I was running late as usual, perhaps driving a little too fast for the York county roads when Henry called, “Hey where are ya im trying to find the pull off,” he said, I responded “I just left a little bit ago, sorry, but the pull off is that grassy looking one just past the bridge near the sawmill, ill be there in fifteen.”
This was Henry and mines first time fishing together, and it was his first time on this particular creek as well, so I felt a little guilty for not being at the river before him. We were planning to fish the trophy trout section, which is a very productive part of the stream. I figured that a Tuesday would be a good time to avoid crowds. turns out that even on a Tuesday afternoon where everyone else goes evidently. When we arrived at the river, there was one other person. The fish were behaving as trout should, eating almost anything that was presented well, while ignoring enough to keep things interesting. With almost no active insect life to speak of, we fished some caddis adults. I, my trusty Elk Hair, he, his ol’ Ramsay Caddis. We had mixed results off the bat, as we fished down the first run, Henry and I talked while he fished. I told him I had taken three fish through that run already, all he said back was “I think the fish like when I sing Johnny Cash”. We proceeded to not catch anything else until I switched to a chartreuse Matuka streamer. Henry dropped a midge pupae off the back of his caddis and took one small brown.
Within three hours four more fisherman showed up, closing in around us. Despising other people fishing close to me, I suggested we move down stream into the Preserve. The move down to a new spot proved well worth it, finally we were away from other fisherman, and had the trout to ourselves.
Back to the Matuka I was throwing. Yes, it was chartreuse, I do not know why the fish love chartreuse, maybe the color changes as the fly sinks, or they just like bright colors. There has been much hub-bub recently in regards to UV/florescent colors and what fish see. I believe the color of the fly changes as it sinks through the water column, but I cannot comment on what fish actually see, for I am only human.
Unfortunately the sun sank behind the trees, the air became chilly as the breeze picked up and we had to part ways. Fortunately my drive was a quick twenty minutes across York county, back to some dinner and the fly tying desk.
By Rob Lepczyk
Reposted from Rob’s writing corner on the Great Feathers’ fly shop website. Check out www.greatfeathers.com for all of your tying supplies needs!