The Magic That Flowing Water Weaves

I'm back at Clear Creek the day after my first trip. That first day was hot and muggy and I melted in the utter calm under the enveloping trees. Today is cooler and rainy. Yesterday I wore waders; today I'm going in wet. As Sebastian likes to say, "Much better!"

The same fisherman is here again, just like me. He's comfortably ahead of me, though, so I have much of the stream to myself. This long pool where the trail opens out is interesting. I fish where the riffles of the main flow tail out, and make a few random casts in what I judge to be the deep channel. Later, as the other fisherman and I are passing each other as he's leaving, he tells me he once caught two smallmouth in this pool, one 17 inches, the other 18. But that was once, and he hasn't hit anything in there for awhile.

I learned yesterday from watching the other guy that I had come around on the wrong side of the stream. (Which I did trying to avoid him.) You want to get on the inside of the bend so as to have easy access to the deeper runs on the outside. So I cross the stream and look for a fishermen's trail. I think I found it. The nettles are taller than me in some spots, but it takes me where I want to go.

Around this fallen giant the stream narrows into fast water. I tie on a stimulator. I want to see if anything will take it on the float, and I want it to stay above the jumbled rocks on the swing.

I catch my smallmouth. Just like yesterday, but this time he stays hooked for the photo. Beautiful little thing.

From this side you can see the stony bulwark of Cedar Bluff frowning through the trees.

I switch to a different stimulator and catch a chunky rock bass on the swing. Then I find out that, yes, they'll take the fly on top--very aggressively.

In the same run I find this little pumpkinseed.

On down there's another tailout and deep pool. The other fisherman told me he usually finds some fish in there. I don't on my first pass.

I come to where I'll make my turn around. There are some nice deep flows on the outer side of the bend and along the leafy edge of a blowdown. I swing a dark nymph way down deep and catch a handful of rock bass.

I turn back upstream and fish the pool again as I go. Just at the tailout I catch a couple bigger versions of rock bass. They can, as they say, put a bend in the rod.

I pass two geodes on a streamside rock. How did they get there?

I have been looking for geodes all evening, and find a good one. It's a tube open on both ends, and all the way through the center. I think I'll make an effort to clean and shine this one up.

I get down the fishermen's trail without too many nettle stings and begin to cross the stream.

I look upstream and wonder what's up there. Such is the magic flowing waters weave.

I get on across, but stay a little to fish that tailout again.

Then I head down the trail feeling good.

Keep Looking Down

I heard about a new stream and had a chance to locate it and do a little exploring. Clear Creek flows under the high bluff the Cedar Bluff Nature Preserve is named for. It's nice and overgrown and feels remote even though it's only a few miles out of town. There was another fisherman there, so I had to work around him, but I was able to fish some fine riffles and slicks and a deep run or two.

Word of mouth says there are smallies in here. I caught one--all of two inches long--but it got off the hook before I could get a photo. Also hooked a little rock bass--same story. The catch of the day was a beautiful southern Indiana geode. Make sure you look down once in awhile; you never know what might be lying right at your feet.

I didn't have as much time as I would have liked, but this place has a parking spot with my name on it now. I'll be heading back as soon as I can.

What a Fly Pole Is Good For

I tie up a couple of quick and dirty deer hair poppers for a trip to Yellowwood. Maybe I'm feeling guilty about the rubber worms.

There's a family fishing across from the boat ramp. The grandpa sees the float tube and tells his grandsons to "hey, look at that!" He tells me he remembers when they were "just inner tubes with a belt." He admires my modern version, and explains to the kids how it works.

Then he tells them to look at my "fly pole." "Do you know what a fly pole is really good for?" he asks me. "Frogs!" I say I've gigged frogs before but never used my fly rod. "Nah!" he answers. "You get more tin cans than frogs by gigging. The light on a tin can looks just like a frogs eyes. Nah, just reach out that fly pole with a little bit of yarn on the end and they'll hit it with those long tongues every time."

I kick out wondering if there's any yarn at home that I can tuck in my vest. I haven't had frog legs in a long time, but when I did, fresh caught and twitching in the pan until fried to a turn, they were delicious.

I have those deer hair poppers, but a plastic worm is still on my line, so I succumb to temptation once again. And once again, crime pays.

I kick across and find some bass on the west side, too.

Dark comes too soon. I decide to stop off at the spillway on the kick back to the ramp. Now I tie on one of those deer hair poppers. The fish like it. I get lots of hits by bluegill, and one manages to fit it in his mouth.

Then a bass whacks it. And balance is restored in the fly fishing universe.

I pack up and begin the drive out and see that the moon has come up.

Once again she is my beautiful companion all the way home.