This is the last of the old man's stories/articles that I can find at this time . I am still trying to dig up his piece on fishing the film ....

Posted on March 6, 2012 by Administrator
                                                              LIFE IS GOOD By Ken Yufer
　
It is 5:45 in the morning, and Larry Banfield awakens us to the command: “It’s time to stock Slatyfork.” Larry Orr, Charlie Nichols, Lyndon Davis, Dave Thorne and I reluctantly agree. All the months of planning, organizing, and phone calls are about to be put into motion.

Over a pot of coffee, some last-minute details are ironed out. Then tanks, oxygen bottles, buckets, backpacks, bags, and tape are loaded into two trucks– destination the Edray hatchery. Charlie and Dave will take 1,000 brown trout fingerlings and ten people to the lower end of “Upper Elk”; load the trout in backpacks filled with bags of water and oxygen; and walk up one-half mile and begin stocking. Larry and my other brother Larry will take 3,000 brown fingerlings to the confluence of waters that form the Elk

River. We expect about 20 volunteers to backpack the trout down the river, covering a three–mile stretch.

As the trucks roll into the hatchery, a little before 8:00 a.m., Clyde Lewis and his people are ready to load the trout. Clyde, who has been honored with a Silver Trout award for his long and dedicated service, efficiently gets the trout loaded into the tanks. After ten minutes of fish stories, the drivers are ready to head the trucks toward Slatyfork.

Meanwhile, I Have started greeting volunteers at the head waters of the Elk. Denny Melton and his family are among the first arrivals. The ever-efficient Bill Pauer finds two old tire rims to use in burning stumps at his new home. Fishing experiences are being told, and new fly patterns are swapped. We share our excitement about recent articles in national magazines, which Seneca Creek was ranked seventh best. It is a perfect day, and there is magic in the air.

Shortly before 9:00 a.m., the trucks arrive at the Beckwith Lumberyard parking lot at the river headwaters. Ten volunteers are designated to help with stocking the lower end; they line up to follow Charlie and Dave. Among them are Dave Breitmeier (the guide at the Elk River Trout Ranch) and his fellow employee Shawn Swecker; Sam Knotts (the guide at Appalachian Adventures in Mill Creek) and his son. Several people are wondering why I didn’t volunteer to go downstream with the group.

With the lower contingent on their way, Larry, Larry and Lyndon get set up. I suspect that the turn-out has been even better than expected, and the sighn-up sheet confirms that we have 38 volunteers. A great river will do that for you. One by one, backpackers load up with bags of water, oxygen, fish, and some final instructions; then they begin hiking down the river. Tears come to my eyes as I watch men, women, girs and boys eagerly awaiting their turn to be outfitted. After everyone has gone, Lyndon and I distribute the last 50 trout in the Old Fields branch.

It’s a long wait. The debilitated and crippled (me included) anxiously look downstream. Is it going OK? Finally we see the first returning backpacker. How did it go? Did you lose any fish? No problem, didn’t lose a single trout, what a beautiful river! The hikers start straggling in, all with the same report: no lost trout. About 1:30p.m., the upper-section reports are all in. A complete success!

Sprague Hazard and his group cheerfully discuss their lunch on the river and a game of fetch with their dog. I watch their dog fill up on snacks. (He was probably left out of lunch on the river.) Terry Chegwidden, her husband Nate Casto, and their daughter Holly ask about the next stocking. Holly smiles and says, “This is great!” Frank Hill is getting advice from Ernie Nestor on how to fish small streams. David Simms and Randy Augustine are rigging up to go fishing as are Jeff Nelson and two boys. And so it goes-the satisfaction of a job well done.

Still no word from the lower end. “It’s sure taking a long time.” A van from Maryland pulls into the parking lot, and the driver frowns at this group of clowning West Virginians. I assure him we are not hostile, and after a five-minute chat he begins his hike up Props Run Trail.

Still no one has retuned from the lower end. I mumble, “It’s after 2:00: something must have gone wrong.” Finally, a truck arrives from below–our president Vince Dudley, Norm Dunlap, and Bob Swanson roll in. I don’t even wait for Vince to shut off the engine before asking, “How did it go?” The answer was heavenly: “We didn’t lose a fish.” Great!

It’s done. Charlie Mullins and Norm Dunlap swap ferrydiddle stories [Editor’s note: the spelling of “ferrydiddle” is in question, but not their existence.] I go back to my truck, admire the license plate “Upper Elk”, pour a gin and tonic, and smile. Life is indeed good.

