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.

Articles of Faith: They're In There

Went to Brookville, the popular tailwater and only place to find trout in this part of Indiana. The water level was where it should be this time.

The air temperature was pushing 60 but the water temp was at a chilly 39 degrees.

The break in our recent sub-zero temps brought out the fishermen, especially on this last and warmest day before another plunge in temperatures and a predicted winter storm.

I got in line and swung some streamers through likely water, albeit water that had already been pounded. Later I drifted nymphs. Through it all I saw no evidence of piscine life. No one around me was catching anything either, even the manic guy that kept wading back upstream and cutting me off.

I knew I was rushing it, that I needed to obey the winter-time tenet of "low and slow," but I couldn't master my impatience.

I had talked with two people before walking down to the river. A nice woman told me this stretch was the one where fish were recently caught. Then a gentleman said it was a slow morning. He had managed to roll one fish, but he thought it looked really apathetic about the whole streamer thing. He thought things were best here when water temps were around 50 degrees. Something to look forward to.

But then he said you never know, and showed me some pics on his cell phone of a fish his friend had just caught right here in this spot: a 21 inch gnarly Brown. Of course. (And he couldn't resist scrolling through some of the fish he had caught in his trips here. Big fish.)

So they're in there. Better luck next time.

I stayed until late afternoon and was the last one to get back to the parking lot. I could have taken off my jacket and been comfortable--except for the rain--but my feet were blocks of ice.

As I was getting packed up another car rolled in and a young guy quickly geared up. He asked if I did any good, and I said no. But did that stop him? Nope. I think I heard him whistling as he hurried toward the river.

Not So Super Super Bowl Sunday

We had another break in the weather, and this time I was able to arrange a quick fishing trip. It was Super Bowl Sunday. I figured everyone else would stay home for the game.

I headed for the tailwater of the Brookville Dam, the only location in this part of the state that's stocked with trout. It's a hundred miles from home one way, but that's how far I drove to Rocky Ford Creek in Washington. As then, it seemed a reasonable distance to drive for a chance at winter trout.

There were lots of cars in the parking area as I geared up and started down the path to the water. I would see maybe ten other fishermen over the course of the afternoon. My guess is they were Colts fans.

The water looked good from the ridge.

Ponds I had passed on the drive were covered with a skin of ice, and here, too, the backwaters still showed evidence of our recent cold spell.

The water temperature, according to my research from the night before, was just under 40 degrees. The air temperature on this day beat that, hitting a high of 50. I waded in and began fishing the slick ahead of the riffle. Then I fished the riffle down to the next slick.

Looking back, I could see the dam and the concrete spillway and the rip rapped channel. Seems that many like to fish right up in that, but I was happy to be fishing my way downstream in a river that looked like a river.

Are there more fish up there in the industrial end? I didn't see any evidence of that; and even if there were, I would still fish downriver.

This tailwater is stocked with Browns as well as Rainbows. There are said to be holdovers, and I imagine that's what all of us were looking for. I was throwing big streamers, and there were plenty of spots that could have held a winter-hungry trout. I was also more than willing to feed a hungry smallmouth that might have slipped up into the trout zone.

It was good to stretch out my casting muscles, stiff from inactivity. My ankles also got a nice workout from the cobble bottom.

Other than that, the wading was easy, and I was able to find pathways through the current that never went over my knees. That's good, because the leak in the waders is in the crotch and never came into play.

Two fishermen were ahead of me and stayed in one spot for a long time. When they left I waded up and found the lovely little run they had been working.

I worked it over thoroughly, head to tail. It was well-oxygenated, deep along the bank, and widened out into a deep pool. I was forced to conclude that this would be the place to find fish--if there were any fish in this river. Maybe there was a big holdover Brown lurking somewhere, but if he wasn't in here I don't where he could have been.

I did get one thing out of this run: a big streamer hung up in a tree. It wasn't that hard to reach. I guess the guy that lost it had plenty more where that came from.

I worked my way back upstream drifting a nymph deep under an indicator through the whole run. It was good practice.

The sun went down behind the town just over there behind the trees. I had seen a couple of mayflies glowing in the afternoon sun earlier, and a caddis fly had fluttered by a little while ago. I stayed awhile to see if anything might pop, or half pop, with the sun off the water, but it wasn't a popping kind of day.

I finally waded out under the bridge, walked past the fire ring--there was one on the other side, too--and climbed up to the car.

The sunset on the drive home was Falcon red, but quickly faded into Patriot blue--and then blackness.

What Was I Doing One Year Ago?

With my local lake shut down from the last Saturday of October to the last Saturday of April, I was making a two hour drive south to fish Rocky Ford Creek, a spring creek open year round. I would make a couple of trips a month from November to March. It was a sure cure for the winter blues and cabin fever.

The day represented by these photos was a very good day, but I seldom went fishless. I would wend my way through the cattails to my favorite spot on the bank (no wading allowed) and spend hours casting a variety of flies to rising, waking trout. Some of those trout are of the husky variety, and I know my heart is relatively healthy because I survived slamming takes and heartbreaking losses of a few of those salmonid slabs.

On this trip I caught fish on nymphs--scuds were particularly effective, and that big red midge would give me more than one good day--but I also hooked some nice fish on a little mayfly dry. These fish were looking for something to bite down on, and muddlers and stimulators fished dry were also go to flies. There's nothing like big trout on a dry in the dead of winter.

Much could be said about those trips to Rocky Ford, and I may succumb to more reminiscing in the future. I miss them, particularly because I don't have a similar outlet here yet. But a whole season of exploring local waters is just ahead, and I will be looking for places that might fish well in January when the temp rises to 64 like it did today.

So I have to wonder. What will I be doing one year from now?