Fishing with Chauncy

I’m a lucky guy. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the marriage of my sister Marion to Chauncy Lively (shortly after WWII began) had a long and lasting influence on my life. Chauncy and I quickly became close friends and in 1946 he served as best man at my wedding. Many would say he has continued to be the best man and I would not quarrel with that assessment.

His daughter Anne was born while Chauncy was stationed in Texas during the war and Claudia soon after he was discharged. After my discharge I returned to college at Waynesburg and then moved to Greentree with my bride. Chauncy and his family were also living in Greentree less than a mile from our apartment.

The three of us had a strong desire to become fly fishers and we began to work together toward that end. Marion and Chauncy managed to take some fly tying lessons in downtown Pittsburgh. I wasn’t able to attend, but Chauncy was a very good student and did his best to help me become reasonably proficient. Like anything that Chauncy did, he was not content to simply tie a good imitation of common mayfly patterns. He always wanted to do better.

At that time neither of us had a car and finding access to streams was a problem. Our solution was to pack our gear and board a local bus to downtown Pittsburgh, walk about ten blocks up Liberty Avenue to the Greyhound station and buy tickets to Ligonier where we fished Loyalhanna Creek. I have a hunch, that both going and coming, we were a strange looking pair.

We had an unusual incident when a middle-aged black woman carrying a large bag and a small boy with a fishing rod got in line behind us. When she got to the front of the line and was asked where she wanted tickets to go, she said, "I want to go where they are going." So the four of us rode to Ligonier. It was a short walk to the stream and we helped get them started. We also made sure that she knew how and when to get the bus to Pittsburgh. Our first reaction was probably a desire to laugh, but as we thought about it we really admired her. That boy was lucky.

(Some might think it strange that my mother taught me how to catch night crawlers. But not me; I was proud she cared enough to do that. My mother was the best night crawler catcher around.)

We never caught many trout in Loyalhanna Creek, but we did catch a fair number of smallmouth bass. Of course, we caught the bass before the bass season opened on July 1, so we then decided to go bass fishing in August, after trout fishing closed on July 31. Perversely, when I got to the stream, I tied on a streamer and immediately caught the biggest trout I had ever caught in that stream.

Chauncy had a limited number of interests but really concentrated on those he had. He was an excellent musician as a trombonist, and made a very nice living as an arranger for radio and television shows which originated in Pittsburgh. He became an excellent and very creative fly tier developing a number of new techniques and patterns which more closely represent the real insect. He built a tank so he could pay closer attention to the light pattern the fly makes on the water compared to the real insect. He became a very good macro-photographer which was helpful in illustrating his articles on fly tying in the Pennsylvania Angler magazine. He also became a good amateur entomologist specializing in aquatic insects. He, of course, also became an excellent fly fisher.

Chauncy was my best friend and I benefited greatly from the long and close association we had for many years. We made one-day trips to western Pennsylvania streams like Laurel Hill, Dunbar, and Little Sandy creeks. We also made some eighteen or twenty hour one-day grinds to better streams in the central part of the state. In time, however, we accumulated enough camping gear to enable us to make two and three-day trips to our best waters found in the Cumberland Valley, such as the Letort near Carlisle, Big Spring at Newville, Falling Springs at Chambersburg, and Penn’s Creek near Coburn. On these trips, the two young daughters, Anne and Claudia, often accompanied us.

A friend who frequently joined our expeditions was Jean Larouche. Although we never took any alcoholic beverages with us, we used to kid Jean about bringing martinis. So one time on a camping trip to Poe Paddy on Penns Creek, which is at least twelve miles back in the forest over rough roads we got called to a lunch on a picnic table spread with white linen tablecloths and set with Jean’s wife’s best crystal. He had a thermos of martinis for the adults and Shirley Temples for the girls. That never happened again which was fine with me; I didn’t like martinis.

Although we camped at many different locations in Pennsylvania, two sites stand out as our favorites. The first was on the banks of the Left Branch of Young Woman’s Creek, a rather small freestone stream in a very narrow valley in the mountains near Renova. The Executive Director of the Fish Commission had convinced the commission to make this stream a "Fish for Fun" stream, open all year with no stocking and catch-and-release/fly fishing-only rules. Elsewhere in the state, the trout season ended July 31. We became quite excited about the new rules and immediately began making trips to the stream. We found this stream to have a large population of brook trout averaging about nine inches in length, a good population of brown trout averaging about eleven inches and a fair rainbow population in limited sections of the stream about the same size as the browns. We had observed that the population density and fish size had both increased noticeably each year.

The stream was a gem and fishing it in the fall of the year in a hardwood forest was a never-to-be-forgotten experience. Evenings around the campfire will remain fresh in my memory.

The regulations lasted for five years before a local politician got the rules changed back to the same regulations found throughout the state. The biologists who had been studying the stream were removed and the gluttons moved in with bait and did great damage to the trout population. Prior to this, we rarely met other fishermen on the stream and had at least six miles of stream to fish in solitude.

