Hell of an attempt Misha! Gorgeous brookie and nice chunk of butter. Solid bass too. Nothing like fishing a couple different stretches of water in a weekend.
-- Rob - sweet gurgle frog.
Well, I'd be remiss if I didn't tell y'all what went down....this gauntlet...it changes people....
I now can throw a tomahawk....
With an early dismissal from work on Friday, I hit the road from Baltimore to pick up my fly brotha Connor in Bluemont, VA that afternoon. After strategizing all week, we decided that our best bet to get a jump on The Gauntlet was to fish the fabled Hex Hatch at Mossy on Friday evening, camp at nearby Hoane Quarry campground, and hit the road at 4:30am to get to the country store for a permit to fish Beaver Creek. If we caught the Brown that evening, we wouldn't have to fish Beaver and could instead, hop over to the Dry River for the brookie and then to the Shenandoah to try and track down an afternoon smallie and carp. Easier said than done, right?
The fish gods don't care about your damn plans, man.
We arrived in Brigewater around 6pm and strung up the sticks as we waited for the sun to get low and bugs to show. While tying our leaders and getting the GoPro set up, another car pulled up. In these situations, it's very easy to give the stink eye, puff out your chest, and let the intruder know that this is YOUR stretch of river. But Connor and I don't really roll like that and as the stranger got to rigging up his set-up, we popped a few brews to commemorate the start of the long weekend and started up some casual fish talk. We had plenty of time before the hatch started.
Rick, our new friend, turned out to be a very passionate fly fishermen, a veteran of Mossy, and a man in tune with an appreciate for the simple things. We told fish stories for a while, lamenting the ass-kickings that Mossy had bestowed upon us over the years and celebrating those rare instances when everything lined up and the creek provideth. Then it came up that Rick had survived a terrible car accident which almost left him in a vegetative state a few years back. Heavy stuff. Not too surprisingly, Rick's recovery was fueled by his desire to return to nature and do what he loved -fish. Naturally we got along just fine. We talked with him for a good 45 minutes before the sun started getting low and we journeyed downstream to set up shop for the evening's fireworks. I gave him a star**** pattern before we left, both Connor and I truly appreciative for the encounter with such a genuine and amicable individual.
After setting up shop on an open stretch of stream in a somewhat wooded area - we sat and waited for the fireworks to begin. But alas, we didn't see a single hex plop down or fish rise. Lots of moths. No hexegenia. We waited until 9pm or so before heading off to set up camp with 20 hours of eligible fishing time left to get the job done. Mossy once again proved to be a fickle and mysterious beast. That night we cowboy camped under the stars and practiced our tomahawk throws.
The next morning we got a late start on the road and ended up arriving at the general store at 6am to 12 disgruntled fishermen in the parking lot who had obviously gotten the all-too-familiar denial from the Ottobine Country Store. Very fun stream, very tough to get access as us DC folks have a 2hr disadvantage on the locals. Oh well - early bird gets the worm and we weren't early enough. So is life. From what I've heard - it fished spectacularly this past weekend....
With Beaver out of the equation - it eliminated the Dry River/Shenandoah combo - as we now needed to find another stream with big trout close to smallmouth/carp water. Connor and I knew of a stretch of water about an hour and a half away near Petersburg, WV that had 4/5 species- so we hit the road into the rising darkness of the mountains. As the sun got up, I noticed a pink piece of paper on the windshield of my car. Fearing we had gotten a ticket, I pulled over to remove the note and I couldn't help but smile. Rick had left us a note. He thanked us for the fly and for taking the time to talk to a complete stranger. It had meant a lot to him - just as it had to us. Moments like that are where you really come to appreciate that this sport is about so, so much more than just catching fish.
After passing the note Connor's way - we agreed we had some good mo-jo going into the day. Thanks, Rick!
Arriving to a popular stocked water on Labor Day weekend is equivalent to the scene in The Perfect Storm where George Clooney attempts to drive head on into the mac-daddy of all waves. Sure, you may get out of it unscathed and find some fish- but bro, that's a really big wave - you can't really avoid it. All I can say is thank god for Mountaineer football on Saturdays and Rick's note. Arriving at the C&R section, we found the place to ourselves. We had somehow done what Clooney could not and through sheer luck/coincidence/NCAA scheduling committee-fuled miracle - navigated around the wave of weekend warriors and meat fishermen to find a pristine mountain trout water with no human occupants.
