tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12718723977207877482024-03-18T02:20:06.931-07:00Connecticut Fly AnglerLearning on and off The WaterRM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.comBlogger1904125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-65652155724755465182024-03-18T02:19:00.000-07:002024-03-18T02:19:13.045-07:00The Rainbow Darter, #200 On The Fly<p> Darters are interesting little fish that go ignored by most anglers. Members of the family Percidae, darters share lineage with yellow perch and walleye. If you look at their morphology this isn't terribly shocking, their fin arrangement and build aren't at all dissimilar from perch, with a spikey forward dorsal and big, rounded rear dorsal. Their patterning often matches up pretty similarly too, though it is incredibly varied. Darters are extremally diverse in fact, comprising a subfamily (Etheostomatinae) made up of five genera ( <i>Ammocrypta, Crystallaria, Etheostoma, Nothonotus, </i>and<i> Percina</i>). Of these, I've caught species in two genera: <i>Etheostoma </i>and <i>Percina. </i>Though I live in an area with a notable lack of darters- Connecticut only has two species -I am a big fan of them and when the opportunity arises to target them in areas with more diversity I like to. Of course, they're often very tiny, so it can be a real challenge to get them on the fly. <i>Percina </i>weren't terribly hard as they're larger and a bit aggressive, so longhead darter and logperch were quite easily acquired once I fished around an abundance of each. But the <i>Etheostoma </i>are little bit tricky. And oh boy can that ever be both appealing and irritating. Combine their difficulty with their exceptional diversity and you've got a recipe for a hunched over, frustrated CT Fly Angler with a very sore back sneaking around shallow streams. </p><p>And such was the position I found myself in on a clear, clean flowing mid-sized river in central Ohio this past fall. I knew this area had a number of darters that I'd not yet added to my life list, and I was having no trouble finding a bunch of different ones in the shallows. And some of them were quite ornately colored. In fact, I could already tell that one of the species represented in this spot was the rainbow darter, one of a number of species that are graced with extravagant blue, red, and orange coloration. Their name portrays their beauty, and though they are quite widespread and can be fairly numerous a lot of anglers totally skip over their existence. Brook trout, eat your heart out... if colorful, nearly gaudy elegance is your type, rainbow darters give <i>fontinalis </i>a serious run for their money. Fly fisherman may quickly jump to a salmonid as the prettiest freshwater fish but I struggle to pick between darters and sunfish in terms of the colorful species. </p><p>As I slowly wandered the tail out of a run, examining the bottom carefully, I noted small aggregations of darters around clusters of rocks with vegetation growing on them there were a few species represented though I couldn't identify each. I rigged up carefully: a size 22 hair big with a tiny piece of squirmy worm material affixed to the bend of the hook (darters like something to chew on, I've noticed) and one small shot just a couple inches ahead of it on 6x tippet. Finessing a fly down in front of a tiny darter in this current would be almost akin to dropping a nymph in front of a trout in 10 feet of water in a raging, turbulent flood. It's a very tricky dance that requires precision and patience, one I was already well familiar with. </p><p>The shot placement is a key. If you place a split shot immediately ahead of a fly, it can drop right down to the bottom nd you don't have to control two separate entities down there; the split shot and fly act as one. But some darters like attacking the shot. For some this can almost work in your favor when the fly is right at the shot, eventually they get it in the process of trying to kill the lead ball (it comical, I'm not quite sure where their infatuation with them lies). But some of the really small ones, like the ones I was seeing, my attack the shot once and be done. So I had to play an odd game of keeping the shot far enough away from the fly as not to distract the darter but close enough to have control over where on the bottom the fly settles. Closer means more control, further means less chance the darter just attacks the shot and never cares about the fly. This is, obviously, not an exact science. It requires an immense amount of trial and error. In this case about an hour of it. I had darters attack the shot, run and hide, or hit the fly but not get it in their mouths just right. Persistence pays off though and eventually I did manage to hook one. It was a diminutive but colorful little creature, my first rainbow darter. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXnx3WMU38hQl3-rNWAEywKag1-VpSqIDuoj7TqhyphenhyphenbLjp0sAauEnpgeooZJD0_wLz02Ao4Bv9zoWkaV54roZip2-NYVHQmQKAk1OhaGzDwQR3ioDsDbJTZZI1W4N1HZzV_hCGBMzS5PTQDBI6b5f0sqdDeWtp0kqY43eMe0cO8OrHjByZMpd_uwXBK1yN/s5472/DSC05582_1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXnx3WMU38hQl3-rNWAEywKag1-VpSqIDuoj7TqhyphenhyphenbLjp0sAauEnpgeooZJD0_wLz02Ao4Bv9zoWkaV54roZip2-NYVHQmQKAk1OhaGzDwQR3ioDsDbJTZZI1W4N1HZzV_hCGBMzS5PTQDBI6b5f0sqdDeWtp0kqY43eMe0cO8OrHjByZMpd_uwXBK1yN/w640-h426/DSC05582_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lifelist fish #200: <i>Etheostoma caeruleum, </i>Rainbow darter. Rank: Species</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Though this certainly wasn't the most impressive example to the species, it was exciting to get my first of one of the more well known colorful <i style="text-align: center;">Etheostoma. </i><span style="text-align: center;">When they spawn in the spring the mature males really color up something fierce and I'd very much like to catch one of those. But there's always another fish, isn't there? Darters are just one of a large number of whole families and genera that go largely ignored by the angling world as a while. They flee from the path of completely unaware wading anglers and scuttle for cover as our drift boats shadow the riffle bottom. I don't expect everyone to want to catch two inch long fish on hook and line, but it still surprises me that many just have no interest in learning about them at all. </span><br /><br /><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, Sammy, and Cris & Jennifer for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. </i>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-33087993200223228722024-02-28T11:42:00.000-08:002024-02-28T11:42:40.999-08:00Dawn on The Beach<p> I pulled into a mostly empty parking lot under the cover of darkness and extremely oppressive heat. Out over the Atlantic, a cumulonimbus cloud hurled electricity into the night. It's a very foreign feeling for a New Englander to have lightning illuminate the scene while his glasses fog up upon opening the car door... it just doesn't do this sort of thing up north. Sure, there are some sticky, muggy nights in Connecticut. But not like this. I'd already adjusted and was comfortable with the heat but that didn't stop it from impressing me every time I felt it. Unfamiliarity is a good thing, and not much of this was familiar. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOEH7xsYXb-q5ynvuosHhDgzVetIzFJF2kVIlTF3C5iBiCK_EJsonw11b-Ge9v3tMKSIKru7jvL0tdmV6HMvISqyyF1fJQRG7Cgdjxu2neQUzbvUzdt4a4d5LXY_HbOGKU-HnWYnTtkHlqv_SmdOCDmv8fvWja0k0gAspzgfeNSSzsFCZbvqgrmfkVqvX/s5379/DSC01390_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3515" data-original-width="5379" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOEH7xsYXb-q5ynvuosHhDgzVetIzFJF2kVIlTF3C5iBiCK_EJsonw11b-Ge9v3tMKSIKru7jvL0tdmV6HMvISqyyF1fJQRG7Cgdjxu2neQUzbvUzdt4a4d5LXY_HbOGKU-HnWYnTtkHlqv_SmdOCDmv8fvWja0k0gAspzgfeNSSzsFCZbvqgrmfkVqvX/w640-h418/DSC01390_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Connecticut doesn't have giant turtles that lay their eggs on the beach either, and after walking down the beach a ways I was sitting 20 feet away from an enormous reptile as she did her best to ensure a future generation despite the much altered setting she was in. This was no longer just a barrier beach teaming with native life. Eastern diamondbacks had been replaced with iguanas and anoles and palmettos with resorts and multi million dollar homes. But the loggerhead was still returning to lay her eggs, though in the morning there was a good chance a biologist riding a quad would either tape off her nest or even dig it up. Now they couldn't make it without human assistance, the cruel irony being that it was human interference that made it necessary. So, though I was a quiet observer to a natural ritual I'd always wanted to see, it was hard to be present for without becoming deeply sad. That sadness turned to aggravation as a jogger came down the beach with a bright headlamp on. Human lights at night frustrate me. I fish without one most of the time because I feel it is a gross unnecessary and a crutch when the target fish species isn't tiny minnows, madtoms and darters. And spotlighting micros is something I do less and less. A headlamp makes tunnel vision. It ruins your ability both to see when it isn't on and learn to navigate what you can't see anyway. And this jogger was on a smooth, sandy beach with no obstacles at all. I was cognizant of his presence from a half a mile away and he was not even aware enough to notice me siting just yards from his path. Nor did he notice the giant turtle that stopped chucking sand due to his light's disruption. The jogger continued down the beach to disrupt who knows how many more turtles. I stayed back as my friend made her way back down the beach. I don't think she'd finished before the jogger interrupted her process, but I wasn't interested in worsening her stress either. I stayed back and took long exposures, covering the little red light on the front of my camera with my finger as I was worried even that might be noticeable to her. She paused a few times on her way down the sand. I'm not sure she was aware I was there, but I'd like to believe she did know and just didn't mind, that she understood that I meant no harm. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVNeTBVWfs6X24odiIB0pz8lzmbEttTRXu3WJRKEdml2NKgcxI_NdAd1fUd291pYHYWhGMSbaJOXycWfDZesSN8FbesI8IeWfJ6dFG1x7HkEDiQbb8Dv8Y6ILssP8PpRTWCj842r67q5nr_DW6e2vekkjA4RPqLfVkgzkJ09-6u7G5xY14liJOj2Tc9hU/s5335/DSC01564_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3443" data-original-width="5335" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVNeTBVWfs6X24odiIB0pz8lzmbEttTRXu3WJRKEdml2NKgcxI_NdAd1fUd291pYHYWhGMSbaJOXycWfDZesSN8FbesI8IeWfJ6dFG1x7HkEDiQbb8Dv8Y6ILssP8PpRTWCj842r67q5nr_DW6e2vekkjA4RPqLfVkgzkJ09-6u7G5xY14liJOj2Tc9hU/w640-h414/DSC01564_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>By that time the morning light was starting to come up and when the turtle had reentered the surf, I sat again to tie a slim beauty knot in the dark. The slim beauty is a good knot for connecting tippet to shocker, and I was targeting fish for which shocker was definitely warranted. My 12 weight was already tarpon ready, but I wanted to make sure my 8wt was snook appropriate as there'd been no sign of tarpon yet and I was keen to at least get something blind casting. It had been a few years since I'd caught a snook at that point, and though I'd made some attempts in the dark already by that point in the trip it was without much awareness of where and when I'd be likely to find any in that area. Almost everywhere I'd fished on this trip was new to me, as was targeting these species from the beach. I finished the knot and carefully synched it down then tied on a Clouser before leaning back again and watching the surf for the first signs of life. Before the sun crested the horizon, bait began skipping and dimpling in front of me and further out a big tarpon rolled. I adjusted my stripping basket around my waist and walked down to the water's edge to begin to cast. It wasn't long before the routine of casting, retrieving right to my feet, then casting again was interrupted by a snook eating the fly in the curl of a wave. I'd learned through my friend John Kelly that it's a good idea in some circumstances to stand back a bit to convert fish running the trough, and this payed off here. If I'd even just been getting my ankles wet I'd not have gotten a shot at this fish, but with a few feet of line sliding on sand I had enough room to fish the fly right onto the beach lip, and that's where this fish ate. It wasn't a big snook but put up an admirable battle, jumping a few times before I subdued it. I enjoy the way snook fight- the short, zippy runs and the head and gill shaking jumps are just the sort of fight I really enjoy. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicCwwqUkZmdFWy2lMS_YL0FBQAGicaALSc3ii2TkyY_Jz5cDeYJ9t1MzNEj_1ocexxMdLbSpx3F2QTRrhnd8Bh0_M22we4m0hDCshmqFaFyCqKqvXt0RDYHk2Mr8u3uaTX4ItCSsyp-HOCkYe4FT87GNjxnm2aERZtn6URzHwZ8uAmghO_H4_DBepLhp5/s5472/DSC01183_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicCwwqUkZmdFWy2lMS_YL0FBQAGicaALSc3ii2TkyY_Jz5cDeYJ9t1MzNEj_1ocexxMdLbSpx3F2QTRrhnd8Bh0_M22we4m0hDCshmqFaFyCqKqvXt0RDYHk2Mr8u3uaTX4ItCSsyp-HOCkYe4FT87GNjxnm2aERZtn6URzHwZ8uAmghO_H4_DBepLhp5/w640-h426/DSC01183_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>As the sun rose further, the tarpon that were rolling off the beach a ways drew a little closer. I looked back at my 12 weight and hoped it would get an opportunity to be flexed a little. But as the daytime heat (only a little more oppressive than the nighttime heat) settled in all I had to show for my efforts were a few big ladyfish. In time, the bait activity dwindled and so did the signs of predators. The fish left and the people arrived, and my interest in casting on a crowded beach is non-existent. It was time for me to go take a nap anyway. <br /><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, Sammy, and Cris & Jennifer for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. </i></div></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-55545926897738384582024-02-11T08:46:00.000-08:002024-02-11T08:46:15.670-08:00Traprock Brookies<p> I've fished wild trout streams through all sorts of substrate and geology. Classic limestoners, freestones through limestone bedrock, marble, quartzite, granite, gneiss, schist, sandstone, brownstone, conglomerate, alluvial substrate from clay to cobble, glacial till, even muddy lake beds. But it occurred to me not long ago that I'd never caught a brookie in a stream flowing out of and through traprock bedrock. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Ng4_-Qk2ao4eEZLE6xLFNUr15W5GTjMQHgpNyR2fMUgTD3qudDpTsbOLsOlR1hD_h56VPcQ1N5S5c6AsCteQwhJRSxOQr7GbOuAF0A1et-4zmFN-tg1-F7mA0UP1eISHcUzVB4mz_ADzDB8mvyJM_vgHlwETBBgiAVl9W5SRXL7prPNa_SYxs9v6kJCw/s5472/DSC06694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Ng4_-Qk2ao4eEZLE6xLFNUr15W5GTjMQHgpNyR2fMUgTD3qudDpTsbOLsOlR1hD_h56VPcQ1N5S5c6AsCteQwhJRSxOQr7GbOuAF0A1et-4zmFN-tg1-F7mA0UP1eISHcUzVB4mz_ADzDB8mvyJM_vgHlwETBBgiAVl9W5SRXL7prPNa_SYxs9v6kJCw/w640-h426/DSC06694.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>Traprock is a reminder of our continent's volcanic past. Millenia ago, tectonic motion let magma seep up into cracks in the Earth's crust in what is now the Mid Atlantic and Southern New England area. This magma hardened into the two kinds of rock referred to as traprock: basalt and diabase. Basalt is generally extrusive, meaning the magma cooled on the Earth's surface. Diabase typically cools below the surface. Of the two, basalt is a little more common in Connecticut. The massive, imposing mountains and ridges that run North from New Haven to Holyoke, then arc east to a terminus between Belchertown and Amherst are all volcanic remnants. Today, we drive on a lot of this, and I don't mean that our roads go over these rocky slopes. Basalt is very uniform in it's crystallization and also very hard, so it makes great aggregate for road and railroad beads, and is used in concrete and asphalt as well. Basalt is a staple of the development, industry, and infrastructure of our world whether you knew it or not. Unfortunately that means the quarrying of it has negatively impacted the species that utilize the environments that evolved around these geological features. That includes species like red cedar, blue spotted and Jefferson's salamanders, northern copperheads, red squirrel, and peregrine falcons.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnXjhhY2nRn5F-RfW6QpOISAuaKOLT3U4UYRP95xDR3NnXSjbsW5-unWxEep3izYxQP7inn6yPGCtzXLI7em4p7-roq-yoDZeiNLPki40nKWr9falNKaSuU_wHFwnLuzFqUN5ZC6b3Tel_ayvw8rKmW1heBr1n4hagK1-Vc-QlrJXrnv6oJfe275WuMIR/s5472/DSC04647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnXjhhY2nRn5F-RfW6QpOISAuaKOLT3U4UYRP95xDR3NnXSjbsW5-unWxEep3izYxQP7inn6yPGCtzXLI7em4p7-roq-yoDZeiNLPki40nKWr9falNKaSuU_wHFwnLuzFqUN5ZC6b3Tel_ayvw8rKmW1heBr1n4hagK1-Vc-QlrJXrnv6oJfe275WuMIR/w640-h426/DSC04647.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Female Northern copperheads often rely on the crevices on open trap rock ridges to gestate and birth their young.