To those who participated: thank you! You contributed greatly to improving an outstanding fishery, and you gave me a day to remember forever.

Posted on February 21, 2012 by Administrator
editors note : This obviously is rather "time stamped" but as it is one of my favorites .... I have a few more of the old ones to get back up and then we will get back to new material . 


There is obviously just a tidal wave of thoughts and writings on 2012 and the end of time (or the age),  some of them quite scholarly. This is not one of those ……

By the time most of you read this it will most likely be at least tomorrow , Feb 21st , 2012 or to put it another way exactly 10 months until the end of the Mayan calender . Ok , I hear you ! What does this have to do with Sulphers , fly fishing or Elk River ? Sit awhile and I’ll do my best to attempt an explanation   ……

Have you ever asked yourself “what would I do if I only had (pick a time frame here) to live ?” “How would I prioritize the events, happenings and rituals that make up my life ?” If you are reading my blog I feel it safe to assume you are a fisherman and as a fellow angler I feel compelled to help you sort this out ! One thing I think we would all agree on is we would work less . A LOT LESS !! Now working less of course will leave us with more time to spend at other endeavors like ….oh I don’t know ….hmmm…. well lets just say fishing for arguments sake  .

Now knowing that these would be the last fishing trips you would ever take I again feel it safe to say none of us would wish to waste them on experiences where the fishing was less then fantastic . For each of us the ideal situation might be different but suffice to say there would be plenty of room on Whiteday Creek ……..

This brings us to the real core of the dilemma . What if ? Now those are two very powerful words when used together ! They have launched every discovery , invention and advancement in human history . Equally true is the fact that you would be hard pressed to find two words that have led to as much heart ache and disaster and are responsible for more mistakes than those two ! Nowhere are these conflicting outcomes potentially more evident  than in the context of this story .

What if the Mayans (and the common apocolyptic interpretation of their calendar) were right ? What if this coming season is the last any of us will ever see ? The last chance to ever throw a line , see trout rise , catch a big hatch of mayflies , feel the head shake of a big brown or hear the scream of our drag as a big rainbow streaks down river .  The last chance to share a river ,  or a beer , or a campfire with the ones we love .  If we knew this to be the case I suspect there would be a lot of resignations tendered , a lot of houses sold , a lot of loved ones loaded into/onto various modes of transportation and the rivers in Montana , Chile and Labrador would be very crowded indeed . It would be an easy and quite logical decision for a fisherman ! But we don’t know , do we ……Those two words won’t let us know !  This is because “what if” tells us it is equally possible that the Mayans were full of it  !

What if we have quit the job , sold the house and are sitting stream side with a box of flies and the last of our funds in our pockets and Dec 21st comes , then goes and it proves to be the end of nothing but our financial security , having sold everything to afford the “last” fishing trip ! Now what ? Fortunately we can hedge our bets . This is where the Sulphers come in …..

For 6 weeks , every year , every single evening , there is truly fantastic fishing to be had on the Elk ! This is the stuff dreams are made of . The dreams of a fly fishing junkie ! Boiling river , big fish , fogs of insects , Snout Soup !! It is like a 6 week long day . A perfect 6 week long day ! A 6 week long day that doesn’t require selling the house to participate in ….. It is the perfect compromise in the battle of what ifs . What if the Mayans were right ? It’s ok because you had 6 weeks of Snout Soup and that’s a pretty decent way to wrap it up . What if the Mayans were wrong ? That’s ok too because while your boss may be really pissed and might even fire you there will still be a house to sit in and memories of 6 wonderful weeks to keep you in a good frame of mind while job hunting  ….. It’s a win win situation !

I will leave you tonight with this …. Life is short be it 10 more months or 40 more years . It passes us all by way too quickly . Worry less , smile more and save a little time for thoughts of brown trout , sulphers and ancient indians  . See you on the river !

Posted on February 24, 2012 by Administrator
There are those who will consider my viewpoint tonight utter rubbish at best and heresy at worst ….. Know that I am ok with that  !

“The Elk gets too damn crowded ” ! How many times have I heard that phrase over the years ? I am going to guess thousands ! “I pulled up to fish , walked out on the Trestle looked up river , looked down river and saw people fishing everywhere I looked ” . It isn’t what they are saying that brings me up short but the fact that it is usually inferred that life would be better if everyone else was someplace else ! It is almost as if those enjoying the same thing that the individual speaking came here to enjoy have been instantly demoted in rank to the point that they are looked upon much like one would no-see-ums , mosquitoes or  an infestation of head lice ….. The individual usually cusses , gets back in their truck and heads for as the old man used to call it “pretty little creek #406″ . That’s a shame and I will tell you why  …..

