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Letort
My buddy Glenn May is a very good fly fisherman and writer. He sent me his own report from a recent excursion and I thought you might enjoy it.
It's pretty long but good.
I finally got around to fishing the famous Letort
Spring Run on Wednesday on my way back to Pittsburgh
from my parents' house. Pennsylvania turnpike crosses
right over it, but I have always been either burdened
with my cat or the pressing need to return for work.
Now that I have ditched both (the cat is at my
parents', the job in the rear-view mirror) I had the
time to stop and wet a line. Packed my aunt's 1966
Orvis cane pole to make a proper pilgrimage of it. All
I lacked was a pipe, tweed jacket, wicker creel . . .
Well, I had a cane pole.
The Letort is the quintessential limestone creek, no
doubt about it. For anyone unfamiliar, limestoners are
fed all along their length by springs that pump cold,
rich water that seeps out from layers of limestone
that characterize Central Pa. Clear, cold water,
choked with aquatic plants, slow but swirling
currents, big trout that seem to chose lies based on
how good they are for spotting approaching fisherman
-it's all there. And you really do get a feel for the
history as you wander up Marinaro's Meadow, by Vince
Fox's house, all the places that have been the setting
of countless magazine articles and spurred
innovations in the sport such as terrestrial flies,
superfine leaders, excessive cursing, etc.
The river is said by old-timers to not be what it once
was, with a lot of development around Carlisle, PA.
dumping in silt and crowding the lower end with
houses. Actually amazing that it is still as nice as
it is. A huge limestone quarry sits right on top of
one of the huge feeder springs that gushes right out
of the ground with more cold water than can be found
in a half-dozen New Mexico rivers combined. A real
crime to have allowed this to be built where it was.
Same goes for I-81 and the turnpike, both of which
cross the river. But the upper end is still a nice
little oasis of woods, meadow and swamp. The grass in
some places, if not mowed, is short enough to give you
the feel of being in some ritzy Brit club.
The writers I consulted on the river had two bits of
advice on the Letort: There aren't many hatches, and
one or two fish landed on a given day is a decent
take. They were right on both accounts.
I started off with some little ant patterns and other
dries of that sort, but gradually gave in to the
realization that the fish weren't even looking up top.
These spring creeks are so rich with swimming
critters- scuds, sow bugs, etc., **** I don't even
know anything about - that the fish aren't bothered to
wait for something to float by, at lease not in April.
The crickets and ants that Ed Shenk and his pals made
famous on the river were not in evidence yesterday, so
I gradually stepped it down. First dry fly, then dry
fly with unweighted dropper, then bead head dropper,
then double-nymph rig with indicator, then no
indicator and, finally, a piece of shot.
The old Orvis is a gem for dropping a dry fly on a
dime from 40 feet; it's not so good for tossing shot.
It's amazing how a weighted offering finds its way
around the massive wed beds without the fly getting
hung up too often. The currents slip and slide
expertly around each weedbed, carrying the fly with it
if you don't panic and try to pull the thing through.
You try to find the little slots in the weed beds, and
hope Mr. Trout hasn't long since buried his nose in
the mat of weeds that seem there for that purpose.
Tough damn fishing. If you make a long cast, the
commotion sends the fish running. If you try to creep
up, your silhouette does the trick. Plus, I'm getting
too lazy for that unless I know a really good fish is
ahead.
My day and self-respect were saved when I found what
is apparently the sole classic riffle-run sequence on
the entire creek. Someone, sometime had built a little
stone dam or bridge on the creek, which has thankfully
by now deteriorated into a little chute that creates a
pool. First cast into the meat of the hole with my
scud pattern netted a brookie just shy of 15 inches.
Not too shabby for a brook trout in this day and age.
The Letort is not stocked, or so they say, so this may
have been a wild fish and a damn good one by brook
trout standards. A fish like that sure feels good on
the end of my aun't old buggy whip.
I hooked one other fish in the same pool, and that was
it for four hours of pretty concentrated fishing. Like
the book said, one or two fish on the Letort is a
respectable tally, and given that it was my first stab
at it, I felt pretty good.
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