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>But what about brook trout? Are there any small streams on or along these traprock ridges, and do they have brook trout in them? </p><p>The very nature of these geologic features doesn't make for an ideal situation for a coldwater stream habitat to arise. First of all, spatially they aren't huge, so there just isn't that much room. Traprock ridges are narrow and tall, their shape lends better to streams running along or between them in the sedimentary rock they intrude rather than on the dykes themselves. But there are a couple streams that emerge from them and run some distance, and they have heavy spring influence so those that aren't season seem to stay cold. </p><p>My decision to try to catch a traprock brookie was followed by the sort of oddball research I don't often hear about other small stream anglers doing but which isn't at all unfamiliar to me. I lined up bedrock maps with topographic maps to find streams that ran not just near trap rock but through it. Then I examined some satellite imagery to get an idea of the stream's consistency. I have enough experience to tell when a mapped stream is likely to be the sort that can hold water and therefore fish year round. It also gives me an idea of the forest type and what I might be in for as far as bushwhacking. Eventually I found one that looked very promising. An added confidence booster, though it had never been sampled another in the watershed had been with brook trout, albeit very few, in the 1990's and there were no dams preventing cross pollination, if you will, between the two streams. Some culverts could throw a wrench in that. Access would suck though, with questionable parking and a long circuitous walk. When the time came though, I suited up and hit the road. </p><p>My parking spot turned out to be legal, thankfully, but proved to be a reminder of why I got an off-road capable vehicle. I parked grabbed my rod and sling pack quickly, as I had a decent distance to walk down the road and I hate being seen with a fly rod in hand. I hustled to a bridge, not on the stream I wanted to fish but the one it flowed into. This was down in the basin, in mudstone rather that traprock. I then traversed this low gradiant creek down. There was one ominously deep pool in about a half mile of difficult to negotiate water and I hooked a brook trout there. Not only did that put a new stream on my list automatically but it gave me even more hope as the survey site at the rod I'd parked on had no brook trout in the two years it was sampled. This was likely just wintering water though. Eventually I reached my stream. I looked at my map quickly as I'd saved where it crossed the line from basalt to sedimentary bedrock on the bedrock map as my starting point. It also didn't look very favorable at the bottom end, very straight on the map and shallow in real life, but where I wanted to start there were some bends and much steeper gradient. So I hoofed it upstream, staying out of the water but stopping to fish the two decent looking runs I did see. </p><p>Just as I reached the point I'd marked I could see a good deep, slow pool upstream. The hope was there to put this goal to bed and fast. I had on a size 12 Ausable Ugly and was fishing each pool upstream, which would work well with this one as it was blocked by brush near the head. I covered the tail- as there is often at least one fish in the tail of a pool like this in the winter -to no avail. But as I extended my cast the water I was fishing held promise in the for of exceptional depth. I let the fly fall and there was a discernable but delicate tap. The next cast in the same spot I was ready and the fish was on. Success! The fish was diminutive and far from the most colorful example of her species, but that was all I'd needed. I continued upward and caught one more fish and missed some others, all very small, and decided to bother them no more. The day had been a fantastic one already.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsMpvK60pYxgbiH56K9yM-pbQoK9tyy2chFlS-ZV3RGSzB7YmGCCx_z6-ZYh-4TpNzcsqXsM00Amwbtr-OefzXlEjbCCDhERQIC5skgx7J4SZksecSk0fPSxMYekDasNb0eMwmLIZRO5s6vpTedB7AeWbwFtB72FMTWRGCw27tin3QtgwVpdwmG4n7wCE/s5472/DSC01479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsMpvK60pYxgbiH56K9yM-pbQoK9tyy2chFlS-ZV3RGSzB7YmGCCx_z6-ZYh-4TpNzcsqXsM00Amwbtr-OefzXlEjbCCDhERQIC5skgx7J4SZksecSk0fPSxMYekDasNb0eMwmLIZRO5s6vpTedB7AeWbwFtB72FMTWRGCw27tin3QtgwVpdwmG4n7wCE/w640-h426/DSC01479.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYd_iy1CCXFbwsDfd1vl28UIlGa5L-6M9Y2-UoZLILg-s3aCY0WTbDo021rfIhyphenhyphenOS7Hc51SpoIRDuG8pmJwbZ8cevRH8TnXwGF1cRIU-9ntIjViXDHipLD497b2jf50J4peOHfk5u7l-4ykH52L6yo1b2LPjLRXtWoVyiQDaM0_JJRk7rBb-5fWAoKMd2/s5472/DSC01477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYd_iy1CCXFbwsDfd1vl28UIlGa5L-6M9Y2-UoZLILg-s3aCY0WTbDo021rfIhyphenhyphenOS7Hc51SpoIRDuG8pmJwbZ8cevRH8TnXwGF1cRIU-9ntIjViXDHipLD497b2jf50J4peOHfk5u7l-4ykH52L6yo1b2LPjLRXtWoVyiQDaM0_JJRk7rBb-5fWAoKMd2/w640-h426/DSC01477.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> Though this may seem like an extremely trivial goal to have achieved and perhaps an unnecessary one for just a couple tiny brook trout, I think many anglers miss some significant keys to the understanding of fish and fisheries. Frankly I'll be blunt... I've only twice been legitimately impressed by the comprehensiveness of understanding an individual trout angler had of not only wild trout but the totality of their habitat, movement, behavioral patterns, and the nature of their whole lives. The geology of the land and rivers plays a HUGE roll in how trout survive, grow, and behave and it is one of the foremost factors I look at to understand a stream and what potential it has. And though I may only very rarely fish traprock trout, it is a piece of the puzzle and another step toward my end goal of having the most thorough understanding of the natural world I can. <p></p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-17052412174609373722024-01-27T08:29:00.000-08:002024-01-27T08:29:52.005-08:00Fly Fishing for Quillbacks in Ohio<p> My now-partner-then-friend Emily dropped me off next to an unfamiliar river in an unfamiliar town in the middle of Ohio. Unfamiliar to me, that is. Emily had grown up around there, but I'd actually never fished in Ohio before this trip. Now I had about an hour to figure out a short stretch of river full of unknown-to-me species, and there is nothing more exciting to me that literally just that- getting dumped next to a random river full of fish species I'd never caught with a fly rod in hand. A low-head dam below a bridge immediately called to me... these sorts of things are a fish magnets by default, being that they are choke points at best an migration barriers at worst. I had an Ausable Ugly on... what else... and went about tight-lining the spill over. The first fish was a smallmouth bass. Leave it to the aggressive and ever-present <i>Micropterus </i>to beat all else to the fly in such a situation. Unlike home, though, smallmouth were native to this place. These creeks and drainages in Ohio had been teaming with smallmouth for ages before they were dumped in Connecticut. I do love a native fish. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SyJanB2AgRh2_wqw8im5Yo2I7-qQTxICoX3LRWEYLJeAxyPLrwnO8zuGDLCDw_d1NNo4YKQtx6Pdg3NarsHSW5I9H5U7oHfliDm9gpqOzoxoMMgCUamY7iFmzPjvDgIkUEzlIzKAM0JnlVHVRn-wh2a6AROAcJqy3rcb2XgEBRnTHgGp3a3U9wN5W5l5/s5472/DSC05460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SyJanB2AgRh2_wqw8im5Yo2I7-qQTxICoX3LRWEYLJeAxyPLrwnO8zuGDLCDw_d1NNo4YKQtx6Pdg3NarsHSW5I9H5U7oHfliDm9gpqOzoxoMMgCUamY7iFmzPjvDgIkUEzlIzKAM0JnlVHVRn-wh2a6AROAcJqy3rcb2XgEBRnTHgGp3a3U9wN5W5l5/w640-h426/DSC05460.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>A couple more smallmouth later I decided to move down into the slower water and look for some suckers. Though they'll often sidle right up to the base of a dam in the faster water in the spring, many of the sucker species will settle back into the deep, slow pools for the summer and fall. That's exactly what I found. In a lovely deep hole bellow a bridge were various redhorse, quillback, and some white suckers. The quillback immediately became my primary target. Quillback carpsuckers (<i>Carpiodes cyprinus</i>) are so named for their similarity in appearance with carp. They aren't carp, but unfortunately the unearned poor reputation carp have long held in this country also carries over to species like carpsuckers and buffalo. Given my exceptional reverence for these species it seriously hurts to see photos of them dead on the bank with holes in them... I won't apologize, bow fishing is a scourge and the bad characters in that community FAR out-weigh the good ones. Every time I see a "carp" being foisted on a spear that is actually a native sucker, quillback or buffalo it gives me both mental and physical discomfort. But these ones were safe, save for a little prick in the lip. At least that was my hope. Quilbacks are notoriously fickle and even more so on an artificial fly. I know a small number of people that have caught them and there are no defined tactics. Unlike bass or trout you can't pick up dozens upon dozens of books, watch hundreds of videos or find magazine articles galore about how to convince a carpsucker to eat a fly... this was something I'd have to find out on my own with whatever time I had left to fish this spot that day. I do love a challenge. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2cCxCydeyVQ5WT1-sEmIZCCBsagkMucUOphsrTQ7Mfc7fpF5n1pr1UuOnch0xc64XCr9GiOmdffCu4T1U_rcNaeD-3fRO_EgodbuQewlYDNZYpF9lYwS2j0mPeZeeDgt3YjTJhHq2pvzlwqrB9AOZkug8bSL_ZL-WcBjHZhyKpqwaq0yJhJXezQ0mHTc7/s5472/DSC05464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2cCxCydeyVQ5WT1-sEmIZCCBsagkMucUOphsrTQ7Mfc7fpF5n1pr1UuOnch0xc64XCr9GiOmdffCu4T1U_rcNaeD-3fRO_EgodbuQewlYDNZYpF9lYwS2j0mPeZeeDgt3YjTJhHq2pvzlwqrB9AOZkug8bSL_ZL-WcBjHZhyKpqwaq0yJhJXezQ0mHTc7/w640-h426/DSC05464.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>I stood pretty much on the same rock for the rest of my time there, studying the behavior of the quillback. They were fairly active foragers, moving around and feeding methodically. I noticed that the focused most of their effort is spots that had a little bit of vegetation or small collections of detritus. They sifted through this stuff, presumably looking for tiny insect larvae and nymphs, their small mouths working much the same way a sucker's or carp's does. I estimated that I'd need quite a small fly to dupe one of them, and tied a size 20 Pheasant Tail onto 6x tipped, with two shot just above it. For a while I tried to present to specific fish, and this didn't work at all. Either they ignored the presentation or I lined them and they spooked. Eventually I got smart and realized that they were so methodical with their feeding pattern that if I dropped the nymph stationary on an algae covered rock or in a pile of detritus, one would eventually make its way to the fly. They weren't feeding in the drift anyway, but on stationary things. So I found a suitable spot near where two were feeding and settled my nymph in a clump of moss green algae and waited. It was probably only three minute before a quillback started rooting around in that clump of algae. I payed close attention to my shot- I couldn't see my fly but I could see the weights -and hoped that if the fish picked up my fly they might move. </p><p>My anxiety was high as I watched the fish feed and my shot sit stationary on the bottom. This was one of my most coveted North American fishes; I really, <i>really</i> wanted to catch one of these. My shot never moved though and that individual moved on. I stood there for another five minutes trying not to move my rod too much and dislodge my fly before another moved in. This one seemed to notice the fly and move directly to it. The shot twitched on the bottom and I struck. In retrospect, I hit that fish way too hard. The anticipation had been killing me. The was a bright flash of a brassy color and a momentary sensation of tension, then the fish hurried off and my fly and shot landed in the water behind me with a plop. I slumped my shoulders and groaned. I didn't know if I'd get a better shot than that. </p><p>For a while the quillbacks went quiet. They clearly didn't appreciate that disruption. So I decided to present to some redhorse. These fish were in slack water and up in the column. Bad targets, really, I can't recall ever getting suckers that were resting high in the column to eat. But I'll be darned if the first one I sunk a Walt's Worm past didn't immediately move to it and take! As interested in the quillback as I'd been, I'm an absolute redhorse freak. I adore this diverse genus and the crazy challenge of catching them on flies. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBC_cbRyDz9lom0Gy9nO0H6FLThXqpp9gnB0LgFROS2QMKyWS6G9f6YKTKpTL3ZsY7dQGAPDPsXQvmlMpQF-xIFqbf22QlNVpkIFECY3E0_37oF94ensqg3m7_0MD4iD6GxYY6TY-kADbBUSGzoeon25-pcu9NHnnUWhc6zsrQHE59tyaXLDQR_2SmMiq/s5472/DSC05475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBC_cbRyDz9lom0Gy9nO0H6FLThXqpp9gnB0LgFROS2QMKyWS6G9f6YKTKpTL3ZsY7dQGAPDPsXQvmlMpQF-xIFqbf22QlNVpkIFECY3E0_37oF94ensqg3m7_0MD4iD6GxYY6TY-kADbBUSGzoeon25-pcu9NHnnUWhc6zsrQHE59tyaXLDQR_2SmMiq/w640-h426/DSC05475.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lifelist fish #199, <i>Moxostoma erythrurum, </i>golden redhorse. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqT-zu1oxEzMzezoJeLcGqVFh-l8KWOl4Tyuu1Eb9laSXvlkgKFCxw-vjJBocpxmNvWJ9fDnhASCYqj2kVs1BA9_KXAD5F3Mhvu1KcEtwtHsZsk-ZIeiPfPGw8iryadCEbCeWkqvT_onQFw7F_hWRnWgYPI1bR_0Yuz1kbwNU8bZV14QiykzrCNkcmaEM/s5472/DSC05472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqT-zu1oxEzMzezoJeLcGqVFh-l8KWOl4Tyuu1Eb9laSXvlkgKFCxw-vjJBocpxmNvWJ9fDnhASCYqj2kVs1BA9_KXAD5F3Mhvu1KcEtwtHsZsk-ZIeiPfPGw8iryadCEbCeWkqvT_onQFw7F_hWRnWgYPI1bR_0Yuz1kbwNU8bZV14QiykzrCNkcmaEM/w640-h426/DSC05472.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Though my time at this spot was about to wind down and I'd failed to catch a quillback, just getting to stand in the midst of an unfamiliar community of fishes and catch a new species was full filling enough. Even better, I had come up with a methodology for targeting quillback with the fly that should be sound and, if I ever encounter them feeding in the same manner again, should produce one. I will target them again, that much is a guarantee. <div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i><br /><p><br /></p></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-2721828964471823942024-01-18T10:35:00.000-08:002024-01-18T10:35:31.606-08:00Giant Brook Trout<p> I can catch oodles of eight inch brook trout in Connecticut. Those are wonderful, special little fish, and I never take them for granted, but I try to make a point not to travel for a fish I can catch at home. Maine has big brook trout, still. Certainly not as many as it once did, but they are there. When I go to Maine, that's what I want to catch: brook trout that thoroughly dwarf those I could catch back at home. That hasn't always happened, but I've gotten better and better at manufacturing it with each trip. </p><p>Back in Late September with Noah, I'd already gotten some fantastic and healthy fish to hand (read <a href="https://flyfishingcts.blogspot.com/2023/11/one-run-big-maine-brookies.html">here</a>), but was very much hoping for something even a little bit larger than those. It had become fairly clear from that experience that fairly thoroughly covering quite a lot of water would be necessary in order to find larger fish in these small creeks with lake runners, as they were clearly not evenly distributed and even some of the nicest looking water may not be holding. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZx3KpOuCNTuHxCokA9s30sYcmjVNXTqcIx0nqL7Z39MnwpZ23AILkEsIncq6-Ir1nfrOjXmrXr8livhehgHw-tGXVCY7dmM1r-745zQEEdwuuIV9LHwaKja_8FnW-EfHWUgr76xRaejqpEB_le1qe1f836gUnkjlbK85zXKW2FGoJ6Nrj9BOamHaM6CF/s5472/DSC05259_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZx3KpOuCNTuHxCokA9s30sYcmjVNXTqcIx0nqL7Z39MnwpZ23AILkEsIncq6-Ir1nfrOjXmrXr8livhehgHw-tGXVCY7dmM1r-745zQEEdwuuIV9LHwaKja_8FnW-EfHWUgr76xRaejqpEB_le1qe1f836gUnkjlbK85zXKW2FGoJ6Nrj9BOamHaM6CF/w640-h426/DSC05259_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Though we were only about six hours from home, this was very different territory. I traversed high grassy banks along shallow, gravely runs before dropping onto sand bars pocked with moose tracks, staying low and moving swiftly but with intent so as not to spook any fish that might be in shallow, visible lies. I didn't really see fish for a long time, it was clear that most were holding in the very deep, slow pools. That made sense, it wasn't spawning time yet so there was little need for the fish to put themselves at risk in the shallow tailouts and pockets just yet. They were likely hopping from deep spot to deep spot on their way up, with some time in the faster runs with lots of cover as well like where I'd caught them the day before. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EgLRtx9JLgrjp0vKnIq-VNQENPe7KneHj51hw9zSEaPjISZ_IuvqxmC1vCFs9Dqjvq_mLLTVdalEMag6AdyOD7iQxsL7v88IfcyujVa7Or9vR8DmuozXlcO4XiDNR0I_MBHxOlmreIQu5GsuzL-kkWngcIrvNWEEhVDT2v-3yEpbdfJtuNtPIZH5p4-q/s5472/DSC05362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EgLRtx9JLgrjp0vKnIq-VNQENPe7KneHj51hw9zSEaPjISZ_IuvqxmC1vCFs9Dqjvq_mLLTVdalEMag6AdyOD7iQxsL7v88IfcyujVa7Or9vR8DmuozXlcO4XiDNR0I_MBHxOlmreIQu5GsuzL-kkWngcIrvNWEEhVDT2v-3yEpbdfJtuNtPIZH5p4-q/w640-h426/DSC05362.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>But even those didn't always seem to provide the pull I was looking for. Then I came to one dark, deep bend pool with an overhanging tree and loads of wood in the water. This one <i>had </i>to be harboring something large. The head looked extremely juicy, with the main current dumping over a beautiful gravel shelf into the depths of the pool and a foam covered eddy on the other side with branches sticking through. I dangled and tightlined the big, heavy Ausable Ugly through the faster current, then pulsed and retrieved it through the eddy. Not believing there wasn't a fish there to be caught, I then went back through it again making extra certain the fly got down deep. As small one obliged, maybe 10 inches... that wasn't it. I moved on to the heart of the pool, counting the fly down and retrieving gradually, forming figure eights with the line in the palm of my hand then raising the rod tip in little jumps as the leader neared the tip. Still no satisfying thump. I had moved down to the tail when Noah rounded the corner. We both remarked how incredible this pool looked and that there must be a large fish in it. Looking back to what I was doing I saw a large dark shadow streak out from one of the many logs. I struck, my rod flexing as the hook point found purchase, and said "Oh there she is!"</p><p>Large brook trout often don't have the piss and vinegar of other salmonid species, and though this was one of the heavier trout I'd stuck in a while it wasn't terribly hard to control. We had it in the net in just a short time. The fish of the trip was indeed a hefty one, and dressed up in proper brook trout finery. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95K_Dxn2Z96YcvmFt8qeNVk9h8wRoxhVQGCDZgOV97mh79G3g9odRwr2ftPhYqI0C4N0a-uvIcXc4Jb3jRh3Bfv5bUUfGD3_Z1H_mtfU9vliNMP9SPqlLHM5HxKzgqNWprss2O0rphG03r7meue0Yubj6YyDO2bNSuigGlg3qOLyT1Vhj3Ll3b5lFyoVm/s5472/DSC05331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95K_Dxn2Z96YcvmFt8qeNVk9h8wRoxhVQGCDZgOV97mh79G3g9odRwr2ftPhYqI0C4N0a-uvIcXc4Jb3jRh3Bfv5bUUfGD3_Z1H_mtfU9vliNMP9SPqlLHM5HxKzgqNWprss2O0rphG03r7meue0Yubj6YyDO2bNSuigGlg3qOLyT1Vhj3Ll3b5lFyoVm/w640-h426/DSC05331.