The End of an Era.

This past December, the Little Lehigh Fly Shop officially closed bringing an end to seventeen years of bestowing knowledge, gear, and skill to local fly fishermen. According to the local paper, The Morning Call, Rod Rohrbach, the owner, blames the economy and the lack of youth in the sport for his shop's ultimate demise. Two problems that are impacting more than just fly shops. They are impacting the entire industry. As I returned home this past weekend, I paid my respects to the boarded up stone building the shop called home.

I began fishing the Little Lehigh, soon after I received my first fly rod on my thirteenth birthday. The water was my proving ground during my teenage years as I honed my craft through trial and error on the many selective wild brown that call the stream home. It helped to have numerous hatchery escapees to pound on all day long in between the wild browns. It was here I learned how to fight larger fish on small tippet and to sight fish with long fine leaders with minuscule offerings in the high twenties.

Every time I went to the Little Lehigh, I knew it would be crowded. Fly fishers from all over visited the stream and took in the wonderful hatches, fish, and wisdom around the shop. And of course, there were the regulars. It seemed no matter what day I went to the stream, I saw the same old men fishing or hanging around the shop enjoying themselves. It was quite the scene.

With that scene in mind, I walked down to the stream, and found it lacking its familiar feeling. There was no one around. For the first time, I had the entire stream to myself. My only company was the resident great blue heron population. We took turns whacking the trout. It went on this way for quite some time before another angler appeared. I recognized him from a distance. He was a regular identified by his style of fishing. If you frequent the Little Lehigh you have surely seen this grizzled veteran fishing a streamer down and across violently jerking his fly line on the water. More often than not, his style works. The appearance of another fishermen, and a regular at that, provided me with some hope for the stream.

Even then, I worry that it might fall upon the wayside. Word on the street is, that since the fly shop closed, all the no wading signs were removed and fishermen could be seen wading in the holy water once reserved for trout only. Rumor also has it, that the fly fishing only section will be stocked for the first time ever this coming year. I can think of no better recipe to wreck havoc on the already diminished brown trout population, by allowing people to wade over reds and introducing large stockers to out compete the browns for the remaining turf. When you combine this with the massive amount of sediment and runoff introduced into the headwaters due to development, I really worry for the stream I once called home. Hopefully, the regulars can rally to restore some honor to the stream and protect it for all its worth. Rod wouldn't have it any other way. 

A Slippery Slope.

A simple request to go fishing brought me home late Friday night. I arrived around midnight and got some gear ready. Early the next morning, I found myself on the road again with a long drive ahead to our intended destination. This particular piece of water is not fished very often but we usually find ourselves on it around this time each year. After a long drive, we discovered that the water was partially frozen over and the rest of it had slush and small icebergs floating down it. It was impossible for us to get a good drift in and after a brief while, we left. 

Slush on Top & on the Bottom. 

Why You Shouldn't Wade Near the Edges of Anchor Ice.

Paying Homage to Our Polish & Hungarian Roots.

On our journey home, we made several stops looking for the fish. We settled on an old winter favorite, a small stream home to wild browns. The only problem was the hike in. Pennsylvania's snow had yet to melt and after the last ice storm, the snow pack was hard as a rock. It was like walking on an ice rink and we fell numerous times. Stud-less boots are not the best piece of gear to be using while traversing slippery terrain. We took it one step at a time but couldn't prevent ourselves from crashing down. It was like pulling the rug out from underneath you. One second your stable and the next your laying on your side with a fresh bruise & hoping your fly rod is still intact. 

Open Water & Snow Showers.

The Worm Dunker Cup Holder.

First of 2011.

Letting Her Fly.

As the solitude and silence of the woods was interrupted by our clumsiness, we finally found some willing fish. However, we still had to work for them. The water was very low and perfectly clear. Combining this with limited room for presentation created a lot of lost opportunities because the fish knew we were coming. After spooking a hole, we often turned our attention to the aquatic life found in the stream, which is top notch. Turning and flipping rocks revealed caddis, stoneflies, a plethora of midges, and a variety of mayflies. 

Third Piece of Water.

Small Wild Browns.

A Frozen Snow Pack = Fresh Bruises.

Skinny Water.

Low & Gin Clear.

Mayfly Clinger.

Midges.

Reflecting Stones.

Prolific Insect Life.

