TroutLegend

Recently I was sitting on the banks of the Little Juniata River in Pennsylvania. Quietly sipping some water in the shade of a willow tree when an older gentleman came slowly down river swinging wet flies. Before he entered my stretch he gave the universal open hand query to fish through of which I replied with a “thumbs up”! As he passed we had a nice little conversation about fish and flies. I told him I was down here from New York fishing with a buddy. With a deep reverent look he said: “I once had a friend to fish these waters.” Then he moved on searching for each step with a long handsomely carved staff.

Finding the “perfect” fishing buddy is a tough thing, eh? Gentle men and woman of the fly fishing dilemma often lead very different lives. Some are doctors, some are waiters, some are traveling trout bums. Some are weekend warriors, some fish 365 days a year. Some have kids, some have none. Some are dry fly specialists, some are steelhead enthusiasts. Some fishermen are best at the crack of dawn, some night stalkers don’t even get their blood flowing until after 3pm. Some love to drink, others are dry. There are talkers and listeners, ego centric know-it-alls and selflessly shy background guitar strummers. Some fly fishers must fish at a frantic “Catch all the trout” pace while others lazily meander down stream swinging streamers. With endless permutations to the fishing persona it’s amazing that anyone can find the “perfect” fishing buddy. I think this is one strong reason we idealize groups like the defunct AEG media “Trout Bum Diaries” crew. “A group of adventure driven, trout fanatic friends just happened to meet in college and form the perfect union of fishing and professional life!” It sounds a lot like the fairy tale “Behind the Music” episodes of your favorite band. Indeed, it would seem it’s harder to find the “perfect fishing buddy” than “the perfect mate.” But a lot easier to get a divorce. With this in mind it’s a little easier to understand the lonely fly fisherman, in his or her 70s or 80s, who now walks the streams alone since their fishing buddy has passed. With so many rich memories there is no starting over again.

The Little Juniata River in Pennsylvania is a wonderful stream. She rises, like many of PA’s streams, from cold water upwellings. She meanders slowly through spiked mountain ranges, under train paths, and past a gem of a little campground called Green Hills. Standing at the Spruce Creek Outfitter Fly Shop you can almost throw a stone at this riverside campground, but it’s a solid 15minute drive blocked by a huge State Forest and limited paved paths. Which is a nice thing. It provides some sense of solitude and serenity. All though advertised as a “Christian – No Alcohol” campground we were not inundated with either religious pamphlets nor any measure of sobriety. She does however sit just off the banks of this majestic river – a fact that every fisherman will enjoy.

Fishing the “Little J” in July at 130cfs is a much different thing than fishing her in May at 270cfs. She is most certainly a different river with a different character. Even a different smell.  In May she is a robust lover who offers pleasurable encounters at every turn. In July she’s a bit wary of the sun and lower water levels and saves her embrace for well oxygenated pools and the safety of slow almost Stillwater tail outs. In May there were abundant hatches of big flies and fisherman touting plastic handle wrapped fly rods. In July the hatches are still there, but of the smaller variety. Little Tricos and Summer Quills still offer splashy rises, but oddly selective trout. The nice thing is the fishing pressure has all but disappeared… at least during mid week.

Perfect unmolested wild fins!  “Stocking fingerlings only”… PRICELESS!

This guy put on a rainbow-esque aerial display!

I love all the variations in spot patterns.

In the fast well oxygenated riffle water they were a sucker for my hot orange bead stone.

Back to camp for some sandwiches.

“YOU think that’s a good imitation of me?!  It’s good enough for me… TO POOP ON!”

“You know what they say: once you go ant you never go back.”

A little night action.  Swinging a Sculpin on a Type3 in the tailouts of deep pools provided a strike every other cast!

Todd frustrated during the day gets the biggest fish at night!

Off to Spring Creek.  First a stop at the hatchery to drool.  PA knows how to mass produce fish that’s for sure.

How do these guys ever make it in the wild?

Little… and I mean little Midge patterns took some nice Spring Creek Browns.  Got some refusals from Bows, but no takes unfortunately.

He was the last fish of the trip.  With a perfect fin big enough to steer a Steelhead.  Until next time.