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHg-quVGqzBQ4lsFhZnYvn6STJaLe1MkVTctF00Brr9AdGIjTZB4OO1COgayLMtET0Lm2MUKb2x0VhwuV0-n_HBt5sJFDezpPuFvccRyElEsI4xdGIK88RcKUcSr7b8FpIosF0555MaPD1wS1SAMEgLc0Htd_p1hVUrxH2LqS_uL22kTeOaI_gCbJn-kB/s5472/DSC05340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHg-quVGqzBQ4lsFhZnYvn6STJaLe1MkVTctF00Brr9AdGIjTZB4OO1COgayLMtET0Lm2MUKb2x0VhwuV0-n_HBt5sJFDezpPuFvccRyElEsI4xdGIK88RcKUcSr7b8FpIosF0555MaPD1wS1SAMEgLc0Htd_p1hVUrxH2LqS_uL22kTeOaI_gCbJn-kB/w640-h426/DSC05340.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It had been a number of years since I'd tied into a Maine brook trout this size, and to do so in a lesser known fishery made it all the more satisfying. It was yet another reminder of the magic these fish I've long adored hold. Brook trout were one of the fish that brought me to fly fishing and made me obsess over it, hiking and biking sometimes 60 miles in a day to try to find new streams before I could drive. I'm less brook trout obsessed than I was back then, but they do remain a driving force in my angling- the hard headed, gaudy, and aggressive native that they are. It is hard to deny the appeal. They stand both for wilderness and the fact that we haven't quite snuffed out wild things yet, even when we've done our damnedest to do so. In Connecticut, there are still wild brook trout swimming behind shopping centers and through neighborhoods. In Maine, there are still big, darkly colored brookies residing in lakes and ponds and a few rivers. They are a stubborn relic of what this land once was. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-85222177802943115952024-01-14T18:04:00.000-08:002024-01-14T18:04:25.128-08:00Cow Calling<p> Kevin Callahan wanted his boga grip back. As he eased his Maverick Master Angler out of the launch and got on plane, the breeze, clouds, and chop lead me to believe that would be a long shot. But maybe the fish would bite. Large striped bass like it sloppy. Really, I think the boga retrieval was just an excuse. I think Kevin and I both felt like we were in with a really good shot at some gigantic bass. The ride wasn't as quick as the slick night we'd made this same run about a week prior, and though some fish were had that night and even more were seen, this felt a bit different. There was a feel to the weather. The changing barometric pressure and the color of the water spoke volumes. We spent probably 20 minutes looking for the gripper after arriving at the spot, but the sheet of vegetation on the bottom did volumes more to conceal it than even the chop and clouds could. That was a lost cause. </p><p>Kevin moved us into a rocky area and began slinging a large topwater plug known as the Doc. If you aren't aware of the Musky Mania Doc and you striper fish in the northeast, you live under a rock. Nowadays its really unusual to see a boat leaving the launch for a day of striper fishing that doesn't already have a doc hanging off at least one of the rods. The lure shortened the learning curve for a lot of anglers to catch big bass both on the plug itself and on the fly. In fact, the first use of it in the Northeast striper fishery is as a teasing lure, with Joe LeClair being one of the first to employ it around Block Island. Not long after, Ian Devlin and Mark Sedotti brought in to Western Long Island Sound, and from there it started being used with hooks to actually catch the fish when it became clear that in some scenarios it was great for drawing strikes from big bass but not as good for teasing. Now there are multiple knock-offs of it specifically advertised to striper anglers. Some even cast better than the original, which has a shape and weight distribution that makes it hard to get the lure to consistently fly true. I was fishing a simple derivation of Mark Sedotti's synthetic slammer. This one had two little foam baffles and lead wrapped on the shank but no keel. It was 10" long and all off-white. Not only was it ideal if a teasing scenario set itself up, but also a fantastic generalistic big striper fly. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8-Dmd-mh7skoE_inmmGKHGwupXIbs4D9bLNiFyLnIB9dkG9GdlIKzazM7MEJKek1CB4gnJP8_d-xabmR7PpBQ4G5wKfLSz6oX9ZAa1D_ikzmCjXl3HdKiNkNBVcw3tCwuvdTYUs8UvcAbAqvD1SBW7vhD0fdLbYIXMxImoQMh9JB2iNypuF8yftFqIei/s5472/DSC00395_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8-Dmd-mh7skoE_inmmGKHGwupXIbs4D9bLNiFyLnIB9dkG9GdlIKzazM7MEJKek1CB4gnJP8_d-xabmR7PpBQ4G5wKfLSz6oX9ZAa1D_ikzmCjXl3HdKiNkNBVcw3tCwuvdTYUs8UvcAbAqvD1SBW7vhD0fdLbYIXMxImoQMh9JB2iNypuF8yftFqIei/w640-h426/DSC00395_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>After a little inaction around a school of tinker mackerel that were flicking and boiling, we pushed further into the structure seeking resident fish just holding. Confirmation of life came in the form of an almighty wallop on Kevin's lure. Stripers often hit the plug repetitively, sometimes popping it up into the air with their head, sometimes even slinging it with their tail. But sometimes they also just hammer it and get it cleanly in their craw on the first go, which is what Kevin's first fish of the day did. We knew ahead of time exactly what sort of fish were in this spot, so it was no surprise it was a 40 incher. In fact, we were hoping for something quite a bit larger. What came around was a bit more than we bargained for. The first fish to eat the fly took on a blind cast fairly near the boat and from was a clone of Kevin's. Not a giant, but very nice on the fly. That fish started to act a little weird partway through the fight though. All of a sudden, the water erupted in one of the most spectacular displays of predation I've seen in person as not only one but two brown sharks each attacked my hooked fish, one from the head, the other from the tail. They churned the water to a froth, tails thrashing as they made the striper a lot less mobile in a real hurry. One of the two followed as I stripped what was now half of a striper towards the boat, making another last attempt to get what was left pretty much boat-side. Incredibly, Callahan was rolling video through the whole event. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYKDNBcv2d9Pe_NbR-vWjuXhRiAj_MK-Ezbxq-8AzMAAZvtkcbZBBmoixfBezxVL4AjZmsh0UNNv4TZ3vpAz30aS7AyVXJZrpScIYmEK9Oq2urusxZvSWrAS-xR6IO63uNf7X2QZHyz_iNdFWcpJwlxypMldgMl2d51oAuaETox4Wb3K6xxeT7wbS6mMn/s1920/VideoCapture_20240112-212810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYKDNBcv2d9Pe_NbR-vWjuXhRiAj_MK-Ezbxq-8AzMAAZvtkcbZBBmoixfBezxVL4AjZmsh0UNNv4TZ3vpAz30aS7AyVXJZrpScIYmEK9Oq2urusxZvSWrAS-xR6IO63uNf7X2QZHyz_iNdFWcpJwlxypMldgMl2d51oAuaETox4Wb3K6xxeT7wbS6mMn/w640-h360/VideoCapture_20240112-212810.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0WsGsoc6jJE5gOMUXdEMRRZL7Pte7xaUG7ej9XqSpHlnTe4wfKTqNm0zbUW9J_6XgXW264MPLTkhsBqFU9yvwU8Y8XRIwxmx8cXTNlD48BjR3jDHbXnjp7ef6xrCuVUpiYus9niHubaopi4ewtNnc-OSg_zC03QNs45bqOV8IMX6vSstrcBb7RJXXTG3/s1920/VideoCapture_20240112-212818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0WsGsoc6jJE5gOMUXdEMRRZL7Pte7xaUG7ej9XqSpHlnTe4wfKTqNm0zbUW9J_6XgXW264MPLTkhsBqFU9yvwU8Y8XRIwxmx8cXTNlD48BjR3jDHbXnjp7ef6xrCuVUpiYus9niHubaopi4ewtNnc-OSg_zC03QNs45bqOV8IMX6vSstrcBb7RJXXTG3/w640-h360/VideoCapture_20240112-212818.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqDT7xsSuVIgwJLwfNOIc3ebPnUVlU47_CcX1-3ISkJx8hBHyAkCEQbEFTkSlql_HCUDSmgKttA2pItJDt-5IGoQldh_uUUC0S51PoB9_EB2dbi4ZUK1JeLqI606yVQ2kaZXEX60T1BU9WaG0GK2BtPrd2ljoIWbvJFOIE4tL0lQpMk7kLPfySjYd2vCZ/s1920/VideoCapture_20240112-212752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqDT7xsSuVIgwJLwfNOIc3ebPnUVlU47_CcX1-3ISkJx8hBHyAkCEQbEFTkSlql_HCUDSmgKttA2pItJDt-5IGoQldh_uUUC0S51PoB9_EB2dbi4ZUK1JeLqI606yVQ2kaZXEX60T1BU9WaG0GK2BtPrd2ljoIWbvJFOIE4tL0lQpMk7kLPfySjYd2vCZ/w640-h360/VideoCapture_20240112-212752.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoI3k2SzDRG1PAyHWV0FOAQ2PZd4pSYsCBV7FmOCRROWDzwbkiI-wyKaN9ckYIZ2T7Tumi_tAnraHY1c4Qzd6gnW_tZjcHmkU6HYC6AsAQAcSS_IqYFeV1VX5Qc4wQlNYyXg186kvcZpHnmRKJdfXAwPBlYqUUqFQaiUFLf5DOxFaxtdccPt1uyvcU6Up/s1920/VideoCapture_20240112-212826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoI3k2SzDRG1PAyHWV0FOAQ2PZd4pSYsCBV7FmOCRROWDzwbkiI-wyKaN9ckYIZ2T7Tumi_tAnraHY1c4Qzd6gnW_tZjcHmkU6HYC6AsAQAcSS_IqYFeV1VX5Qc4wQlNYyXg186kvcZpHnmRKJdfXAwPBlYqUUqFQaiUFLf5DOxFaxtdccPt1uyvcU6Up/w640-h360/VideoCapture_20240112-212826.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98k213tEmeFUQCpKnhujTUk01dIKkjufSeYMsRC_rnwShjXRkGLowPYzd7RVwyolX7hHzLzXFHSCURAFr4I90Nc_dS3175p7U_8Ew8yn6KEhcdnx0p9_-2C73AQb5_vzRVBjci9gNg26h4QAmM8Qn4rNPrqkcR0c0QKELWgP2PV6UV3B3zzJ36aHZyErG/s888/VideoCapture_20240112-212719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="888" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98k213tEmeFUQCpKnhujTUk01dIKkjufSeYMsRC_rnwShjXRkGLowPYzd7RVwyolX7hHzLzXFHSCURAFr4I90Nc_dS3175p7U_8Ew8yn6KEhcdnx0p9_-2C73AQb5_vzRVBjci9gNg26h4QAmM8Qn4rNPrqkcR0c0QKELWgP2PV6UV3B3zzJ36aHZyErG/w640-h360/VideoCapture_20240112-212719.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMekChaZtuYXNFUxRMH8oUmauEb-L7EANf54bMv871wZ-T5lUbVJphbxyhhilDjOivf8QcioZy_eJz9qCs90gp40-DyJgYArIRDDNQaO15g5NjGRia91OC4fg3hN42Yq-yvqae7MPxJchocJFGxPaR00G7pIYBzCUIBHfh-e1Vu3eYZUygnkkP49syJ89n/s1920/VideoCapture_20240112-212840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMekChaZtuYXNFUxRMH8oUmauEb-L7EANf54bMv871wZ-T5lUbVJphbxyhhilDjOivf8QcioZy_eJz9qCs90gp40-DyJgYArIRDDNQaO15g5NjGRia91OC4fg3hN42Yq-yvqae7MPxJchocJFGxPaR00G7pIYBzCUIBHfh-e1Vu3eYZUygnkkP49syJ89n/w640-h360/VideoCapture_20240112-212840.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Screen captures from video, courtesy Kevin Callahan</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br />This is a scene that is playing out more and more frequently in Connecticut in recent years as brown sharks rebound and expand in range. It is an interesting new dynamic. I personally don't feel that its a bad thing, just something we'll need to adjust to. Unfortunately, be-it bulls and hammerheads at Bahia Honda, seals at Monomoy, or many other situations where a predator species has rebounded and is eating fish off of angler's lines, most are unwilling and uninterested in adjusting or understanding, and instead are inclined to just be angry about it and I expect the same to happen with sharks in Long Island Sound in the coming years. <div><br /></div><div>Kevin and I didn't lose another fish directly to the sharks that day, at least that we knew of. And that was a relief because we were about to tie into some beasts, fish that would wow just about any fly angler. In fact the next couple of hours were such pandemonium that the memory is like a fractal, with bits and pisses missing and blurry, others sharp as a tac, and much of it out of order. The first fish I boated intact was about 46 inches and ate the fly a bit behind Kevin's plug while multiple others were on it. Unlike the fish that got sharked, this one and many of the others chose, smartly, to run into the shallows rather than out into deeper water. The result was some spectacular mid-fight thrashing and even, for Kevin, 30 plus pound fish going airborne on the hookup. Keeping them out of the structure was a chore but far from impossible, as I put the screws to them with my 11wt Echo Musky Rod. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkU52zgnsxu06CpJ0XfG2dpIcz2zfoZfAHtj10PGk1wY9lWxQi22hDZD9gFvXJF8UbqVskX3w1K92O6c68_IqbH3tCGn9hVNm1N2w2HI9rJ5-3O-Xg5GfB3uoDixTHVS1avDmQufLTsYTGPvePMA_2X1TrC5Bqqc7oVHq3DdR5srFnfSCoHGSFOIdaZ7_/s3086/image5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2143" data-original-width="3086" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkU52zgnsxu06CpJ0XfG2dpIcz2zfoZfAHtj10PGk1wY9lWxQi22hDZD9gFvXJF8UbqVskX3w1K92O6c68_IqbH3tCGn9hVNm1N2w2HI9rJ5-3O-Xg5GfB3uoDixTHVS1avDmQufLTsYTGPvePMA_2X1TrC5Bqqc7oVHq3DdR5srFnfSCoHGSFOIdaZ7_/w640-h444/image5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy Kevin Callahan</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The next hookup was a much, much larger fish that was one of a simultaneous double up right at the boat. In the mayhem I didn't really get a good hook set. I was more is shock than disappointment when the fish when it came off and I turned to Kevin and asked "You see the size of that mother f*****?"<div><br /></div><div>It couldn't have been more than ten minutes later that Kevin and I doubled up again, this time at a substantial distance from the boat. I knew the fish was quite large and the fight was a long one, but I didn't quite grasp the enormity of it until I had the thing much closer to the boat, at which point it became very clear that this was my largest fly rod striped bass. I hoisted her over the rail, grunting under the strain of her mass, and Callahan fired off a few quick photos. I remember looking at the size of her lower lip as I carefully got her back in the water, mindful that there could very well be an even large fish with much sharper eating implements nearby. I was pleased that she kicked off very strongly and aimed in to the shallows again, away from potential danger. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTev0O1dr-rjSEu6K1zP0a4tJruOXcjiJK9BuyRxSjbUIIm5fseVFysHXEMvSfRqL2JM8oNtYUXUqvFPo5rrkMauyVs8ZM-O1WyOSHVZBwXo5Zgdsuo4CEXfaLGcqT6UKxwFOyo6sB7D0rGhXvksXf7ZMjDNIRYau3wD3En9Wz1-dKqtkEkjx3aYXnct5b/s5472/DSC00381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTev0O1dr-rjSEu6K1zP0a4tJruOXcjiJK9BuyRxSjbUIIm5fseVFysHXEMvSfRqL2JM8oNtYUXUqvFPo5rrkMauyVs8ZM-O1WyOSHVZBwXo5Zgdsuo4CEXfaLGcqT6UKxwFOyo6sB7D0rGhXvksXf7ZMjDNIRYau3wD3En9Wz1-dKqtkEkjx3aYXnct5b/w640-h426/DSC00381.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Getting a bass of this caliber isn't terribly uncommon in certain areas with the current state of the fishery. Frankly, at time its just easy. But getting two giants locally without beating up numerous 30 inch class fish in the process is a lot less common, especially in clear, clean, and very shallow water. This was, to put it lightly, a pretty sick bite, and one we hope we'll be able to replicate again in coming seasons. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the way back in we stopped at a rip line that usually holds a lot of life and had smaller fish ravenously chasing the plugs and flies in and eating with reckless abandon. It was a lot of fun to watch, and a reminder that there are so many facets to this fishery we have on our doorstep. Many of those things are taken for granted, even by me. With yet another poor recruitment year in the Chesapeake behind us, recreational anglers under severe disillusions that everything is fine because the fishing is incredible where they are right now, and head boat captains pounding their fists and yelling to be allowed to kill as many of these fish as they want at meetings, I worry for the future of my favorite species to cast flies at. I'm not even fully sure stricter regulations will stop a complete crash of the most important spawning ground on the coast, but I sure do know it wouldn't hurt. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></div><div><div><p></p></div></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-7763680155229535852023-12-13T19:50:00.000-08:002023-12-13T19:50:04.060-08:00Wet T-Shirk Muskie Contest<p> Muskellunge are a critter often associated with massive amounts of time, effort, and dedication to catch. Especially on the fly. I hadn't put in anywhere near the amount of effort typically associated when I trudged through the early fall woods on my way to a pool in a river in which I might possibly be able to find a muskie. The day prior my good friend Drew Price and I had floated a different stretch of the same river and I'd stuck a hook in my first muskie (the short story about that has been on <a href="https://www.patreon.com/posts/muskie-prelude-89929534?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link">Patreon</a> for a while), And I'd increased the number of muskies I'd moved with a fly from one to... frankly I've forgotten the number, but it was a lot. We saw a tremendous number of fish that day. That bumped my experience a bit but not much. And now I was in unfamiliar territory again. Drew had told me there were muskies there, but other than that I was pretty much left of my own devices to try to catch one on foot. It was very much the sort of mission this angler is comfortable with. If you've read these chronicles long enough, you've read of many a grueling, ill-advised DIY effort that resulted in netter fish than I had any right to be able to catch. So, although I had no expectations, I felt very comfortable setting out with just my wading boots, shorts, a sling pack, and a couple rods to pursue one of the most notoriously difficult to catch predator fish in the country. </p><p>Shallow riffles and pocket water weaving through the trees gave way to a wide open pool, slow and dark and flanked by steep grass-covered banks. The bottom turned from rock and gravel to mud, and parts of the pool were lined with spare weed beds. This pool looked like a place some Esocids would inhabit, and in this case the top predator wasn't the pickerel and pike one would find back in Connecticut. I decided to work my way around the pool clockwise, starting at one side of the the head of the pool and working around the edge to the tailout, cross, then coming back up the other side. Though the head of the pool didn't show anything, I barely made more than 10 feet down the bank before I moved the first muskie of the day. It came slowly behind the fly, a small male of maybe 30 inches, shadowing with interest but not about to commit to eating. Working my way around the pool I'd move three more small muskies and one larger one. The small fish emerged from the weed bed, while the largest one materialized from the gloom of the middle of the pool. I'd noticed the day before that the largest three we saw weren't on the edge or in the structure, but rather out in the middle of the river. I found this odd, but many of the fish I target have larger predators to be worried about. A muskellunge doesn't really have that. A big old adult muskie isn't getting eaten by too many things. They can afford to hang out pretty much anywhere they want to that offers them the hydraulic needs to maintain their metabolism. As I ran out of pool to fish, I paused to take a break. I sat down in the tall grass, trying to avoid putting any exposed skin in the abundant stinging nettle, and grabbed a granola bar out of my pack. By that point it had become fairly clear that I was going to get clipped by the southern end of a line of thundershowers. