We geared up with the heaters on full blast as it was a cold day in January. Howling winds cut across the pavement stirring old coffee cups & cigarette butts. Dump trucks and other large utility vehicles roared past. Various warning beeps and horns rang out at odd intervals in the background. All together it created a sort of “white noise” curtain. On any average fly fishing adventure this could be an entirely unsettling scene. But I had prepared myself mentally for the setting and blocked all those little rising thoughts of: “this certainly isn’t proper trout fishing.”

When M.H’s friend arrived we shared the usual gentlemanly hand shakes and quiet conversation with that reserved curiosity friends have for friend’s friends. Nothing you could ever quite put your finger on or that really amounts to a hill of beans, but that faint suspicion that the other 2 know more than they are letting on. I wish I could remember his name, but for the life of me. He was a quiet fellow. Not shy though. More likely lost in thought of some affair at home he had left only 10 minutes ago. Aren’t we all like that from time to time and more often then we’d like to admit?

Industry unfortunately has peculiar propensity to tumble off of pavement and into streams too. Old tires, bricks, outflow pipes, heat exhausts, engine blocks, scrap metal, and a 1000 other unidentifiable objects that once had a very specific use. The upside is this combined pile of junk emits a certain level of heat that raises the stream temperature as much as 10 degrees at times. And fortunately enough a certain lovely little fish really digs a bit of warm water refuge in the dead of winter.

Now, are all the fish lovely? Not really. Some seem a little skinny. Some have an odd fin where it shouldn’t be… no, I’m just kidding. But the mind does get to wondering when you catch a fish in this type of setting that has a deformity. One Rainbow had half a jaw and a very irregular snout. Was it a deformity you would never find upon a trout living deep in some pristine river secluded in the wilderness hundreds of aeronautical miles from the closest road? I don’t know. The mind does get to wondering though.

And then the bounty. If you’ve found your way to such a place and you’ve put your mind in such a state that you can enjoy this sort of thing you’re in for a treat. Because the fish are there. And since their metabolism might be a shade primed by the higher water temperatures they’re probably hungry. They can be wild too. Oh yeah. Don’t think for a minute that a big 20 inch wild Brown Trout gives a dam about your high-pollutin’ scenic angling sensibilities. He’s an opportunistic feeder. A survivor.

In the middle of this surreal scene we stood catching gorgeous fat, healthy looking fish. At one point M.H., a bit upriver, was motioning me to turnaround… and low and behold there was a stoic looking Bald Eagle making it’s way upriver looking for lunch. The thought crossed my mind that I might be a character in a modern day “River Runs Through It.” When the cold freezing rain fell we kept fishing. But it had chilled the water and with it the trout.

Well folks.  Long story short: “heartbreak weekend.”  I knew my odds at placing high enough to make the team were slim at best, but there’s always that little hopeful child deep in your soul that says: “maybe, just maybe!

Tuesday: After ferrying my 4 year old off to PreSchool I race home and pack the car and rocket towards State College, PA.  5 hours later I meet up with my Team Captain Leanord Sauers and we spend a couple hours throwing various patterns at picky wild trout on Big Fishing Creek.  Looks like the fish are keying in on patterns with rubber legs and smaller nymphs without hotspots seem to be the ticket.  Around 7pm I meet up with my roomies’ Kevin Compton and Randy Hanner.  It’s good to see old friends and we wax poetical about the competitive scene and fly tying late into the night over a few beers.  As always Kevin has all his wares with him including a rack of primo Dohiku Hooks and a box full of Coc-De-Leon capes that you could probably trade straight up for a car.

Wednesday: I meet up with my 2 other teammates Kevin Thomson and Barney Nailor and we bang our heads against Fishing Creek again for a few hours and then decide to high tail it over to Penns Creek.  Making our way over the mountain pass we find many of the competitors and the Youth Team practicing at Poe Paddy Park Campground area.  We hike upstream a bit and work our way down.  The fishing is tough on some seriously heavily pressured water, but we all manage a few.  All of a sudden a slim figure appears from the woods and jumps in a stretch of river I just fished.  It’s an older gentlemen wading like a maniac. He’s casting a dry dropper rig to the shoreline from the middle of the river and nearly stumbling over every rock as he works his way upstream with his wading stick.  About every 25 feet the guy is getting a fish.  I sit down to study the guy’s tactics and realize it’s none other than Eddie Pinkston. A little while later Barney fishes up through the same stretch with a size 20 Bead Head Baetis pattern and is catching fish left and right, but losing most on a non comp. style hook.  We head back for basecamp with a few pieces of the puzzle resolved.

