Report From the Burt

On Friday we set the guns and bows down and picked up the fly rods for a morning of chasing big browns and steelies out of Lake Ontario.  The morning was nice and crisp and overcast with the occasional sprinkle.  I could not think of better conditions to get our fly on.  With the tunes jamming in Bill's jeep and a hot cup of joe from the local deli we headed up into Niagara county to the famous fisherman's park at the Burt Dam.  Upon arrival we realized it was going to be one of those days when we pulled into a parking lot that was already tripled stacked and over three quarters full.  Considering other locations we decided to stick it out and give it a whirl.  Geared up and new GTO steelhead patterns in hand we headed down into the gorge where we were greeted with fishermen all over 18 mile creek.  Lined up and down both sides of the creek there was definitely fish activity with multiple gentlemen hooked up and fighting fish.  On the walk in I saw a 40 inch fresh salmon netted after the guy said he played the fish for over an hour.  Fresh salmon?  Really this late in the season I thought, today was definitely the day to come.  Continuing to walk towards the dam each piece of real estate along the creek was taken up until we came to a quick run, ripple section that shrinks down into almost a funnel that leads to the pool below the Burt Dam.  No one on either section of this water lead me to believe that it was no good, no production, multiple areas to snag, something had to be wrong with it.  As we stood there and watched the water I counted ten fish moving through this section of water heading upstream to the dam area.  This was going to be an alright spot I said.  Rigging up the fly rods with some new GTO fly patterns that we were trying out I noticed multiple fish being hooked up on just down stream from our location.

First cast and swing with the GTO cotton candy streamer produced nothing.  Second cast upstream, mend the line, tighten things up, and bam .... FISH ON!!  The fight lasted just long enough to get the adrenaline running and make me want the full monty even more.  Not long after, that is exactly what I got.  A beautiful brown trout put up a great fight up the current almost to me then ziiing line emptied out as the brownie tried to head back to the lake.  Finally getting him towards the slow current we tailed him and landed our first fish of the day.  A beautiful 20 plus inch fish with great color and beautiful placement of the GTO hand-tied fly.

A beautiful fish, pictures were taken, fist pumps pumped and the nice trout was released back into the creek for others to enjoy.  We were at the Burt for close to three and half hours and had close to a dozen hookups with 4 fish landed on the shore.  An awesome day on a forgotten piece of water produced an epic day in the minds of us trout junkies.  There was one fish that day that I wish we could've gotten in.  This fish took us almost to the backing twice and was full of acrobatics and aerial displays.  This is the same fish that stole my new cotton candy streamer pattern as he snapped my ten pound leader.  Yes this fish was amazing size, a fat steelie just starting to turn green with a pronounced red hue running down its side.  Theres always next week I guess to try and get that fish to hand.  All we landed that day was browns, beautiful browns that fought like hell.  Theres nothing like that tug, the sound of that zing as your line empties out of your reel.  It's the reason I choose to chase all species on the fly and haven't taken a spinning set-up with me in years.

With the day going great and being proud as a peacock sending photos of the days bounty around to all that get going about fishing like I do, I decided that we were going to try and hit the grand slam for the day.  We would travel back home to Akron, change into our bow hunting gear and go out to Baehr Farms and try and harvest ourselves a nice whitetail buck.  A nice mature doe would do to fill the freezer, but bucks were on the mind.  We geared up, changed out arrows, covered ourselves in scent control cover spray and headed into the field.  Upon arrival  at the farm I was extra excited as that day happened to be the day the gentleman that farms the land decided he was going to harvest his corn.  Seeing this I decided there was no other stand I wanted then the one directly in the middle of the woods  between all the fields.  Up into the stand I climbed as I slithered into the woods stealthy undetected.  After getting myself set-up and comfortable we sat while the hum of a combine worked away off in a near distance.  The woods calmed down and the squirrels came alive, hahaha.  They were everywhere and everywhere they were I thought there was a deer sneaking up on me.  I sat and sat and waited and waited, today was supposed to be the day, the day we hit the grand slam.  As sundown approached the woods quieted and off in a distance I could hear some rustling, thinking nothing of it since the squirrels were having a grand old time, I sat and studied the woods looking for any sort of movement.  As i peered over my shoulder searching for anything I heard some rustling again.  Still not seeing anything I could start to make out what the ruccus was all about.  It was a the sounds of a buck rubbing on trees, thrashing scrub brush, the signs of the rut.  Now i was awake I was anticipating the perfect day coming to the perfect end.  I sat still and quiet listening to the testosterone charged mature buck mark his territory.  With no grunt tube or rattle bag with me I decided to let out one simple snort wheeze and see what happened since the sun set was quickly becoming a reality.  Wheeeeeze huff huff and the bustling and rustling stopped.  Well I ruined our chances, I sat there and thought as I tried to find a location to our buck.  Nothing, then as I sat pondering getting down for the day and walking the fields back in from behind me I could hear something coming down a flooded lane behind the stand.   Swish, swish, swish through the water, I slowly peered around the tree I was sitting in and here he came, nose to the ground and on a mission, our buck was walking a straight line to death.  I picked up my bow, arrow already knocked and waited for the perfect moment.  Having missed a nice buck from this same stand last year all I was focused on was the perfect shot.  The buck went behind a tree, I pulled back and waited for him to come out behind the tree and some scrub brush.  Waiting, waiting, at full draw for almost a minute finally he moved into position and when  I had the red pin of my sight on the buck's shoulder I let it rip, THWAP.  It sounded like I had shot a piece of 3/4 inch plywood, the buck turned and took off, crashed into a couple trees and knocked out my arrow.  Dragging his right leg along and slight blood trickling out of that shoulder area I thought I had gotten the job done, I had hit the grand slam bottom of the ninth World Series game 7.  Or had I?  Upon recovery of the arrow it appeared i had hit the shoulder blade square and had gotten very little penetration into the deer.  The tip of the broad head was broken and the entire broad head was bent.  There was some blood on the arrow, but there was a good amount of bone also and the arrow had only penetrated into the deer about three inches which would explain why it came out so easy as the deer turned and took off.  By the time we had found he arrow it was pitch black in the woods so we decided to let the deer lay for the evening and come back out in the morning to recover my buck.  Well we are still looking for the buck to this day, grand slam maybe not, the outfielder jump at the warning track and robbed me of my buck, but not of an awesome day in the water and in the field.