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUoqQ06afC3ljjn_9sJQfWCeHkxu4awCPjLVL7hSO6ZSv-MTXq6p6SU-pNjom0W2PhDssKze6URUptA-u3xR5bGnM78NPLcW0kfA9HWgA-k1Up9i7eAjlC3P6U9li9R-XDE3U-msAsy3qWkMtNcbtXrS5_oRYbwYd0li6p66D_M5Ozhd0WRh5EBixub-3/s5472/DSC03048_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUoqQ06afC3ljjn_9sJQfWCeHkxu4awCPjLVL7hSO6ZSv-MTXq6p6SU-pNjom0W2PhDssKze6URUptA-u3xR5bGnM78NPLcW0kfA9HWgA-k1Up9i7eAjlC3P6U9li9R-XDE3U-msAsy3qWkMtNcbtXrS5_oRYbwYd0li6p66D_M5Ozhd0WRh5EBixub-3/w640-h426/DSC03048_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>I sat and enjoyed my granola bar and assessed that there was very little point in trying to rush back to get a rain jacket. I'd be in a fairly safe spot as far as lightning, I'd just get a bit wet. That's okay, my bottom half already was anyway. I made my way to the tree line, looked at the canopy and tried to pick a place that might be fairly dry. The rain came loud and heavy, big droplets slapping the leaves and bubbling the surface of the river. My little spot was barely enough to keep my bag dry, and mostly because I hunched over it. The rain lasted probably 15 minutes, leaving a soaked angler trying to shake off and wring out his t-shirt while looking downriver at the next pool and wondering if the passage of that shower might have changed the mood of the fish. The day before, a big storm rolling through had seemed to turn the bite off. I worried that those listless follows might be as much as I'd see of a muskie on this trip. But the next pool down looked promising anyway. It was bigger and round, and looked like it could be harder to fish effectively on foot compared to the one above it. I was pretty much stuck with the head of the pool, which was the only chunk of the one above that didn't seem to be holding a fish. Not knowing if that really mattered, I set about working the head of it as thoroughly and consciously as I possibly could. I mixed and matched retrieves, but favored keeping the sink tip of the bottom with a steady two hand with occasional accelerations. I worked river right first, fanning twice, then crossed the stream to work the other side. The number of casts made on that side couldn't have been many when the line went tight. It wasn't a violent eat to feel, and I didn't see it, but the fish had to have eaten with some force because before coming tight there was actually quite a bit of slack. Then there was a moment of uncertainty where it wasn't fully clear to me that this was actually a fish. But it was. And not one of those little one either. The fight wasn't remarkable outside of the immediate urgency and fear I had of losing the fish. I don't experience it to the level I was in that moment very often. It would have hurt a lot if that fish came off. But it didn't. Everything somehow went to plan. The same angler than had stood under the trees with a slight frown just a short time prior now knelt in the water next to the river bank shaking with what must have been a look of sheer elation on his face. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnEgzCje7c1SQKK4W467Pe6GjTzytJCYJY64d_4oAMdeYvqGrTKYSbe-Z97Q7_oNBjWPtdxIYvql1YGkGvQp840_JEJSZp-rZfd1qVFSOCUIEOvsginMjq0y_t0Lrak7b3HxQNAw-VcqPiMR89Ryhdpny-xFsBkwpqr6rzl-FP3OtW9C0YEdovPjCQm9K/s5472/DSC03069.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnEgzCje7c1SQKK4W467Pe6GjTzytJCYJY64d_4oAMdeYvqGrTKYSbe-Z97Q7_oNBjWPtdxIYvql1YGkGvQp840_JEJSZp-rZfd1qVFSOCUIEOvsginMjq0y_t0Lrak7b3HxQNAw-VcqPiMR89Ryhdpny-xFsBkwpqr6rzl-FP3OtW9C0YEdovPjCQm9K/w640-h426/DSC03069.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOPoDC5eDKftfQRcDperrD_nRCpH84TfZ7sskNyQ16zJAqxmofG-xcpcIB2oZpTVMMI6kYOL510NOLyF3fZ87jQaH7sJafAMU_6xF8S4mQbKSdv_VDikpFdgMlO7eDt_qGD0akJd-ENq1HsjFaUniYmP_K-SXtNhDczzTsdetQNLRlt0dgRYG4z4XsYwt/s5472/DSC03071.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOPoDC5eDKftfQRcDperrD_nRCpH84TfZ7sskNyQ16zJAqxmofG-xcpcIB2oZpTVMMI6kYOL510NOLyF3fZ87jQaH7sJafAMU_6xF8S4mQbKSdv_VDikpFdgMlO7eDt_qGD0akJd-ENq1HsjFaUniYmP_K-SXtNhDczzTsdetQNLRlt0dgRYG4z4XsYwt/w640-h426/DSC03071.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muskellunge, <i>Esox masquinongy. </i>Lifelist Fish #198. Rank: Species</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Muskie are a not insignificant fish in my personal history, despite my minimal time and effort targeting them. One of my first memories is seeing a muskie in the water at a lake in Northwestern Pennsylvania near where I was born. I'm not sure where on the timeline it fits exactly, nor is it the clearest memory I have, but it's the first fish memory I have. You might think that would make muskie fishing a somewhat bigger part of my agenda. I'm not really sure why it isn't outside of simply not having them around. With a fish so notorious for frustration, skunking, and heartbreak and an angler who frequently likes to have to work hard to catch the target, it would seem to be a match made in heaven. Maybe someday I will get totally muskie obsessed. It would seem to be a high likelihood. But for now, with a helping push from Drew and a bit of patience and persistence to get it done on foot in water I'd never seen before, I can be pretty satisfied with my first muskie on the fly. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-87162788539642095692023-11-30T08:48:00.000-08:002023-11-30T08:48:30.987-08:00Jack Attack<p> The cook-an-egg-hot Florida sand barely registered beneath my calloused feet as I wandered a mostly vacant beach. As it turns out, an August weekday with a heat index of 118 degrees can provide fair solitude on what might otherwise be busy beaches. I'd surprised myself with how rapidly I adjusted to the conditions, and as with many prior trips to Florida I was routinely being asked the sort of questions that would be asked of a local. My physique didn't hurt the "from here" impression: barefoot with stained khaki shorts and an unbuttoned blue long sleeve, a sling pack, a stripping basket, worn and sun bleached ball cap, 8 weight fly rod in hand, and the ends of my shoulder-length hair blonding from half a season's worth of sun and salt damage. The heat wasn't phasing me, I brushed it off like I do any natural factor. I take some pride in my ability to adapt to different places and conditions. I feel there's a lot to be said for being just as comfortable on a sun bathed strip of southern sand in mid summer as on an icy, dark urban trout river in the depths of January. At least there's merit if you intend to be as versatile an angler as I'd like to be. There's also merit, outside of fishing, to being able to relate to people anywhere you go.</p><p>I'd been on the hunt for tarpon for days now. The hope was to encounter balls of bait along the beach being marauded by silver kings, and though I'd seen tarpon there was a distinct lack of minnows to pull them in tight to the beach. The hours and miles covered had jaded me enough that for this excursion I'd left the 12 weight in the car. This beach had produced a couple small snook for me the previous day on the same tide, so I was hoping just to get tight to a favorite species of mine, size irrelevant. And that's how I found myself entirely under-gunned when one of the most remarkable shows I'd ever seen made its way up the beach. </p><p>I'd been working my way north towards a point, picking deeper parts of the trough as I went, when I looked back south and saw absolute melee in progress. large menhaden were being flung as much as eight feet into the air in car-sized whitewater explosions. My jaw about hit the sand and I began jogging in that direction. The attackers were crevalle jacks... huge ones. Suddenly, the Helios in my hand was not the tool for the job at all. It felt like a toothpick. I was quickly tying on the biggest fly in my limited arsenal though, with the chaos rapidly approaching at the same time. As the sounds of death and ravenous consumption became audible the Yak Hair Deceiver entered he fray. It was quickly consumed, followed by about 10 seconds of screeching drag before I thought better of my decisions and buttoned down to let what would have been an unlandable trophy jack break off. I traded the rod for the lens and chased the fish northward, at times just walking, at times at a full on sprint. </p><p>The visuals were incredible. Menhaden beached themselves in a desperate bid to get away from an unescapable death at the hands of one of the fastest and most powerful fish in these waters. The jacks surfed waves over the bar in groups as numerous as 30 or more, then layed siege on the desperate baits in as little as a couple feet of water. Their yellow dorsal fins sliced though the foam in a way that seemed both coordinated and erratic at the same time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGLmu7Hvr4-86ESbLqgL59r94dnGT-m_t6Sb0HPAfe6ke1MEMooTNSv_6lz554GdNitOk_0bbWpG5YXrk_DmgKyd4vOjRCe744gIoW6f1V0YFmtMqqmr9jc4-5Tfkp2iVPyWyTfPrbnE2uklm7l-OWcKedgF4C4QXLhmfx8oMGRj-SqiEcBCo_HnyVXmot/s5472/DSC01679_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGLmu7Hvr4-86ESbLqgL59r94dnGT-m_t6Sb0HPAfe6ke1MEMooTNSv_6lz554GdNitOk_0bbWpG5YXrk_DmgKyd4vOjRCe744gIoW6f1V0YFmtMqqmr9jc4-5Tfkp2iVPyWyTfPrbnE2uklm7l-OWcKedgF4C4QXLhmfx8oMGRj-SqiEcBCo_HnyVXmot/w640-h426/DSC01679_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjvTK2-KnmrIrRMHTOAaqj-KwHLbp07p1GWFiMhF61rEDRrVh_6heOh0i0znbuuSh3e_5keMXocwRFfd58p2pfZ6AJaNB6AumwuTuwRP5Tja7L6e1x6MIZhwbj6iyNDk68NZYcyOpPLBwfgg0tBIvolNoZ_waMGMN-aOyLT_-ZXNpftom9WVa9bgtF1Se/s5472/DSC01685_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinjvTK2-KnmrIrRMHTOAaqj-KwHLbp07p1GWFiMhF61rEDRrVh_6heOh0i0znbuuSh3e_5keMXocwRFfd58p2pfZ6AJaNB6AumwuTuwRP5Tja7L6e1x6MIZhwbj6iyNDk68NZYcyOpPLBwfgg0tBIvolNoZ_waMGMN-aOyLT_-ZXNpftom9WVa9bgtF1Se/w640-h426/DSC01685_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>The fish were so widely spread that at the same time as I had jacks zipping around almost at my feet I could see more over the outer bar and yet more still exploding beyond the breakers. It was a blitz like I'd never seen before, putting any striped bass feed I'd seen to shame in terms of shear ferocity. It was fast too. Before I realized what had happened I was out of breath a solid mile from where I'd started chasing them, watching the fish continue northward. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQuxjQo9IzSf-enEs8lQYu8sAK09VTThJw1EGhXXj3TTcwCRkNqeodk1nQC2Aw_xsCyDpsJoTZQC7K099_wIR63h8ekhyphenhyphenFjp7ik4f8PxI18vHWvA_p1BoSPKhex75UZheKAsHL15WBSM6qfFc-GbaXqA1PtNmemqsnjxDzGpgYWlhUWZjGJTS-1ti63gY/s5472/DSC01669_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQuxjQo9IzSf-enEs8lQYu8sAK09VTThJw1EGhXXj3TTcwCRkNqeodk1nQC2Aw_xsCyDpsJoTZQC7K099_wIR63h8ekhyphenhyphenFjp7ik4f8PxI18vHWvA_p1BoSPKhex75UZheKAsHL15WBSM6qfFc-GbaXqA1PtNmemqsnjxDzGpgYWlhUWZjGJTS-1ti63gY/w640-h426/DSC01669_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJM1R8wyhrIY1csYphFF_bOH2u7vhw9HmzvG7aArOLAYbWhddiZZZ4Gzgx3bcx_zwH7dKEJVikQLOFaIMaKNkia8Jf3VexQG1IBlLPr3EeL5cO3h4Qp4sLjGKucgRvwGJZvSyXz82f8FRpn6vVZaVNo5kwCq_3mt5ihLkfiNo4e3HlyBKB2n_bakHNGc0/s5472/DSC01682_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJM1R8wyhrIY1csYphFF_bOH2u7vhw9HmzvG7aArOLAYbWhddiZZZ4Gzgx3bcx_zwH7dKEJVikQLOFaIMaKNkia8Jf3VexQG1IBlLPr3EeL5cO3h4Qp4sLjGKucgRvwGJZvSyXz82f8FRpn6vVZaVNo5kwCq_3mt5ihLkfiNo4e3HlyBKB2n_bakHNGc0/w640-h426/DSC01682_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>In a desperate bid to try to catch up and have a shot at hooking and landing one of these fish, I ran full tilt back to that car, physically spent put pushing myself forward be shear will alone. I threw my gear in the back and tied a large slammer on the 12 weight with my teeth and one hand as I sped north to another access. Even in a vehicle, it was too slow. I had just a couple mediocre shots at stragglers coming down the beach. The whitewater eruptions were just visible a half mile to my north. I'd try to run north again but lost the fish. Ah well, what a show it was while it lasted. These are the moments I live for. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-75121886866149538712023-11-17T08:41:00.000-08:002023-11-17T09:16:00.806-08:00Albie Season<p> I'm not hardtail obsessed. I have been from time to time over the last six years, but I've found that I actually fish them better if they're more of an aside to my late summer and fall season rather than the main course. I'm a striped bass guy. They appeal to me more. I like large flies, large baitfish, and huge brutish stage fish that will hold a spot and work it. I also like night fishing. I feel as comfortable wading into a boulder field at night as I do sitting at my desk typing this chronicle out. That's my fish. <i>Morone saxatilis</i> and I were made for each other. Little tunny can honestly get a little boring to me. For many seasons, they've meant standing on the same five or six rocks across southern Connecticut and Rhode Island for hours at a time casting my arm off for fish that all ate more or less the same way, all on quite small flies, looked the same, and were only a few pounds larger or smaller than each other. There's no way to get an edge over other hardtail chasers to catch bigger ones, just more of them... and I'm just not a numbers guy. But there's undeniable thrills there too. I find immense satisfaction in the take and hookup. I fish near and on-surface flies and floating lines a lot unless conditions force my hand in using an intermediate or full sink. That means nine times out of ten an albie is breaking the surface to eat my fly. Gurglers are by far my favorite method, and damned deadly too. I'm far from the first to throw these flies at hardtails. In fact Jack Gartside had a gurgler variation tailored specifically to them, and Alan Caolo has talked up their effectiveness as well. It may be one of the best albie flies there is. When a little tunny pile drives a Gurgler and the line tightens in my hands, it feels like everything is right in the world. </p><p>Early in the 2023 season I found myself on the bow of my good friend Mark Alpert's Amesbury Dory watching acres of crazed albies mowing down anchovies under the shadow of an iconic Southern New England lighthouse. It was the perfect day. The weather was gorgeous, and though a fair number of other anglers and boaters were out there were ample fish for everyone and in rare form, I didn't see anyone acting like a complete buffoon, plowing into fish, or cutting off other boats. It bordered on miraculous, with visual spectacle to match. Bright green and chrome reflections cut through the light chop, with rust colored anchovies spraying in their desperate attempts to evade the lightning fast predators. Frantic gulls added another auditory element beyond the impact like sounds of feeding fish and the excited voices of other anglers. Mark and I were privy to quite a show that day. And though the fish weren't the easiest, I was able to get them to eat the gurgler with exceptional regularity, even blind casting along travel routes when they weren't actually showing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZceImmyrfoVttt1na-SRonPk0m1buGi3BRSAPJk8_3FV9zoEYlH1iyeWIqo597Wn8XmveWOw6aVCf6bHm4q_wISAbBCrvMabboDYj7cPKoNqSxlbYNwjf3kx4lUbWMB8Rkg4nZrbMOkggEl9SBgRv9WY2Quz9YCOArdwn5qfbZiZLI4d_cUwefcUbE4L/s5472/DSC04331_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZceImmyrfoVttt1na-SRonPk0m1buGi3BRSAPJk8_3FV9zoEYlH1iyeWIqo597Wn8XmveWOw6aVCf6bHm4q_wISAbBCrvMabboDYj7cPKoNqSxlbYNwjf3kx4lUbWMB8Rkg4nZrbMOkggEl9SBgRv9WY2Quz9YCOArdwn5qfbZiZLI4d_cUwefcUbE4L/w640-h426/DSC04331_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6t0OgdpOocR1Djg0cmBdQo_cUqjFFMKQuMymidKaJ4vD5mmaIGg-_3y2PzH-lPn5iyQXtOePUoN1z4kbAP9k6ohyYqncPBZHpIrtPqonIHg3726xfSJK0ldikRrsbShJaXBBGN0pjH7I1kWVNo4EmAEhNeoytP8zdv5kIP9LSo58Ut8ydBUFTr9QTIoCZ/s5472/DSC04368.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6t0OgdpOocR1Djg0cmBdQo_cUqjFFMKQuMymidKaJ4vD5mmaIGg-_3y2PzH-lPn5iyQXtOePUoN1z4kbAP9k6ohyYqncPBZHpIrtPqonIHg3726xfSJK0ldikRrsbShJaXBBGN0pjH7I1kWVNo4EmAEhNeoytP8zdv5kIP9LSo58Ut8ydBUFTr9QTIoCZ/w640-h426/DSC04368.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpyD_rNKAKcYAsXubqdjxQtgCTyMEnPdKPGbFcMl2luTbOrzknx8iIT4AowWaNYKuPLKGix7IWJC5ieN39Bkpc4xlBUh-7VJsV4xuVFIHUuHV6EokxHumBV1B5lwzhyphenhyphenZlfRXf-SF03XLfUgM-xfnn9-AVqFYHqLtrXcjGKcVvar1cLjZXnH6mmjgzowfr/s5472/DSC04385_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpyD_rNKAKcYAsXubqdjxQtgCTyMEnPdKPGbFcMl2luTbOrzknx8iIT4AowWaNYKuPLKGix7IWJC5ieN39Bkpc4xlBUh-7VJsV4xuVFIHUuHV6EokxHumBV1B5lwzhyphenhyphenZlfRXf-SF03XLfUgM-xfnn9-AVqFYHqLtrXcjGKcVvar1cLjZXnH6mmjgzowfr/w640-h426/DSC04385_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was my first day putting my Orvis Helios 3D 8wt that Shawn Combs extremely generously passed along to me to a really solid test on hardtails. One summertime bonito and a few chub mackerel didn't really give it the complete range of necessary tasks. It was a wonderfully precise bit of weaponry for little tunny sniping and very enjoyable to battle these late summer speed demons with. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHB3z0pBotI637GoOjOGhWyEM12w9ACUNQSh1cSz4KA2YB3Vn8rH91yZFJD9QHp2JCWJIogfH7iZN-gkq7R8Tlsl32YHWhKJiJ30YkwNYOsJPVzbJHG1vE-_4HseMFXIIQLcu47EBXK7LvJPN4QdeYbkWCpx6EWorS6XKrrxSoScZGUQGdpY28kQccVzXL/s5472/DSC04442.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHB3z0pBotI637GoOjOGhWyEM12w9ACUNQSh1cSz4KA2YB3Vn8rH91yZFJD9QHp2JCWJIogfH7iZN-gkq7R8Tlsl32YHWhKJiJ30YkwNYOsJPVzbJHG1vE-_4HseMFXIIQLcu47EBXK7LvJPN4QdeYbkWCpx6EWorS6XKrrxSoScZGUQGdpY28kQccVzXL/w640-h426/DSC04442.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1BlSN8DI7vtiVvi6JafX8Dq6pOToYiQoIk0fTgr577BPSBS9Fs8W2MSoUdgQEHSvY42NKequAj0A7zVddwQ4jlNZ9_074HpSKcM4i-wy1pj-iQArVuAVB8-zJD_h7us_ea-nwOkiCCroShpXNn9lr6LSEALyEc9FbvS81wyIEXVg7a_C7F89F5mPFOHv/s5472/DSC04422.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1BlSN8DI7vtiVvi6JafX8Dq6pOToYiQoIk0fTgr577BPSBS9Fs8W2MSoUdgQEHSvY42NKequAj0A7zVddwQ4jlNZ9_074HpSKcM4i-wy1pj-iQArVuAVB8-zJD_h7us_ea-nwOkiCCroShpXNn9lr6LSEALyEc9FbvS81wyIEXVg7a_C7F89F5mPFOHv/w640-h426/DSC04422.