Patience...

This story of patience comes to us from Patrick Williams. The man with many adventures and great stories that go with it! Thanks again Pat!

So here’s another fish caught this past Friday on Penns Creek with a sulpher dry pattern, right at the last light of dusk. I had not been to Penns in two weeks, and decided to go after I heard Thursday produced fabulous fishing with march browns, caddis flies, crane flies, and hendrickson spinners. Friends said the fishing started to pick up in the afternoon hours and really got good right at dusk. The next day I got there around noon to see what was going on, and maybe fox guard a good hole (an unfortunate necessity this time of year) while I waited for the bevy of late afternoon dry fly opportunities.

When I arrived at the parking lot it was 20 vehicles full, and a few groups were having lunch and mini-tailgates around their cars. The report I got from others in the parking lot was it was totally dead. Penns (often referred to as “the great equalizer”) and its fish always have the potential to be very uncooperative with anglers, and this happened to be one of those days. At least for me…

Walking down and surveying what was going on, many good holes were already occupied with one or more anglers. One productive upstream hole was free, but I wanted to chase a fish in a pool downstream, and decided to see if it was open. Watching others fish as I walked, I noticed lots of sitting, staring, and not catching anything. There were also not many bugs around, at least compared to what it was like the last several times I had been there. I got to my honey hole and it was getting ganged up pretty viciously by 4 others, though no one was having any luck.

I went to a side channel where I saw one aggressive rise, followed by silence. The infrequent rises I saw from noon – 8 pm were like lightning bolts. They were huge bursts of energy when they occurred, but never struck the same place twice. I threw some dry-droppers with both attractors and nymphs/emergers/duns of what was sporadically hatching (or going to hatch) but nothing was interested. I went back to see if the good spot I saw coming in was still open, while unsuccessfully hitting a couple small holes on the way.

Got to the spot at 3 pm and found it unattended. I spent the next two and a half hours lying down on the bank, sleeping, eating, listening to Geese bitch at each other, and playing hide and go seek with a turtle. I also watched other anglers in the productive areas above and below me, but no one was having any luck. I then stood on the bank and surveyed the increasing activity of caddis and crane flies, with occasional march browns, sulphers, and Hendrickson spinners in the air. I decided to prospect with dries and nymphs trying not to blow up the hole, but got nothing.

I let the pool sit for another hour while watching the water. It was getting later, and while bug activity picked up, nothing was responding. As the sun went behind the mountain I covered the hole again, tried new flies/tactics, but still was without a strike. The sun was setting, all anglers around me drudged back to their cars, and I was without a fish in 8 hours on the water. Maybe the hole got blown up in the morning, maybe I should not have spent so much idle time on the bank, maybe I didn’t fish it the right way, or maybe I should have moved locations instead of guarding the same hole. Whatever the reason, the smell of skunk was becoming pungent in the fading light.

I left the hole to search for something rising in the last 20-25 minutes before dark. I arrived at a flat water stretch a few hundred yards downstream and after about a minute saw one little dimple. There were many march brown spinners in the air now, with a decent amount of sulphers, march brown duns, and a bunch of stuff I could not make out in the low light. I waded into place, and noticed a guy had started fishing in the riffle above me as I was tying on a march brown with a rusty spinner trailing. I saw his hook set followed by a fish flopping into his net. In over 8 hours on the water, this was the first fish I had seen caught. More dimples now surrounding the first, but none want what I’m throwing. I switched to a sulpher and finally made contact. Many other fish followed in a short amount of time, including the one in the picture. When I released him there were still a few fish slurping, and Venus was bright in the sky.

The rest of the fishing would be in about 20 more minutes of darkness and setting the hook on audio cues. Afterwards, walking back through the woods dimly illuminated by my headlamp, I paid my respects to the Penns Creek gods and thanked them for their mercy.

Tight lines,

Patrick