Sunday, November 8, 2009
Bob and I hit the Salmon river for our annual November steelhead "morning". It was cold. Not ice-in-the-guides cold, but cold enough to get me thinking my clothing choices were kinda stupid. It was great to meet up with Bob again - it had been a couple of months since we fished the white fly hatch on WCC.
We decided to try out the compactor pool per the suggestion of one of Bob's TU buddies. We headed upstream along the south bank to fine nice run after nice run. I have to say, there is too much nice water to fish on this river. As usual, the fishing was slow and I was the only fish catcher today. A nice fish if we were trout fishing, but as a steelhead it was small - around 16-18 inches. The clouds opened up as we moved down to a different section of the compactor pool area. Moving downstream from the bridge revealed some really nice water, tainted by an inconsiderate guide in his boat, and later a selfish pr*ck who felt the river belonged to him. Oh well. It's the Salmon River...the fleas come with the dog.
Always enjoyable to get out fishing with Bob. Maybe someday we'll get enough time on that river to amp up our success rate during the Fall runs.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
view hike pics at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7231131@N04/sets/72157622436421233/
So, one last fall hike in until I start some winter peak bagging. I was really itching to test my hiking speed and do a little recon for next year's hikes with Deb, Paul, and the boys. Knowing Matt is always game for a hike and wanting to keep it simple, I recruited mister "dooit" to help pull my ass up the trails. The plan was to bag Dial and Nippletop in the morning, Colvin and Blake in the afternoon, and finish out with a nice picture opportunity at Indian Head on the way out. Like I said, that was the plan.
Here's what I wrote up for ADKHighPeaks forum:
Let's Sum it up:
St. Huberts parking area... headlamps... Lake Road... Leach Trail... mud... rain... mud... no view on Bear Den... mud... more rain... mud... no view on Dial... mud... snow... mud... sleet.... mud... no view from Nippletop.... mud... Elk Pass trail... mud... clouds lift... great range... wow... mud... Elk Pass... mud... mud... Colvin trail... why not?... mud... this is a trail?... rock... mud... you've got to be kidding me... mud... rock... I'm too old for this crap... mud... rock... thank God... views... wow... nice pair of backpackers... more wow... college kids... ugh... if he throws that Frisbee, I'll have to make what I do to him look like an accident... let's get out of here... mud... rock... rock... mud... on the home stretch... mud... mud... Lake Road... headlamps... St. Huberts Parking area.
A couple of personal observations:
First, I was curious as to why such a small, unassuming peak would be named for one of the Adirondack's first hardcore, bad*ss hikers like Verplanck Colvin. Having finally hiked that trail, I now know why. I could hear Verplanck saying "quit whining and get your *ss up there!" as I slogged to the summit.
Second, with the advancement of headlamp technology the trails are a very popular place no matter what time of day...or night. There was a time when being out at night in the woods caused most people to hunker down in camp. Now, I seem to run into almost as many hikers at night as I do during the day. Really cool!
So, we ended up skipping Blake and Indian Head mainly because we were losing daylight...and I was totally exhausted. We will split them up for next year, even if we do them on longer days. Still, a great day and that gets me down to the 30 peak mark!
view Street and Nye pics at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7231131@N04/sets/72157622457897688/
Deb’s triumphant return to the high peaks! We headed up to the ADK Loj with high expectations. The tree colors were beautiful, yet still not peak. Lots of reds, more than I remember from previous years. We hit the trail by 9AM, which would prove to be a little late based on how the day would play out. The trail was well worn, but unfortunately covered in fallen leaves. This made it pretty tough to follow since it looked like the rest of the forest floor around it. We spooked a ruffed grouse – a new bird for both of us. The crossing at
It was cool to finally see the junction tree with the “N” and “S” – something I’ve seen in pictures a number of times. Deb insisted on doing Street first, which was probably the smartest decision of the day. It seemed to take forever. As we were walking over the summit rock I looked up and saw the sign. I stopped Deb in her tracks to let her know we were there and the look on her face was priceless! We rested a little, ate a little, and checked out the views of the McEntyre range and MacNaughton to the south. The trail back down and then over to Nye was pretty nice, actually. There’s no way Nye is 0.4 miles from the junction compared to Street’s 0.6 miles. We were there in 10 to 15 minutes. And no, like everyone said, there are no views on Nye – although just back down the trail were some nice lookout areas. I thought we were making good time until then. I started to realize we had been moving slower than I expected, and as the clock winded down I started to think about hiking out in the dark. Not a frightening concept usually, but remembering how difficult the trail was to follow in the daylight got me a little anxious. By the time we were 2 miles from the end, we stopped to take a break. Deb was getting weaker and weaker, and I was kicking myself for not packing the right food. We made it to Indian Pass Brook before we lost daylight, thank God, and I was feeling a little more confident. I still worried about getting out, but at least knew we were past some of the more confusing and difficult trail to cover. The Headlamps came out soon after. It was quite peaceful, although I think Deb was feeling pretty awful by then. When we saw the Mount Jo/Old Nye Ski Trail sign, I knew I could breathe again.