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVCfTFbaWMgXK6g-hVuYqj1qtIostV9Q_gPFeJEeFfifqRaqYQ6Y8bjpSaKa_GbzC482CExdEqtQ68LuJlCoRh2kDcDnuUT4IllkMjKVVgzPTatL6NQEpWoAXcwDa0yG0XTqFAVPYEhKs3yK5IuEWtP0bB29QFDdCglcWghSh9VBjEkSYlRrYulQmSCdt/s5472/DSC04420.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVCfTFbaWMgXK6g-hVuYqj1qtIostV9Q_gPFeJEeFfifqRaqYQ6Y8bjpSaKa_GbzC482CExdEqtQ68LuJlCoRh2kDcDnuUT4IllkMjKVVgzPTatL6NQEpWoAXcwDa0yG0XTqFAVPYEhKs3yK5IuEWtP0bB29QFDdCglcWghSh9VBjEkSYlRrYulQmSCdt/w640-h426/DSC04420.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>After the gurgler party east of the point began to fizzle, we ranged out looking to find more concentrated action. The reward was a mix of bass and albies feeding in a more delicate manner, less interested on the smaller bay anchovies. I took the opportunity to fiddle with a fly I'd been developing over the past two seasons, a sort of hybrid derivation of Dave Skok's White bait Mushy but with a stiff spine rather than Softex, and a body form and tying method inspired by Jonny King's Kinky Muddler. The fly rarely ever fouls (never at all if tied right), has an extremely natural profile from all sides, and has a great action in the water. I'd put it to the test on small bait blitzes of striper earlier in the year and found myself tight to fish any time I landed the fly close to breaking fish while other boats struggled, but given the fly's intent being tunoids it needed to work this time too. And it did. A memory that will forever be burned in my brain from that day was watching an albie race a group of striped bass to the fly and inhale it boat-side. I was forced to trout set at close range but got a great corner hookup and was treated to yet another quick ride into the backing. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUG0KJHH9KwVpNibZrOymNINK6V5Qoab4FkNFN5LXXBqQS5vBDo0ESDozvvc6JdEWexYWR-MFBGjk-fTsJ7SbL8pZsILrJ_KxG6oydRgBBOazMwENMksBpYBy5aBQtBd5wwhKfoqosC_xf5sLIxWYFmJKGcefWIp5Se5K0-f6KUf16vViBVGkpwmQBvyoV/s5472/DSC04574.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUG0KJHH9KwVpNibZrOymNINK6V5Qoab4FkNFN5LXXBqQS5vBDo0ESDozvvc6JdEWexYWR-MFBGjk-fTsJ7SbL8pZsILrJ_KxG6oydRgBBOazMwENMksBpYBy5aBQtBd5wwhKfoqosC_xf5sLIxWYFmJKGcefWIp5Se5K0-f6KUf16vViBVGkpwmQBvyoV/w640-h426/DSC04574.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Outside of enjoying days on friends' boats, I only had a couple other goals for the 2023 albie season, those being to catch little tunny with my feet on sand, avoid fishing popular and ever more crowded spots, and catch more fish in new places or old places I'd been snubbed at in previous seasons. My motivation was driven by the growing popularity and changing culture around this fishery along with my own conviction to learn new things in new places. I've only been shore-based albie fishing for a short 5 years, but somehow that half a decade is enough to see changes in the game. My first season, I was being dropped off and could only get to locations I could walk to from a centralized relatively well known spot. On multiple occasions I had that place to myself for prime windows, and even when I didn't the etiquette was a bit different from what it has shifted toward. One day, I was struggling on a less than ideally positioned rock when one of the OG's, after getting three fish in fairly short order, reeled up and said "You're up, kid". That set a bit of a precedent and was a good lesson. Admittedly I've had my moments of greed, but I try my best to not be a camper and yield a hot rock if the next guy down the line isn't catching just because he isn't standing in the right spot that day. I also recognize that as a younger and more physically able angler, I could easily take up easy standing space from less able bodied folks in popular accesses, and don't feel that doing so is respectful or fair. A twenty or thirty something with good balance doesn't need to have the flattest, driest rock with the easiest cast into the travel lane. So this year I set out to fish other places and probably caught fewer fish than I otherwise would have as a result. That's okay. I fished with the people I wanted to fish with and had a better overall experience. I don't say any of this to denigrate those that fish the well known places, but I do want some anglers to rethink the way they go about this fishery and frankly fishing in general. More respect needs to be shown toward the locations, the fish, and the people that were out on those same rocks before us young guys even knew what a false albacore was. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It all come together one morning when John Kelly and I met before sunup on a lonely beach that some schools of little tunny had been visiting with some consistency. The day before John had a couple fish to hand, and even with a late day arrival I had a couple shots. We knew there'd be fish, it was just a matter of being patient and making the shots. Sure enough, as the sun crested the horizon some splashed began to disrupt the otherwise only gently wind rippled surface. And then they were in front of us. John hooked up first. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've become more and more of a beach fishing addict over the years. Walking the open sand with a fly rod in hand is inherently contradictory; taking on the ocean and its predatory species with what is generally considered very light tackle (whether that actually portrays the real power a fly rod can have as a fish fighting tool is another story) feels at times like a David and Goliath situation. Though little tunny are far from goliath both in name and stature, they are quite a fish to tackle with light fly gear. The gentler slope of a beach adds even more to the fight. Unlike fish hooked from boats, jetties, or rock ledges, there's less opportunity for the fish to dive, making their runs a bit longer and faster than they otherwise would be. Add to that the mystique of catching a truly pelagic species- a tuna -just yards from the beach in a few feet of water and the pursuit of beach tunny becomes very appealing. John's fish came to hand after the predictable battle, and we took a quick moment to photograph it in the grey morning light. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibND4t69k18X0vIeZD9fyg0poVL_SaGSqjIILZEqlWZB4qxIhgSXCqRqGW4hYCstPTaRCHLaE3G-rYMIIEGN3DCAoc-jyqJBKXEqOqR_1P2DPt2vq5oY9HoTixgyStSvFJcBZMJIfsi444DQjxabHUGK0Df9iJ_CaSQIlEOCquVcsROuOTOu_cFsq2jOH2/s5472/DSC07363.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibND4t69k18X0vIeZD9fyg0poVL_SaGSqjIILZEqlWZB4qxIhgSXCqRqGW4hYCstPTaRCHLaE3G-rYMIIEGN3DCAoc-jyqJBKXEqOqR_1P2DPt2vq5oY9HoTixgyStSvFJcBZMJIfsi444DQjxabHUGK0Df9iJ_CaSQIlEOCquVcsROuOTOu_cFsq2jOH2/w640-h426/DSC07363.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not long thereafter, a group of fish came in toward me at an angle. I waited as they breached closer and closer, then fired a shot that I felt should lead them perfectly and began slowly two hand retrieving. The lead fish ate my pink minnow and tore off. A big gob of tangled line came out of the stripping basket and caught up in the first guide which resulted in a breakoff. I re-rigged, frustrated but not dejected, and looked in my fly wallet for the next soldier. A Gummy Minnow, incidentally given to me by John months prior, jumped out. The next time a pod of albies broke in range I got that Gummy in the right spot and one ate. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgly0_B9PA4_-QNAozFmdk4A1FA2odaW531cz6pNu70h1THvvJnsPDvs0-H3ajki_r2FI_0jv0IfEAY7h8Z4OokW_LqAUalxqGwzxD_ksQ1xSC6QhvwU8nfyoo_WcuSHt9TfK8DwH-HMLqccmh4EycwDPFAwCOSWssxywUIBzMZ0qeo_Nz3zFqKPxGPhEuA/s3703/IMG_7285%20(1)_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3703" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgly0_B9PA4_-QNAozFmdk4A1FA2odaW531cz6pNu70h1THvvJnsPDvs0-H3ajki_r2FI_0jv0IfEAY7h8Z4OokW_LqAUalxqGwzxD_ksQ1xSC6QhvwU8nfyoo_WcuSHt9TfK8DwH-HMLqccmh4EycwDPFAwCOSWssxywUIBzMZ0qeo_Nz3zFqKPxGPhEuA/w640-h522/IMG_7285%20(1)_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy John Kelly</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That was a special fish for me for a number of reasons, very high on the list being that it was the first I'd managed to get to hand on the very first strip of sand I'd ever fished little tunny from. Back in 2017, after being dropped off to go about my own devices one September day, I opened my phone to look for new options after an unproductive few hours on ledges. I saw an appealing looking spot and I walked there. It was quite a long walk on a very hot day, though over that season I'd end up learning miles of shoreline on foot. I knew getting albies from sand beaches with a fly rod was a tall order, but within my first 15 minutes I had one boil on and refuse my fly. To redeem myself six years late was a huge sigh of relief. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the season rolled on, it continued to be productive. I went at my leisure, focusing on other fisheries most days. A few more good boat trips were had: most notably, one with my good friend Mark Phillipe. We were surrounded by feeding little tunny most of the day. The bait was absolutely miniscule, like metal shavings in the water, and the formation feeding fish demanded exceptional patience, numerous presentations, and the understanding that imitating the bait was not possible nor beneficial in order to catch. The task was much easier with a camera. The slow, deliberate feeding method these fish we performing in the slicks made for incredible visuals all day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dOAub9L8KO4IUHWWTI9cXz9qpmeZ-WpgmrkxN0Qq9a2TjyrARnZ-ZTFA6ACTP2nYJhT5YP5I9wEk3-38u6fyPMMkXCyXdoFYpEhvOP9zYxo_9lWLvtHWewpWZ3VlF9TMouqH-5v-mXM4E0pW_Vq6WS96dxRfwYoEpN2gtf3pAmjIB3UMULK9ZbPVKXUS/s3690/DSC07557_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2069" data-original-width="3690" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dOAub9L8KO4IUHWWTI9cXz9qpmeZ-WpgmrkxN0Qq9a2TjyrARnZ-ZTFA6ACTP2nYJhT5YP5I9wEk3-38u6fyPMMkXCyXdoFYpEhvOP9zYxo_9lWLvtHWewpWZ3VlF9TMouqH-5v-mXM4E0pW_Vq6WS96dxRfwYoEpN2gtf3pAmjIB3UMULK9ZbPVKXUS/w640-h358/DSC07557_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rmyS0RquaV3izy9l76r9CMtNbvJCXap-Jy_p8gjJVmfCNHVQamcND_AD3tr55k29Z2-Y5JuAAjzF5sf0IQVRFLAURbaw_bRx8qVI60oqfFukTXuwmlrDOZWRRy2BFzna1cjUX0DTK7IGqggQ0M8US3Xio6OGyBfTXWRRoh56_iT93xarsh3k-R6NKGmC/s5472/DSC07677_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7rmyS0RquaV3izy9l76r9CMtNbvJCXap-Jy_p8gjJVmfCNHVQamcND_AD3tr55k29Z2-Y5JuAAjzF5sf0IQVRFLAURbaw_bRx8qVI60oqfFukTXuwmlrDOZWRRy2BFzna1cjUX0DTK7IGqggQ0M8US3Xio6OGyBfTXWRRoh56_iT93xarsh3k-R6NKGmC/w640-h426/DSC07677_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4O3If-_zfxqT4yB9Y_2AVDUo6uOt8FN0QzNha6REobb9tCQgefOUgMztpocIDRtjl6kNJpZ8Ai3DRACAt7JQzx2Y_YeFaN-S3vETZhC2p_NqeyGgyTJHtxZgymJis2ND_UA8VE3rUqHzLHvaiwzcV1DaHc7jBxmNShlP0Kowywc1kOKAHNRYU-DnGMbyS/s5472/DSC07680_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4O3If-_zfxqT4yB9Y_2AVDUo6uOt8FN0QzNha6REobb9tCQgefOUgMztpocIDRtjl6kNJpZ8Ai3DRACAt7JQzx2Y_YeFaN-S3vETZhC2p_NqeyGgyTJHtxZgymJis2ND_UA8VE3rUqHzLHvaiwzcV1DaHc7jBxmNShlP0Kowywc1kOKAHNRYU-DnGMbyS/w640-h426/DSC07680_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwR_wvGIVaXxIBcVuFXQIf1DMd8Ht2WfXk2BaGzM0tZHn64Om4vYVlwDfuL8UJ7FyTZew6QpF_PUd4n3WhOdNS-_SLovfw-Mdq29DOXbDTC_JBFhakB3nInHuvAoMps_erqyF9xZW8s-ANcKdHzkVXmwUwLiHUmJbKDhFIONFecHnlV6Caya7NJKZ5ilgY/s3657/DSC07681_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2267" data-original-width="3657" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwR_wvGIVaXxIBcVuFXQIf1DMd8Ht2WfXk2BaGzM0tZHn64Om4vYVlwDfuL8UJ7FyTZew6QpF_PUd4n3WhOdNS-_SLovfw-Mdq29DOXbDTC_JBFhakB3nInHuvAoMps_erqyF9xZW8s-ANcKdHzkVXmwUwLiHUmJbKDhFIONFecHnlV6Caya7NJKZ5ilgY/w640-h396/DSC07681_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnGhBeGmVCYLMP4ufvuJfCqOsi99T6SoqSqs4wL4qlFStkIaEA43paIorJf9hxcAak86LZUSmlOutHg-ORPhgLiV653OsCbihv_GH9RkKZcSWuFXImo5LqEtbo6SeRY8zv-XRh7ogdHjLhKj24xRUO_yeUzlbApa-HOVzm4asX2X20i22WS0e3i17K7wLz/s3410/DSC07691_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2200" data-original-width="3410" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnGhBeGmVCYLMP4ufvuJfCqOsi99T6SoqSqs4wL4qlFStkIaEA43paIorJf9hxcAak86LZUSmlOutHg-ORPhgLiV653OsCbihv_GH9RkKZcSWuFXImo5LqEtbo6SeRY8zv-XRh7ogdHjLhKj24xRUO_yeUzlbApa-HOVzm4asX2X20i22WS0e3i17K7wLz/w640-h412/DSC07691_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XxlEb3-gKEz9Qn-8TRgqJtgHmyM0SQzYa4CmbtErjBBkkSPSAjvQJZLbaytAeMla_q0BTw23Mu6U-aEeR0mjIHajOOxLFotFwLpKwXV-UlZd08VDEU3bjKN2qfb0KY_e2C-dlqZUqDPKULF2xMvX9jfTFi2XNim77pxMIWYZXXR-vYJqgHiOMA_pRb03/s2887/DSC07702_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1985" data-original-width="2887" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XxlEb3-gKEz9Qn-8TRgqJtgHmyM0SQzYa4CmbtErjBBkkSPSAjvQJZLbaytAeMla_q0BTw23Mu6U-aEeR0mjIHajOOxLFotFwLpKwXV-UlZd08VDEU3bjKN2qfb0KY_e2C-dlqZUqDPKULF2xMvX9jfTFi2XNim77pxMIWYZXXR-vYJqgHiOMA_pRb03/w640-h440/DSC07702_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> I did manage one fish that day, early of out of a large formation feed. I'd made a quick reaction cast at the right angle to their path of travel and once again my pink minnow fly drew a strike. Later it got taken a second time, putting me and 1 for 2 and Mark at 0 for 1 that day. It was tough, but certainly worthwhile. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVcWMQmJdBOhtr6OcgW3miAPfKdDCmT7A53LIzg63Nuq87na2eQKWVslMQXA6x-RWJXNsAz7mquRRrtlbhM1pdn1AuoTcH_I-yh3jRyQws5WUlOF9NxobIsXtJJ2bcC5t1ICh107lfNLe2VUrmiI47f6VavA89Cc4dcK5G6lIaNYUqCoTXRspCbQlSaxyj/s5472/DSC07501.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVcWMQmJdBOhtr6OcgW3miAPfKdDCmT7A53LIzg63Nuq87na2eQKWVslMQXA6x-RWJXNsAz7mquRRrtlbhM1pdn1AuoTcH_I-yh3jRyQws5WUlOF9NxobIsXtJJ2bcC5t1ICh107lfNLe2VUrmiI47f6VavA89Cc4dcK5G6lIaNYUqCoTXRspCbQlSaxyj/w640-h426/DSC07501.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBDQnW9pOdy8kdgxkHo3tiRMtWUb5nR94kemteOWCtky3ktg290Q1ZEXb74GK5nv5jSiXZwYWbOhG9H-8lUWxdhVA0JLgFaIJyCmzSeCCG22mMpyQ8hm_1Bvnpgto6jcn9FysUwSfv5KHdjTFA3q7BeFO9wGvfaRuHCNL0LfvsEPv7Bkha5oVCX3z8ron/s5472/DSC07515_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBDQnW9pOdy8kdgxkHo3tiRMtWUb5nR94kemteOWCtky3ktg290Q1ZEXb74GK5nv5jSiXZwYWbOhG9H-8lUWxdhVA0JLgFaIJyCmzSeCCG22mMpyQ8hm_1Bvnpgto6jcn9FysUwSfv5KHdjTFA3q7BeFO9wGvfaRuHCNL0LfvsEPv7Bkha5oVCX3z8ron/w640-h426/DSC07515_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not more than a couple days later I found myself on the beach again, this time with Garth. The feeding patterns were very similar to what Mark and I had experiences, but right in tight to shore. The bait the albies were feeding on was so small that adult silversides were actually eating it as well. I managed to lead a small pod of fish that came down the beach from my left, a perfect cast, and sure enough one ate the fly but I turned my body as I strip set and pulled the fly out of its mouth. A bit frustrated with that missed opportunity and the progressively smaller number of fish showing themselves, I made my way to a jetty. One the slack side, one decent pod was periodically coming in a feeding ravenously on snapper blues. It would have been a perfect opportunity at a very easy bite and they were clearly larger fish as well, but they stayed out of range save for one brief moment. On the opposite side, fish occasionally rolled as they swam past on their travel lane. These would be much harder to feed. Eventually I saw one rolling at 50 foot intervals and on course to get within range. I carefully times my cast, timing the rolls and realizing it would stay down went it got perpendicular to me. I waited for the closest roll I expected it to make then fired a 90 foot cast just beyond its track and began slowly twitching the fly. Sure enough, right when I expected their paths to cross the fish came to my fly. Though it was a very small fish, that one ranks amongst some of my most satisfying presentations and catches. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOHDeLb8M3r_oth4Q554kLZAf2H4XvS8XyE0-2DKidOK3Mds8fZLazn9ej8mLx8x5q1GMq7UzgnvcdACdNqwYSZLC_PciM2TUAXj7OMmze0emNrDWJII1-Qxg5DwxeKgq5xKbTl3WQIeqTKB_KHeyy5uhlBOT9VO78MS8lekhHebUDY3g1RjUphjfmv6a/s5472/DSC07799.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOHDeLb8M3r_oth4Q554kLZAf2H4XvS8XyE0-2DKidOK3Mds8fZLazn9ej8mLx8x5q1GMq7UzgnvcdACdNqwYSZLC_PciM2TUAXj7OMmze0emNrDWJII1-Qxg5DwxeKgq5xKbTl3WQIeqTKB_KHeyy5uhlBOT9VO78MS8lekhHebUDY3g1RjUphjfmv6a/w640-h426/DSC07799.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the day continued we'd find more fish and other locations, but a combination of exhaustion from a full night of cow hunting prior and a plethora of tautog fisherman in inconvenient location prevented us from fully taking advantage. Still, after quite a few years of poor albie fish close to home, fits and starts, fish arriving in mass then leaving just a couple weeks later, and getting frustrated with ever increasing crowds, it was just nice to have fish in front of me at a favorite location that doesn't fish well all the time but well enough to make it worth staying away from the hungry masses for. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMluU7wwOg83mta35hyphenhyphenm50kTJrShfdKiduTHKT1kSewTqSpQO-iEStVnmnqOobntV21_pXs13khgauG0IGx_GUX1hnPBcL9eHqFJ6PQOWhME0fAz8Z_ljzzNzw1LnLItJD7Qn1DrmQEwqjW-MyJwGTCseeWkj-FdZOzNvey_z7M1r4NEkSKz0m2YDChCK/s5472/DSC07828.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYMluU7wwOg83mta35hyphenhyphenm50kTJrShfdKiduTHKT1kSewTqSpQO-iEStVnmnqOobntV21_pXs13khgauG0IGx_GUX1hnPBcL9eHqFJ6PQOWhME0fAz8Z_ljzzNzw1LnLItJD7Qn1DrmQEwqjW-MyJwGTCseeWkj-FdZOzNvey_z7M1r4NEkSKz0m2YDChCK/w640-h426/DSC07828.