Bennett Spring, One More Time
On Tuesday morning we were getting organized and packed for a couple more days at Bennett Spring State Park when a knock came at the door. Last week I had arranged to have AC put in next door and the electrical had to be done separately. The electrician showed up without calling first and I was tempted to tell him to shove off, but instead told him that we were leaving town in about three hours. He said that’s how much he’d allowed for the job, so I told him to go ahead.
Fortunately, he was done in two. I called the AC guy and told him the electrical was done, but we were leaving and could he hold off until Friday? That was fine, so down the road we went.
Having more than half of the firewood left over from our previous trip and one less night to burn it in, we skipped our usual wood stop in Louisburg. Got to Bennett around 1600, checked in and hit the river. Got two nice trout for dinner on a #16 crackleback and called it a day just before the 1830 siren. One nice thing about “quitting time” being that early is that dinner gets prepared that much earlier. I cleaned the trout and Kate steamed some broccoli - simple but delicious!
Not being the consummate fisherman I was not on the water when the siren - which I did not hear - went off at 0730 on Wednesday morning. It was closer to 0900 when I drove down to the spring while Kate remained at the cabin to sketch.
I was getting nothing - not so much as a nibble. After a couple of hours I walked up on the bank, sat on a bench, smoked my pipe and watched the others. They weren’t having much luck either. Then one young man walked down to the water, barely got his boots wet and had a strike on his second cast. He let that one go and cast again. A couple more casts and he had another strike, so of course I wandered over to ask if he didn’t mind telling me what he was using. That’s one thing I like about fly fishermen - haven’t encountered one yet that wasn’t friendly and willing to share. He said a Griffith’s gnat, no bigger than a #18 and showed me his fly. I had a couple in #16 that I showed him and he said I needed to go smaller. He also said they weren’t rising for them so much as sipping them - OK, sipping is a form of rising, but I get it: they weren’t jumping, but they were definitely feeding on the surface. I'm not that experienced a fisherman that I can tell surface feeding from a game of fishy grab-ass, which trout do a lot. No wonder I had no luck with my submerged crackleback.
Kate and I had some errands in town, so I drove back to the cabin and we got those done. Then we came back to the Camp Store where I bought the last two #18 Griffith’s gnats they had, plus a few more #16s. They didn’t have any #20s. Drove up to the cabin where I swapped out my tippet for a smaller one and spent several frustrating minutes tying on that wee fly. My usual reading glasses (150 diopter) were poorly suited to the task of threading that tiny hole, but I finally got it done. (Since coming home I’ve added a pair of 300 diopter glasses to a pocket in my fishing vest.)
Kate drove me back to the spring, dropped me off and headed out to sketch. By this time the air was FILLED with gnats and the swirls on the surface were definitely feeding trout. I had a hard time keeping an eye on my fly to make sure it stayed on the surface but I caught two in fairly quick succession.
But of course, that was hard on the fly - fish chewing on it makes it somewhat waterlogged - and I really had to work my casts to dry it enough so it would float. (No, I didn’t have any fly dressing.) But eventually I caught a third, by which time I had a call that I really needed to answer. No, not on my cell phone: the other kind. So I looked around not remembering exactly where I had parked. I spotted an old silver Jeep Grand Cherokee that I thought was our Rivet. I walked over and was starting to put my pole on the roof when I noticed a campground registration card on the dash. Waitaminnit, this isn’t Rivet! Where is she? Did somebody steal her? Like many at Bennett, I tend to leave the keys in the vehicle, though not in the ignition, and I just couldn’t believe…
…oh yeah. Kate had dropped me off. Well, nobody seemed to have noticed - or at least didn’t holler at me for starting to put a rod on their roof - so I started the long walk to the necessary. Them boots really ain’t made for walkin’ and by the time I made it there and back, the gnats had completely disappeared: nothing disturbed the surface of the water save for the ripples made by the running water itself.
OK, decision time: switch back to the crackleback, or stick with the gnat and fish it under the surface. In truth, the real difference between the two is mostly color - they’re both a variation on the wooly bugger with the crackleback having a colored belly (the ones I use are emerald green), and the Griffith's gnats tending to brown - so I decided to stick with the gnat. It took a while, but I finally got my fourth and final trout, four being the daily limit.
Happiness is a full creel!
One reason we like the old CCC-built cabins is the fireplaces. The other cabins have outside fire pits and barbeque grills, but it was cold enough that we were very grateful we didn’t have to sit outside to enjoy a fire!
Thursday morning we spent rather leisurely, packing up what little we brought, sipping coffee, and enjoying not having to rush. We had our traditional parting breakfast at the Lodge and hit the road for home. As much as we love these little trips, we're always glad to come back to our own home and our furry children.
