| Yellow Breeches |
Air Temperature: 50 degrees Farenheit
Water Temperature: 50 degrees Farenheit
Hatches: none
Summary:
The Yellow Breeches was my final stop last Saturday, to round out a fine day of fishing. We started out fishing at the Allenberry Playhouse, with rather dismal results. The numerous other fishermen there had come to the same conclusion, as they all pulled out after being there for a short time. We spent a fruitless half hour at the Playhouse. Unlike the last time I was at the Breeches, the San Juan Worm failed me, or rather I failed it, and left it hanging in a tree ten feet above my head.
When we left, we went to a tributary of the Breeches close to the lake in Boiling Springs. Here we had much better luck. By the time I made it to the stream, after tying on a new tippet and fly, Ross and Paul had both had several strikes, and were thoroughly enjoying themselves. The stream was once again very crowded, and some of the other anglers were also having luck with a few small browns. On his final cast, Paul hooked a 14 inch brown with a black size 10 minnow in a rather bizarre way: the fish was hooked through a small fold of skin on it's side. We assumed that the fish had missed the fly on the take and had been close enough that when Paul stripped, the hook had caught itself in the fish. The brown put up a decent fight, and after a few minutes was tired enough to hold up for the picture. It was a good way to end the day, and I was thoroughly satisfied. I can't give any advice for the main branch of the Breeches, but for this tributary, minnows and small, darkly colored nymphs seemed to draw the most attention from the fish. Be sure to weight your line, and put on some kind of strike indicator, as small fish make soft strikes. Tight lines.
When: September 11, 1999
Where: the Yellow Breeches, PA
Conditions: Air Temp: 90 farenheit
Water Temp: 60 farenheit
Fish Caught: Yes
Fish Rising: Yes
Fly That Caught Fish: San Juan Worm, Ausable Wulff On Saturday, September 11, about two days before school started for me, I told my dad that we were going fishing. So, at 8 am he called our friends, Ross, and his son Michael, who is my age, and decided to go to the Yellow Breeches near Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania. Ross, being an avid fisherman, somehow convinced my father to get out of bed before 10 am on a fishing day, a feat which I have never been able to accomplish. As a result of this, we were on the road by nine, and in a small town near Yellow Breeches (I believe Boiling Springs) by 11. There, Michael and I fed some geese what was left of our breakfast while our fathers consulted the people at the Orvis store there. Had I been inside, I would not have allowed these people to deceive my father into purchasing several basic flies at outrageous prices (about $2 per fly, not actually bad prices, but since I am 15 that seems like a lot of money for something I can tie in 2 minutes, namely the San Juan Worm.) By 11:45 we had located the Allenberry Playhouse where we could park and have easy access to the river. The Playhouse seemed like a very nice place, with clay tennis courts and nice cottages. The main restaurant was called "The Player's Club," which I found hilarious. At the bottom of the hill on which the place was built, there was a covered picnic area, and a picnic table next to the river. We brought all of our stuff there, set it down, and sat down to tie on leaders and flies. Though the other three decided to put on their waders, I tried wet wading, and though at first it seemed too cold, after a while I got used to it.
The first thing I noticed upon walking out into the river (it is only about 20 feet wide and 2 feet deep in the middle at the picnic area), besides the cold, was the fact that there were fishermen every 100 feet, sometimes even closer than that. We walked downstream past most of them, and started casting towards the bank with San Juan Worms. Letting these drift down the current, we got a few bites, and continued moving. After about 15 minutes, we realized that there were trout everywhere, not just in midstream. If you looked closely into the slow water, you could see several 10 inch trout holding behind small rocks. After that, we cast everywhere, and 5 minutes later I got a bite. Setting the hook too soon, I lost the fish, but the next bite a few seconds later yielded a feisty 10 inch rainbow trout. After playing the fish for about a minute, I reeled him in and handed my rod to Michael, who had to hold both both of our rods. While he was holding mine, a fish took his fly, and before he could set the hook the fish had swam away. To Michael's dismay, this was the last bite he had for the rest of the day.
Thus was the condition also of my father. Though he valiantly spent an hour attempting to tempt a white fish whose species we still have no idea about, he had one bite and that was it. Ross favored far better. As usual when fishing with him, he walked more than a mile upstream, so that we didn't see him until the sun was setting that night. I fared better than my father or Michael, because after two unsuccessful hours I tempted a foot long rainbow trout to strike not one but three times on the three fly, but each time bungled the thing.
Fifteen minutes later my father told me we had to leave, so that I could get home in time to finish reading the book. I told him, as I am the (younger) man of the house, that he could stand to wait fifteen minutes for me to fish a bit more. So, running out of time, I tied on an ausable wulff and headed downstream, letting the fly float about fifteen feet from where I was walking. After several strikes, one that I set but ripped out of the fishes mouth after a second on the line, I finally got to a relatively impassable area and decided to head back upstream. The second I turned my back on my fly, though, I felt a strike and set the hook. Immediately, the fish started to swim towards me, veering off about ten feet in front of me. I reeled in the line, gave a bit more back, and then when the fish tired after a few minutes I set my rod down on a fallen tree and picked up the fish. Getting the hook out of the fishes mouth was a problem, though. I had left my vest with my dad, so I didn't have my pliers. Taking the hook out of the fishes mouth involved reaching my finer down its throat, not dislodging the hook, putting the fish in the water for a minute to let it breathe, and then trying again. On the fourth try, I got the hook out, and held the 12 inch rainbow facing upstream for a minute, and watched him swim away and find a holding position midstream. Contented with my catch, and that my catch was content, I headed upstream, casting randomly but having no luck.
I folded up my rod, put away my flies, and schlepped my stuff back to the car. We had to wait another twenty minutes for Ross, which I spent reading the wretched book I mentioned earlier. It was a very nice view, watching the sun go down, and the McDonalds was good on the way home.
I would suggest the Yellow Breeches to anyone with the time to go out there, if you have a couple red San Jaun worms, and some good Wulffs, then catching fish shouldn't be a problem. If you need to know anything else, email me.
Patrick Leibach
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