Mark's best brown.
I really felt curious about the two Delaware River branches and main stem at Hancock for the fly fishing, but not only did I know little about that, I learned more about it yesterday than I had on my previous two Branch ventures.
To begin with, I had gone online and scoped out what hatches to expect. From the readily available information, I bought a dozen tan Elk Hair Caddis dry flies, already having at least one Isonychia, a Light Cahill, and a Blue Winged Olive, though the BWO is size 24, not 22. It wouldn't be a bad idea to carry a few of each of them, and I'll probably splurge so I'm better prepared in the future.
And yet, despite "being ready" for the river (I'll explain at the end) with the fly rod, I really began to feel the coming outing from the gut instead of the head. I just hoped the substance of my desires would prove out, and they did, because Mark caught fish, when a skunker under the general rubric of the outing as a whole would have really rankled. I bought three dozen nightcrawlers and intended to use them on my favorite St. Croix spinning rod, even if that would mean smallmouth bass, which I love to catch. Mark had armed himself the same, though he spoke of nothing but trout, and I felt impressed with the degree of focus he exercised out there.
In the pale predawn light--we had met in Flanders at 3:50 to drive up there--we passed over a bridge. It already felt like we had done something right by getting there so early after a two-and-a-half-hour ride, and events would indeed soon put the balance in our favor. From that bridge, the West Branch looked high and off-color to me. We found it had about two-and-a-half feet of clarity and generally appeared light brown. Not only that, but the choppy surface where we had elected to start fishing made me think slow-rolling--in this case rolling it a little fast--or putting a nightcrawler out there in any way conceivable for a big brown wasn't a bad idea. It would prove to be a pretty good idea for Mark, even though no two-footer got caught. There were no insects in the air. No trout rising, but from what I had read, one shouldn't expect a hatch until the afternoon. (As I'll tell, I should have been prepared.)
As Mark had driven north in the dark, I had the unsettling experience of realizing I didn't remember putting my waders into the SUV. I had also realized I had no memory of even putting them in my car, though I was certain I had put them downstairs at home in position to put them in the car. When we got there, I just told Mark it was OK. I'd wet wade.
I wouldn't wet wade that early with temps in the mid-50's, though. I got ankle deep, but no more. Mark headed upstream where he got in position to explore the seam between faster main current and slower water nearer to the bank with his float. As the day would prove, he fished the sweet spot at the right time, using a centerpin outfit and live nightcrawlers under a 7 gram Raven float, catching two rainbows and a brown. Then he went downstream to an area I had already fished. There he caught another rainbow, and he told me it came from the main current. I had already drifted nightcrawlers through that current more than thoroughly. It's possible he had let his float drift further downstream.
A few other spots awaited us. I fly cast an olive Wooly Bugger into the East Branch, wet-wading in earnest now, where the water was clear and not moving so treacherously fast. We spoke to a couple of guys rigging up their fly rods, who told us extra water had been let out of Cannonsville Reservoir due to the drought, and that the West Branch flowed even higher and more off color the day before.
Wow, I thought. If things were different by a day, we might have been screwed.
Neither Mark nor myself got a hit in the East Branch; the main stem would interest us more.
Right in front of us the clear water--not quite as clear as the East Branch but clear--dropped off into depths of six feet or more, and the water moved slowly. I cast a Bomber Long A in a smaller size while wet-wading. I cast it shallow and deeper, and I didn't get a hit. I put nightcrawlers out there in that deeper water for what seemed a long time and didn't get hit, which astonished me. My guess is that the smallmouth bass population is very limited. Even walleye will take nightcrawlers, and I've seen pictures from Lordville. In that slow water, Mark's drifts by float amounted to yards rather than football fields. He had no use for the centerpin, using a long baitcasting rod and relatively light line.
We watched a couple of drift boats operate by rowing back upstream and drifting down near to the opposite bank while keeping an indicator float in the water alongside and ahead of the boat. I suppose they suspended nymphs underneath. One of the lessons learned yesterday is that fly fishing can amount to drifting rather than casting on the river. We observed that there are definitely some trout out there. We saw two hooked. A nice rainbow got netted. Mark had said the other side looks better before the action ensued.
We were just about ready to leave, when Mark said, "It's big!" I saw his rod bent double, but the fish turned out to be a sucker of about 20 inches. "I thought it was a big brown, but I wasn't sure, because of the way the fight felt."
"Kind of like a walleye," I said.
"Yeah!"
One can only wish, but I wouldn't have minded catching a sucker.
We began fishing yet another West Branch spot where I cast the Bomber, catching nothing, though I noticed three guys and a guide in a driftboat coming to the ramp. They had jerkbaits tied on their spinning rods.
"How many did you catch?" I asked
"Twenty-five or thirty," the guide said, "but we've been fishing since 5:45."
Another incident of learning; it left me perplexed as to why nothing hit mine. I should have tried another variety. I can just see my Rapala Sinking Minnow being more effective. I tried a nightcrawler, and at least when Mark came back from upstream--reporting his best brown of the day--I did, finally, have some action to report. At least I'm sure it was a fish that took line, and when I tightened up and set that hook, I felt nothing, reeling in nothing but the head of the crawler, the tail bitten off. If only I had let the fish take line longer.
Hours had passed when we arrived back at the West Branch spot, planning on leaving it at 4:15. Mark got into position again, where, as events proved, he had left the sweeet spot suspended in time behind us. I noticed a trout rising persistently, and though I saw nothing but what looked like almost infinitesimal midges hatching for only a few minutes--a confusing situation--I believed sometimes a hatch just isn't evident. The trout splash rose, so I felt convinced it took something off the surface. A few other trout did, too. Mark upstream and difficultly accessible. I passed on getting the key fob so I could get my fly rod from the back of the SUV.
But clearly--in the afternoon, have a fly rod at the ready. Lesson learned.
Brown from early in the morning.
Me wading the main stem Delaware.
One of three rainbows Mark caught.
Notice the centerpin reel, too.
Pretty Fish
Mark thought he had hooked a big brown.
West Branch Delaware at Hancock
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