Saturday dawned on our intrepid fouro with fog. It had been a bit
warmer overnight than Friday. Geese are gathering in small v's, marking
the onset of Fall and great migrations. The forests are starting to
turn, with yellows, golds and bronze outlining the trees, a muted sketch
of the coming Autumn masterpiece. The air has that distinct hint of
cinnamon and clove, rewarding you with the apple pie smells of the
October woods. Leaves litter the ground in the start of the race
towards Winter's slumber. The world holds its breath, knowing the next
will be tinged with the first frost.
Jonas at the Feathered Hook mentioned that the hatchery at Brenner, near
State College, had been flooded out by Ivan. We decide to take a look.
Oops, full combat fishing as cars line the road. We move to Spring
Creek. There, again we see signs of Ivan's wrath. The little walk
bridge at Spring has 6 feet of logs piled up in front. 30 feet of the
stone wall near the parking area has been washed away. Twohundred pound
cap stones litter the area like dropped wooden blocks. We talk to one
gent that had fished Brenner on Friday. He caught tons of fish,
including a brown, rainbow, brookie, cutthroat, palamino and a tiger.
PA hatchery grand slam.
The stream has been swept of silt, bends straightened, tall grasses on
the bank are laid flat, looking like a green and bronze striped kitchen
floor.
Today, there are no bugs. There are however, fish. We all catch many
fish, but most are small and parr marked. Tom and I watch as a 20 inch
palamino trout leaps clear of the water. Just messing with our minds.
The fly of the day is a two fly train of size 14 tan soft hackles. I
land a 12 to 13 inch fish, then later, his older brother nails the
dropper. He fights me for all its worth, roaming in and out of the
riffle, straining the limits of the 5X tippet on the 7'6" two weight. I
whoop and hollar and chase him up and down the pool then back into the
current. I need a net, but get no response from the crew fishing 150
yards upstream. I finally bring him to hand, a bruiser of about 16 to
17 inches. We both rest for a minute and catch our breaths. He flips
his tail, getting the last shot in as he sprays my face.
At about 4, thunder rumbles, telling us that its time to leave. We head
back to the trailer for burgers and home fries.
On Sunday, there's more of a chill edge in the air. We pack the cars
for leaving and head to the Axelrod Run. We might as well fish Penns at
least once during the weekend.
Tom lands a 13" brown on his first cast. Hmm, might be fun. He
procedes to pull a big boy from under the hemlocks, 18 to 19 inches.
The water is still up, so the fish are holding in the calm water near
the bank.
I pull in a couple of nice fish, 13 to 14 inches, but its time to head
back to uncivilization. We say our goodbys and fly to the four winds.
This will probably be my last trip of the year, as family issues will
keep me closer to home. Mike, Tom and Bruce, as always, are wonderful
hosts. Thanks guys for sharing your hospitality. See you in the Spring.
--
Frank Reid
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