Canoe camping remains one of my favorite forms of outdoor recreation, combining the best of car camping (fresh food, comforts of home, malted beverages) with the best of back packing (wilderness, remote scenery and good fishing). The added bonus is that you don't have carry your stuff! And if you're canoeing on moving water, you glide along as on a magic carpet. Of course, that makes fishing along the way even easier.
Robyn and I had pencilled in the Clarion River, but the 2010 drought had left it way too bony for my taste. Our party of seven was rounded out by Mark and Carla, in from Miami, Roy and Mary, and Allison and her Dutch oven. My brother, Tim, and his son, Nicholas, also joined us in kayaks for a day trip.
After paying the outfitter in Franklin to drive our cars to the take-out in Kennerdell, we were getting ready to launch when a bald eagle swooped by, apparently looking for fish. But that was just the prelude to one of the most stunning wildlife displays I have witnessed.
The eagle remained visible downstream as we drifted toward an old bridge abutment. Tim called out that there was a second eagle, a mottled brown juvenile as well. The adult's brilliant white head and tail were clearly apparent as it dropped down to plunge its talons into the water. "It's teaching its young how to fish!" I exclaimed in delight. Sure enough, mama or papa swooped down again, this time lifting a fish into the air. Flying part way across the river, it headed back toward the juvie and released the fish back into the water. (And it's not even desingated a Catch & Release area...) The youngster dropped down and tried clawing the water, but to no avail. Dutifully, it turned and swooped down again, this time its talons locking onto flesh and hauling it into the air with heavy wingbeats. Success! The young eagle beelined for a tree in the woods, apparently not interested in sharing with the instructor.
What a joy to witness this scene only a 90-minute drive from Pittsburgh! I had not even picked up a fishing rod and my angling urges felt fulfilled.
I did eventually pick up a rod (14 minutes after launch, clocked by Mark, who apparently had taken the long shot in the pool) and casted out a Clouser suspender. Another couple of local fly anglers were launching when we were at the ramp and they also had suspenders and crayfish patterns, so I was on the right track.
Drifting with kayakers, Tim & Nicholas, I hooked a nice smallmouth, maybe 14-inches, which jumped and tossed my fly within seconds. Mark soon also called, "Fish on!," reeling in a sub-legal bass on an artificial green sinking worm.
At 4.5 miles, we pulled over for lunch at the Belmar Bridge, where the Sandy Creek Trail crosses above the Allegehny River Trail. This was to be my point of departure from the party, as I wanted to explore up East Sandy Creek to a tributary that supports wild trout. I'd printed maps of the river and a photo of the islands on which we'd be camping so they could secure a site while I did some other exploring.
Taking what shelter we could from the wind, we secured the boats (except mine, which frequently seems to go drifting off) and gobbled some nourishment. These stops along the way are nice for stretching the legs. We were 30 degrees colder than just a few days ago and had been experiencing intermittent sun and sprinkles. Overall, good canoeing weather, but a bit chilly for sitting still.
At this point, I split off in the kayak, while Allison teamed up with Robyn in the canoe. Mary and Roy were manning the monster aluminum Grumman, which had see a lot of whitewater action over the year, often times with Mary or Roy upright using a pole to guide the boat. Mary amazed me by claiming she'd been the national whitewater poling champion for several years. Balance apparently is a strong suit.
I paddled upstream until the water became too shallow, then stowed the boat in the weeds. Boneset and other riarian wildflowers were springled throughout the dry parts of the creek, which remained ankle to shin-deep. About a quarter mile up, pools up to four feet deep appeared. In these I caught horny head chubs up to 8" on a small Clouser crayfish. I hooked one small bass before reaching a big swimming hole. Passing a couple of college girls conversing on the rocks, and then another party circling a campfire, I spied a notch in the hill signifying my brook trout stream, Burford Run. Say what you will about the effectiveness of our PA Fish & Boat Commission, but their data on trout is very helpful and accessible online.
It was difficult to see where the brook joined East Sandy Creek, as there was little water for 100 yards upstream. After another couple hundred yards, there were pools up to 6" deep, which I fished but found nothing more than minnow-sized fish. I reminded myself that a lot of brookie fishing requires walking past skinny water in search of a larger hole.
After several hundred yards of scrambling around jumbles of rocks and logs, I found that hole...15 feeet across, deeply shaded and fed by a small waterfall. I made a short cast with my standard brookie rig of dry caddis above a bead head Prince nymph, hoping not to spook the whole pool. A trout quickly pulled the caddis under and I had a PA gem writhing in my hand. Making another cast to the waterfall, another grabbed the nymph, pulling the dry fly underwater. As this fish fought back and forth across the pool, I saw a larger trout in pursuit. After releasing this 6-incher, I threw out to the middle and saw the bigger trout attack the nymph. I was soon honored to be holding a native trout in its prime, going nine inches with a big jaw starting to form a hook, carving out a life deep in the hemlocks.
I hiked back down to East Sandy, then upstream to a bike trestle which some folks said had a deep hole. After switching back to the crayfish pattern, I hooked a 13-incher, which bulldogged for the undercut bridge abutment, succeeding in dislodging my fly. Dang! Fishing my way back downstream, I took river-left around an island in the stream. In a glassy pool overhung by a tree, I finally landed a smallmouth around 10"...one for four hookups is a more likely stat for steelhead .
Back on the river, I paddled down to the islands. Surprisingly, the team had nabbed the first campsite available, a beauty sheltered by big silver maples and overlooking the back channel. As is typical, it looked like someone had come out and mowed the grass for us and planted native wingstem sunflowers, but that's just Mother Nature's way on the Allegheny islands.
Roy had a fire going and everyone had their tents up, so Robyn was ready for some fishing. We walked toward the tail of the island and tried to fish across an eddy without success, so we moved farther down. Robyn felt some bites, but no luck so headed back to camp. Mark came out and fished a nice run with me. It had been sunny and warm, but when the clouds reappeared, we agreed it was time to hang it up. I had just put on more weight and got a nice long drift down to some deeper water, where a smallmouth grabbed the crawdad and I was into a good fight. It jumped a couple times and put his weight into the current. Mark snapped a couple photos and we hauled the 13-14 incher back to camp for everyone to sample as appetizer. Amazingly, I caught fish by fly on 70 streams prior to the Allegheny River this year. Quite unusual, considering it's normally my home water.
Allison whipped up spaghetti with Italian sausage, and Mary & Roy had set up a salad bar on their upturned Grumman. We ate well and enjoyed a variety of wines and microbrews that evening. Around dusk, a few of us went in search of fish. Robyn got some hits, but none were landed. We rounded out the day with rousing game of Great Dalmuti cards, where Mark asserted his union roots in honor of Labor Day and Mary called a revolution. With the coals banked for a morning fire, we all drifted off to the tents.
Sunday dawned clear with a thick layer of mist on the warm river water. We had sausages and hash browns seasoned with native new Mexico peppers, juice, coffee and Mark & Carla's Greek pastries straight from the Northside Greek Food Festival.
It was a lovely day on the water, mostly sunny, with a regular but not overwhelming headwind. We stopped for lunch on Withrop's Island, not far above Danner's Rest/Clear Creek State Forest. This was the site of the Walnut Palace's 2-keg canoe trip, circa 2000...26 people from several states and a couple countries. Much more serene on this particular occasion.
We took out at Marlow's Campground at Little Scrubgrass Creek. Nice & peaceful, a pleasant weekend in the wilds of NW PA.
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