And to wrap up the week, on Friday the AC guy showed up, and, long story short, the Cathy Johnson Gallery & Watercolor Museum will have AC next summer!
Fortunately, he was done in two. I called the AC guy and told him the electrical was done, but we were leaving and could he hold off until Friday? That was fine, so down the road we went.
Having more than half of the firewood left over from our previous trip and one less night to burn it in, we skipped our usual wood stop in Louisburg. Got to Bennett around 1600, checked in and hit the river. Got two nice trout for dinner on a #16 crackleback and called it a day just before the 1830 siren. One nice thing about “quitting time” being that early is that dinner gets prepared that much earlier. I cleaned the trout and Kate steamed some broccoli - simple but delicious!
Not being the consummate fisherman I was not on the water when the siren - which I did not hear - went off at 0730 on Wednesday morning. It was closer to 0900 when I drove down to the spring while Kate remained at the cabin to sketch.
I was getting nothing - not so much as a nibble. After a couple of hours I walked up on the bank, sat on a bench, smoked my pipe and watched the others. They weren’t having much luck either. Then one young man walked down to the water, barely got his boots wet and had a strike on his second cast. He let that one go and cast again. A couple more casts and he had another strike, so of course I wandered over to ask if he didn’t mind telling me what he was using. That’s one thing I like about fly fishermen - haven’t encountered one yet that wasn’t friendly and willing to share. He said a Griffith’s gnat, no bigger than a #18 and showed me his fly. I had a couple in #16 that I showed him and he said I needed to go smaller. He also said they weren’t rising for them so much as sipping them - OK, sipping is a form of rising, but I get it: they weren’t jumping, but they were definitely feeding on the surface. I'm not that experienced a fisherman that I can tell surface feeding from a game of fishy grab-ass, which trout do a lot. No wonder I had no luck with my submerged crackleback.
Kate and I had some errands in town, so I drove back to the cabin and we got those done. Then we came back to the Camp Store where I bought the last two #18 Griffith’s gnats they had, plus a few more #16s. They didn’t have any #20s. Drove up to the cabin where I swapped out my tippet for a smaller one and spent several frustrating minutes tying on that wee fly. My usual reading glasses (150 diopter) were poorly suited to the task of threading that tiny hole, but I finally got it done. (Since coming home I’ve added a pair of 300 diopter glasses to a pocket in my fishing vest.)
Kate drove me back to the spring, dropped me off and headed out to sketch. By this time the air was FILLED with gnats and the swirls on the surface were definitely feeding trout. I had a hard time keeping an eye on my fly to make sure it stayed on the surface but I caught two in fairly quick succession.
But of course, that was hard on the fly - fish chewing on it makes it somewhat waterlogged - and I really had to work my casts to dry it enough so it would float. (No, I didn’t have any fly dressing.) But eventually I caught a third, by which time I had a call that I really needed to answer. No, not on my cell phone: the other kind. So I looked around not remembering exactly where I had parked. I spotted an old silver Jeep Grand Cherokee that I thought was our Rivet. I walked over and was starting to put my pole on the roof when I noticed a campground registration card on the dash. Waitaminnit, this isn’t Rivet! Where is she? Did somebody steal her? Like many at Bennett, I tend to leave the keys in the vehicle, though not in the ignition, and I just couldn’t believe…
…oh yeah. Kate had dropped me off. Well, nobody seemed to have noticed - or at least didn’t holler at me for starting to put a rod on their roof - so I started the long walk to the necessary. Them boots really ain’t made for walkin’ and by the time I made it there and back, the gnats had completely disappeared: nothing disturbed the surface of the water save for the ripples made by the running water itself.
OK, decision time: switch back to the crackleback, or stick with the gnat and fish it under the surface. In truth, the real difference between the two is mostly color - they’re both a variation on the wooly bugger with the crackleback having a colored belly (the ones I use are emerald green), and the Griffith's gnats tending to brown - so I decided to stick with the gnat. It took a while, but I finally got my fourth and final trout, four being the daily limit.
Happiness is a full creel!
One reason we like the old CCC-built cabins is the fireplaces. The other cabins have outside fire pits and barbeque grills, but it was cold enough that we were very grateful we didn’t have to sit outside to enjoy a fire!
Thursday morning we spent rather leisurely, packing up what little we brought, sipping coffee, and enjoying not having to rush. We had our traditional parting breakfast at the Lodge and hit the road for home. As much as we love these little trips, we're always glad to come back to our own home and our furry children.
And to wrap up the week, on Friday the AC guy showed up, and, long story short, the Cathy Johnson Gallery & Watercolor Museum will have AC next summer!