{Tidal Potomac Fly Rodders} Re: Bucknasty Brooks

Dalton,

Any time you want to buck one down... or buck it up for that matter, I am game. I have to admit that seeing a Brookie with half a salamander hanging out of its mouth and still eating dry flies is pretty bucking ridiculous. Seriously, what the buck is that fish thinking?

-T

On Sunday, April 5, 2015 at 6:42:02 PM UTC-4, Dalton Terrell wrote:

T Jones buzzed me Friday night, he had a major problem on his hands, he couldn't keep these pesky snook off his line in Florida, so he was heading back North. I muttered three quick words, "Buck 'em down"; this was all that was needed and all I had time for, it was 8:58PM and I had to bolt over to the liquor store for some sweet petey liquid.

We rendezvoused at 7AM Saturday with a tent in tow, we were headed after the infamous bucknasty brooks of the West Branch of the North Fork of the Amnesia River. For some background, these bucknasties are not your standard brookies that hit dainty little dries, these are the meat eaters, the kype jawers, the black mouthers, those with appetite for destruction.

We made the jaunt down the Branch, and proceeded to toss dries for several hours with pesky brookies hitting them with reckless abandon until we finally realized we had found the bucknasties. One hybridized fish coughed up a salamander after crashing a Klinkhammer, we had finally found what we were looking for. We tied on our coneheads to get down and dirty with these bucks. Trent laid into a rabid fish and perfectly brought it to hand, when the fish ducked right, Trent bobbed left, it was Ali-Frazier all over again. This bucknasty had finally rid him of the eau de snook. For the next several hours we were Bill Dancing our 3wts into these bucks. When the sun dropped beyond the mountains, we got a little greedy and tossed rodent flies in the moonlight. It wasn't to be, we had already bucked down too hard.

This morning we grabbed our frozen boots and thawed them in the river while speculating which prison the person who rated our sleeping bags at 20 degrees should be put in. The cold night and morning had no bearing on the bucknasties, they were still destroying our meat rigs. When noon rolled around we knew we had to head back to the real world or risk becoming bucknasties ourselves, and now we're just dreaming of when we can buck down again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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