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Fishing: Creek cleanup will not happen overnight
Fifty years ago, Green Drakes disappeared from Spring Creek in Centre County after someone from a Penn State University chemistry lab dumped cyanide into the water. The big mayflies haven't been seen there since. "A bunch of us tried to reintroduce them by planting nymphs in the stream and duns in the foliage," said Dan Shields, of Lamont, Pa., who wrote about the incident in his book "Fly Fishing Pennsylvania's Spring Creek." "We even netted thousands of spinners from another stream, but they never took hold. We tried for three or four years, but it was no use." Although the recent train derailment and chemical spill on Sinnemahoning Portage Creek in Mc-Kean and Cameron counties was much bigger and more deadly, experts are cautiously optimistic that insects will rebound on what had been pristine, wild trout water, but predict a long, slow process.
On the fly: Fish chix
Members of the Colorado Women Flyfishers made what is becoming an annual pilgrimage to the Pan, where some seriously dedicated anglers were in the river from morning til night and beyond.
Two guys returning to their vehicle on the upper river at dusk on Saturday night found more than a few women staking out a spot for the anticipated rusty spinner fall. The evening feeding frenzy was memorable on Friday night, club members assured anyone who wasnt there (this angler, for one).
The spinners, pale morning duns that fall dead into the water after laying their eggs at dusk, are apparently delectible to trout. The pockets of calm water along the bank can boil with glutonous fish during a spinner fall. (The mayflies turn a rusty color at this stage hence the name.)
The pattern with sparkle wings was the hot call on Friday night, but Saturdays overcast, rainy weather apparently put a damper on the PMD hatch earlier in the day, and the evening spinner fall as well.
ยท Failed angler confesses ...
Somewhere between the cloudy waters of Chub Ditch and blue ribbon mountain streams, I took a wrong turn. Learning to fish was supposed to hone character and cleanse the soul. There is nothing more masculine, more all-American, more Montanan than becoming an expert angler. Here follows the confession of an angler left behind. The Huck Finn I once was never outgrew fishing but fishing outgrew him. Fishing introduced me to a new world, a world of flash and wonder, murky mystery and electric connections. The watery world interfaced with this ocean of air at the surface of every creek, pond and river. Fishing line was the telegraph wire that communicated between the two. My first freshwater rig consisted of a willow pole, three yards of line, a bobber and a hook. I transmitted a cricket and waited for an answer.
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