Thursday: Against better judgment I decide to join Randy Hanner for a half day on The Little Juniata.  The problem here is The “J” is so darn easy you really don’t learn anything useful for competition.  However, we had really nice “confidence building” session right below the outflow of Spruce Creek.  There was literally a fish behind every rock.  It was a real treat getting to fish with a really high caliber angler who knows how to share a river.  We picked a 200 yard stretch of the river clean – sharing drifts and splitting the river into sections without ever making a game plan.  After 2 hours we had maybe 30 fish landed and headed downriver a few miles for a change of scenery.  More of the same downriver with a few very nice 18” fish in the mix.  Later that evening many old faces started showing up at the Motel.  Some of my favorite blokes started arriving like the “Southern Boys” : Chris Lee, Josh Stephens, and some new faces from the board.  This is one of my favorite parts of competition – sharing information and just the general good willed comradery between old friends and high caliber anglers.  Too bad there wasn’t more time for that kind of thing, but each and every competitor had a nagging little red devil sitting on their shoulder constantly muttering: “are you ready?”

Friday: The hotel is empty when I wake up.  Not a competitor or car in sight.  Everyone is off gaining info and fishing their butts off, but I decide to take the day off and just sit around tying and mentally preparing.  K2 finally arrives and we have a great time talking shop.  A bit later though the rain starts… and once it starts it doesn’t stop.  I call Leanord up and get my beat assignments: Spring, Spring, Little J, Penns, Fishing Creek is my stead for the weekend.  Basically the exact opposite anyone would want to fish for a blown out region.  Not only that but I’m on a bus with the “big boys” as Aaron Jasper says: George Daniels, Loren Williams, and Norman Maktima.  Not that there’s an easy bus in this competition, but this may be the toughest.  Before everyone falls asleep they do a quick mad dash tying streamers.

Saturday: Up at 5am.  Geared up and out the door.  Coffee and off to the Ramada to catch the bus.  It’s still raining.  Reports are that Penns Creek went from 400cfs to 5000cfs overnight!!  Everyone’s talking about how this is basically leveled the playing field and it could be anyone’s game now!  The organizers have rented 4 huge touring buses to cart the competitors around.  I jump on the Spring Creek bound trolley and after a few turns we arrive.  The stream doesn’t look that bad at first glance.  We roll down the path past Fisherman’s Paradise and line up along our respective beats.  I have #7.  There’s a long slow glide that eventually turns into 4 separate dump riffles after a large Oak Tree. Looks like a killer beat – I’ve got a mix of riffle water and slow water.  The Gods must be crazy because my good buddy and roommate Kalvin (K2) happens to be my controller for my first session – I take it as a good omen!  We set the clock and off I go!  First I try long leader nymphing up through the riffles.  Unfortunately, I don’t hook a fish in the first 25 minutes and just didn’t see the signs of the clarity decreasing and the water rising fast enough.  Not that I was totally oblivious to the situation, but I made a tactical decision to stick with Euro Nypmhing, and utilizing progressively larger flies, because I had determined there was sufficient visibility to do so.  At the 1hour mark I finally get a clue and run to shore and switch to a streamer rig on a type 3 full sink. I head up to the top of the beat with the long slow glide and start swinging down.  At the bottom of the glide I feel that delicious little tug and a bit later have 1 small brown trout in the net.  Luckily she just measures… I’m on the board! No blank.  Unfortunately, 2 rotations through my entire beat produce no more fish. On the way out I learn 2 other anglers have more than 1 fish, and 6 have 1… all are longer than mine.  I end up with 9^th place.  9 placing points. Just 1 better than the dreaded blank.