This wasn’t the return to the high peaks that Deb had wanted, but there were definitely some factors I hadn’t thought about. Not the right food – that was one. Not being able to navigate in the dark was another. We agreed that no matter what diet we were on, that a hike day would be a carb cheat day. At the very least, I would carry power bars just in case. Also, I took a serious look into a new GPS unit that would be reliable in the mountains. Being able to set way points on the way up would’ve helped us keep on the trail on the way back. We most certainly lived and learned on this one. For Deb 10 down and 36 to go. For me, 13 down…
view the pics at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7231131@N04/sets/72157622457892770/
I do love September for hiking. Nice cool weather, the air damp and refreshing. The gang was all there again. This time, I was the one to get the sleep . Erin unfortunately didn’t have any hiking boots with her this time, and it would prove to put a damper on her day. By the time we got to Marcy Dam, she has a half dollar sized blister on each heel. The summits were in the clouds most of the day, and provided little views consequently. The hike up the Van Hovenburg Trail was easier than I remember. We decided to do Tabletop first. Unfortunately, it was socked in the clouds when we got up there, and the view was uninspiring. However, it was another one for the books, so everyone was happy with that. As we started down I was getting concerned that we might need some more water, so I sprinted ahead down the VHT to Phelps Brook. By the time I had three liters treated the whole team was together again. Paul was bushed, and Erin was deciding if Phelps was worth the side trip. The trio decided to head towards Phelps while Paul and I rested up. We decided the mountain will wait for us another day, so we were going to head to the car. Shortly after our decision we got word that Erin’s blisters were forcing her to head back. She popped off of the Phelps spur trail just as we came up on the junction, and the three of us headed to the car. The boys took an extra hour to get to the top and back, but their reward was catching the only view offerings of the day. All in all, a nice day out.
Phew…letting time get ahead of me J. Bob and I headed up to TWCC at the beginning of the month to catch the white fly hatch. We headed to a spot in Middleville that’s downstream from our usual white fly spot in
Bob had been there the week before to check things out. In a strange twist of fate, he had left his vest behind. Yup……his vest. Let that sink in a little. For a fly fisherman, losing his vest is much worse than losing a fly rod or maybe even having his car stolen. I’ve owned my vest much longer than my car. All those flies. All those gadgets. All that gear collected over the years, tucked away in a garment that becomes an old friend, eventually. Once you’ve been a fisherman for a few years, you gain an intimate relationship with your vest rivaled only by your spouse and closest fishing buddy. Don’t worry, there is a happy ending. In fact, he got it all back. Some nice, local woman who walks her dog in the area of the parking access found it and brought it to the local tackle shop. Bob called the shop on a whim just to see if someone happened to drop it off and sure enough, they had it. Nothing taken. Wow.
So, after chatting up the tackle owner, buying a few flies, and soaking up the old-time-tackle-shop-ambiance, we headed to the parking access that was practically around the corner from the shop. We arrived to find a couple fishing the spot at the parking area. Nice couple. We waded down stream to some very perfect water. The fish obviously didn’t care how nice the water looked, because we could only get a spotty rise or two. As dusk started to set in, I noticed a couple of white flies coming off. I switched to a cream variant that I picked up at the shop and hooked up a feisty little brown. That would prove to be my only one the rest of the evening, unfortunately. The hatch came off as expected – white flies everywhere like a silent blizzard. Fish rising, but impossible to figure out what version of the fly they were eating. Typical. Our nemesis fly hatch wins again. Did I mention the wings at the Hotel Moore are excellent?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Highland Forest doesn't open until 8:30am, a fact I discovered and sheepishly ignored at 7:00am as I pulled into the parking lot. No one around. Good. Just me and the wildlife - not that I could hear much over the sound of my gasping breaths as I pushed myself for a land speed record. The trail was pretty muddy from the rains over the weekend, and I think that slowed me down a bit. At least that was my excuse. I gave it my all, regardless, and finished the 8.7 mile main trail in 3 hours and 5 minutes. 21 minute miles on a sloppy trail. Not bad for a fat, old guy.