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the season continued to progress toward its end, I'd make it out a few more times here and there. Each trip presented interesting challenges and spectacular small bait ram-feeds. One particular day with Mark Alpert features some of the most spectacular and long lived feeds I've ever had the privilege to watch. Not only were the fish hard to feed though, but boat motion almost always made it tougher. We'd position upwind of the fish, and given their uni-directional feeding you needed to lead them head on and pull the fly in the same direction they were going. I ended up going 0 for 3, because by the very nature of that presentation managing slack was absurdly difficult. Both boat and fish were traveling quickly towards each other each time I got bit and coming tight in that situation, with added heavy chop rocking the boat, isn't easy. Given how much everyone was struggling to catch during that time frame though I was just happy to convince those fish to eat. Can you guess which fly? Oh man, and was the photography ever special. </div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXFq6e6fFNlTPYpXo5ekI2vRm70TamT1V6vqCDu-72FwBByKerp61JvnJggYGYKtm3oWlQFyD2GXTM1i_9u3ggw9mB8foB9ZyCm5O65wK12Jb2UyOkOl63GH60ZcGDRuDNNsJH3VaPC9pR-RaK-Y1YBV7wtRVS1SGeMb6sMUXwqcbmD8222lxdZVkDIcP/s4942/DSC08001_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3116" data-original-width="4942" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXFq6e6fFNlTPYpXo5ekI2vRm70TamT1V6vqCDu-72FwBByKerp61JvnJggYGYKtm3oWlQFyD2GXTM1i_9u3ggw9mB8foB9ZyCm5O65wK12Jb2UyOkOl63GH60ZcGDRuDNNsJH3VaPC9pR-RaK-Y1YBV7wtRVS1SGeMb6sMUXwqcbmD8222lxdZVkDIcP/w640-h404/DSC08001_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNvBc64xxvVYpOrEVnxFPa_S7cCCVhGM4yCvNlHyAvpPkaCWpAGSDSRDcEtV34etjCGZXgYi14H7vGSaN6tS-lipnqCJ1X8-Y5I9d8ZT3QlA93auYBU1I5MbABBCUIVp6PQy6QQAd14K41DB74OLJjbZ_HyiKxsbzvJxWW-bI1r_UQhhyphenhyphenj_08JRH8NbGLf/s3981/DSC08000_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2398" data-original-width="3981" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNvBc64xxvVYpOrEVnxFPa_S7cCCVhGM4yCvNlHyAvpPkaCWpAGSDSRDcEtV34etjCGZXgYi14H7vGSaN6tS-lipnqCJ1X8-Y5I9d8ZT3QlA93auYBU1I5MbABBCUIVp6PQy6QQAd14K41DB74OLJjbZ_HyiKxsbzvJxWW-bI1r_UQhhyphenhyphenj_08JRH8NbGLf/w640-h386/DSC08000_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyPHRJ-UbkdIOowcP2y-p2hNNRKrxRSv6NSGttSBtHLiUlMktu625ZipX2wmZtsKfgP9WVEx-OwGHNnkSRNKTQtDS9pNfX3XUygYirTJ4Oa9zjNQJq2XAdwBJzLOwgxanv5K6B7d-78iBpG1KafEHHfvcDv5UuE671s-TYMClVHOXtNoj4IKtZvt6t4sH/s4152/DSC07956_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2844" data-original-width="4152" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyPHRJ-UbkdIOowcP2y-p2hNNRKrxRSv6NSGttSBtHLiUlMktu625ZipX2wmZtsKfgP9WVEx-OwGHNnkSRNKTQtDS9pNfX3XUygYirTJ4Oa9zjNQJq2XAdwBJzLOwgxanv5K6B7d-78iBpG1KafEHHfvcDv5UuE671s-TYMClVHOXtNoj4IKtZvt6t4sH/w640-h438/DSC07956_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ya know, I really do love those stupid little fish. 2023 was a good season for them, from my perspective. I fished for them about as much as I wanted to, which wasn't much compared to some years (42 days in 2021, 12 days this year). I avoided crowds entirely and only fished with the small handful of people I really wanted to, sharing great memories with some of the best friends this obsessive passtime has allowed me to make over the years. I didn't have to see the scourge of insta heroes horribly mishandling albies just for a photo op. I only kept one fish that John had bleed out on him and it was one of the best tasting little tunny I've ever had. I finished development on a new fly that seems to work really darned well. I captured both beautiful fish and compelling imagery. When all is said and done I feel very content with the 2023 albie season. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEham_fY31AeoucfEe-_38D3rhao_bqQwoF7vNSYWH01Xm8gcuMuL8vjIs40ficb54fpDGJtlwWoOf0nv1zF303RNZ_olsdaCU9Lke-htbV343kmMvAeCvsA6PJ_vRX5HBlYB3r8N7Ra2KD6NVckIOHeW3-GX2Q96-tJleNQxMEwUjFlEf9pVlECRbImP-SJ/s4032/20231117_113843.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEham_fY31AeoucfEe-_38D3rhao_bqQwoF7vNSYWH01Xm8gcuMuL8vjIs40ficb54fpDGJtlwWoOf0nv1zF303RNZ_olsdaCU9Lke-htbV343kmMvAeCvsA6PJ_vRX5HBlYB3r8N7Ra2KD6NVckIOHeW3-GX2Q96-tJleNQxMEwUjFlEf9pVlECRbImP-SJ/w640-h480/20231117_113843.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-27730681722074136922023-11-08T08:32:00.001-08:002023-11-08T08:35:59.525-08:00One Run (Big Maine Brookies)The Maine woods are a contradiction. Though vast and mostly very quiet, much of it is little more than a mono-culture crop. Pine trees grown, then are cut down, then grow again. This keeps them at a level of unnatural sterility, as that's not how woods are supposed work. Luckily its possible to find more natural state forest nowadays, especially in proximity to water. We've gotten a bit better at not wrecking everything and understand that clear cutting a riverbank is an inherently bad idea. The woods Noah and I traversed along a small lake tributary had been allowed to do their things for a good while and were a healthy mix of hard and softwood with some different maturities and a few clear areas where berry bushes and wild flowers grew. The mature trees kept shade on the stream, which tumbled through big pale granite boulders before becoming more sinuous and slow moving at its lower end, with grassy cut banks and deep, dark pools.<div><br /></div><div>It was late September, the very end of the general trout season in Maine, and we were after big, colored up lake run brookies. I'd fished this area before a number of times, once with Noah, but never for the glorious fall season. My late friend Alan Petrucci was very much responsible for my infatuation with the Rangeley Region and for much of my knowledge of where and how to fish it. This particular stream was one of his favorites. I'd fished it before a few times, memorably with my father one July. The resident fluvial brookies were small and scrappy, but left me wanting more. Now, in September, the migratory fish should be showing their faces. Alan had made mention once of an 18 inch male he caught under one bridge on an Edson Tiger. Such a fish in that small, tumbling freestone stream... it was hard to picture but easy to want. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpe_kxVhw2zFY_iAUAiP4i835JCCOFyS8LgE2dkRJNHzF-alU8JU9qNolARSYtxg3leshTPLs8IL9KvHXXF4QEWkjSCH1zXOgjsgefkIh4v3gq6L-6OmGzr_YEk5TvxKgSBqE5B0KckQBWc1NhOhUdZGm1JqUPahveoOplGLQYgKCVtOFg-rJLq3Tl7GOr/s5472/DSC05202.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpe_kxVhw2zFY_iAUAiP4i835JCCOFyS8LgE2dkRJNHzF-alU8JU9qNolARSYtxg3leshTPLs8IL9KvHXXF4QEWkjSCH1zXOgjsgefkIh4v3gq6L-6OmGzr_YEk5TvxKgSBqE5B0KckQBWc1NhOhUdZGm1JqUPahveoOplGLQYgKCVtOFg-rJLq3Tl7GOr/w640-h426/DSC05202.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Noah and I picked our way down, encountered a scattered number of the same small resident fish I'd remembered catching here before. Knowing the nature of migratory fish, though, I understood that the biomass could be very concentrated and isolated to a restricted length of stream. I pushed further and further down, plying deep plunges and long glides. It was relatively fruitless until I reached one particular deep hole. There were sizable fish rolling- not rising for insects, rolling like salmon -on occasion. I worked that pool for a good long while and missed one large fish, but came up empty handed in terms of the sort of fish I was after; just a few more smalls. Ah well, downstream I continued. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not that far below that the stream braided. I followed river right, mostly because it was a path of least resistance. A few emblazoned maples overhung the river, dropping some bright orange leaves. I wanted to find some equally well colored <i>fontinalis. </i>I reached the bottom end of the braid I'd followed and looked up the one to its left. Just up it was a classic little run, complete with undercut bank, overhanging tree with a solid root mass, and a perfect seam along the cut. I eased up to the tailout, crouching low both to stay concealed and get the right low angle to shoot casts under the overhanging tree branches. I was nymphing with a Harvey style leader and a single size 8 Ausable Ugly, casting upstream and leading the fly with a gentle bow in the fly line. That was my sighter. There was no need for colored monofilament, long light rods, or fancy little nymphs here. The technical aspects came in the form of perseverance, understanding how to cover lots of water without spooking fish, and narrow casting windows in the brush. I knew that these fish would eat the fly and eat it well, leaving little doubt as to whether I had a take. The fly line would straighten, I'd set the hook. That's exactly what happened. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkJ3CxEeKv5uBzOPkgZxqEPbmDLoECfcHNlylRy-Ti8dl82igdgOzk0CBR4FNi1-2t_pHet9LEXmUNdr7_WHJb2_SraFIKiKo78eAztVkkykKRKVYfmt-iw7Z74kIryEu-Cu16xuHhfn7PEifwRL-hzDN3peYO22U3zVxIn1Huer2adlS8tvu0Wv1cp5u/s5472/DSC05184.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkJ3CxEeKv5uBzOPkgZxqEPbmDLoECfcHNlylRy-Ti8dl82igdgOzk0CBR4FNi1-2t_pHet9LEXmUNdr7_WHJb2_SraFIKiKo78eAztVkkykKRKVYfmt-iw7Z74kIryEu-Cu16xuHhfn7PEifwRL-hzDN3peYO22U3zVxIn1Huer2adlS8tvu0Wv1cp5u/w640-h426/DSC05184.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I was then treated to one of the most productive 10 minutes of small stream brook trout fishing I've been lucky enough to experience. One colored up, hefty male was followed by another. For a bit it seemed like there might be a nearly endless supply of them in that little tiny run. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSM603Sc10kRiktMmipPUOseIgPa2_SrXAZxSecqHjkHs8D3gNEr8haVXubh0HNqC0x1Vvb8KVS29EZdmjVDrHbdcfgyAoPPsPlEmvybqqhLdSzstg8zYiIs4GOPA6bPi8OYDFoBgjPLyiEnuIdcMKnN3E43eSB_6YDXt4MSNOBDLH4haOabAS_HHqVbv/s5472/DSC05199.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSM603Sc10kRiktMmipPUOseIgPa2_SrXAZxSecqHjkHs8D3gNEr8haVXubh0HNqC0x1Vvb8KVS29EZdmjVDrHbdcfgyAoPPsPlEmvybqqhLdSzstg8zYiIs4GOPA6bPi8OYDFoBgjPLyiEnuIdcMKnN3E43eSB_6YDXt4MSNOBDLH4haOabAS_HHqVbv/w640-h426/DSC05199.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCGOg9XBNG1LBMGUOmw5261AyggQxSbtTUbSNT98jFoaDU5TDw6BhSO9VXsMs4-pgyX1VgOIxk6anyzWdz6uvFg8vIKYIvgLVtgXK0sIufNKqsAP26lhsszcrXQNkxvgtMsIkW2UQqitTz3d1ksGMlCvyxH9beoaiFYLW6l45BdX-w-Fz1MHIfvwjjFXd/s5472/DSC05204.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCGOg9XBNG1LBMGUOmw5261AyggQxSbtTUbSNT98jFoaDU5TDw6BhSO9VXsMs4-pgyX1VgOIxk6anyzWdz6uvFg8vIKYIvgLVtgXK0sIufNKqsAP26lhsszcrXQNkxvgtMsIkW2UQqitTz3d1ksGMlCvyxH9beoaiFYLW6l45BdX-w-Fz1MHIfvwjjFXd/w640-h426/DSC05204.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdDdMhWEoDTCdtpMNFl2Bra589W3BjX7QZia7-JXzOMsW7S348M1YQdJAoZWJL0COXs3PFI8c51LXdIJ4tQOEI51K_-fr88AhiXhrluFy2qVDwrMZpNFpBq60hicATOPJA-xfZKiUDmCN_dvma0rSuqRHKr6XGWmnMMY18HGthPwxDwGma9CsR3UT3RQi/s5472/DSC05232.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdDdMhWEoDTCdtpMNFl2Bra589W3BjX7QZia7-JXzOMsW7S348M1YQdJAoZWJL0COXs3PFI8c51LXdIJ4tQOEI51K_-fr88AhiXhrluFy2qVDwrMZpNFpBq60hicATOPJA-xfZKiUDmCN_dvma0rSuqRHKr6XGWmnMMY18HGthPwxDwGma9CsR3UT3RQi/w640-h426/DSC05232.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViHHudZQf4i2Z9z2lNlTw8n8Bd80cprRKWxgLPcAOzdr-ARu3fEWExfq4mBJhIZx8KJXm8b4Sktk7EBAm2wFe2R-AQVQJxuonBtW9V3LE8AxSLEVJV3WIzCzmRLBWWn-XNBGmyJIC5iCwnxZg6cg9strhWJDONWxoy5IAQNjVN-2f2ZwejdtLu-ZG_uCT/s5472/DSC05248.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViHHudZQf4i2Z9z2lNlTw8n8Bd80cprRKWxgLPcAOzdr-ARu3fEWExfq4mBJhIZx8KJXm8b4Sktk7EBAm2wFe2R-AQVQJxuonBtW9V3LE8AxSLEVJV3WIzCzmRLBWWn-XNBGmyJIC5iCwnxZg6cg9strhWJDONWxoy5IAQNjVN-2f2ZwejdtLu-ZG_uCT/w640-h426/DSC05248.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Eventually the onslaught did end, but for a while there I was like a kid in a candy store. An addict of big gnarly char like myself dreams of small stream fishing like this. Of course they weren't really small stream fish, they'd grown to size in a different environment and were entering this small stream environment for purposes of spawning. In the coming days they'd likely continue to push further and further in, especially if rain made a pulse of flow to ride. Migratory salmonids can be there and gone in so little time. I think back to an obsession I developed for large "river run" wild brown trout years ago. I'd found little smolt-like wild brown trout in a tiny tributary stream that didn't have any resident fish of any size, certainly not large enough to be producing these fast growing young ones. I realized they must be coming and going from the larger river the stream flowed into to spawn. I began visiting this little tributary in October and November, hoping to encounter these bigger fish on some semblance of a run. This stream was so small and so short in length from its mouth to the first migration barrier that I knew with certainty that I'd find the fish if I hit it right.</div><div><br /></div><div>The telling moment occurred one late October time frame, within 24 hours. It was quite cold, frosty even, when I headed out one early morning to pay the stream a visit. I walked it from barrier to mouth with nothing to show for it but a few small brook trout. It was a good baseline, I knew a bit of rain was in the forecast for later in the day and into the night. Perhaps I'd find what I was after the next night. Sure enough, I returned to the water level just starting to drop and clear the next afternoon. I repeated my routine once again. To my surprise, I found a completely vacated redd toward the bottom end of the brook. In just over 24 hours, the fish had come, done there thing, and gone. </div><div><br /></div><div>Though not as extreme, Noah and I would come back to this same magic run the very next day and find that it was completely devoid of fish. They'd already moved on. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfJ-uh8YV98XPu_qe7MjI1hYRww31pQCqVLLHlUr3_KCtngsP4JwLSfiSozn_ik02HSvjXxfRkY-1HKBFcV-Qbe691G_-qYAy0HlHlmz6LufUKG8sFEGcm8PDRNCb8OER27HKutNO7D7Uou5O3O2wNuVhClwE4dVjXTcT-0Gvudeu1MouT_3eN_xJvgBh/s5472/DSC05382_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfJ-uh8YV98XPu_qe7MjI1hYRww31pQCqVLLHlUr3_KCtngsP4JwLSfiSozn_ik02HSvjXxfRkY-1HKBFcV-Qbe691G_-qYAy0HlHlmz6LufUKG8sFEGcm8PDRNCb8OER27HKutNO7D7Uou5O3O2wNuVhClwE4dVjXTcT-0Gvudeu1MouT_3eN_xJvgBh/w640-h426/DSC05382_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-79279413299588243112023-10-30T13:54:00.002-07:002023-10-30T13:54:29.066-07:00Haunch '21<p> John Kelly and I slipped past the well decorated utility building on our way out of a mostly un-productive morning of blind casting into a large lake. Most noticeable to us was a big message portrayed in pink: "Haunch '21". We didn't know who Haunch was, and the time had come and gone to express our support it seemed, but Haunch seemed suggested of someone well built, perhaps even over built. It would become a running joke of the multi-day mission. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsT1Cg7gQL8WX8RBefrqKmpJKTsWPgzZWyTEYHMAj_cWO5diO5yGgCQsdwvD-vsmAxMjd2SHvYPVZcrRaA8X1OD1fYk536lIvdRoxXHGC6MvZt7gZtAWxAR-6XaMm6NID2EiowMb9TeRgy1SiPobC_wEzm2DiYrj-Yo1zAZe2zRWWOvpzABGl7Kclsos-U/s4032/20230417_191845.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsT1Cg7gQL8WX8RBefrqKmpJKTsWPgzZWyTEYHMAj_cWO5diO5yGgCQsdwvD-vsmAxMjd2SHvYPVZcrRaA8X1OD1fYk536lIvdRoxXHGC6MvZt7gZtAWxAR-6XaMm6NID2EiowMb9TeRgy1SiPobC_wEzm2DiYrj-Yo1zAZe2zRWWOvpzABGl7Kclsos-U/w640-h480/20230417_191845.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Our hopes for that dawn patrol had been many fold and were very close to fruition at one point. A fish broke the surface not far from John and he made a cast in its perceived direction of travel. A wake came up behind his fly, then the fish took. It was off about as soon as it was on, but it had been tantalizingly salmonid like in nature. Weather it might be a brown, landlocked salmon, or rainbow we did not know. But we had a good idea what we could expect from the rest of the day. Rainbows; the lake run variety, genetically derived from steelhead but a bit smaller in stature in the more restricted environment that is a smaller freshwater lake, we our target. Many would be wild fish, something automatically appealing to me, as is a migratory critter. There's a lot to be said for wander lust. Though a stream resident trout growing to large proportions takes more years and perhaps smarts than one that moves to where the food is most easily obtained needs to attain the same size, there's also a huge appeal to fish that makes moves. It may be here one day and gone the next, spending much of its life as a pelagic critter to shove itself in a tiny creek for little more than a week or two for spawning purposes or to feed. I almost feel a kinship with fish that travel.</p><p>John made a stop to gather intel from the locals. About a half dozen guys lined a spot, fishing bait. A few were picking up small drum and the odd bass. One offered up advice about where in the system the big rainbows were at the moment. Acting on that, we drove to where the river was small and sinuous. Seeming more like a brook trout stream than somewhere we'd find rainbows well in excess of 20 inches, the river coursed through grey rock and tussocks of green spring grass. We worked our way briskly downstream, passing a center-pinner who told us he'd managed a few fish. </p><p>Eventually I came to a classic bend with a cut bank and deep hole. In the seam coming off the backside of the undercut I could see a few large rainbows. I stood back from the pool a little bit, enough that the fish seemed unconcerned with my presence, and tied on a heavy size 8 Ausable Ugly. I began working the pool. I quickly realized there was a jet of current mid water column that I'd need to punch through. This is a common thing in small, dynamic pools and runs. The current gets stratified not only bey surface and bottom friction but by other structure in the water, causing radical differences in current speed with depth. I adjusted by starting my presentation much further upstream, which in turn demanded a more careful lead of the fly to keep it following the right track. It took me a while to get both to depth and in the right seam, but when I did the biggest of the three trout I could see came off station and at the fly. It was a great fight, a beautiful specimen, and an excellent start to the trip's catching. But I don't think this one was Haunch. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05rX2e0kqwlxiHbzMhlxdEdCnHSfVfsVwNiTy65WLz3RPoFrTCNan42_H72wkhwgNzta7mYUXqEfeuqo7C2ub-04cnyZG3O5BXRFqcimYYwBVIS20mLYputMRPUmvoW0JRnpBWuPI1uT5_i0LPCGZA8SBdA4vH7BSEYT8JsFvbGESuP9rr2vQfSouybg0/s3003/20230415_100458.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2374" data-original-width="3003" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05rX2e0kqwlxiHbzMhlxdEdCnHSfVfsVwNiTy65WLz3RPoFrTCNan42_H72wkhwgNzta7mYUXqEfeuqo7C2ub-04cnyZG3O5BXRFqcimYYwBVIS20mLYputMRPUmvoW0JRnpBWuPI1uT5_i0LPCGZA8SBdA4vH7BSEYT8JsFvbGESuP9rr2vQfSouybg0/w640-h506/20230415_100458.