Two Flies, 6X Tippet

Not twenty-four hours after my two day stint in the Appalachians crouching underneath the new spring foliage making sidearm casts with a two-weight rod to fish no greater than my hand, I found myself in a quite different set of circumstances. No longer were backcasts being snagged by twigs and thornbushes. Casts of only a few feet were no longer adequate and to throw out line with a two-weight would quickly be looked upon as amateur and ridiculous. And to say I had previously been tortured by trying to match a hatch now just sounds silly.

I stood with one foot in New York and the other in Pennsylvania making casts with my new San Juan 5/6 weight rod from Fly Fishing Benefactors, with 9-10 feet of leader and tippet, trying to convince a trout, big enough to eat a small child, that my fly looked just like or hopefully more enticing than the other thousand that cruised through his feeding lane. I was on the West Branch of the Delaware and the fly fishing was awesome.


Three years ago, my friend, Scott, convinced me to follow him up into the Shenandoah Park to learn how to fly fish. This past week, he and his dad were kind enough to let me tag along on their yearly trip to where American fly fishing started. He told of tales of huge fish, expertly thrown casts and fly hatches that make the water surface look like a miniature regatta. I thought I understood. It was only when we started driving by the river did I realize what he meant. Through the bug splattered windows I could see the hoardes of flies and a river alive with trout gently sipping insects off the water's surface.


Within thirty minutes we were out on river staking claim to shallow pool of water with at least twenty trout feeding simultaneously. On the trip up from Virginia, I had been taught the Rusteikas West Branch of the Delaware mantra by Scott's dad: "Only two flies, 6X tippet." So when I was finally on the river, I resisted grabbing for my 4X and my kreelex streamers, and instead heeded their advice hoping it would bring me good fishing karma.



The two flies we used for the extent of the trip were a Hendrickson comparadun tied in several ways (with CDC wings, CDC loopwings, snowshoe rabbit's foot wings) and rusty spinners. Within minutes of being on the water, Scott was able to tell the majority of the fish were sipping on the duns. So we set to work trying to fool these leviathans into taking our imitations as apple caddis flies swarmed above us and the sun slowly started setting.


It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes before the master had a healthy 18 inch brown
trout in hand to show the apprentice that he knew what he was talking about. "Two flies, 6X tippet." "It's all about presentation." "He has to see your fly first, not your line."


Still, it was hard for me to break some bad habits. A fish started sipping bugs just upstream from me and the temptation was too great. A few casts later, my flies gently disappeared. I set the hook and *snap*. The hook was set, but the wrist action that would have sent a Rapidan brookie flying straight out of the water didn't have quite the same effect on this fish. A fly was lost but a lesson was learned.


Two more lost flies due to snapped tippet later, I hooked a large brown but hardly even knew it happened. With the sun starting to hang low over the Catskill Mountains, our artificials became lost the masses of other flies as the spent Hendricksons finally laid their eggs and died. So when my fly was taken amidst the others, my only indication was a flash of the trout's belly and a sudden whirring of my drag. I successfully stifled a yelp of excitement and tried to act like I had fought a fish of this magnitude before. Five minutes later, however, when Scott took the picture of me with my first brown trout on the Delaware, it was quite difficult to hide my excitement and surprise. See below:



Later in the evening, the dead flies started to finally clear from the surface of the water and in the dim light, Scott caught another trout, this time a fat rainbow.


Obsessed, we continued to throw line out as we walked slowly back to the car through the ever-darkening evening. Silhouettes of trout could still be seen rising, disturbing the water in the slow stretches of water. But eventually it became impossible to see where you were casting or what you were casting to. At the car we found out that Mr. Rusteikas had caught two trout on rusty spinners right near where we parked the car.


The forecast for the next two days looked ominous. Sure enough, the next day brought with it clouds and a blustery wind that swept upstream at over 15 mph and a chill that kept the fish down and prevented any significant hatch of flies. The river seemed completely different than the lively river we had fished the day before. It was hard to imagine there were scores of huge fish waiting patiently for the next batch of flies to hatch.


Thankfully, the third day's forecast turned out to be quite inaccurate. After a few light showers in the morning, the clouds broke up and the wind died down just in time to allow for a heavy hatch of caddis and Hendricksons. Having held off on lunch until the hunger pains were too great, Scott and I decided to leave our favorite hole to grab a bite to eat around 3 p.m. only to return to find out that the Hendrickson hatch had picked up just after we left allowing Mr. Rusteikas to pull three good sized trout out of our section of river. The day continued to be successful with the occasional fish breaking off the fragile 6X tippet. I tricked a big brown into taking my dun in the slow shallow waters that left me with a sore forearm after he was set free. Scott also hooked a big brown in the evening on the first cast into the fish's feeding lane.

The final day was perhaps the best. The weather had settled down and the hatch was heavy. As the apple caddis started to come off the water, Scott started stalking a fish in the upper parts of our section of river. Mr. Rusteikas and I sat on the shore humored by the intensity with which Scott was inspecting the water planning his attack. We hadn't seen any fish actively feeding yet as it was still early. Less than a minute after a sarcastic remark from me about how ridiculous Scott looked trying to catch a nonexistent fish, suddenly his line became taut and a healthy rainbow started jumping. Eating my words, Scott continued to pull in six fish the rest of the day. I, on the other hand, continued to stalk the large browns sipping spinners in the shallows and had a successful day pulling in four brown trout.



Later in the day, as I'm casting to a fish on the far bank, I hear distant conversation between Scott and his dad about a fish Scott had just landed whose mouth had not one but three flies in it. After inspection and debate, it became clear that Mr. Rusteikas had in fact hooked the same fish the day before and had lost his now found (and still in good condition) CDC comparadun to the fish. Seeing as it was quite the fish tale, I have no doubt that it will continue to be told in the future, except perhap the size of the fish will continue to increase as will the number of flies in his mouth...



Overall, it was an amazing trip. Unfortunately, Scott and his dad have gotten me hooked on fishing for large trout now. I'm going to have to restrain myself from trying to head back to the Delaware for the sulfur and green drake hatches and instead fish Mossy Creek in the hopes of pulling a big brown of the waters there.


Thanks again to Scott and his dad for taking me on the trip!


Tight lines.