Here is what the fellow , now on his way to “pretty little creek #406″ missed out on . Here are some things he will never know ……

He will never know what it is to sit stream side , covered with Sulpher spinners , drinking a beer with others who are covered with Sulpher spinners knowing along with everyone else present that you have just experienced magic , 1st hand , up close and personal and there were witnesses that can now help you clarify and relive this magic . He will not know how good it feels to be able to share a fly that turns someone’s evening around or to scoot over and wave another in so that they might “sample the soup” with you , laughing like children , both of you , in celebration of the moment !

He will not know how good it is to see each of the many regulars here as they return for the season . It truly is welcoming back old friends . He will not get to see the faces of the new comers ,  lit up like Christmas trees as they witness the miracle the first time and therefore will not get to relive his own introduction to the Lady , through them ! He will have missed out on the chance to surround himself with the very people who are probably the only ones that will ever understand WHY it is that he does this . People that won’t roll their eyes as he talks of standing for hours in the cold rain fishing an olive hatch . People that understand that sometimes , if the brown is big enough , you throw caution to the wind and cross the swollen river just to have a chance of holding him . People that won’t question the logic of working most of the night ,then driving the rest of it , just to get to stand on the Trestle drinking a cup of coffee and watching the mist rise off the water at daybreak . When one considers just how rare people that understand these things are how could it be anything but good to stand in the presence of a number of them , all together at the same time sharing what it is you and they all love to do ….

I am blessed and honored to have the opportunity to share the Lady with these kindred spirits and it is my great pleasure to “share the soup” !

Now lest I be misunderstood ….. I understand the joy that comes from fishing miles up a tiny stream , alone in a setting that allows you (demands?) the fantasy that you are the 1st to fish there or perhaps the only one this year at least . I will publicly own up to the fact that I still do it a couple times a year and come away from the experience better for having done so . If you fly fish you need to do this from time to time . But it is equally true that you need to surround yourself with your brothers and sisters at times and celebrate just being together , on a great river enjoying a moment of magic in a world that too often has none to spare ….. See you on the river!

Posted on March 2, 2012 by Administrator
More classic Old Man ! This is the 2nd of 3 stories I am honored to be allowed to share with you this week .
AFTERWARDs…  By Ken Yufer

Damn! I know there’s a good brown trout under those roots. I’ve seen him several times, but despite my best efforts– no luck.

I have spent many hours daydreaming about this fish and planning how to catch him. I fell asleep visualizing my casts: during high water (streamers); slightly high or turbid (nymphs); normal conditions (we or dry flies, nymphs in the film, etc.). And I awoke to more of the same kind of thoughts. When there is some doubt in my mind about technique or tackle, I hit the reference books. And so it goes!

Sound familiar? I sure hope so. There are few experiences in life that can compare to pursuing that big brown trout.

My love affair began fifty years ago on Elk Creek in central Pennsylvania. When I was seven, my dad decided that was a good age to get me started. He outfitted me with an eight-foot bamboo flyrod, a beautiful handmade wooden net, hip boots, creel, and lots of instructions. My dad was one of the best trout fisherman in the area . He was a bait fisherman, but in those days most trout fishermen used fly rods to fish bait. We used worms , minnows, helgramites, crickets, grasshoppers, stonefly nymphs, and caddis larvae. My dad occasionally even put a dab of paraffin on a bare hook, then pressed the fly to the hook and fished it to get a good look at a large rising fish. It just might be the brown trout that would fulfill his dreams. I never saw anyone fish with artificial flies until I was seventeen. I wasn’t impressed. He caught few trout and no good ones.

I learned to respect and admire the brown trout. The large brown is to be stalked like any trophy; but the greatest satisfaction is that after the catch the trout can be released to produce and reproduce more challenges. In the 1940s I saw very few trout released– particularly large ones. Like many other fishermen in those days, my dad was poorly informed about brown trout aging , and he kept some larger trout that I’m sure he would have returned if he had known that harvesting them hurt reproduction.

