Font ResizeThe morning air was clean when we arrived at the Little Juniata River, and at 60 degrees quite comfortable. We hiked deep into the Barree Gorge, with tremendous rock walls towering a hundred feet overhead and the forest thick about us.
I had never trekked that far into the gorge, but Mike Saylor had, and he led us to a beautiful spot to begin our fishing.
The river spread wide and the sun shone down between the mountains, and as I waded into the tail of a deep pool I felt the welcome chill of the water against my legs.
Though the river was lower than I'd ever seen it, cool nights had chased away the warm water of summer and returned the river to an ideal condition for trout.
The wind swirled as I began to cast and I stared for a moment at the first hint of autumn. Here and there on the mountainsides a trace of color spoke of autumn, and the refreshing chill of the wind seemed to hasten summer from this place.
Despite its inviting appearance, the pool surrendered no more than a splashy refusal, so I worked upstream to test the fast water with an isonychia mayfly.
The left bank offered a boulder field, and the exposed rocks offered perfect habitat for those some know as slate drakes.
As I worked away the morning and into early afternoon, the pockets began to surrender chunky brown trout to my claret-bodied dry fly. Clouds began to build in the bluebird sky as
We sat on a boulder and ate our sandwiches, enjoying the passing of the season. He had yet to catch his first trout of the day, a condition that would change once he headed upstream.
I finished my patient work among the pocket water and turned downstream to the frothy chute that fed the pool below. A quick spurt rise caught my eye and my application of the isonychia engaged the best trout of the day.
The buttery flanks of the trout flashed as he twisted in the deeper current, but the hook held fast and I brought him to hand. Thinking that trout might have risen to the beginnings of an afternoon hatch, I sat down on a mid-river boulder to wait and see.
The respite allowed me time to savor the last kiss of summer, appreciating the tall mountains, clear currents, swirling breezes and the warmth of the sun.
While I sat another spurt erupted, and a quick cast brought another brown to hand. I sat awhile after that, and though there was no hatch to bring more trout to the surface, there was the beauty of the place and a season full of memories to sift through as I whiled away the balance of the afternoon.
I walked out early and was surprised to have to wait an hour and a half for Mike. It seems he had found willing fish at the end of his hike and was reluctant to leave them; to say goodbye to another summer.
Mark Sturtevant is a resident of Chambersburg and an outdoor enthusiast. He may be reached at sturtevantoutdoors@yahoo.com.
