A Pennsylvania Tangent: The Monocacy and Little Lehigh

I was in Bethlehem, PA a few weeks ago, taking a course at the Moravian Archives. There is something about eighteenth-century architecture that makes me smile. Well, actually, the eighteenth century as a whole makes me smile...it probably helps that that's the time period of German history I study. But, even Moravian history can't keep my mind off the trout, so I made sure to spend a little bonding-time with my cold-water buddies in the state where "I've got a friend."

During the weekend that divided my two-week course, I bought a three-day tourist license and decided to try to get in three evenings of fishing. I had googled the Monocacy Creek and came up with a few hits that claimed it was a blue ribbon "trophy trout" creek, so I couldn't resist. Especially since it runs right beside the campus where I was staying. As it passes through Bethlehem, the creek is no more that fifteen-or-so feet wide with lots of overhanging trees. It runs cool and supports a good amount of bug-life. In fact, the nature of the creek reminded me of a small version of the Gunpowder River in Maryland. ....with just as much pressure. Granted, the amount of people on the creek should be expected considering the location, and I was pleasantly surprised to see everyone leaving their spots as the sun started setting.

I found a nice parking spot off Macada Road and dropped into the creek. Railroad tracks run alongside most of the creek in this area, making for easy access. There was a nice sulfur hatch on both evenings, and as dusk approached the browns began eating. The bodies of these sulfurs were a bit darker than my Hendrickson patterns, so I didn't have a good chance at a fish until I was left working with the remnants of that day's sunlight. The first evening I missed my only opportunity at a fish, who was prematurely named "the $26 fish" (3 reasons: the price of the license, I didn't know if I'd get out to fish again, and I had to get off the river a bit early that night). I saw the rise, even felt the take, but the hook didn't set. So, I was left thinking about it the rest of that night.

But, the next evening I hit several holes with feeding fish, especially just below the Macada bridge. All the fish were in the eight-to-ten inch range, but they fought with a lot of vigor. I was a bit surprised by the strength of some of these guys. As I was casting my way out of the creek, the owner of the house on the south-side of Macada, just at the bridge, came down and scared the living daylights out of me. He was actually just interested in how the fishing was and offered me a beer. I declined his gesture, but I was impressed by his kindness. It was a good way to end my Monacacy experience.

The following day, a bit after dinner, I headed down to the Little Lehigh, just outside of city congestion. I parked at the top marker of the designated a fly-fishing only section, and worked downstream. Disappointing. I didn't expect such a poor river to have such a high designation. It was not that the trout weren't there, but that the river's structure (a sand bottom) and water tempurature (pretty hot for the early summer/late spring) stunk.

It didn't help that I missed every fish I had opportunity to catch. The sun was still too high to dry fly when I arrived, so I stripped a woolly bugger through the deeper pools. I had several strikes, but the only one I hooked spit out the hook before I got a glimpse. (I'm sure it was about 22 inches at three pounds ;) .) My gameplan was to work down the river until the sun began setting, and then return to the hole right below the bridge. By then, the fish would be rising and I'd have a shot or two. Little did I know....

I was at the far bottom of the "bridge" pool, set up with a caddis and sulfur on my line, and HE showed up. I don't know what this guy was thinking. He was rigged up: waders, vest, hat, glasses, and BEER; but he didn't really need anything but the rod and the beer. You see, he decided to fish the whole I was wading in!!!! OK, but I didn't handle the situation well. I prayed, but my sinfulness took over. Here is a transcription of what occurred:

[After he had hook three trout out of the hole, he turns to me.]

Fisher guy: Hey, you can fish the other side of the hole if you want.

[Peter looks at the ten-foot wide river and thinks, "What other side?']

Peter responds: Ummm, yeah I was kinda hoping to fish this hole by myself.

Fisher guy: Whatever! I couldn't see you when I walked up.

Peter responds: Whatever!?! I was fifteen feet down stream. I'm just looking for a little river etiquette.

Fisher guy: Whatever.

Peter: Yeah "Whatever". Way to represent Pennsylvania.

And for the next half-hour I steamed over this. But not because he took the best part of the hole and fished it out, but because I responded so poorly. I should have said, "It's ok, dude. I'll just fish that part when you're done." But, I didn't. Instead I needed to be justified; to get my way. I left all humility aside and said what was "right" but not "wise." So, I spent the rest of the night repenting. And to make things worse for me, he finally got off the river and went back to his truck to change, and he walked back and apologized. Crap! That's not fair. He's not supposed to 'fess up to his mistake! I am supposed to go home feeling good about myself. Too bad; the Lord had bigger things for me to deal with.

But even if that whole fiasco hadn't happened, I still wouldn't step foot in that river again. There's too many other regional spots in which to spend my time.

So, my PA trout fishing adventure, with all its bumps and bruises, came to an end.