Last week’s Vermont Chronicles post was mysteriously absent, a fact for which I actually do have a somewhat decent excuse.
I was freezing my rear end off on the Delaware River throwing streamers at brown trout.
Orvis fielded two teams for the Friends of the Upper Delaware River’s annual One Bug tournament. Modeled after the Jackson Hole One Fly, teams fish both Saturday and Sunday, hoping to boat the most fish while keeping their fly on the end of the line. If the fly comes off, the fishing is done for the day. (Or, as we discovered, you can continue fishing but any fish caught won’t count in the competition.)
Nearly twenty teams gathered on the New York / Pennsylvania border Friday night to kick the festivities off with a bang. The Orvis crew, comprised of Rod and Tackle’s Chrissy Penn and Rob Tibbet, Orvis Adventure’s Jeremy Kehrein, and myself, loaded up after the workday Friday and hit the road, tracking west. We arrived at the Fireman’s Park in little Hancock, New York, just in time to catch the end of the kick-off cocktail hour, grab dinner and meet our guides for the next day.
Teams are split up during the competition; we all fished with new boat partners and new guides, on new beats, each day. While I had explored a little bit of the West Branch two weeks prior at Hell or High Water, I had yet to eyeball the East Branch or the Main Stem, and was curious to check it out.
Nothing better than exploring new water with a fly rod and a camera in hand.
I drew the East Branch on Saturday, and let the guide convince me to fish a soft hackle. The day dawn brisk with clouds, with the potential for breaking sun later in the afternoon. The theory was we could swing the fly wet in the morning and then Frog’s Fanny it up and roll dry in the afternoon if bugs came off and the fish were up.
It sounded good in theory.
The highlight (?) of the day came when, about twenty minutes into the float, I stood up to cast and the boat felt… strange. Sluggish. Weird. I looked down to find about 3″ of water above the removable floor board of the Hyde drifter. Somehow the guide hadn’t noticed, nor had my boat mate who had kicked one of the plugs out when mounting the boat. The water gushing in at their feet was somehow invisible, as was the ominous gurgling sound of the water slowly overtaking the boat. The guide picked up the floorboards, only to discover we had taken on a good eight inches of water. Um, yeah, think it was handling a bit strangely?
We were able to shore up and get a bit of wading in while water removal was underway. Regrettably, that kind of set the tone for the day. Rain showers and a cold, driving wind moved in. It’s tolerable, and maybe even fun in some kind of masochistic way, to have weather like that if the fishing is stellar. It’s manageable if the fishing is fun. It’s damn cold if the fishing is negligible.
Got off the river Saturday night with no fish to my name, but having kept the fly, bringing in a meagre 100 points for the Orvis girl’s team.
Eyeballing the scoreboard at the evening’s dinner, I was somewhat mollified to learn that I wasn’t the only one with no fish to hand. A few folks had been on a beat where a hatch came off and the fish were up; Trout Unlimited’s Chris Wood finished the first day in the lead with 500-something points to his name. Everyone huddled in front of the fireplace; tired and chilly and maybe a bit frustrated. I know I was.
We rallied, aided by the high spirits of friends and a bottle of moonshine that the Patagonia team brought over to the cabin late at night.
Sunday dawned cloudy and colder. I had only brought my flip flops and my wading boots, and was regretting that decision in the morning… trying to hurry spring along sometimes just doesn’t work out quite as planned. The Orvis team was up and at ’em, ready to roll and get the job done. Following an interesting breakfast at a “greasy spoon” — except here, the coffee be greasy — we headed to meet our guides and gear up. I had been up much of the night with a stomach bug and opted not to eat all day… strategic planning. I’d rather be hungry and a little dizzy than shored up on the bank all day, sick.
We put on waders, rigged rods, wished each other luck and went our separate ways. Day two found me on yet another piece of water I hadn’t fished, the Main Stem of the Delaware. Guide Darren Rist had spent some time in Montana — actually, it seems he was in Craig at some point last year, so the odds are high we’re met at some point in the past — and my boat mate was an ex-Wall Street man with a passion for fishing and fishing clubs.
We put in, opting both to declare streamers for the day. I broke down a few weeks ago and finally purchased my first Helios 2 rod… a 9’6″ 6-weight mated with a Mirage reel. One of the Orvis fishing gang at the office was kind enough to give me a Bank Shot line for the new rig… I had never thrown it before, but the Skagit-y head looked interesting, and I figured there’s no better way to get used to a line than just to fish the damn thing.