You ever noticed that the larger an animal is, the quieter they are in the woods? The noisiest creatures I came across were a few blue jays fluttering around. The quietest? All dozen or so of the deer I spooked throughout the morning. How can something that large bound silently through the woods as if watching TV with the mute button on? One of life's wonders, I guess.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Here's a list of what I carry:
- Daypack: 2000-3000 cu/in with a thick waist belt and shoulder straps. I prefer a panel loading design with accessory pockets and lashing straps to keep everything organized.
- Shell Jacket: a waterproof, breathable parka to keep rain and wind at bay
- Insulating jacket: a polyester fleece jacket that will keep you warm even if soaking wet, to be layered under the shell parka.
- Clothing extras: a wool or poly fleece hat, spare pair of socks, bandannas, gaiters if the trail is muddy or snowy, gloves.
- Water: I use a 3 liter hydration system, and bring at least 2-4 liters extra. In the hot months on a strenuous climb I plan for at least 1 liter per two miles. I also bring along a water purification system to be able to treat more water as we go.
- Food: trail food should be high in calorie - especially in carbs for energy - and you should have more than enough to get through the day. You should also plan on enough to ration you through at least another full day in case something happens and you are forced to spend the night. Trail mix is an obvious choice, but beef jerky, power bars, cheese, pepperoni, summer sausage, all make great trail food.
- Headlamp/Flashlight: inevitably, you will find yourself needing to start in the early morning hours or end up losing daylight at the end of a hike. A flashlight is nice, but a headlamp is incredibly more convenient. Remember, the forest canopy will add about an hour of darkness to both sunrise and sunset.
- Trail book and map with compass: It doesn't take long to learn how to use a compass with your map, and your map is useless if you don't know which direction you're facing. Mine come with me regardless of how well groomed the trails are.
- Personal items: things like bug repellent, hand lotion, lip balm, sun screen, purel hand sanitizer, tissues.
- Medications: In a medium sized pill bottle I carry a few doses each of these medications - motrin, excedrin, sudafed, and regular tylenol for aches, pains, sinus headaches; pepcid complete tabs, gas-ex, and imodium for stomach problems; Benedryl for allergic reactions
- Hiking/Trekking poles: like ski poles, most are adjustable and have a smaller basket to help with mud. You'll be amazed how well these things will save your knees and allow you to move quicker. Granted, I look like a hiking praying mantis with them, but they are a joint saver. And they can be used to splint a broken leg or hold up a temporary shelter if need be.
- Essentials Kit: the magical bag! I will break down the essentials kit below...
The Essentials Kit is a grouping of various sub kits all kept in a small stuff sack:
- First aid kit: very basic, it has bandaids, gauze pads, mole skin, an ace bandage, some antibiotic ointment, alcohol pads
- Emergency overnight kit: a tube tent, a pair of space blankets, matches in a waterproof container, firestarter sticks, an emergency whistle
- A basic repair kit: a length of nylon cord, a backpacking roll of duct tape, safety pins, a needle and spool of black thread
- A leatherman or swiss army knife
- Water Treatment system: I currently have a Steri-pen ultraviolet water purifier, but have also used a couple of other small micron filters. If you can stand the taste of iodine, you can carry potable aqua tabs.
- Toilet paper: for when nature calls while out in nature. remember to bury it...
Sunday, August 16, 2009
OK, so I have to first come clean. If it wasn't for all the touristy stuff at the summit of Whiteface, I would have never found the love I have for the Adirondack High Peaks in the first place. I do have to say that even as a kid I did climb the two tenths of a mile to the summit from the parking area. It wasn't just the view that enthralled me, but rather the hikers that appeared out of no where from one of the summit trails. I was most impressed with their achievement, and I'm sure they enjoyed every bit of the awe I expressed to them. One day, I would hope that such a favor would be returned.