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>We continued downriver, hopping run to run gathering data. With migratory fish its very important to gather baselines and understand that change is constant. A run or pool could be hot one day and cold the next, or it could be a sweet spot for some reason- either a place with food abundance, a necessary resting spot, or somewhere in close proximity to spawning habitat. Knowing the difference and parsing the water accordingly cuts out time wasted fishing water that isn't holding. Over the next few days we'd narrow our scope further and further, drawing correlation with how pools were structured, the presence or absence of suckers, and how far up the watersheds we were. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmB8kL4cX7kFEmKLaBqVLsVuPe6taAgyxVLhLm4eku4os45T0qPsbvmfKSzDi6XWNnfTt6g7ZkcxJ_gWHQsLeYLGmazxHzyTVrb4e64VmpGJdMxlxhjE4h3VGn_l3gTvXGM9Pc5yOIhv4vaICiifK_BHnRYgGKVPTrenu_OiOPgBZC_2HfDR1ZD4XLUP34/s4032/20230415_191256.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmB8kL4cX7kFEmKLaBqVLsVuPe6taAgyxVLhLm4eku4os45T0qPsbvmfKSzDi6XWNnfTt6g7ZkcxJ_gWHQsLeYLGmazxHzyTVrb4e64VmpGJdMxlxhjE4h3VGn_l3gTvXGM9Pc5yOIhv4vaICiifK_BHnRYgGKVPTrenu_OiOPgBZC_2HfDR1ZD4XLUP34/w640-h480/20230415_191256.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHk7x80S-3vtAKe2GArhih2COTjSA4vFStXOu_trdvotcq8uOKS7WWfSKW1rZrUmgHytl2jcrztAeur8JvHlYB7r2HZRi19r4bHcN2_gJ3AsspMc8zU4bEdXwGFB9domEVn34U1ae7GsVwhEKM8_X8r17tZCp4aNYik1SRlsEAM-_VZ30d-EMbT2dkb7Tj/s4032/20230415_191532.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHk7x80S-3vtAKe2GArhih2COTjSA4vFStXOu_trdvotcq8uOKS7WWfSKW1rZrUmgHytl2jcrztAeur8JvHlYB7r2HZRi19r4bHcN2_gJ3AsspMc8zU4bEdXwGFB9domEVn34U1ae7GsVwhEKM8_X8r17tZCp4aNYik1SRlsEAM-_VZ30d-EMbT2dkb7Tj/w640-h480/20230415_191532.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhSKpDzcx3Ph-LuYctUYhJZh4T97QVCfapIsnC_EjXRwgS459cPNRVtA11G2SsDL8rFaqlU4otYGKrLX0QKDgHwHpkAp5h29492NM2i_u8VucldP2DCZgLrtU0Dy68kfXjHSokSnec_VQJ1T8dDw4C6_bxTSeAzniRCiK3RsUJUKi2TpgnZbnD2ucfadZ/s4032/20230415_192759.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhSKpDzcx3Ph-LuYctUYhJZh4T97QVCfapIsnC_EjXRwgS459cPNRVtA11G2SsDL8rFaqlU4otYGKrLX0QKDgHwHpkAp5h29492NM2i_u8VucldP2DCZgLrtU0Dy68kfXjHSokSnec_VQJ1T8dDw4C6_bxTSeAzniRCiK3RsUJUKi2TpgnZbnD2ucfadZ/w640-h480/20230415_192759.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZRYiBFD6lcMrV-m4DN636QZJ8GJF7aINZPvddRFdef8EV8EHuodpJKvUd-tetxie1R4TT6hTqBTOb4Auntf5AS_1dYR-tOHQJq5moDcm839DLUnCDDZJsKfvE7UyHfI2lQA0Xd8PB59AG9fs6mSiPqtpYkqqpMSaOSFbvXTGocx48GGijFn0gF4fBcd7/s4032/20230416_090539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZRYiBFD6lcMrV-m4DN636QZJ8GJF7aINZPvddRFdef8EV8EHuodpJKvUd-tetxie1R4TT6hTqBTOb4Auntf5AS_1dYR-tOHQJq5moDcm839DLUnCDDZJsKfvE7UyHfI2lQA0Xd8PB59AG9fs6mSiPqtpYkqqpMSaOSFbvXTGocx48GGijFn0gF4fBcd7/w640-h480/20230416_090539.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>It's nice to fish with someone whose process for fishing a system is very similar. I fish with people for a living, which I enjoy immensely, but also forces me to mold an experience for someone's learning style and abilities. That has enhanced my flexibility; guiding has changed how I fish in my own time. But it's also altered who I fish with in my own free time as well. I'm more and more inclined to fish with my friends who fish like John, because John fishes like I do. He's minimalistic in what he carries, likes to cover water, and though we can put space between each other we also don't lose each other. The result is a two person fish finding machine- more effective than only one set of eyes and one rod, with neither slowing the other down nor stepping on the others toes all the time. When I'm fishing seriously, which I usually am, I'd either like to fish alone or fish with someone whose style and strategy works with mine as well as John's does. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKlDbY3K55hLUDd-12_RUeNY1J41g0SS_JsWExmtEwQGL8eDpRZ_t0FO4J2dSd2z4kumjMQPS4Pf_4NPckUc43okXi5kf1mPhK7LfIGc7YFCsOa1HiFH2ilqB7Pu63o8QO3Nj2ScaxH4gjxqlBu6lJWcb__EV_b7jbQ9pwsqNoVWJS_pI5J6_JuYHKJGz/s4032/20230417_151950(0).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKlDbY3K55hLUDd-12_RUeNY1J41g0SS_JsWExmtEwQGL8eDpRZ_t0FO4J2dSd2z4kumjMQPS4Pf_4NPckUc43okXi5kf1mPhK7LfIGc7YFCsOa1HiFH2ilqB7Pu63o8QO3Nj2ScaxH4gjxqlBu6lJWcb__EV_b7jbQ9pwsqNoVWJS_pI5J6_JuYHKJGz/w640-h480/20230417_151950(0).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwf1zkkdI6q0VkV57q0JH6SvTNa0B2QYzYZWi5jaxu5aRXcuV78fpizCL9Zz6gx8hPLroRBHjBaetgChoVQtepx_CXSZxVcIv1nT5epu4oQzJkxisA9PyB-h-o8LowbSaOENDp1fbNvGzWOTeKJEbUbITKH158525i3l9E81c-YbFVep8712FEjzS5Nql/s4032/20230417_143801.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwf1zkkdI6q0VkV57q0JH6SvTNa0B2QYzYZWi5jaxu5aRXcuV78fpizCL9Zz6gx8hPLroRBHjBaetgChoVQtepx_CXSZxVcIv1nT5epu4oQzJkxisA9PyB-h-o8LowbSaOENDp1fbNvGzWOTeKJEbUbITKH158525i3l9E81c-YbFVep8712FEjzS5Nql/w640-h480/20230417_143801.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We managed to nymph and swing up some beautiful rainbows, but I'm not sure any were haunch. Then, in one run towards the bottom end of a creek, I came tight to a hefty fish on a Complex Twist Bugger. It wasn't a rainbow. It was a smallmouth. I'd been catching big smallmouth at home, and in terms of size this fish was on par. But it was proportionally all wrong. I'd catch a few more like it before trip's end and learn that this was, in fact, the norm here. These fish were Haunch: so absurdly heavy for their length and age that it made this long time smallmouth angler drool. Their heads and mouths were tiny, and so was every fin, as if someone took everything off the body of a small, young fish and stuck it on a big old one. This denoted incredible growth rates. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXt2ST1O4svHxohNnUouR4YaNZ1zESNGyUR6X3WQWLYbqQ1ZCNJwiVD0UTtgYKOa37vWmRPxGy3NUDEAB6XKw1yIE44OoOU5V-XSARRS_w5w2IqeogHlb4_cSUhZBTxD1FBnDeOz4gbSOYyVWCUm3ap1aFp47pIF4D2H-sautWL4N5Zds7f_XBCkurxUx/s4032/20230417_141012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXt2ST1O4svHxohNnUouR4YaNZ1zESNGyUR6X3WQWLYbqQ1ZCNJwiVD0UTtgYKOa37vWmRPxGy3NUDEAB6XKw1yIE44OoOU5V-XSARRS_w5w2IqeogHlb4_cSUhZBTxD1FBnDeOz4gbSOYyVWCUm3ap1aFp47pIF4D2H-sautWL4N5Zds7f_XBCkurxUx/w480-h640/20230417_141012.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsL86eP0r10gt95jhrLSjfMmf7eeis76T57NWDW_A8aGDTQfs6fZQBBg1Vxz43RUAeIhfhQMdmG3ZIqqo1pbxOEUn3jKCAHooUe7Y4ZieL_KTTOqqOu31xT-J3qrJGJk9REAoyuHGfbL1L9HWTNAnfxPlz0Ww1UuYTzdm0NEJnkeFuDBS1_Edeu-yDap_C/s4032/20230417_141140.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsL86eP0r10gt95jhrLSjfMmf7eeis76T57NWDW_A8aGDTQfs6fZQBBg1Vxz43RUAeIhfhQMdmG3ZIqqo1pbxOEUn3jKCAHooUe7Y4ZieL_KTTOqqOu31xT-J3qrJGJk9REAoyuHGfbL1L9HWTNAnfxPlz0Ww1UuYTzdm0NEJnkeFuDBS1_Edeu-yDap_C/w640-h480/20230417_141140.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YoyzC5ONJXMR2dM37xuxVTKMkoXtKYlJqPyg-kusQFfy7Y6aMd5FQcga_qwlEkeMAwB26PZXSQyANDuOrjGMQ4WVIQNppqTitLOYt3WdEhrWbnVE4bv3lxe7nVJV2FYVy99NHip9Epmg2glBkzKe8EEZC8hfc4l-IaZiJudnQhVrc2bj9dA8n9V_55Y8/s4032/20230418_081221(0).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YoyzC5ONJXMR2dM37xuxVTKMkoXtKYlJqPyg-kusQFfy7Y6aMd5FQcga_qwlEkeMAwB26PZXSQyANDuOrjGMQ4WVIQNppqTitLOYt3WdEhrWbnVE4bv3lxe7nVJV2FYVy99NHip9Epmg2glBkzKe8EEZC8hfc4l-IaZiJudnQhVrc2bj9dA8n9V_55Y8/w640-h480/20230418_081221(0).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSbyNVTlzCvNm-ecHq75U87kW2kDuXRURtU9ggXjVY_cEWMlDn_NWb0qCdUCzZgMSlJhNDTfKivMqg8tsyX2kr93LKHkK7P8z6Lj_Aselt913_3NyJTDvmSLosVDF1v6_SANQ6lNe93FkUyz89pjehTmADRbwdnKApAy9381uWbEKclH0EDL84g60sQYl/s2944/20230418_081258.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSbyNVTlzCvNm-ecHq75U87kW2kDuXRURtU9ggXjVY_cEWMlDn_NWb0qCdUCzZgMSlJhNDTfKivMqg8tsyX2kr93LKHkK7P8z6Lj_Aselt913_3NyJTDvmSLosVDF1v6_SANQ6lNe93FkUyz89pjehTmADRbwdnKApAy9381uWbEKclH0EDL84g60sQYl/w640-h480/20230418_081258.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Given my personal interest in finding and catching the biggest smallmouth in the world on a fly, this certainly intrigued me. So, though I'll certainly make my way to the same fishery again for the trout it seems highly likely that I'll also need to go for bass specifically as well. I need to find Haunch Prime, and that might be the place to do it. It's funny how exploring a place for one specific fishery can reveal one you'd never thought about. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p><p><br /></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-53154586970775282772023-10-16T10:34:00.007-07:002023-10-16T10:35:15.717-07:00In Winter's Grip<p> It was a damp, dark February night. Garth and I parked at a muddy pull off on a quiet New England back road and quickly geared up. I was going wader-less but warm, with long johns and sweat pants under a well weathered pair of khakis, thick wool socks under my leather work boots, and multiple layers on top as well. We both dawned nitrile gloves and pulled rods out of the car before disappearing silently into the woods. We wore no headlamps, as neither of us are inclined to pollute the darkness with artificial light during our nocturnal striped bass hunts. This particular outing was well into a long bender to decipher after dark feeding patterns of large holdover fish. The conditions, we thought, were ideal this time. We'd carefully put together puzzle pieces over the course of the winter: light, moon phase, barometric pressure, tide, frontal conditions... it was starting to fit together. It had been a long road to success, starting years prior for me with multiple failed after hours attempts. I'd eventually come to the conclusion that my holdover spots just weren't worth night fishing. Reinvigorated efforts came as a result of complete disbelief that that could actually be the case. These fish had to eat in the dark too. Holdovers in other places did. Eventually, with a push to be more patient and observant one night thanks to Garth. It would have taken longer to catch anything if one night he hadn't insisted that we sit for a while and let things settle. A condition change occurred as we bantered on the marsh bank and suddenly our discussion was interrupted by the sound of stripers gently swirling on bait. </p><p>Those had been small fish though. I was adamant we could get something larger. We were hell bent on doing so. The appeal of putting up a 20 pound or bigger striped bass in the winter months and doing so on foot in the middle of the night with a fly rod was multifaceted for me. I've been an intensely devoted nighttime angler since I was a teenager and my comfort and confidence navigated all sorts of waters at night is very high. To do so for arguably my favorite target species in a time of year I hadn't figured out yet was very appealing. Add to that the difficulties of sub-freezing temperatures, ice, and even snow, and it gets more interesting still. There's also a patience and subtlety to targeting large holdovers in lower yield locations that demands focus and time. The fish eat delicately and infrequently, and though there isn't complexity to the flies required to catch them there is to the presentation. There's also a lot to be said for being able to blind cast as far as you can in the darkness with limited back-cast for hours on end for just a handful of subtle blink-and-you-miss-it bites. Throw in gobs of frost collecting in your guides and icicles forming in you beard on the worst of nights and you've got a recipe for a lot of guys staying home. And that's probably fair, it really isn't everyone's cup of tea. But f*** man, it sure is mine. I absolutely love it. </p><p>This particular night we were on the cusp of a front and it really wasn't all that unpleasant out. The water was closing in on 40 degrees and the air temperature was a bit over that even after 1:00am. We covered ground briskly on our way to the river, almost but not quite capable of doing this walk with our eyes closed now. Eventually the trees gave way and the ethereal reflection of the clouds off the water's surface came into view. We quietly assumed or first casting positions and began to ply the dead still waters. </p><p>Bites didn't come with any notable frequency that night, but my mind recorded the one that mattered like a bit of grainy super 8 footage. Some winter bass bites are barely a flutter. Others load up on it. This fish slammed the fly hard, as though it had come at it head on. My 6wt flexed under the weight and I uttered "big fish" and Garth hastily made his way over. The fight was a significant one, The fish had a fair bit of energy for being in that cold water. It was a little while before we did get a glimpse at her when we did, it was a moment of exceptional satisfaction. It was the sort of fish we'd come for. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRbiuTFtEif3F_aKrBLojlOsOcEvyTBCObmm5Oz1VncprLWP2H-u_ALDxKdailRoxBNg1z8D1GUcX6TdIWH1gIhU0QmPduSOxlYkXAt2A1YFY0dsSC4ykPyn3ANEl_zdZ_-No9BKtm0GWG5J40A_VkJbC1-msxmo5VLAJ-mEYBD5tQr-6UphyphenhyphenORoKAkXC/s4032/20230216_000757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRbiuTFtEif3F_aKrBLojlOsOcEvyTBCObmm5Oz1VncprLWP2H-u_ALDxKdailRoxBNg1z8D1GUcX6TdIWH1gIhU0QmPduSOxlYkXAt2A1YFY0dsSC4ykPyn3ANEl_zdZ_-No9BKtm0GWG5J40A_VkJbC1-msxmo5VLAJ-mEYBD5tQr-6UphyphenhyphenORoKAkXC/w640-h480/20230216_000757.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>With new found confidence, we'd push ourselves to the limit the rest of the winter. In the end, we didn't best that fish though both of us just about matched it numerous times. Inevitably, we came out of that season with new questions. Chief among them being just what exactly out upper limit could be. Could we get a 30 pounder in January or February? How about a 40? There's really only one way to find that out. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-59221932223693825702023-09-28T17:40:00.002-07:002023-10-16T16:23:33.276-07:00Big Drum<p> Some years back I caught my lifer freshwater drum off of a bridge abutment while targeting white crappie in Lake Champlain. It was Noah an my second trip there. He'd caught his lifer on the previous trip, and that was a really nice one. Mine was tiny, frankly pitiful. Ever since I've wanted to catch a real corker of a freshwater drum. </p><p><i>Aplodinotus grunniens </i>are often considered a trash fish throughout their native range, which is quite a shame. Often known as "Sheepshead", freshwater drum are abundant throughout the Great Lakes and much of the Midwest. In many cases, they're massively beneficial as they consume huge amounts of invasive zebra mussels. That said, every native fish has its place regardless of our prescriptions of usefulness, and it's a bit absurd to me that a big, brutish, and interesting looking species isn't a popular game species. They really ought to be. Of course, they aren't always pushovers. And funny enough, that seems to be a criteria. Bass and trout are downright simple and easy fish compared to suckers, catfish, carp, buffalo and other often considered "lesser" species. Doubly so on artificial presentations. I love it, these species are always extremely interesting. </p><p>When I went up to fish with Drew again recently and he was on some big drum jigging, I made it known that I really wanted some of those and ideally on the fly. We went out the first morning and perused a few spots looking for big schools of drum. We found them in the second spot Drew motored too. Dozens upon dozens of drum ranging from about a pound to maybe 18 or more were plainly visible, some cruising and some actively feeding. A big drum turning on its side to pluck mussels off the rocks about 10 feet down looks about like a garbage can lid. Watching them was a learning opportunity on its own, as I'd never gotten to really see freshwater drum do much of anything. They were being quite difficult, but with loads of stationary and calorically dense food available that's pretty much what you'd expect. I caught a number of smallmouth without trying and loudly said "I HATE SMALLMOUTH" so that the nearby bass fisherman might hear it. I didn't really mean it but it was funny to me. I also missed a couple drum, as did Drew, but he won out with two eventually. We moved again as the action slowed and again had fish in front of us. This time we had good lake current and fish in the column. I decided to run an indicator with one of Drew's flies that he had fair confidence in for these fish. It was sort of peachy in color and not all that big. The first fish to eat was another smallmouth, this time a reasonably big one. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8c_gUJaoPBMnpqCtFNoWOo2ssvz1Sv4tIwmh2DtgPwh0g3Dn2cndEaBrsDiUX3-4yJDk7xxIkJhDqgmEOB7KwkcrT49xD_6eSBMzAfF6MvmHUcSPfslmY1vp9QsmgrKD9QhvZLX1ma0HdQl5nJ4eQGK1b1WzG9qqeZpN1yOLF_hyphenhyphenjCtj5UAS23m31cFAF/s4032/IMG_2477.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8c_gUJaoPBMnpqCtFNoWOo2ssvz1Sv4tIwmh2DtgPwh0g3Dn2cndEaBrsDiUX3-4yJDk7xxIkJhDqgmEOB7KwkcrT49xD_6eSBMzAfF6MvmHUcSPfslmY1vp9QsmgrKD9QhvZLX1ma0HdQl5nJ4eQGK1b1WzG9qqeZpN1yOLF_hyphenhyphenjCtj5UAS23m31cFAF/w640-h480/IMG_2477.HEIC" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy Drew Price</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>At the time, Drew was carp crazy. He'd found some nice fish for Champlain and was locked into them. Having had plenty of carp where they are easier and bigger back at home. I was all about the drum. Eventually, one what ended up being an almost centerpinner esq super long drift, the indicator stuttered then dropped. I struck and came tight to a solid fish. A wow was it ever solid! The fight was a lot of dogging and a few good runs, very authoritative. It didn't come to net easy. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxY5IOx5ll35rfYkaw_dbVCp10pgPfH3Sa6pvHMI-uRDHxaQMLgJUj3boJGr2eVrkIh4dIwrmsF56egjgrhtd_Qf1amyRo7BIIL-cvXJchNXpejQtJ7RWSG5tNXC1ameTaKJPIP_YC0YrNGO5pf7nKan7RUdxyAmSoTrwxEoyAjNH6JkWI96diSYbUtQx/s5472/DSC02956.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxY5IOx5ll35rfYkaw_dbVCp10pgPfH3Sa6pvHMI-uRDHxaQMLgJUj3boJGr2eVrkIh4dIwrmsF56egjgrhtd_Qf1amyRo7BIIL-cvXJchNXpejQtJ7RWSG5tNXC1ameTaKJPIP_YC0YrNGO5pf7nKan7RUdxyAmSoTrwxEoyAjNH6JkWI96diSYbUtQx/w640-h426/DSC02956.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Not too many <strike>casts </strike>excessively long drifts later the indicator dropped again. I set into yet another slob of a drum. