It seems it’s traditional for new members to introduce themselves. Somehow I didn’t pick up on that when I joined last month. I’ll remedy that situation now by sharing my auspicious and somewhat odd introduction to fly fishing.
It all started when my father and his hunting group built a cabin on the banks of Kettle Creek near the town of Cross Fork, PA. At that time Two Guys department store was going out of business and my father just purchased a bunch of discounted fishing equipment. He was primarily a hunter with very little knowledge of fishing or fishing equipment. As a result he purchased a mixed bag of gear including various lures, lines, gadgets, one spinning outfit and three fly fishing outfits. So armed with little knowledge and mismatched equipment we made our first family trip to the cabin. This trip occurred almost 35 years ago and included my father, 9 year old brother and me at age 11.
Now, I grew up in Upper Darby, PA which is just outside of Philadelphia and basically void of outdoor nature activities (unless you count keggers in the park). So this trip to “God’s Country” was a real eye opener for me. I don?t know how many trout we caught but I remember immediately being hooked. I remember the hole we fished in and how we “rigged” our rods. You see we had no idea what fly fishing was or how to setup our equipment. My father rigged the fly rods by attaching leaders to the fly line, tying on a #8 bait hook and adding some split shot. On the hook we placed a nice juicy night crawler. I’m not sure what the gods of fishing would say about the setup but we caught fish and had fun. While there have been many fishing trips since that day there can only be one first and I will remember it forever.
I fished that same rig for about a year before I figured out to use the spinning outfit my father had purchased. It wasn’t until a subsequent trip upstate that a neighbor showed me the proper use of my fly rod. I’d like to say I’ve been fly fishing ever since but that’s another story for another day.
Also, as with all fish stories, exact facts get tarnished with age but the feelings and fishing have been with me ever since that day.
Okay, now it’s your turn. Let’s hear some of your funny/interesting stories.
About 15 yrs ago, for X-MAS my brother gave me a fly fishing combo bought on the cheap from BASS PRO SHOP.
I’m pretty sure his intention was to mess up my life!
That ghost from Christmas past messed me all right, but in retrospect…it was the nicest thing he’s ever done for me.
I literally spent 1/2 of my childhood wading around in Naylor’s Run Creek looking for ANYTHING alive when I wasn’t hanging out at 69th Street!
Here’s two you might appreciate:
Let me preface both of these stories by saying my poor mother had no idea what I was up to…:oops:
One of our more memorable Little Rascal’s fishing/camping trips took place at the back end of Springton Reservoir, (highly illegal) that started by hailing a TAXI on West Chester Pike with 6 of us and ALL of our stuff in big green Hefty trash bags, the backpack of our day. Midway on our cab ride one of my buddies tried to talk the cabbie into giving us impoverished kids a break by shutting off the meter a 1/4 of the way there and he DID!!
Kids can do that…
We got a lot of laughs from the other fisherman when we all piled out of that cab and walked back into the woods with all of our makeshift “camping stuff”.
Once back in the woods safely out of the view of the local cops and the “ranger” who used to patrol the reservoir; we set up camp with plenty of canned adult refreshments saved up from various sources the previous weeks. We fished, horsed around and lit a gigantic fire. In between the fishing and other assorted nonsense; one of my buddies fell in Crum Creek and the next morning his jeans which were hung to dry this early spring evening froze SOLID! He had to light a fire to thaw out his pants just to get them on. It was pretty funny!
The expedition culminated in a torrential rainstorm on the final night which soaked us to the skin (no tents of course) so at 2:00 am we packed out as much as we could carry and walked the 4+ miles to Gordon’s Sporting Goods to use a pay phone (no cell phones in those days) to call my friends mom to pick us up! She was less than thrilled especially since she though he was at MY house!
Other adventures included a giant bonfire out at the quarry on Township Line Road one early March evening. We then decided to get an early jump on a planned fishing trip the next day by hitchhiking at 1:00 am to an old abandoned house in the woods with no windows or doors. Of course we had no sleeping bags just our fishing tackle, some Campbell’s Pork & Beans, my old coffee pot & coffee, and the ignorance of youth.
How we didn’t freeze to death that night I’ll never know but in the morning my toes in my steel toed boots were so dang cold I heated up a can of those Campbell’s beans and poured them right over my shoes to warm my tootsies! I sat there with the steam rising off of my shoes as the rest of “Our Gang” came walking down to join us in the morning and one of my friends yelled out, “hey your shoes are on fire!”
Sounds like we left footprints in some of the same places. I used to catch the earliest trolley in front of the post office and take it to the end of the line in Media. Then I’d cut through some private property to get to Ridley Creek State Park. I started that when I was 12 or 13. Sometimes the operator would let me ride for free. I think he got a kick out of seeing me getting on the trolley with waders and all my gear. That was definitley a different time. Can’t imagine I would have ever let my kids do this by themselves.