When Deb and I first climbed Whiteface and Esther, it was on a very overcast day with the summits blanketed in clouds. Because of the weather, they weren't allowing tourists up the Whiteface Memorial Highway. Despite the "above the clouds" view we got at the summit, we had shared it with only two weather scientists stationed at the research center. When we returned with Nick and Angela a couple of years later, life came full circle. We approached the summit to cheers, congratulations, and - as I expressed over two decades before - looks of awe from those who had driven to the top. And now here I am, another decade beyond that climb, with high hopes for this new group of climbers to have the same life affirming experience. Well......
It was an early start for all of us. But, unlike the Algonquin hike, I was the only one who got adequate sleep. The drive was ripe with anticipation and the breakfast at Howard Johnson's quick. We started on the trail by 8:30am, and walked promptly into the annoyingly steep mile long hike up Marble Mountain. After a stop for pictures and bug spray we pressed on. The trail continued it's steep ascent along the ridge of Lookout Mountain and it seemed like forever before we came up to the Esther trail junction. Only a couple of miles to go. Paul and I caught up with Matt, Frank, and Erin at a newly cleared ski run. It didn't seem like much longer and we were at the base of the highway retaining wall. I knew it would prove irresistible to Frank and Matt. I figured they would try to climb it. And, true to form, Frank got kinda.....stuck. Yes, it was pretty funny.
The final ridge walk to the summit was spectacular, despite the man-made reminders everywhere. The mountain falls away down into the valley with Little Whiteface and the ski center dramatically. It actually plays with your eyes, and pictures do not do it justice. Paul and I heard cheers from the tourists as our younger hikers rounded the corner past the summit buildings a few hundred yards ahead of us. As we approached, we were met by a couple from Florida with whom we had a very pleasant conversation with. But then, we dropped our packs in the middle of the zoo. Holy cow. Easily, over 100 people on the summit, all clambering to get their picture taken next to the quaintly, mountain-shaped summit marker. College girls doing yoga. A party for a 46er who just finished his 23rd round of the 46. Babies crying. A kid on crutches. All of this wouldn't been too bad, except that certain members of our group actually suffered dirty looks over a little mud and sweat while in the gift shop line from clean, pressed, and arrogant motorists. It takes all kinds...
After about an hour of the chaos and a couple of cold drinks we started back. Esther proved to be better than I remembered. The big bog in the col between Lookout mountain and Esther now has some narrow log bridges to help negotiate it. The hike down was exhaustively long. Marble mountain proved just plain painful. As we disrobed our gear, I was relieved to find my toes still intact. I have to agree with Matt, that - all in all - this trail was really pleasant hiking. Even the mud was better than what we dealt with on Algonquin.
The burgers were tasty at R.F. McDougall's on the way home. Considering everyone except for me got only 3-4 hours of sleep before this 11 mile hike that included 4 mountains, 2 above 4000 feet. Way to go, guys.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
I came. I saw. The mountain kicked my ass.
Lately, it's been a challenge to post a large amount of pictures with my posts. So, to see the pictures from the hike, feel free to link to my Flickr photo set of the hike:
So, into the fray I go….
For those of you who aren’t familiar with the 46ers, I’ll bring you up to speed. On one of the original
Back to the quest. Sometime in the beginning of this year I was able to shed the apprehensions of past injuries and lose some weight. Time to get back to the task at hand. With my nephew Frank going off to college this fall, I felt some urgency in getting him up Algonquin – a peak that sparked his interest back 5 years ago when we climbed Marcy with his dad and cousin Matt. Paul couldn’t make it for this trip, but Matt was really eager to get back to the Adirondacks. It’s definitely in Matt’s blood – he can’t help it. Unfortunately, this will probably be the only peak I can climb with Frank this year, but Paul and Matt will be along for two other hikes.
The guys stayed overnight at the house so we could get an early start in the morning. Despite the disappearance of the Denny’s in
At this point, I’m not sure that I didn’t go from being a die-hard hiker to just an idiot. I mean, there was Iroquois just over
There was really only one point that I actually got nervous about my safe return. The gravity of the boot debacle became more annoying over worrisome as the comments from fellow hikers rolled in. If I had to hear one more crack about how my boots had seen better days or how lucky I was that I had duct tape (although I would think “smart” was more like it – it wasn’t like someone packed my daypack for me). I think one couple felt my icy lack of amusement when the husband prodded the wife to take a picture of my boots. It was good spirited, but not really what I wanted to hear at that point.