Is the brown trout really unique? I definitely think so. They are not smarter than the brook or rainbow, but their instincts and habits serve them well. The brook and rainbow are called “aggressive feeders”. The brown is moody: a sporadic feeder, often feeding at night. Occasionally the brown does indulge in a feeding frenzy– usually during or shortly after a storm when the water is rising and becoming cloudy. I had my best West Virginia big -brown day on the upper Elk River during hurricane Hugo. Also, the brown lives almost three times as long as a brook and up to twice as long as a rainbow. The big brown has become the wise old man of the mountain.

The color schemes of these trout are also distinctive. The brook is admired for its vivid oranges and blues but the dress seems a bit gaudy. The rainbow is flashy, with its silver backdrop for a brilliant red stripe from head to tail. But the brown is top drawer all the way, with the pale gold, subtle blue, and shades of rust and red of a Brooks Brothers’ paisley tie.

More seriously, the brown is unique because he’s harder to catch than the brook or rainbow. That’s the crux of it. The excitement of catching a big brown is hard to describe, but everyone who has done so needs few words– just memories and daydreams. The experience reminds me of an author friend of mine who has solved the problem of dealing with the mandatory sex scene in his stories: he says the best way to describe the love scene is merely to write “Afterwards…” Reader then think of their own most pleasurable sexual experiences.

A few anecdotes may help explain.

This fall I received a call from our founding father, Ernie Nester. He was quite animated: “ Ken, I caught a 23-inch brown trout. It’s the largest trout I ever caught!” For the next ten minutes I listened to his marvelous story. I was captivated by the tale and relived the experience with Ernie. His fishing partner cast to the large trout but got snagged in a tree. He yelled to Ernie, who also got snagged (this stream is small with unforgiving canopy). That day however, the brown-trout god smiled on our leader. The next cast led to a fifty-minute battle that neither Ernie nor the trout will ever forget. One might say the trout couldn’t have been too smart. It should have been spooked. It was spawning season, and the trout was a hen.

I listened to Ernie and Max Robertson (arguably the chapter’s best dry-fly fisherman: he caught a 22-inch brown this season on a dry fly) comparing notes and relating subtle differences in catching a particular big brown. Both men knew the hiding place of an 18-½ inch brown. The stream is small and very difficult to fish. The two experts used different tactics, but both were able to catch the trout in the same year (hence the confirmed exact measurement). The glow emanating from that conversation made me feel good all over: and excited that we were going to stock brown trout fingerlings that morning.

From across the stream I could see the joy on Charlie Nichols’ face as he battled a 19-inch brown trout. “Kenny, this may be the one,” he yelled. Not quite, but very close. Charlie is trying to enter the “big-brown club”–20 inches or more. He’ll make it ! In the meantime, he dreams, plans, and learns. That same brown later taught him a valuable lesson: don’t pull a large streamer after the first strike unless you feel the weight of the trout. Wait for the second strike. I use four-to-five- inch streamers, and the trout’s first strike is to stun the prey. The second is for dinner. Charlie will never make that mistake again.

That same day, Larry Banfield caught the largest trout of his life–a 22 inch brown. That night his face beamed as he told the tale of the big brown yet another time around the campfire. Larry almost exclusively fishes the caddis fly, so it seemed appropriate that that was the victorious dry fly. Every time I sit around the campfire at Larry’s trailer, I can see the twinkle in the eye of its owner as he again described THE caddis pattern that outwitted this memorable fish.


Seven or eight of us sat on the front porch of the National Science Camp listening to Joe Crowder tell us about the biggest brown he ever caught on a flyrod: he couldn’t get his camera out, and he kept yelling, “Matt, Matt!” His son Matt ran up the rocky bank as fast as he could, but not fast enough . The brown had suffered enough indignity for one day; he jerked free, heading for his secluded lair. We all smiled, and mentally thanked Joe for yet another memory. One doesn’t have to catch the big brown to enjoy the occasion–just catch the fever.

I implore you to spend some time researching and daydreaming about big brown trout. The pursuit comes at a price: when the stream is rising with just the right color to it, resist the temptation to see how many trout you can catch or how many patterns will take trout that day. Think BIG BROWN! Whether you are a bait, spin, or fly fisherman–think big, and fish exclusively for that brown of your dreams.

