I am very fortunate to have ended up in an assignment that has a trout stream right outside of my quarters. My back porch over looks Letort Spring Run as it cuts through Carlisle Barracks. It is not the marshy spring creek that flows on either side of the base. Here, it is a disciplined and regimented waterway, hemmed into a man-made channel of stone and mortar. No undercut banks, no tree roots, nor any other structure to provide fish with security. It runs for about a half mile further from my house before it exits the base and joins the other branch after flowing under Post Road. In the stretch below my home there is a bit of cover, in the form of some deeper pools formed at bends in the flume. These are the places I have seen a few small trout, though one source assures me that in the fall there are bigger fish in there. Personally, I’ve not seen a fish over six inches long in this stretch. I’ve seen big fish above and below the base but not here. Still it is lovely water and nice to know that I can look out my window at a famous trout stream.
I have attempted to fish it several times, to no avail. I’ve stalked it’s banks looking for fish but have only seen just a few small fish. I have fished nymphs, streamers, and terrestrials and been rewarded with one strike. That strike came from swinging a streamer on a moonlit night. With so many other options within 30 minutes, I gave up on the Letort. Until recently.
I was returning from research at the library and walked along the creek to go home. I don’t normally take this route, but just felt like doing it on this chilly February afternoon. It was a bit above freezing but the wind was not blowing so despite the overcast it was not miserable. It was nice to be outside and listening to the babbling of the crick. I wasn’t really looking but I heard a splash and saw a ring. Trout, I wondered? In reply another rose further down the same run. I then knelt and looked closely at the water. There was a mayfly dun. About size 18. Blue winged olive to be more specific. As I looked, two more trout rose. I knew I did not have any BWOs in my fly box. I hadn’t really been tying anything but nymphs on a as needed basis. Now I needed dry flies, and fast. I had a research paper that was due the next day, but it was practically done. I just had to insert some foot notes and proof read it. I could certainly tie a couple flies and see if I could fool a fish…yeah, that sounds like a good plan.
I went home and into my basement lair. My bench was neither organized nor prepared for tying, but I found some hair, dubbing, yarn, and hackle. I have been using Firehole Stiks for my trout flies and I really like them. I also like that they are from a Montana company that is family owned. I used a Firehole 413 competition hook in size 18 to tie on a tail of 4 white moose hairs, a body of fine synthetic olive dubbing, counter wrapped with a loop of thread, a wing of grey poly yarn, and a Whiting dun neck hackle. I prefer a parachute style fly most of the time and that is what I turned out. I also tied a soft-hackle, spinner, and cripple with that same materials while I had them out.
I really only fish about five dry flies: a dubbed body mayfly, Adams style, in grey, olive, tan, brown, purple, and rainbow; a elk hair caddis in tan, brown, rust, white, and black; a foam Krazy Jimmy Hopper; a Humpy in red, yellow, and green; and a black ant with a white wing. Sure there are times I fish other flies, but 90% of the trout I catch are on one of these five flies. Now add in the colors and sizes and I still carry a lot of flies, but I believe presentation is more important than a perfect match. Flies are impressionistic. If fish were that picky, why do they ignore the hook that bends out of the flies body? I think color and basic shape are all you need, just present it well.
I put my freshly tied flies in a box, collected my lanyard and TFO Finesse 7’9″ 3wt with a BVK I reel, and headed out the door. It is not even a five minute walk from my quarters to the stretch where the trout were rising. I got there and they were still feeding. Some of the takes were subtle but most were sloppy and loud, indicating the fish were taking duns. I tied on a new leader, tied up by my buddy Chris Fave. Chris makes the best hand-tied leaders you can buy and he’d made me some spring creek specials that I was excited to try. My hands were shaking a bit as I tied on the fly. I picked the BWO parachute based on the aggressive feeding.
I decided to make a down stream drift, as the narrow channel would force me to keep part of my leader on the bank and reduce the distance I could drift a fly drag free. The water was crystal clear and I knew the fish were spooky, so I stayed well up stream and limbered up a cast. I laid it out, pulling up short to cause the line to puddle and give me the drift I wanted. It worked, but the fish missed the fly. I presented the same cast and this time the hook found purchase. It was a wild brown trout of maybe 5 inches. Not a trophy in size for some, but certainly in all respects a prize for me. I’d been looking at this creek for months and and fished it without success a dozen times. Now, on a dreary winter afternoon, I held my quarry. The barbless hook slipped out with ease and the fish darted off for cover. I no longer felt the chill in the air – that little fish had warmed me right up.
I continued to work my way down stream, casting and letting my fly drift over likely spots. Another small trout smashed my fly just as it started to drag at the end of a drift. He made a couple of jumps and spit the hook. Soon after that another sipped my offering and darted into the watercress. I worked him out and brought him to hand before giving him back to the water. One more small fish grabbed my fly and made two leaps before tossing the hook. Man this is fun, I thought!
I spotted a sloppy take in the corner of a deep hole. It required a long cast that would have to quarter across the current. The current had a number of seems so I used an “S” cast to place multiple mends in hopes of a good drift. The fly settled into the surface and swirled around in a small eddy. Just as it exited the swirl it disappeared with a splash. I set the hook and felt a fish a bit heavier than the other fish I’d hooked. It surged up against the pressure of my line and gave me a great acrobatic display in a shower of spray. Another leap showcased golden hues with black spots. Soon the gorgeous wild brown was in my hand. Not a huge fish but 11 inches is twice the size of the others I caught. More over it was the culmination of all that is fly fishing.
I’d seen activity, identified a food source, tied a representative imitation, presented it, and landed a fish. It was a most satisfying moment. All my skills developed over more than four decades allowed me to fool a creature with a brain the size of a pea. Still, I felt accomplished.
A Fly Rod in My Sea Bag 