We strung up just as the sun was starting to get on the water. It having been a somewhat fun night, I left my phone in the car for survival purposes that morning, fearing a sloppy wet-wading slip may leave me out of communique for a few days. My camera's battery was dead and the only GoPro was with Connor (who took some epic shots throughout the weekend). With all methods for documenting the moment incapacitated - we were primed for a Hawg Johnson sighting the minute Connor went upstream to fish ahead of me.
Lo and behold, 10 minutes after Connor disappeared around the bend, a well placed size-8 fat albert long a cliff wall resulted in a monstrous splash and the fish I had been chasing for the better part of a year and a half erupted from the pool in a full on somersault. With the water low and crystal clear, I had a perfect view of the beast as it made three blistering runs to the head of the pool before coming to the net in a few minutes. Careful to not stress this beautiful specimen of a rainbow trout, I kept her in the net as I removed the hook, and made a quick tape measure. 24" on the dot. I'd have to guess 4-5lbs on her. Great fish. Still jacked up about it. I gave her a kiss and revived her for a minute, releasing her to chill between my size 14 wader boots before moving on back to her hole in the cliff wall. Special moment. Special fish.
That morning, the fish were looking up -HARD. Each run produced a few rises/refusals/takes as the browns and rainbows on this stretch of water aggressively attacked whatever plopped their way. Fat alberts, chernobyls, and other large terrestrials were the ticket for me - Connor crushed em on nymphs. From the hours of 7:30-10:30am Connor and I had caught around 25 fish - all between 14-24". Mostly rainbows with a few browns mixed in and one big brookie that refused the fat albert at the last moment. I also got to witness Connor join the 20" gauntlet rainbow club - good stuff!
With 7 hours left to fish and compelled by our early morning success, we foolishly stayed on the C&R section for the rare brookie instead of checking out the stretch below that is prime smallmouth and carp water. As the sun got high, the fish disappeared. They stopped rising, eating off the bottom, etc. For a good while, we didn't even see a trout. We had a few shots at the LARGE smallmouth that frequent this section, but alas no takers. The one time I got a fish to react to a well placed star**** - a 16" rainbow came out of nowhere to steal it. Can't, won't, ever complain about that. We didn't see a carp.
Despite our best efforts, we ended the day achieving 1/5 - both us catching 20+" rainbows while striking out on the brookie, smallie, and carp - and enjoying every last second of our quest for The Gauntlet.
Sweetwater, sweet fish, and fly times.
The challenge is still out there, folks.
We're not done yet by any means.
Stay fly.
On Thursday, August 28, 2014 5:03:31 PM UTC-4, Remick wrote:
Gentlemen,With the long weekend coming up and fall quickly approaching - I wanted to propose a challenge to all that:A) truly represents the diversity of our region's fisheriesB) showcases just a smidge of angling ability (but mostly gumption and luck)C) forces folks outside of their comfort zone of being strictly a trout, bass, or carp guy.With that said, I'd like to propose The Gauntlet - a grueling way to lay waste to 24 hrs and an excuse to fish harder and potentially longer than anyone thought possible. That said, you could complete The Gauntlet in 4-well placed casts if you were so lucky - but c'mon now...where's the fun in that?Without further adieu, here's what me and some fellow fly dudes (TPFRers Connor Donnovan, Kevin Huntington, Clarence Fullard) came up with and what we are attempting to accomplish this weekend.Mission: Catch one of each in 24hrs
- 20+" Brown or Rainbow Trout
- 10+" brook trout OR 18+" striper
- 18+" smallmouth
- Carp (any size)
Rules:
- Fly-fishing only.
- Similar to a one-fly tournament you're stuck with one pattern and the rod/reel/line combo you start with. Choose wisely.
- Catch, Snap, and Release format (fish are measured and photographed with time stamp to verify size/staying within time limit)
Prize:
- Undying respect.
- One hell of a story for the next beer-tie
- My sticker-ridden, hook-infested automobile*
Think you've got what it takes?*If above requirements are met by a worthy angler, the poster has no legal obligation to award his vehicle as a prize.
http://www.tpfr.org
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