On the darker side…
One time in high school I came home much later than usual (around 6:30 am) and fishing saved me from a lengthy lecture.
My mother was just coming down to make breakfast and made the natural assumption that I was just getting up to go fishing like I had done many times before. Who am I to disagree with mom. So I picked up my gear, headed over to Springton Resevoir and promptly fell asleep in the parking lot.
Fishing can contribute to quality of life in so many ways.
But … one of the biggest surprises I’ve had fishing since I started five years ago.
Three summers ago, I was fishing Warm River, which is a tributary to the Henry’s Fork east and north of Ashton, Idaho. I access the Warm River at the old Fish Hatchery at Warm River Springs. The spring pours out of the side of the mountain at 300 cfs and a constant 50 degrees. Below the spring the Warm River is a beautiful spring creek with a nice variety of bows, browns and some brookies.
Above the spring, Warm River is a very small spring creek which runs back into an absolutely delightful Idaho backcountry setting. It is a place where you expect to catch brookies in the 5-7" range, and the big brookies might go 9" at best. The rainbows are a bit bigger - most in the 7-10" range with an occasional fish up to 12-13". Great dry fly fishing on a light rod.
It was a beautiful early summer day. Fishing an elk hair caddis on a light tippet on my 3 wt, which is almost too much rod for this creek. Anyway, I had cast across the creek close to the opposite bank, which was slightly undercut. At some point the fly sank. Whereas I’ll usually pick up a sunken dry fly and cast again, I could see the fly as it drifted downstream underwater. I decided to let it go. A dark form came out from the undercut, and I could see it chase and grab the fly. When it felt the hook, it ran about ten feet and then exploded out of the water. It ran and jumped again. I’m thinking I want to land and see this one. Which I did a couple minutes later.
A 17" brown trout.
First and only brown I’ve seen, or even heard about, in the Warm River above the springs. And by far the biggest fish I’ve caught in that section of the river. It had to negotiate two beaver dams to get there. But I bet it was in brown trout heaven with all those little brookies to munch on day in and day out.
The first fishing trip of my life stared out with a wait for the first West Chester bus out of the Terminal which got to us @ 06:00 am by Llanarch Diner. It was all aboard with rods, reels, tackle boxes and assorted junk for a ride out to Westtown Reservior. I caught my first fish on that first trip and have been “hooked” ever since.
Later on when I got into trout fishing I’d ride that bus with hip boots, vest and pole to the end of the line in West Chester and then hitchike the rest of the way to French Creek in Knaudertown. I still can’t believe people would pick me up with hippers on!! Every once in awhile when I’m back in UD I’ll see somebody waiting for or getting off the bus with fishing tackle. It brings a big smile to my face and brings back a lot of terrific memories!
I was born into a hunting family. I have hunted with my Dad every year for 55 years now. He was as good a shotgunner as you will ever find - and still out-shoots most today at 83.
Fishing is another story. Dad claims to have completely lost interest in fishing when as a kid, he caught a large snapping turtle instead of a walleye like his brother was catching. Fortunately, he appreciated the outdoors and felt he should introduce his kids to fishing.
When we were very young, he took us out and had us fishing with just a bobber on the line. (Guess we weren’t smart enough to ask about hooks and bait!). The fishing must have been fun because we wanted to go again, but the catching had to have been slow…
I remember the first fish we caught - in spite of my Dad’s best efforts. No longer able to be duped into fishing without a hook, we asked what we were going to use for bait. My Dad proudly produced a bag of mini marshmellows - all in different colors. I’m sure he figured they would be neat and easy to get on the hook - and he wouldn’t have to worry about us catching anything. Well, he was wrong. Three little kids kept him constantly unhooking fish for several hours…
I’ve fished ever since. But sadly, that was the last time with my Dad. He just never got the enjoyment from fishing he does from hunting.
I really like these stories. I can identify with parts of everyone’s story. There’s seems to be both humor and life lessons to be found in fishing.
JohnS - I can identify with the “perfect day” type outing. It’s not about quantity and numbers but more about the quality of the day. Those days are
Bamboozle - I addition to being a fellow UD alumni, anyone who heats their feet with beans can be all bad! Of course, they can’t be all that good either:cool:
MNF - If my father would of thought of the “no hook” method he would have saved himself a lot of wading in the water to unhook our snags. My father also gave up on fishing after just a handful of outings but just like you I was “hooked” after the first one.
Ok, enough of the reflective stuff. I’m going to start a new thread of embarrassing moments. I call it Fishing Fools.