Off we travel to our second beat – upper Spring Creek.  She is now TOTALLY blown!  Everywhere you look there is debris floating downriver including a toilet seat, foam blocks, a whole tree, and a dead duck.  You know a flood is rather severe when Ducks are drounding – they’re living PFDs after all!  It looks absolutely useless to even fish, but it’s just not my style. I rig up a trusty Winston 4wt 9ft with a Type 5 full sink and set off to try not to drowned.  I cover each bank twice and nearly risk my life crossing the river in the process.  Not a single tug.  At one point I’m fishing mid river to the banks, barely keeping my foot hold in the heavy current when a huge 6 foot tree trunk comes floating by not 2 inches off my flank – it actually lightly brushed my leg and would have most certainly chopped me off at the knees for a downriver debacle the likes of which I care not to imagine.  To add insult to injury I fish a slow stall out on the far side of my beat for the last 30 minutes of my session.  Every 8 minutes a fish rises literally right under my rod tip!  I can only look over to my controller and share shrugs of disbelief.  I blank.  However, the entire field blanks the whole second session.  That is except for one lucky youth competitor that some how manages to hook a single brown trout on The Little Juniata.  David Woody has 11 placing points and would be leading the pack at the end of the night if not for one lucky youth competitor.  Woody is in my group, and I believe, pounced on 5 fish earlier in our AM Spring session by going straight to big streamers!  It’s uncomfortable but I’m finding a way to physicall kick myself in the butt.

Back at base camp K2 and Kevin Compton are trying to pump up my sullen spirits.  They say: “anything is possible!   Come on man – it’s really still anybodies game!” They tie me up some nice looking streamer patterns and as I doze off for the evening, exhausted emotionally and physically, a little hope springs into my consciousness… a little hope bogged down by 19 heavy placing points. All but one competitor in the competition has 11 placing points though and there is room for hope.

Sunday: A new day.  Much of the pressure is off now.  The rain is gone and streams like Spring and the “J” are starting to get fishy. I’ve come to term with the stark reality of my situation and embrace it.  Coffee, a look at the leader sheet, and I board the bus bound for one of my favorite and easiest “wild” trout streams in the eastern hemisophere: The Little Juniata River.  Arriving at Spruce Creek we are greeted by Sector Judge RangerKeen and one extremely well oiled team of Controllers.  In no time at all we are off to our beats.  A short ride, be it a cold one, in the back of a F150 and I walk down to my beat with my controller.  Things are not looking that bad. I have a really sweet looking section with dump and slide riffles leading into a deep “drowned an elephant” pool.  I set up one streamer rod.  I don’t even take out another.  9am and it’s go time!  This time I start mid way through my beat. I pick off the last little riffle section and work down into the large pool. My thinking is thus: if the streamer approach doesn’t work out I’ve at least targeted a riffle section and the main deeper pool, but still left the really tasty upper riffle section for some Nymphing.  Nothing for the first 10 minutes.  I progress down to the bottom of the deeper pool. I’m starting to feel the omni present weight of a blank… but suddenly my spirits rise as I sting a beautiful brown and bring her to net!  1 down.  My controller hasn’t measured a fish to date and is immersed with detailing the account when I set another fish.  2 gorgeous Little J browns caught and released as quick as lighting.  I’m on the board now and spirits are rising. I thoroughly work the back end of the long pool now realizing that fish are situated there because of the flow and clarity.  Nothing. I run to the top of my beat.  From here out I catch a fish pretty much every 20 minutes of my beat.  There is a lull where I make a half hearted attempt to cross the river and fish some very fishy slow water sections, but curl off mid river for fear of my life.   Near the end of my session my controller says: “go get 8, you need 8!” I think to myself: “yeah 8 would be good but I probably need 12 to win!” We are both right.  I place 2^nd just above George Daniels who also had 7 fish, but mine end up being longer… we are both beat by the lucky and skilled Norman Makitima with 11 fish.

Now on the bus and off to Penns Creek.  The standard mediocre brown bag lunches of ham or turkey sandwich, lays chips, and cookies tastes absolutely divine just about now.  The sun is shining, the country side is picturesque, and I feel like all things are possible.  Maybe I can catch just one fish on Penns. I know there are whole trees floating down river. I know she is washing pick nick tables away. But maybe, just maybe I can catch one little lucky trout – one little lucky trout that will put me on the leader board. It’s possible. Other anglers are doing it.  4 fish in today’s morning session – 1 to each of 4 anglers.  With my 2^nd placing I might have a chance of still pulling this thing out of the muck.  This is one of those moments that stick in your consciousness like a controlled substance and cause you to return year after year.  It’s euphoric.  You are a leader.  You’re a winner… if only for a fleeting few hours you feel that anything is possible and you can manufacture your own destiny.  So addictive.  Just writing this I want more now!

