ALT Fly Fishing, March/April 2019

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Flashback: September 20, 2018

A look back at a trip in 2018 that was never posted. A new round of late wildflowers surrounded the trail to Clear Creek, buckeyes had dropped, a single smallie was haunting the water around the old railroad abutment, and the recent high water left its mark downstream. The smallie was nice, but a pocketful of buckeyes to take home is always satisfying.

Looking Forward to Winter

The temp was spiking in the upper fifties. Pretty good for December. So I decided to go to Sugar Creek, but when I checked stream flows online I discovered it was running very high and fast. My next best option was closer to home: Clear Creek.

Clear Creek was also high and fast but I knew I could access a good stretch without having to wade deep.

I hiked upstream to the old railroad abutments. The water was almost all the way to the treeline but it was only ankle deep.

I've had good fortune on this stretch, catching two of my best smallmouths here on successive casts. I was eager to get a fly into that deep flow.

I was able to get the fly close to the far bank, but the high water limited the room necessary for a real long cast. But then I got a bump just where the swing straightened out and the river narrowed. No hookup.

I fished on down past the many leaf stacks left by the high water.

At the farthest place downstream that I could make a good cast I turned around and went back upstream. I changed flies from a dark streamer to a white streamer and started downstream again.

At the spot where I had gotten some bumps I slowed down and did my best to cover the water well. I made several swings. Finally, on a slow strip, I felt a take. It was a fat little smallie, a bright spot in the drab day.

I especially enjoyed its eye, glowing like an ember.

I made more casts there, wondering if he was schooled up. If he was, he was the only fish willing to hit a fly. I fished on downstream, turned and made one more pass with a third fly, but the catching was over.

Everything went so well on this trip that I made an early resolution: to get to Clear Creek at least once a week all through the winter. I'm looking forward to it.

Desert Bass Fly Fishing

I love trout, but let's give some time to smallies doing what they do best.

Consolation Moon

Beautiful Sugar Creek. I can't resist the iconic covered bridge photo; I believe it's good for a person to step through the time portal and go back to a simpler time for just a little while.

I fish under the bridge and down at the tailout and find small fish in these familiar places. Then, with daylight left, I head for the setting sun and explore some new water. There's a deep run up against the near bank that gives up some bumps and a grab. I'll explore that more thoroughly next time from midstream.

I go back to the tailout in hopes that a heavier fish might be there now. My hopes are left hanging. The rising moon is a consolation as I roll up out of the breaks and onto the flatlands for my drive home.

Eagerly Searching

October went out with a cold snap. November rolled in with a welcome warm up. I took it as a sign that it was time to get back to Clear Creek.

The woods have opened up. Seems like you can see forever.

I thought maybe all the hedge apples were down along the treeline, but I heard a few heavy thumps as I fished.

After a few days of rain the creek was running high. I wasn't sure whether low water or high water was best for fishing. Since it was high, though, I decided high water was the ideal condition. I was certainly game to find out.

I made two passes along the upstream stretch. The first time I let that chubby ride high on the swollen current. The second time I went down with a flashy bugger. That brought a pretty little smallmouth to hand.

I went back downstream and crossed ahead of the rapids. It took some care to avoid a tumble--I couldn't see the bottom there--but I only did one "fisherman's dance" on one of my worst slips, and I was able to regain balance before I went down.

I struck off along the fisherman's path. I was making good time without the heavy undergrowth of summer when something caught my eye. I barely avoiding stepping on it: an improbable November bloom. That was a lovely surprise after several nights of frost. I looked around for more, but this was, I'm sure, the last wild bloom of the season for me.

The deep run along the far bank called to me.

I waded over and explored the long curve of bank, casting into the murk and stripping the fly back out again. The ridge loomed over me, its bare bones visible through the sparse leaves.

At the long riffle and run the current was flowing fast and heavy. The usual lies were hidden; the whole stream seemed to be one big lie. I began the enjoyable task of trying to cover every inch of the broad flow with the darting fly.

I didn't find any fish. I decided to take another pass, so waded against the flow back to the beginning.

Nothing that time, either--except the pleasure of watching the fly dance in the roiling current. I waded against the current again with a mind to go back to that upstream stretch before dark.

I crossed again--it took awhile--and came to the "stairway" up to the path. I won't say how many times this season I've missed a step or had my boots slip out from under me here. This time I climbed it without incident.

Up by the old abutments again I drifted a little muddler along the far bank, and stripped it back as enticingly as I could. The fish, however, were finished or gone, which meant that I was finished, and should be gone, as well.

I was close to the road, so I climbed up out of the river bottom, cut across an opening in the woods, and made my way up the steep bank to the road.

Now I'm eager to get back after the water has gone down, to eagerly search for some late season smallmouth. I'm sure low water conditions will be just the thing to have the smallmouth up and eagerly searching for my fly.