Did I mention that we ended up with a beautiful day and Frank and Matt logged in three new peaks? We had a really good time, sharing a whole lot more with each other than any of us probably expected. I survived better than I expected, although I did take the next two days off from work because the trauma my feet suffered and over all sore muscles. Yup. It’s good to be back in the high peaks again. See you in two weeks.
A VERY muddy muddler
You've probably heard of fabled insect hatches across the country. For some eastern rivers it's Hendricksons and Green Drakes. In the mid west it might be Hexagenias. Out west you have Salmonflies and San Juan Worms (ok, just kidding on the worms). But in my little neck of the woods - the West Canada Creek to be exact - we have a little known mayfly called the white fly. Also known as the white miner, the white fly is in the drake family of mayflies. It's cousins are the green drake, brown drake, golden drake, and the hexagenia limbata. Those mayflies tend to be the largest of the stream born mayflies, living in the slower, silty areas of the river. The white fly is the smallest of the group, ranging in the #12 size. Adding to the white fly's mystique is that it's common to have a prolific population in one river and be non existent in another similar river a few miles away.
The white fly hatch is also a little...well....unique. The hatch starts in the later half of August and runs through the first week or so of September. What makes it unique is that it will start down stream initially, and every day work it's way up river. The trick is being on the water in the right spot at the right time to catch the hatch. And I do mean HATCH. I would say that of all the hatches I've experienced, the white fly hatch - when I get it right - is truly a "blanket" hatch. It can be awe inspiring. You're fishing, the sun is going down, and suddenly you notice a bunch of ghostly, grayish white mayflies silently flying up stream. They hatch out of the water and into flight so quickly that you rarely see one actually coming out of the water. It can get so thick that it reminds me of snow being blown in a cross wind in front of your face.
As with any prolific hatch, the curse is that the fish have too much food to feed on. You may make the perfect presentation with the perfect fly and the fish will simply slurp the surrounding flies because they're everywhere. Naturally, we blame the fly and come up with new patterns every summer to do battle with. This year is no exception:
Back to the tying vise. I'll see you on the water...
There's too much nice water on West Canada Creek. I can't stress that enough. Even when the fish don't comply, it's still really fishy water. We decided to try out the "yellow gate" run - a designated parking/fishing spot down the road from the catch and release section on route 28. You can't miss it. An average sized barn really close to the road and a small dirt drive - through a yellow gate, of course - to a quiet parking area and a few small trails to the water. The river is wide here, and deceptively fast. We only had a couple of hours on the water, and the fish weren't really into taking our flies. Near the end of the night, there was a decent light cahill hatch that got some fish rising. Once again, I hooked up on a fish that wasn't a typical resident of this area of the river. I landed an 8 inch brook trout. Go figure. The water was 62 degrees, and the air felt about the same. Oh well, not a great catching day again, but good to get out. The beer was cold and the wings hot at the Hotel Moore on the way home. y the way, they run a Monday night special - a pitcher of beer and 24 wings for $11.95.
This was my first time packing in my gear to a fishing spot. I know you westerners do it all the time, but we easterners are usually spoiled with...roads. Still, it was nice to get off the beaten track. The river is on the small size for a river, more like a large stream in some areas. The promise of native brook trout kept those quirky smiles on our faces as we geared up. Given that this was a typical Adirondack river, the wading was pretty easy. The fishing was slow at first, but then Bob got things going with a couple of hook ups. I had luck on a big, bushy Adams Wulff. All in all, the brookies were small but accomodating. After lunch we were welcomed back to the river by a couple of ravens as we worked our way down stream. The fishing slowed but the relaxation was abundant. At one point I just sat down on a rock in the middle of the river and took it all in. Not a banner day of catching, but add in the Adirondack setting and just plain beautiful water and it was a great day. We packed out in the late afternoon and joined our wives back at the camp for a cocktail. Finishing out the day with Bob and Karen's family proved to be as fun as usual. It's amazing to me how one, day-long outing can feel like a full weekend.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
5:30 am. Bob and Karen's house. Good coffee. Nice Landscaping stones. Probably a little too early.
7:00 am. Boonville Burger King. Crap. Still too early. More coffee.