If I’d been smart I would have thrown it around beforehand, but apparently my future planning is lacking in that regard.
The line, as my teammates had warned me, presented a serious learning curve. I experimented with water loading it behind me, letting less or more of the head out, and just getting the feel of it. For the first half hour of the float, I felt like a rather remedial caster… and I’m no rock star to begin with. But then it started to feel better, and despite wind blowing the thick head of the line around and about, things started to come together.
And that streamer was landing right where I wanted it… 3-4″ right off the bank. Consistently.
I was in the back of the boat; my boat mate was left-handed and I’m right, so the arrangement worked nicely for fishing river right. With two jackets, two hoods, a ball cap, a buff and sunglasses on, I felt like reality was a bit delayed somehow as I hunkered into the warm clothing and settled into a nice rhythm of cast-strip-strip-strip, cast-strip-strip-strip, cast-strip-strip-strip.
We pulled aside and explored a little back channel that looked interesting, to no avail. Back in the boat, back to the river. Not long after the stop I thought I had hooked into a snag in deeper, slow water. Pulled a bit, no give. And then the snag was moving. Got the fish in with not too much hassle and looked at the thing in the net. My first thought was “what the hell have I caught?” It looked like a miniature pike or musky; I’ve never fished for either and don’t have much experience with their toothy kin. Turns out it was a pickerel. Not able to count in the contest, but it was a new species for me, and a fish in the boat. I’d take it.
We released the pickerel to the watery depths, laughed it off, and moved on. Cast-strip-strip-strip, cast-strip-strip-strip, cast-strip-strip-strip along a nice bank with good, rocky structure and deeper, faster water. Pretty quiet fishing. The other boats we passed we having no luck… nymphs, streamers, dries. Nothing was producing.
And then something followed my fly up from a slot between the rocks and the bank. Follow, follow, follow. Boom! He took it and I set. And he was on. It was a nice fish, that was obvious in the bend in the rod as he went around the boat several times and then under. Darren skillfully managed to stop the boat in the deep, fast water and, after a good little fight, scoop him up in the net.
I let loose a breath, my hands shaking a bit. Fish in the boat. Brown in the boat. And he was nice.
Darren pulled out the measuring board and viewed the inches… 22. Whew. The brown went back in the net, back in the water, while we gave our phones to Scott, the boat mate, who kindly volunteered to take pictures. A few pics and he was back in the water, to hopefully grow several more inches and cruise the Delaware River system for years to come.
Not a bad way to break in a new rod.
After working on the Missouri, I’ve gotten used to seeing bigger browns. I guess for the Delaware, he wasn’t a bad fish. All I cared about that he was wild and healthy; that made me happy. And he’s back in that river for someone else to catch.
Had another brown, a 16″, not too long afterward, and completely missed the set on another. And then, after 1400h or so, it was game over. Nothing to be had on streamers, and nothing up on top. We fished hard, stopped for lunch, chatted, talked about life and fishing and the world in general.
Pulled out the camera and played around a bit. I have yet to figure out how to balance photography and fly fishing…
Then, rods up at 1800h and back to town to unlayer and warm up a bit before the awards dinner. Changing clothes and breaking down rods in the parking lot, I was very amused to discover that apparently one of the other guides had seen me catch the fish and texted guides all over the river that “one of the Orvis girls had a 22″ brown.” Everyone knew about the fish… social media at work on the river is kind of weird.
At any rate, the four members of the Orvis crew slowly trickled in. We packed up gear and talked about the day, trying to warm frozen fingers and toes in the Hancock House Hotel before heading over to another dinner and the awards ceremony. We headed back to Vermont shortly after 9 PM; the FUDR crew was kind enough to quickly present the “Biggest Fish” award before the others so we could grab it on our way out. Fueled by Five Hour Energy drinks and pumpkin seeds, Chrissy did an excellent job of driving, and we made it back to Orvis HQ and our own cars after midnight.
Then back home to throw the gear inside, take a quick shower, and get a few hours sleep before heading into the office at 7:30.
Thanks to Orvis for fronting two teams to the One Bug, and to the FUDR for all the work they do to preserve this system. It was an intriguing glimpse at the Delaware, and I look forward to visiting once again!
