All That Glitters…may be
Poison!
During the height of my fly fishing days in the 80’s and 90’s I had a fishing partner. We logged quite a few hours on Potter County’s streams. Joe and I both had an abiding interest in the total fly fishing experience: we studied the hatches, made collections and identifications of aquatic insects, collected “road kill” for the tying bench, endlessly fiddled around with various rigs and gear, were on the constant lookout for “fishing dope,” read the magazines and books, became familiar with stream ecology, etc. etc. Over a couple of years of such intense activity we actually began to understand some of the many variables that go into the sport.
We were also somewhat susceptible, I must admit, to the pronouncements of the “famous” fly fishermen, those who actually got paid for their scribblings with audiences that were nationwide. These ranged from the older gentlemen such as Ernie Schwiebert, Lee Wulff, Vincent Marinaro, Lefty Kreh and George Harvey to a younger generation of long-rodders who specialized, usually, in the business of “matching the hatch.” These would include Gary LaFontaine, Causi and Nastasi, Charlie Meck, Fred Arbona and countless others. There was no end of information available.
Both of us had met and talked at length with Charlie Meck. Charlie, a native Pennsylvanian and entomologist/fly fisherman, had published several fly fishing books, one of which, Pennsylvania Trout Streams and Their Hatches, had just been re-released with revisions and updates when this story occurs. In fact, both Joe and I had been mentioned in his write-up of Mill Creek (page 131). We, of course, read the book. We had fished most of Potter County’s streams by then, so we decided to branch out and fish one of the 125 streams Charlie detailed in the book – something outside of our usual county excursions. Something different.
So, on
Charlie’s written recommendation, we loaded the car early one July
morning and
set out for the East Branch of the Clarion River, in neighboring Elk
County,
about 35 miles away as the crow flies. The
stream is the site of an Army Corps of Engineers flood
control dam,
one of 16 in the Pittsburgh District. This dam also
stores water to be released downstream during dry periods, i.e.,
July. It is a bottom-release dam, and
through manipulation of the gates, engineers can control the
temperature and
rate of flow of the water below the dam during periods of hot weather. It was this feature that most interested us
as neither one of us had fished below a bottom-release dam before. The cooler water, temperatures in the 50’s,
promised better fishing on a hot summer’s day.
Both of us were pleasantly surprised
on arrival that not only had the Corps provided us with a cool water
fishery,
but the access road and parking spaces were also excellent. This, indeed, promised to be a banner
occasion. We walked the banks a bit
before rigging up and agreed that it was an absolutely gorgeous stream. A lot of stream improvement work had been
done to stabilize the banks and create holding water for trout. The pools were not too deep, the current not
too swift, the riffles inviting. We
couldn’t wait to begin casting.
Our normal mode was to flip a coin
to see who would get to fish upstream first. I
won, and we separated with Joe working downstream with
nymphs and
streamers. I kept my eye out for any
sign of a hatch as I began a slow wade up stream. Normally
woodland streams like this would support a good number
of caddisflies, so I tied on a standard Elk Hair Caddis and began
casting.
At first the over all “fishability”
of the stream entranced me. It was pure
pleasure not to have to worry too much about getting my backcast hung
up in a
tree or to struggle against an angry current. But
after a half hour or so, I began to wonder: where were
the
fish? Normally on the Allegheny or the
Oswayo by now I would have raised a few little ones at least. Not only had I not brought up even a shiner,
I had not even seen a rise. Furthermore,
not a single flying insect could be seen. On
my home waters even during periods of no
mayflies or caddisflies other insects would be buzzing around –
dragonflies,
moths, other aquatic insects.
Gamely I pressed on, hoping that
soon a burst of hatching activity would reveal the presence of trout. The dam, a not inconsiderable 185-foot high
structure loomed ahead. As I got closer
the roar of the bottom release tunnel got louder. But
still no fish.
Finally I could go no further. Standing
in the shadow of the monolithic dam
I stared at the turbulent water as it gushed out from the tubes at the
bottom
of the dam, draining the lake above me. Across
the way, where the water bounced up against the
bank, I thought I
saw a rise. Sure enough, a few minutes
later, another splashy take in the frothy turbulence.
Finally, after almost an hour, I’d
found fish! A couple of false casts, a
final push and the line sailed away to present the fly on a course for
the
fish. And he took. And
was landed.
A dinky little rainbow, barely the
length of my hand. Twenty fruitless
casts later and ten minutes of decreasing hope, I reeled in and gave it
up. No fish.
All the way back to the car I looked
at the beautiful, fishless water. What
a waste. Joe was there, and unlike me,
had stumbled onto some bluegills and had had some fishing.
But we both agreed, somehow Meck had either
1) never actually fished the stream, 2) had been hoodwinked by the
locals to
enhance their own economic gain or 3) had happened to fish the stream
just
after a heavy stocking.
At that time I carried an
entomologist’s collecting net in the car. We
dug it out and proceeded to spend the next hour taking
samples of the
insect life on the stream bottom. After
taking dozens of samples, you can guess our dismay when we were not
able to
collect a single living creature. No
nymphs, no caddis cases, no midges, no beetles, no stoneflies. Not a single living critter on the bottom of
the stream. No food, no trout. Simple.
The problem, as it turns out, is
that the feeder streams that run into the lake were still heavily laced
with
all sorts of nasty stuff draining out of old coal mines and more recent
strip
mining. So much so that both the EPA
and the Fish and Boat Commission issued fish consumption health
advisories for
the stream as recently as 2002. The
lake itself is fine for swimming, boating and lake fishing (if you
don’t eat
too much of your catch), but the water escaping to the stream below had
been
essentially poisoned to the extent that it wouldn’t support life. Beautiful trout water – cool, aerated, nice
woodland setting, easy access, but nothing for trout to eat.
All of this happened about 15 years
ago. I am pleased to report that since
then, in 2000, a restoration plan for East Branch Lake and its
watershed was
commissioned (Hedin Environmental, see Sources). Exactly
how much of it has been completed I can’t say. Nor
can I comment on current fishing success
in the stream as I have never returned, nor does the stream come up
much in
either online forums or on the PFBC website. A
few days ago I was told in response to a fly
fishing forum
query by a Greensburg, Pa. fisherman that the stream “has never really
had any
great hatches...it’s streamer water. Lots of smallmouth and some rather
large
browns but few and far between.” I can
only hope that, given enough time, the stream can somehow be restored,
for it
is truly a jewel.
So, over beers and burgers at a
pleasant roadhouse in Glen Hazel on our way home, Joe and I both agreed
we were
real lucky to live and fish in a part of the state where the streams
are
productive. True, some more so than
others, but in the main one can fish anywhere in Potter County and 1)
find fish
to catch and 2) eat the fish! What more
could anyone want.
We also agreed: beware the fly
fishing writer who begins his piece with “What a fly-fisherman’s
paradise!”
Sources:
HEDIN
ENVIRONMENTAL - http://www.hedinenv.com/projectpages/eastbranch.htm
U.S. Army Corps of
Engineers -
http://www.lrp.usace.army.mil/rec/lakes/eastbran.htm
Pennsylvania
Trout Streams and Their Hatches,
Charles Meck, Backcountry Publications, Woodstock, VT: 1993