Unfortunately, the reality of the evening would not be a fairytale ending.  Penns Creek is an absolute debacle.  I have a beat with a slow roundout at the top and a slow deep channel at the bottom, but the rest of my beat… approximately 90% of my territory is inaccessible due to the overflowing waters butting up against overhanging trees and thick rose bushes.  So, I gear up and throw a prayer into the river for one single fish. I fish the top roundout hard for 45 minutes losing about 14 flies on 2 sunken trees.  No hits.  I fish down my beat for about 15 minutes dapping my flies here and there, but there is absolutely no holding water until the bottom channel.  At the bottom I wade chest deep and then shove my 10 foot 5wt another 8 feet off a drop to the bottom twitching back two large streamers.  For some idiotic reason I only wore a lonely pair of boxers beneath my waders.  The rushing frigid waters soon turn more than my lips a deep hue of blue. I close my eyes slightly and enter a meditative cycle of cast, swing, wait, strip. Repeat.  After about 1.5 hours of this I get a slight tug, tug, tug, but as I lift my rod it’s gone! Might have been a fish.  Might have been a leaf broadside in the current.  Hard to tell. My heart races for a moment then sinks.  Soon after a few old timers stroll up and tell me one of the best, and deepest, fish packed channels in the entire river happens to be exactly where I’m fishing.  I thank them with a tinge of sarcasm that I’m glad they don’t detect.  The bell rings and my session ends.  As I get on the bus I find the usual leaders like George Daniels and Norman Makitma were able to find a fish.  Most others blanked.  Some times you learn that not only skill wins the day in these competitions, but that incalculable factor some call “being fishy.”

Back at home base most anglers can see the writing on the wall.  Some have a shot at finishing strong, but the bulk of the field are now “out of the money.”  There’s actually a serenity that comes with knowing the game is over.  Not that anyone ever gives up – we all fish hard to the end!

Monday: On the way to Big Fishing Creek there’s a beautiful tinge of fall in the air.  A bright harvest sun crests the valley and starts melting the evening frost.  Things are pretty relaxed. My controller sets up a lawn chair to watch me fish the only tiny stretch of fishable water on my beat, but quickly retires to his car’s heater to warm up every 15 minutes. I have the stream to myself.  My section is a straightway with no reprieve.  There are a few tiny little eddies behind flooded trees that I dap for 40minutes, but the prime section is the mouth of a tiny little feeder trickle.  My controller mentions right off the bat: “that’s where you’re gonna wanna fish! That’s where a guy got one last time.” So I explore my entire beat in one long 40minute walk, but return to that little piece of filet mingon and pound it for 2 hours and 15minutes with every single fly on my palate.  Nothing.  Not even a nibble.  Since I was pretty much self controlling I set a timer on my watch – as the last 5 minutes of my 2009 National Fly Fishing excursion tick away I’m feeling at peace with it all.

Back on the bus there are 7 other blanks.  Norman Makitma nabbed 2 and George Daniels grabbed 4 swimming with his surf jacket in the process. Cell phones are a buzz and soon it is apparent that GD has most likely won back to back Nationals.  Incredible.  I ask George if he’d caught those 4 specific fish before and he just smiles: “there’s definitely an advantage to fishing on your home waters.”

Later at the Barbecue people are casting rods, swapping stories, and checking over the results.  The losers start to slip away while the winners pool up into little groups and head off to celebrate. I meet Walter Ungerman in person for the first time and we talk about blogs, and the team, and how to identify a computer.  I consider staying for the awards ceremony, but my drinking buddies the “southern boys” have flown the coupe and after awhile I realize it’s totally selfish, but I just can’t stand to sit through a long dinner watching happy faces receive shiny medals.  So I tear back to the motel, throw all my gear haphazardly into the car, and get out of dodge!

