Southern Tier of New York is officially on the downhill slide for the better known bright colors of autumn as the sugar and red maples begin shedding over the next few weeks.  There’s still more to the show, however.  The silver maples down by the rivers and the hillside aspens are turning golden, and the oaks will soon begin changing over to their rustoleum reds and browns.

As daytime highs and lows continue to drop and the rains (and snows) increase in frequency, the Finger Lakes tributary fishing should heat up.  I considered fishing Fall Creek this weekend, but with water levels stable, couldn’t justify the 45 minute trip for a so-so shot at early arriving landlocks or browns.

Fall Creek - steady eddie, not good for fishing...

Sunday was supposed to be a repeat of Saturday weather-wise – cold, rainy, and snowy.  Instead, the day turned out to be borderline Indian summer – with late afternoon temps in the mid to high 50’s and lots of sun.  After church and some family stuff it was too late in the afternoon for a shot at Cayuta Creek, so I ended up doing a little more exploration for brook trout.  I headed south on Rt. 267, crossing into Pennsylvania, and checked out a few upstream sections of Choconut Creek.  I plan on doing a post in the near future on this local little creek with big potential.

Choconut Creek

On the drive back home I couldn’t resist paying a visit to Noname Brook in Jones Park.  The brookies were there and I’m happy to report the brook was a tad more rambunctious from our recent rain.  Caddis were quite abundant, as were some size 18 – 20 mayflies dancing in the sunny areas of the woods.  I hiked the “yellow” trail back to the parking area and took my time to bask in the late afternoon sun.  With the exception of the always-clothed hemlocks and white pines, the trees in the gorge are mostly bare now.  The crunch of autumn leaves beneath my feet reminded me that it won’t be long before the white stuff blankets the woods for its deep winter sleep…

Tight lines…