Damn! I know there’s a good brown under those roots…

Posted on February 15, 2012 by Administrator  you will have to scroll downg
Our little group had now grown to three with a local youth by the name of Chad See joining us most evenings . It was evident from the beginning that this one had potential and we both adopted him almost immediately . So there we were , sitting on the tailgate of Ken’s truck , night after night , drinking Gin (Coke for Chad , he was 15 at the time ) from plastic cups and discussing the need for even smaller flies . Not just slightly smaller than our #28′s but substantially so ….. The search began . Chad took to the internet and I started to canvas fly shops around the country in seach of the (in our eyes) legendary , eyeless , gold Mustad 277′s #32 which hadn’t been produced in years .  Most people you talked to claimed to have seen them , some claimed they used to have them , alot of them claimed to know somebody that used to have them (and still might) and ALL of them thought we were crazy for even wanting such a thing !

Chad found a fellow that shipped him 1/2 dozen handmade #32′s (from Europe I believe it was ) ! Unfortunately they were like 10x long 32′s . Still it was progress . So many promising leads , so many dead ends . It started to feel like we were searching for the Loch Ness monster or the Holy Grail only tougher …… Finally lightening struck ! A buddy from the Jackson River called one morning to say he had found 2 packs of 100 at a little tackle shop in Covington , Virginia and asked if I still wanted them  .  YES !!!!  They arrived a few days later and I ripped the package open ill prepared for the reality of a true #32 ……

The hook on the inside of the now familar Tiemco 518 #32 is the Mustad 277 #32 ! The scale is in millimeters !

None the less patterns were tied and it was off to the river with the new secret weapons …. Success !! Well …sort of ……The trout were indeed feeding on the little white things as we suspected , they took the 32′s as innocently as they had the hackle midges a number of years before but all the better fish simply pulled loose ! The little hook got enough of a bite to hold some of the  8″- 10″ fish (with the best to hand around 13″ ) but every single hookup with a fish larger than that resulted in a long release . Hmmm… you would have thought that successfully completing the search for the Holy Grail would have brought better results …..

So that was that . It sure looked like the end of the road . Enter Ed Koch ….

Ed Koch was one of the true legendary anglers that came out of the limestone streams in south central Pa . His book “Fishing the Midge” is what got me started tying and fishing tiny flies in the 1st place . He was not however somebody I thought I would ever have the chance to fish with any more than I would have the chance to trade guitar licks with Clapton ! Funny how things work out …. He visited the little mountain town of Helvetia with his wife , had dinner at ”The Hutte” where the subject of fly fishing in the area came up . The owner gave him the business card of my friend Sam Knotts (an excellent guide) who he subsequently called . Sam knowing of my plight mentioned it to Ed who then gave him his number and said”have him call me” .   So I did !

From the 1st minutes I felt completely at ease talking with Ed though I had to talk myself into making the call . We talked about the Elk and our problem and he said “I have something new to bring you , well actually a couple things” . A week later he pulled into the Trout Ranch , introduced himself and handed me a little bag ….. Inside were a dozen of the 1st run of Tiemco 518 #32′s and a spool of 10 X Varivas . Neither was available commercially yet . It was like Christmas ! Flies were tied and off to the river we all went . The 15″ brown tips up , he takes , got the set and …..he is still hooked  ! The new 32′s worked great . He stayed a few more days that 1st time and left with a promise to round up more hooks for us . One week later a box arrived with the inscription “care package for Dave , Ken and company” and inside were 2 packs each of #30 & #32 hooks (100 hooks per pack) , several spools each of 9X and 10X and a note saying simply “enjoy” !  More flies were tied that day and that evening it was down to the Angle Hole with Ken …

About 10 minutes into the evening the old man hooked what was obviously a big fish and brought it to net pretty quickly . I yelled across the river “looks like a good one ” to which he replied “right at 24″s ” . Nothing out of the ordinary as he caught plenty of fish that size or larger . Later at the truck having our nightly gin and discussion session I asked what pattern he was using and he told me it was the #30 gray larvae I had tied him then continued to say that the 10X really worked well . A couple plastic cups of gin later it occurred to me that I had witnessed history ! To the best of my knowledge the old man was the 1st person EVER to use 10x tippett to land a 20″ or larger trout on a #30 or smaller fly ! 10 – 20 -30 Club , membership 1 .

So there you have it . Dues were paid (several years of struggle and learning) , there were bylaws (rules governing hook , fish and tippet size ) , meetings (literally hundreds of get togethers on the river) and definitely a few odd rituals practiced repetitively (ever watch someone net an eddy in the dark   ? ) . Over the years there have been perhaps a dozen members that I am aware of join the club but there will only ever be one who was 1st …..

See you on the river !