As we got deeper and deeper into the woods, the sun began to set behind the trees and we found a nice pocket of fish. We took turns landing browns 8-10 inches in length as the temperature dropped. For one little brown, I meandered out onto a shelf of anchor ice. As I bent over to land the fish, the ice gave way. I figured it was only a few inches deep but it turned out being closer to 2 ft. My whole right side got soaked but I didn't lose the fish. We fished on for another hour before hiking back out to the truck. After a few more falls on the ice, we were grateful to get back on solid ground inside the truck. 

The Meadow Section.

Small Enough To Jump Across.

Mid-afternoon Sunset.

Anticipating a Strike.

The Anchor Ice Broke & I Fell In.

Didn't Lose the Fish Though.

A Hard Day's Payoff.

Adam's Turn.

Bringing One To Hand.

Small Stone FTW.

Release.

Our day started out with a specific plan, but ice through a wrench in it. We ended up floating from water to water before settling on something familiar. Even then, the ice kept throwing us curve balls and we slipped & slid on thin ice all day long. We fell, laughed, got wet, and caught a few wild browns. Not bad, not bad at all. 

Weak Sauce.

Word on the street was that Phil didn't see his shadow and predicted an early spring for all. With that prediction came unseasonably warm weather that brought rain to the area. So it was that on a rainy, cold, high thirties day I headed to water with the hope of finding flowing water free from winter's grip. 

Mist, Fog, Rain, & Ice.

I was looking for flowing water and for the most part, I found it. Unexpectedly, I found several cars in the many parking areas dotting the stream. Other anglers had similar plans and I was faced with a dilemma. Do I head upstream or downstream? I found a parking lot with only one other car and after noticing the TU sticker on the back of the truck, I knew that I had a 50/50 shot of fishing behind someone all day. I chose to head downstream towards the less productive water hoping that he chose the better section. I rigged up before a large hole filled with ice before heading downstream to the first open bend. Just as I was arriving another angler came tumbling out of the woods at a brisk pace. He had the nerve to ask me if you could throw in the hole first and I willingly obliged due to the balls it took to even ask that question. After he left open handed, we talked briefly and before long several of his buddies were coming upstream as well. They had walked through and fished the previous mile of water with no luck. They moved on and I found myself stuck between two groups of anglers fishing limited water and getting sloppy seconds, thirds, and fourths. 

Red Dots & Halos a Plenty. 

Receding Ice & Snow.

High Stick Anticipation.

With really no other choice, I fished on for most of the day and was able to nab several willing stocked fish. Including two vampire browns that looked like they were raised in pitch dark tanks and had some tiger trout genes. Their fins were either missing or bent in awkward shapes finding nemo style. They served as a reminder of the upcoming spring stocking and the various fish that fall into the stockpedia post from last year. With this being the only water close enough for a quick fix, I must settle for some weak sauce. However, I'll happily take it, and you can't really beat a day on the water, even in the rain. 

Ice Was Refusing to Let Go.

Weapon of Destruction.

Brown on the Midge. 

LifeStyles

Over the past few years I slowly lost interest trout fishing. The trout streams of my youth were all but forgotten in the wake of a tailing golden ghost. Since then I haven’t looked back.

I believe one of the reasons I gave up trout fishing was the fact that my techniques became too routine…not to mention that carp are ten times smarter and a more worthy adversary. Haha! Anyway, while growing up I taught myself how to fish for trout through good ol’ trial and error. As it stood, indicator nymphing was a successful technique. If you’re a fourteen year old boy who wanted to catch fish..why stray from what works? Now ten years later...

Look Like Multi Color Crane Fly Larvae to me

Midges...

..A Winter Staple

Sighter.

For the avid carp fisherman a Mid-Atlantic winter can be one of the hardest things to endure. The snow and ice messes with your head and sooner or later you’ll resort to anything just to get bent...even if it’s your last.

So in order to spice things up a bit I decided to try my hand at euro-nymphing for the first time. I also decided to get in touch with my Polish roots and tie up some Vladi Worms to use as anchor flies in my “street sweeper rig”. My first few attempts at the Vladi turned out to look more like grubs than worms…there is definitely a learning curve involved in fly tying with lubricated latex. As for dropper and point flies, I tied up some midges…which really made me miss tying carp flies. I also double-perfection-looped a piece of backing to use as a sighter.

Beautiful Wild Fish

Every once in awhile catching a few salmonids is a good way to pass the time...I suppose...