As I drive the first 2 hour leg of my 5 hour trip home I take stock of the last 3 years of competitive fly fishing and my journey to make Team USA.  All though one of the goals was not reached my angling skills and knowledge of the field have soared… and that was my first and ultimately only reason for entering the circuit.  I decide to “retiree” from active competition for the next 2 years.  I think: “if the spark is still there in 2012 then I’ll give it another go just once before I’m 40.  It’s been a great journey, but there’s no doubting the financial and emotional toll it can wreak on you and your loved ones.  Time to settle down and concentrate on family, spend more time guiding and instructing, who knows maybe I’ll go back to school!  Another fun chapter in my angling career has come to a close.

2 hours later I’m calculating how I can get to the very next regional.

Cheers,

Dejon Hamann

www.TroutLegend.com

The competition will be held on sections of the following rivers during the listed times and dates. Check in with TCO fly shop in State College late next week for exact locations and directions to the streamside competition http://www.tcoflyfishing.com

Rivers:
Penns Creek
The Little Juniata River
Spring Creek
Big Fishing Creek

Times/Dates:
9am-12pm, 2pm-5pm – - Sat 10/24 & Sun 10/25
9am-12pm – - Mon 10/26

Or if you’re of the mind, organizers may still need volunteers:
Volunteer Signup

You’re dedicated TroutLegend Reporter will be on the scene! Check back for quick updates as the competition rages on and hopefully many lush pictorial essays before and after the actual event.

The Stream.

The Trout!

There were a lot of these little guys looks like the future is bright!

The GOLD!!!

I spooked a few and missed a few but all in all it was a great day and a nice hike as well. I saw some bobcat and fox tracks along the stream and I left nothing but tracks and memories myself.

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.

With my buddy Todd Wright running co-pilot again this time we made a b-line for Big Fishing Creek (BFC). Despite many reports of BFC being a creek that would humble even the most proficient angler we got into fish on our first few drifts. Later on, as we proceeded up river to more popular sections the fishing got tougher.

Oddly enough there was some sort of “fishing contest” being held at one of the local hatcheries on BFC… which half scared us to death as we rounded the corner. Our first thought at seeing nearly 125 cars parked at the first access point was: “if it’s this freaking crowded I’m packing it up till Steelhead season!”

All prodigy of stream born insects were taking flight the first evening on BFC. Among a smorgasbord of the usual suspects like Sulphurs and many forms of Caddis we saw some giant black stones and a nice, but sporadic hatch of the famous Green Drakes. Most anglers, including those being guided kept in tight little pods in the slow water trying to coerce picky fish with picky patterns. We ran jubilantly for the fast, gradient falling riffle sections and spooned out a few butter orange wild browns with character to boot.

As evening fell we settled down to some slow water and started to figure out a few pieces of the puzzle. Heading back to the car we stopped to chat with a really friendly father and son team. Chris Hazer and his father turned out to be active with the Youth Team USA and we shot the proverbial manure for some time about cripples, comparduns, Humphries, and the joy of retiring to this fly fishing paradise.

Copious amounts of various micro brews, homemade roasted almonds, and a moon laden night capped off the first day.

Next morning we broke camp and meandered our way, with directions from a streamside guide near Colburn, up over and into the mountain Campground of Poe Paddy State Park. This is a picturesque campground nestled away from any main roads or towns and set right on the bank of the mighty Penns Creek. Our timing was merely happenstance, but that was unique as every other angler in the park had driven from far and wide to fish the well publicized and fantasized Green Drake’s of Penns Creek. It’s a funny thing seeing so many cigar smoking fisherman with plastic wrap still on their rod handles sitting around on the banks just waiting. And when I say funny I mean odd. As in one of the oddest things I’ve ever seen streamside.

Literally every 50 feet of the river for the last 2 hours of daylight had an angler sitting on the bank just scanning, waiting for a rise. Then friends would give the heads-up or flip a coin and one angler would wade out to take a few casts at the rise form, possibly hook a fish… or not, and then settle back to his perch on the bank. So odd. Again, we worked what most would call “B” water during the day and found some very enthusiastic wild trout.

Later on that evening we decided to play the “Penn Drake Sitting Game,” and found a nice stretch, and waited. I must say it does have a certain sort of appeal to it – concentrating more on conversation and waiting rather than fishing. And my devilishly favorite moment was catching a gorgeous rising brown after laying out an 80 foot cast on a dime!! Sometimes it’s fun to have an audience.