The make-up of our Fish Commission has since changed and we now have many pieces of water managed on a catch and release basis. The problem is that these are usually portions of a stream, they are not entire watersheds with good spawning areas in the small tributaries and nursery water for the small trout as was the case on The Left Branch.

The Letort became a favorite stream for a number of years. We had read Vince Marinaro’s "Modern Dry Fly Code," published in 1950. We thought it was the best book we had ever read and his descriptions of this limestone meadow stream convinced us that we must fish this stream which was being compared to the British Chalk Streams. So we started our pilgrimages.

Our first trip was memorable. We made the four-hour drive to Carlisle and found our way to Charlie Fox’s property. The Letort was different from any trout stream we had ever seen. It was not very wide but rather deep. The current was deceptively fast but appeared smooth. The banks were lined with watercress and the heavy growth of elodea growing to the surface in many places caused a myriad of currents in what appeared to be a smooth and glassy surface. A few trees with overhanging branches offered additional reasons for care in planning your approach when trying for a rising fish. We stood there enjoying our view of this amazing piece of water and then walked slowly upstream.

We soon came to a meadow with a small Quonset hut in the field away from the stream. There was a sleeping bag draped over some chairs in front of the hut, airing out in the morning sun. Nearby we saw a man squatting down on the stream bank, looking into the water. It was obvious that this was Vince Marinaro, the author of the book that brought us here. We approached him and introduced ourselves. At first he was rather cool but as we talked about fishing, tackle, and flies, he warmed up and decided that he would serve as gillie for Marion.

I had come on this journey with an idea I wanted to test. I had read John Crowe’s book and had tied some of his black deer hair beetles. I had found them to be very effective on the streams we had been fishing and I thought they might serve as a good imitation of the Japanese beetle which was infesting the valley. The Letort regulars had been trying to come up with a good imitation but had not been very successful. When Vince took Marion and Chauncy downstream I went upstream so I could be alone with my experiment.

I later learned from Chauncy and Marion that after Vince lead Marion to a spot on the bank, he pointed to a depression in the water cress on the other bank and told Marion to watch because an "awful" trout lived there and that he rises regularly. She watched for a while and when the trout began to rise she went to work and promptly raised him. She missed him but Vince was quite excited. He said she should not be concerned, that the rise is everything. They continued downstream and Marion proceeded to raise every riser he showed her. She missed a lot and hooked and lost a couple. The casts were long and required slack because of the many intervening currents. Meanwhile Chauncy had gone on downstream and landed and released a rather large trout. When Vince and Marion caught up with Chauncy he asked about the trout and asked what he caught him on. Chauncy replied that he caught it on a jassid which is a Marinaro pattern. (Actually, he caught it on a deer hair beetle.)

Upstream I was doing well with my beetles having caught eight nice trouts ranging from twelve to sixteen inches. We didn’t show Vince the fly on that trip but did so later when we got to know him much better. We were afraid he would ridicule the fly. It later became a staple on the Letort and was probably the forerunner of the Letort Cricket which in 1962 Ed Koch used to catch a 27 and 1/2 inch brown trout which weighed more than nine pounds. It has also been excellent on all waters we have fished and it led to Chauncy’s development of the carpenter ant fly. Although difficult to see on the water this fly can bring surprising results when fished under overhanging brush.

After that first trip it didn’t take long for us to become regulars on the Letort. We fished there for many years.

In "A Modern Dry Fly Code," Marinaro introduced the thorax style of tying to better imitate the way a mayfly rides on the water and the resulting light pattern as that seen by the fish. The thorax style was difficult to tie and often did not ride properly on the water. Since this pattern was an interesting concept it led Chauncy to build a slant tank so he could observe and photograph floating artificial flies and live insects from underneath. His work supported Vince’s observations and led him to try to improve the original thorax style. This soon led to the reverse palmered style hackle V-clipped along the bottom. We found that this was an excellent style of tying: it is relatively easy, floats well, and almost always lands upright on the water. Another development in Chauncy’s search for the perfect mayfly pattern is one with cut or burnt wings with a sparse parachute hackle under the body of the mayfly.

Big Spring, another of our regular waters, had been one of the finest brook trout streams in the country. We were elated when the Fish Commission bought the land around the spring and most of the land along the stream for some distance downstream. We felt that this would then protect this fine stream. Unfortunately the commission felt it had to put this rather expensive property to some use and then built a tremendously large hatchery at the spring. The commission had not considered the cumulative effect of the waste products of millions of trout would have on the health of the stream. The effect has been devastating. Almost no successful spawning takes place in this beautiful gravel stream of a constant temperature and which never floods. I will not fish there anymore.

