What happens in the span of some months is inconsequential, some months much more happens. As you get older you feel more for the months and time that gets written off. You also recognize the time that becomes priceless and you know immediately that they are burnt indelibly into your mind’s deep recesses, never to be forgotten. The six weeks from the start of June to mid July has been that for me. The next several posts will be about these awesome six weeks. The lapse in posts has been inexcusable other than the fact, do you really want to read about my grass cutting, and KG’s battles on the parks and rec front? Not really, KG is awesome, but he is not Ron Swanson…
This year, the BCI team split up our Spring trip. KG and I made our way across Pennsylvania in an expedition to reconnect with waters of the Key Stone state and explore new places and ultimately the Upper Delaware system in PA and New York, chasing the evening Green Drake and Sulphur hatches. Ryan and Greg made sure our home waters remained up to our expectations and, well, Adam couldn’t get time off from the Man and had to make sure that the people of the sunshine state properly exercised their 2nd Amendement Right.
On our trip across the good commonwealth we hitched up La Pequena Hacienda de la Poderosa to KG’s new to him Tundra and lit out on a bright Sunday morning with the Little J as our first stop. The first beat below a bridge we caught several fish quickly and the trip started off rightly.
We then went exploring with intentions of fishing Spruce Creek in the George Harvey waters until we ran into a few younger guys and talked to them a bit. We asked them where to fish and camp the night, they recommended further down the Little J where they hit the Green Drake hatch the night before. These guys were the first indication of the river magic we’d run into the whole trip. They recommend exactly where to set up camp and fish until we got tired of setting hooks on the sound of splashes and also where we could grab some food and supplies before we tracked up to the canyon.
With a cooler fresh with ice, hot dogs and Hartley potato chips we got to the parking lot and geared up to fish a hatch we had all but considered unicorns. In our experience we had heard of the Eastern Green Drake, gawked at the enormous dry fly patterns in fly shops but never believed we’d luck into witnessing, let alone fishing successfully that hatch.
We putzed around for the next hour and a half, throwing at a few rising fish to no success. Until, that is, the first unicorn appeared several feet off of the surface of the water. KG got himself to the opposite bank and within a few minutes the water began to boil and the air thick with these ancient and enormous may flies dancing and circling above our heads. Brown trout were chasing these things three feet out of the water. It was on.
For the next three hours, until we could no longer tie on flies that were ravenously ripped off of our tippet, we fished hard. We experienced a new and rare treat on this river the first time we’ve fished it. This same river the next morning when we tried to fish seemed devoid of all forms of life, let alone the dozens of trout that we brought to our hands and released.
Next time: Spring Creek