After a dinner of Venison Ragu, Venison Breaded Cutlets, and a bit too much Cab we packed up a backpack full of beers and headed out into the 11 o’clock hour to find some midnight risers. Story has it that some of the best Green Drake surface fishing happens just after midnight. Unfortunately, we spent more time pissing in the bushes and stumbling over rocks then fishing. The moon never quite made it’s way over the streamside trees to give the fish a visible backdrop. Still, we did manage to go 3 for about 12 swinging stimmies across the surface. Night time fishing is exhilarating… as long as you don’t kill yourself.

The next day we decided to skip that scene and headed toward “Fisherman’s Paradise” on Spring Creek. Much to our surprise we found a whole section of extremely willing fish coming with ease to size 18 black Caddis. Alas, every trip has it’s end and so does this story. I have to go now and see if there might be a cheap little property available sitting on the banks of Big Fishing Creek.

1st stop was the TCO Fly shop, and after shooting the breeze with George Daniels for a few discussing effective Sulphur Emerger patterns we were off to Spring Creek. Action was hot right off the bat… that is however until we moved to fish the section below the hatchery.

With about 30 cars in the parking lot we didn’t expect it to be easy, but frustrating is the nicest expletive I can muster up right now. Fish rising everywhere! And I mean E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E! Up and down the river confidant risers never stopped – there were 9 risers inbetween Todd and I. A riser under your boot. A riser behind your back. 2 under the tree. 4 under your rod top. And still no takes. None. Deliciously selective and a great kick-in-the-arse to fine tune my dry/emerger game.

Sometimes, no scratch that… ALL the times not catching fish usually teaches you more than catching fish and I felt that was the case this time around. Especially when it comes to very active feeders. So, phase #1 of recon mission #1 was a success… albeit not very much fun:) I must mention though that Todd caught 2 swinging a size 20 midge which was a huge accomplishment in my book. It wasn’t like we were left out on a limb though… no one was catching fish.

So, we high tailed it out of there a bit early before dark to setup camp. Drooling over the huge bows and browns sipping away in “hatchery lane” on the way out. If all this cheesy talk of “recon” missions is making you scratch your head the impetus for these excursions is preparing for the 2009 Nationals for Fly Fishing Team USA which are based in State College. So, my attack plan is to quickly sample 1 stream per day on each of the first 3 excursions. Spring Creek was a delicious appetizer of which I must revisit, but now that course has passed and we began to set our scopes on a little Spanish lass: The Little Juniata.

Camping near Belfont with roaring fire and a star speckled night really capped off a great first day. And despite the lingering odor of a dead deer in the nearby woods the skillet of chicken curry coupled well with a few ice cold PBRs.

The next morning we broke camp found winding route 45 south and headed for the “J”. Some rivers are love and first sight and Juniata caught my eye right off the bat as we rounded the intersection of Spruce Creek. With overhanging trees, stone train trestles, covered wooden bridges, and long grassy slopes peppered with little white churches the surrounding scenery is breathtaking. But the real delight comes when you step into the river.

The little “J” meanders it’s way from cold spring upwellings splintering off into tasty little island side shoots, then collecting in oxygenated riffles to hit long midge laden glides, and then starts it all over again every 500 feet. My favorite spots were… well I can’t give too much away now can I? Some co-competitors might be lurking here:)

I’ve heard someone describe this river as “fun” and I agree – it’s just plain fun. We started pounding healthy wild looking fish after making a few gear refinements and never looked back. Once we found the correct water to target and the right pattern to deliver it was game,set,match. And the bugs never stopped popping! Sulphurs were coming off the entire time – the density would change from slow pop corn pops to full on popping, but never stopped. But the Sulphur hatch happened to be the smokescreen – it was less visible black caddis hatch that the trout were confidently targeting. We fished our butts off and ended the day catching 2 rising browns on TCO Sulphur Dries while sitting on a log having a smoke.

So, State College Recon Mission #1 was a HUGE success. Recon Mission #2 starts before day break this Saturday. On the schedule Penns and Big Fishing Creek… stay tuned!