After some years we became acquainted with Falling Springs Creek at Chambersburg. This stream is a good bit closer to our homes than the Letort. It is a smaller stream than the others and although completely spring fed with plenty of water cress and elodea it has a steeper gradient as its name suggests. It is a beautiful little stream which flows through farm country. The farmers are very cooperative with fishermen. Access has not been a problem. The stream has an excellent sulfur hatch and good to great hatches of other mayflies in season. Our favorite hatch is the Tricorythodes. It begins in mid June and continues until the first heavy frost. In early summer the hatch takes place in early morning and gets later in the day as the season progresses. By the end of August the spinner fall is around noon. This trico hatch has been my favorite hatch while my eyes were in good condition. It remains my favorite but it is not quite so enjoyable. The Livelys also favored this hatch and have taken me to fish this hatch in Michigan when I visited them.

We found a private campground near enough to Falling Springs to make it suitable for our purposes. It is also nice to be able to call ahead and reserve a site for late arrival on a Friday night. The facilities are good and we always seem to have a wood thrush to wake us in the morning and then sing us to sleep at night. Evenings around the campfire were great and do much to cement relationships. We always fished until dark, put gear away, and drove back to camp. I usually built a campfire while Marion put an excellent meal on the table. After dinner we sat around the fire and drank coffee and talked about the day. Getting up at night is not enjoyable when you have to get out of a warm sleeping bag, get partially dressed, and go out into the cold, dark night. We finally decided that excessive coffee was the culprit and began to take a bottle of wine instead. That solved the problem.

Our journeys to the Cumberland Valley were generally without incident except for one trip. Chauncy was driving. Marion, the two girls and I were passengers. He had a clamshell style luggage carrier on the roof filled most of our camping gear. We were cruising down the Turnpike. We heard a strange noise, the car lurched, and we looked back to see our gear rolling down the turnpike. The top of the carrier had come loose and all of the contents had fallen out. A car behind us had stopped and the occupants were gathering up sleeping bags and tents. We went back and picked up the rest. We made it to the campground and back home without further incident -- only memories. It seems that a few disasters only seem to add spice to the trips and keep memories fresh in our minds.

I have so many good memories. Marion was an excellent camp cook. She prepared many of the evening meals at home and froze them, to be heated in the oven she had for her Coleman stove. I always told her that she vulcanized the eggs and as a result I became the bacon and egg chef. Chauncy usually made the toast and Marion the coffee.

The Livelys were great companions. We never argued. There never was any competition. None of us kept score very well. There never was any problem about where to go. Any suggestion made was usually supported by the others. Any place we could string up our rods and fish was O.K. These were the greatest companions on a stream you could ask for.

For one so talented Chauncy was very humble. He told his kids that Marion and I were better fishermen than he. That is nowhere near the truth. It is true that we often caught more fish than he did but Marion and I were movers. We would move up the stream picking off the fish we found. We didn’t spend a lot of time on one fish. If we didn’t catch a fish in a reasonable amount of time we would move on and maybe come back later. Chauncy loved to find difficult fish. He would spend long periods of time on one difficult fish and would usually solve the problem and catch the fish. I consider him the best fisherman I have ever known. He could have caught a lot more fish had he been willing to move around more but he would not have solved so many problems, and tested so many of his flies. And he would not have received as much satisfaction.

In the late 1960s, Chauncy began to write regular fly tying articles for the Pennsylvania Angler in which he used excellent close-up photography to illustrate the techniques. This led to a great following among Pennsylvania fisher-men and to an extensive correspondence with anglers in Europe, Japan, and around the world. When Marion and her daughter Anne went to visit the British Isles, Chauncy’s reputation got Marion a day on the prime waters of the Test River and many other noted English waters.

Chauncy Lively is revered in Pennsylvania. Many fishing friends have told me about their first meeting with him, usually in a stream where they were raw beginners. They usually say they watched him at work, not knowing who he was. They worked their way closer and when he paused to change flies or something, he began a conversation. He was always friendly and courteous. When asked he gave help and advice, after giving them flies to use.

I have been blessed to have Chauncy as a brother-in-law and best friend. I have learned so much from him, not just in fly tying and fly fishing. He spurred my interest in photography and broadened my interest in music.

I loved them both dearly and really hated to see them move to Michigan. I knew, however, that they had dreamed of this for many years, so like a good brother and best friend, I helped them make the move and get settled in their new home, but I knew things were never going to be the same. We would fish together but always on waters which were strange to me. We would stay in a home on the banks of a fine trout stream in some beautiful pine woods but would never sit around a campfire, review the day or plan the next, and reminisce about a special riffle on Penn’s Creek, a memorable stretch on the Letort, the Stone Wall on Big Spring, or the Sycamore Pool and the Cussed Willow on Falling Springs. The opportunity for me to fish some famous Michigan rivers was a bonus, but we would never again fish together on the fine limestone streams of the Cumberland Valley. And we never did.

God bless them both.

RWOL

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