7:30 am. Bob's TU buddies are all on time, and it's on to the Black River. We drove down into Hawkinsville and took Edmonds Road to the closed bridge and impromptu parking/picnic area. It was here that Dave planned to set up lunch in the afternoon. Bob gave a quick rundown of the waters and fly strategy for the day as I sluthed the hatches and bug activity on the bridge. Bob wanted to hike up stream a half a mile and work our way back to the bridge. It sounded like a good idea, but I wish I looked at a topographical map first. I'm sure that the deer and imaginary mountain goats handled the trail fine, but I was petrified. Nothing like a 1 foot wide trail of sand and rotted wood on a 45 degree incline sloping down 50 or 60 feet to the river below. Mom? Thanks for buying me the "studded" Simm's Freestones.
By about the 1/4 mile mark the trail got off of the "cliff" and leveled out into a bog area. Although there were posted signs, there was also a public fishing sign among them. Naturally, we followed the instructions of the public access sign. Let me just say that this river is beautiful. And incredibly fishy.And very fisherman friendly in access, casting clearance, and even stream bed traction. It just made you want to explore all day, because around every bend was even more nice water. The day's statistics: air temps in the upper 60's to low 70's, water temps from 60 to 66, and the water level was low and clear. We found a smooth pool book-ended with some pleasant riffles with fish rising. I hooked up on one but found the fish to be all too picky. We continued down through the pocket water. Bob brought up a small mouth bass and lost a nice fish. I landed a few more small stockies and lost a few flies in the process. Despite the multitude of hatches, the key was skittering a bushy fly through the pockets. There really was too much nice water to cover and it was getting to be lunch time.
Lunch was great. Thanks Dave for cooking and organizing. Thanks everyone for all the food. If only we had some chopped onions to go with the burgers...
We decided to finish out the day at the pool below the bridge. Figuring out what they were feeding on proved to be difficult at first, because there were a few caddis and midge species about, as well as march browns, cornuta olives, light cahills, and quill gordons in various stages throughout the day. Once Bob got a rusty spinner on it was obvious what they were taking. I just want to go on record as saying that although I lost count of how many fish I caught, I really didn't catch that many ;)
As usual, a great day with the guys. The Black River did not disappoint today.
Bob had discovered this upper section of the East Branch of Fish Creek on a recon mission disguised as a rock quest for his wife Karen's landscaping projects. Bob is cunning like that, and he has a super-human ability of looking on a map and being able to visualize how nice a body of water looks. Too bad his telepathic powers don't allow him to get into the minds of the trout. It would've helped that morning. The East Branch of Fish Creek is beautiful, but the brook trout didn't get the memo that they were supposed to feed ravenously on what ever I threw at them. I'm sure it was a problem with the DEC home offices, because the brook trout on the upper West Canada Creek didn't get the memo either. I mean, they're brook trout for God's sake. They don't get as big and aren"t as hardy as other trout species (I know - they're actually a char and not a trout, but for argument sake stay with me). The only thing going for them is their vibrant colors and the penchant for eating any fly thrown in front of them. Stupid fish, jeesh....
So, Bob hooked up on a brookie and I had two hits but no takers. Time for an early lunch and then on to the upper West Canada Creek. Wow. Beautiful water...again. Stupid brook trout...again. Bob brought up 4 more. I couldn't even get a hit on a wooly bugger. Hmmm. Maybe I'm underestimating Bob's telepathic powers. Fortunately, the black flies were everywhere, making the experience even more enjoying. If it wasn't such a beautiful place and my favorite river, I might have gotten a little discouraged. OK...well.....how about the lower West Canada.....
We decided to try a few spots on the lower West Canada that had been mentioned in Paul Keesler's book. First spot? McDiermid's run. We followed the map in the book to the access trail. Wait.......no trail? Posted? Crap. OK.... well.......how about Powers Bend? Ah-ha! No black flies! smart stockies that hit most flies and strike indicators for good measure! Woot!! Both Bob and I scored doubles - meaning a fish on the indicator fly and one on the dropper fly at the same time. We both lost count of how many smart stocked browns we caught. Bob even got into a nice 16 incher.
We took a break to rest our backs, grab a bite to eat, and call the wives. Had a nice conversation with a guy vacationing in the area, and lost the pool to some spin fishermen that descended on the spot like raccoons to road kill. Oh well. We decided to finish out the day at the run below the Trenton Falls bridge. No other fishermen there - go figure. A Saturday night on Memorial Day weekend and we had it all to ourselves. We both got into some decent fish, including a 16 inch rainbow trout that slammed a golden stone nymph I was swinging through the run.
All in all, a great day. A little slow at first, but the good old West Canada Creek saved the day. Too bad about Fish Creek, but something tells me we'll be back. It looks too good to only fish once....