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwpLwwKlk6QJAV9r_1wwNix_9CeOhrlJ3kXTlQiyEU1HUSS2eLpiP8G0iK0HDmZTmZaJPZTJ6OYhpzIbW3oxZAu2OOidwY71z6qNHrzUCeuf_LVoRGmNp80U-QxEDbvhqdVqcDSkHgNrizDguGoBq2bjYPRveh0TBp97L-sRjuUXYSSF9uHy8oLBzqhmq0/s5472/DSC02970.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwpLwwKlk6QJAV9r_1wwNix_9CeOhrlJ3kXTlQiyEU1HUSS2eLpiP8G0iK0HDmZTmZaJPZTJ6OYhpzIbW3oxZAu2OOidwY71z6qNHrzUCeuf_LVoRGmNp80U-QxEDbvhqdVqcDSkHgNrizDguGoBq2bjYPRveh0TBp97L-sRjuUXYSSF9uHy8oLBzqhmq0/w640-h426/DSC02970.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4wgKNO-8N4vnYoQ4OKNyGfYouE5k3Jtys-l8FU1M9AAcrzcg573X1QnxaHi_eHFW_c0e4NGbPnsjAnz-wUpr6tfmSpzfzsT0wA9hxXDmjNPTYcfd8AAbH1Q0MJ4i4-DOFaiEUC1NinZ_aBAUIkVqztghOdeDglAhTJUmU-lugIt9U7tud1nBAiskQjGJ/s5472/DSC02961.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4wgKNO-8N4vnYoQ4OKNyGfYouE5k3Jtys-l8FU1M9AAcrzcg573X1QnxaHi_eHFW_c0e4NGbPnsjAnz-wUpr6tfmSpzfzsT0wA9hxXDmjNPTYcfd8AAbH1Q0MJ4i4-DOFaiEUC1NinZ_aBAUIkVqztghOdeDglAhTJUmU-lugIt9U7tud1nBAiskQjGJ/w640-h426/DSC02961.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>There's nothing quite like finessing a bite from a species I've got more book knowledge on than real fishing experience, especially one that doesn't have loads of literature about fly tackle strategies. And trophy one at that. Drew had put me exactly where we needed to be and he had the right flies as well. I chose a tactic and rigging that I felt fit the situation and behavior of the fish, and I'll was a method I have a lot of experience utilizing in non typical contexts. It worked very well and the reward wasn't just the target secies but two massive specimens. That's just so, so satisfying. It felt really good to finally get my hands on my first big drum. May they not be the last!</p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p><p><br /></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-49803169420250943652023-09-22T08:21:00.005-07:002023-09-22T08:28:31.225-07:00Flashback: My First Albie<p> It's worth looking back from time to time.</p><p>In 2016, a fresh-faced and wide-eyed former version of myself was early into the saltwater fly fishing rabbit hole. Now 8 years into that journey (or fall?) I can look back on it with very new perspectives and a more refined sensibility. So, though I've told this story on this blog before, I think it could be worth telling again. </p><p>One of my enablers in those early days was my friend Mark Alpert. I met Mark at a small pond just a short walk from my house, a very secluded and hard to access spot that neither of us had ever expected to see another angler in. We talked carp. Mark was just getting into targeting the species- quite obsessively, in fact. We exchanged numbers and started fishing together fairly regularly- at first for carp, then saltwater. Mark has a beautiful and very well kept Amesbury dory, a classic New England boat. The original was built by C. H. Lancaster in Amesbury, Massachusetts. Similar to the Chamberlain dory, the Amesbury trades some row-ability for somewhat better stability. Mark's Amesbury is a 16ft version, very seaworthy and an extremely fishy boat, and the platform on which many memorable experiences I've had occurred; not least of which was catching my first ever little tunny. </p><p>It was October 3rd. 2016 year that featured excellent false albacore fishing to the anglers plying the waters East of the Connecticut River close to shore. At the time I could probably fit everything I knew about the species and catching them on one side of a notecard. I'd never even fished with them around. There were a few slots in one of my fly boxes dedicated to albie flies... at the time, very crude and poorly tied attempts at imitating flies I'd seen online. Mark was going to put me on the fish though, and when we launched that morning my anticipation was high. It was a place I'd never been, though I now know it well. We were towards the eastern end of what had formerly been called by some local fly anglers "bonito alley". It had been some years since large numbers of bonito had frequented the area, but little tunny had filled their place quite nicely. Before the dory was even in the water I was looking for targets. Standing on a wood bulkhead, I watched a 30-something inch striped bass cruise by. This sort of thing became a staple of launching with Mark. I'd either see or catch a fish at the launch before the boat was in the water. My eagerness to get fishing was largely to blame. I couldn't stand to be near that water without casting into it. Though that need eventually faded, for a little while boat launch fish were sort of a hallmark of incoming good luck. October 3rd was one of the days that cemented that trend. </p><p>We motored out through a no-wake zone toward blitzes that were already visible. Small flocks of gulls franticly called and swirled over equally small pods of little tunny slashing through small silversides. These sparse schools presented a few mediocre shots for a giddy angler without fully developed casting accuracy and distance. Eventually the fish dispersed a bit and Mark moved us further east. Soon we had some bigger pods here and there. It's hard for me to recall every detail of the moments right before my first albie, but here's what I do recall: I had one an extremely grungy fly, a no-name creation that was sort of like a backward Clouser. It had brass dumbbell eyes tied on the bend side of the shank rather than the top, so it didn't ride hook point up, and it had while bucktail for the belly and olive for the back with a little bit of flash in between. I still have that fly actually, and it is darned ugly. Very little thought or knowledge went into its design, but it was about to get eaten by a little tunny. The cast was a blind one, they hadn't broken in a little while. I came tight very close to the end of the cast, maybe only four or five feet into the retrieve. The fish then thrashed violently at the surface, making both Mark and I think it was a bluefish. I've never seen an albie behave like this since, it was completely uncharacteristic of the species. After a few moments, it remembered who it was and treated me to the classic long, hard and fast little tunny run. I was floored. The energy in that moment is still palpable years later. Your first albie on a fly isn't something you forget easily. It wasn't done with surprises though, as it soon charged the boat. Perhaps more memorable than that initial run, I vividly remember looking down in that clear Eastern Long Island Sound water and seeing my orange running line maybe ten to twelve feet down. The fish had already gone beneath us and kept going. I swept the rod around the bow, cleared the line, and came tight for the fish to scream into the backing yet again. The final challenge was a backing overlap that I had to clear by hand while Mark motored to keep the fish from running too hard while I had the line fouled. There were plenty of moments where that fish could have come off, but it didn't. Landing the fish was even more of a blur than the moments leading up to the hookup, but my first look at the fish was another standout. Those vibrant greens and blues and wild pattern rival the beauty of many of our prettiest fish. I had caught my first albie.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFfqEEhZ3tx4cV_S6-D2VmbCGv7U3wf3MhGtFWw4HfgZhn9xxgO9CtWUbuUY6E5F5MLVQ-C2v8_SdLys5oWnQNqeLE_g2Y7eEPE3n3oBbu04hMHEj5uV_wcIBZm80_9R-zf7RDLVu6OdGV7ylkdQg-8maqyQYLUQDqRucibCYYEMJddevKhO3OYoqzj6f/s1024/albie1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFfqEEhZ3tx4cV_S6-D2VmbCGv7U3wf3MhGtFWw4HfgZhn9xxgO9CtWUbuUY6E5F5MLVQ-C2v8_SdLys5oWnQNqeLE_g2Y7eEPE3n3oBbu04hMHEj5uV_wcIBZm80_9R-zf7RDLVu6OdGV7ylkdQg-8maqyQYLUQDqRucibCYYEMJddevKhO3OYoqzj6f/w640-h360/albie1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>In the time since, Mark and I have had many a phenomenal day chasing hardtails on that boat and a few on foot as well. Of course, that one will always stand out, and I'll forever owe Mark for breaking me into the world of flash fishing for New England's miniature tuna. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-14528273000540673342023-09-12T17:18:00.000-07:002023-09-12T17:18:08.449-07:00Photo Essay: Lavender Tidal Marsh Fish<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUGO5HvYRp12V7xR4PCefZlvMO8yBWX3WL3qDmZYncPr1RjpBXKVsmpkCGGRMwLhalx0NoM4Ggv1ePwC8L1tgfj3qY2uOhBAoxIt100QeaotT5yf2R4y7-S1SS-lV6OglkHqaFfFsa1yZy3m9ow72_oREgYjREeVTjx1lQRotR3QW4IMzBiVty4KEVI9Qb/s5472/DSC02417_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUGO5HvYRp12V7xR4PCefZlvMO8yBWX3WL3qDmZYncPr1RjpBXKVsmpkCGGRMwLhalx0NoM4Ggv1ePwC8L1tgfj3qY2uOhBAoxIt100QeaotT5yf2R4y7-S1SS-lV6OglkHqaFfFsa1yZy3m9ow72_oREgYjREeVTjx1lQRotR3QW4IMzBiVty4KEVI9Qb/w640-h426/DSC02417_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBSR2fpBjbYaAfuK7PsO9FlKDxn5sXbUxjyRIjZywb5IqXxEbzgamHzuvd1zqL28NJ2dESXKva3bUxGl3jaYvVIPU8loo4X4Qn6qJqd-Yf0T1FGgSkMpuKPxDA1kNFOSqpBUld0fAf4RdA-ahVgmn7YQFcre3TPGawDl6kwXYtjqa4ZcA_GKNwY5TPhCI/s5472/DSC02396_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBSR2fpBjbYaAfuK7PsO9FlKDxn5sXbUxjyRIjZywb5IqXxEbzgamHzuvd1zqL28NJ2dESXKva3bUxGl3jaYvVIPU8loo4X4Qn6qJqd-Yf0T1FGgSkMpuKPxDA1kNFOSqpBUld0fAf4RdA-ahVgmn7YQFcre3TPGawDl6kwXYtjqa4ZcA_GKNwY5TPhCI/w640-h426/DSC02396_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3rnkJqCUsTMr-azZqkx3LG7Wk5FhQG__k9rrMOuWVd2qHzcbOjQfGEPhieepZfvg_JLIZhCPgfeh0yaJy4zov60GDC-5MJuHuV20rYgg1HlIz3QxK9b_lRN6L9Wv3L6gzV9DaqHKarLAmQcRiwoeynKJEgLv7MQK-X666dAa4CIl57XQ9DYGKNKaycz-/s5472/DSC02363_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3rnkJqCUsTMr-azZqkx3LG7Wk5FhQG__k9rrMOuWVd2qHzcbOjQfGEPhieepZfvg_JLIZhCPgfeh0yaJy4zov60GDC-5MJuHuV20rYgg1HlIz3QxK9b_lRN6L9Wv3L6gzV9DaqHKarLAmQcRiwoeynKJEgLv7MQK-X666dAa4CIl57XQ9DYGKNKaycz-/w640-h426/DSC02363_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-29990826489811220292023-08-31T13:34:00.003-07:002023-08-31T13:34:55.041-07:00Moments on The Fly- Bartram's Bass<p> Southern Appalachia holds a gritty charm different from the northern end of the range. These old hills have a lived-in feel; from the quiet but tough people eking out a subsistence living to the fish species unique to each drainage and the wildlife around the creeks themselves. A young five lined skink, tail bluer than should occur in nature, skittered away as I hopped barefoot down the rocks at a quiet shoal. I was in South Carolina, the other side of the river was Georgia. The fish I was after was a relic in its own right: Bartram's bass, one of the redeye bass complex, was the original native of these waters in terms of predatory fish. Oft given the description "trout bass" for their fluvial nature, vibrant coloration, and relatively diminutive size, redeye species persist throughout southern Appalachia despite being under constant threat from invasive species, hybridization, and even gold panning. Much in the way I bristled seeing the ugly huge homes and golf courses turning parts of this once less-than quaint land into an accessible, trendy, and genuinely less interesting version of its former self, I bristle at the idea of these unique bass being displaced. </p><p>In the moment that was out of mind. The gentle water lapped at my feet as I tried not to step on snails to reach a mid-river exposure. Southern hogsucker, various darter species and warpaint shiners made way for me as I waded out. Upon climbing onto the bare rock I fired a cast into the deep slack area behind it. The fly, an Ausable Ugly, got just seconds of sink time before a bass took it in a flash. I set the hook and was promptly impressed by the fortitude of this little fish. It put even the notoriously powerful smallmouth to shame, digging hard and forcing me to pull it from multiple crevices. At hand, it's beautifully patterned green flanks seemed a fitting match for the surrounding landscape. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95ohDzS3peGgAVdbHN-7_EA4V_aCIcfu0dg0mIlkHLKybs6ZrGkrctRAbgpWO0xhYWERo-wPdCtkwkCJqwod4HK8RjnazWlQc92EShWEQH0BkA226UbNpxoDW8KobOM66bpqGXgR-DdN_dqGLrtZZU2i5_knghOUXcIIgWRdZOpn8k7S-44ADPjK45CaO/s5472/DSC01890.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95ohDzS3peGgAVdbHN-7_EA4V_aCIcfu0dg0mIlkHLKybs6ZrGkrctRAbgpWO0xhYWERo-wPdCtkwkCJqwod4HK8RjnazWlQc92EShWEQH0BkA226UbNpxoDW8KobOM66bpqGXgR-DdN_dqGLrtZZU2i5_knghOUXcIIgWRdZOpn8k7S-44ADPjK45CaO/w640-h426/DSC01890.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>This wasn't the first I'd caught this day, nor would it be the last, but it sure was the nicest. A true specimen of the species. I can't tell you how happy I was to encounter these rather than some hatchery raised trout, or even a wild nonnative trout or bass- land, river and fish as they were meant to be. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-55901440017627083542023-08-22T15:15:00.002-07:002023-08-22T15:15:30.724-07:00Goliath<p> It's rare that I take the canoe out on my own. It's big and bulky and blows around like crazy. There's little sense in sight fishing from it unless I can anchor. I'd actually never bothered to do a solo trip in it until a morning not all that long ago. After multiple client trips with loads of channel cats and carp blind fishing, I wanted my own little piece of the action in solitude. I set out in the early morning haze, groggy and slow but confident. I went about the methodical process of launching the boat without concern of anyone else showing up at the launch on weekday dawn. I undid straps, grunted under the strain of hoisting the yoke over my shoulders, and disrupted the calm by letting the hull slap down when I flipped the boat over onto the river's surface. I feel a little bad when I do that kind of thing and tried to make up for it by poling myself downriver in a manner that blended with the waking up world. Upon getting to the deep cut I'd fish, the push pole served as an anchor with a roped tied to it for easy adjustment. The glassy surface rippled from my activities as well as those of channel catfish and common carp that were just as excited about the warm, humid and calm conditions as I was. </p><p>My strategies for blind fishing carp and catfish are simple, involving relatively small flies, slow presentations on floating or intermediate lines, and patience. As John put it: "Its exactly like bluefin tuna fishing, apart from every single detail". But however slow it may be it is also wildly productive. Though I hardly have any clients interested in it, those that are as well as myself have put a staggering number of fish in the boat this summer. I'm not sure another guide has netted so many fly caught channel cats for their clients in a single month. And the fish themselves are incredibly sporting, pulling like demons and demanding careful fighting and forethought of knot strength and line deterioration. They aren't objectively pretty- not the channels at least, I find carp scales strikingly pretty. But channel catfish, especially big ones, are gnarly looking monsters that are hard to make photogenic. I appreciate their form and function though, and hold the opinion that every living thing holds beauty. The little ones, now some of those are indeed pretty. They have almost a light glitter to their flanks, more like a silver or gold iridescence, and lovely little black spots. Despite all their lack of visual glamour, its still the biggest one that I really want. Garth, John and I have devoted a lot of hours to the species this summer. It's high time for a giant to show. We're after a record. </p><p>The bite proved consistent as the day gradually brightened. I picked off channel catfish from one to eight pounds and a couple smaller carp at a steady rate. By the time the sun hit the tree tops way up above the bank I was fishing, I'd netted more than a dozen fish. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24BYHsMT5Bs8aXtyV3pn7IvDscs9GPwJJcG36R2o9pAgyovQJFT9UN4wLfW_fH2g_xRs7Fvjia9_Um3Il0r0o9960Oboe5MnQzJSzOE2uXhNqGq3YWzNPsoZdDoqdgaFzFdS0JsyYCHRVF08MhFIx67lIuK5SHRKOhFNk8LcAml2Jw67YYijili02Cw2K/s5472/DSC08257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg24BYHsMT5Bs8aXtyV3pn7IvDscs9GPwJJcG36R2o9pAgyovQJFT9UN4wLfW_fH2g_xRs7Fvjia9_Um3Il0r0o9960Oboe5MnQzJSzOE2uXhNqGq3YWzNPsoZdDoqdgaFzFdS0JsyYCHRVF08MhFIx67lIuK5SHRKOhFNk8LcAml2Jw67YYijili02Cw2K/w640-h426/DSC08257.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJUTf9amztcqj3a56tvrO5CQWJ1Re1aAANOjHmSl3In3-jR9D4_MW0ZdMISf7TwXi17l4l5Pw3DPas34YFkvZEkO_rB7lBJuCIkVNr7jnY71j5DHxVNX-H9axfDQiTOfHp5Lq6GvVJ8yecUx7nq2e-k4n80jJxjc7CJTz0QwL6-yIH1tHyudD8LH8qcXS/s5472/DSC08321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJUTf9amztcqj3a56tvrO5CQWJ1Re1aAANOjHmSl3In3-jR9D4_MW0ZdMISf7TwXi17l4l5Pw3DPas34YFkvZEkO_rB7lBJuCIkVNr7jnY71j5DHxVNX-H9axfDQiTOfHp5Lq6GvVJ8yecUx7nq2e-k4n80jJxjc7CJTz0QwL6-yIH1tHyudD8LH8qcXS/w640-h426/DSC08321.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>It was around that time that the Helios registered a faint bite and I swung into shear mass and authority. The fish ran perpendicular and down current, making the line vibrate in the water as it went. I knew it was a carp, and though it would be quite a while before I saw it I knew it was large. It had been a while since a carp had got me into my backing, even on light tippet and rods. This one did so and then some, in the process pulling my makeshift anchor out of the mud and giving me what I'll call a Connecticut River Sleigh Ride. It was 50 yards before I actually saw the fish. and 50 more longer, shakier, heart pounding yards before I sunk it in the net. She was a huge fish, just short of the second stripping guide on the rod and substantially over 30 pounds. I can hoist 20's with two hands not problem but this fish needed to rest on my knee for the photo to work.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKae5O-mQ4lrAIEZqOomszy64Infutk6GbHuOoWS6-Bk0pH-5dGdQCWFBkktp_Dem5zOmWVQb7xFxDLsvH0yKhVdeagYUQTbGx_Aze3qneF4AwPV7QJP_MNgiZUCDNwc37C88BIR97HNZRuKf6oHjnMUKDg5ztnovbgIN6zOSqdii7nZs4oXM0oUCmNCx/s4202/DSC08305_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2657" data-original-width="4202" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKae5O-mQ4lrAIEZqOomszy64Infutk6GbHuOoWS6-Bk0pH-5dGdQCWFBkktp_Dem5zOmWVQb7xFxDLsvH0yKhVdeagYUQTbGx_Aze3qneF4AwPV7QJP_MNgiZUCDNwc37C88BIR97HNZRuKf6oHjnMUKDg5ztnovbgIN6zOSqdii7nZs4oXM0oUCmNCx/w640-h404/DSC08305_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcKYlSnGe-GP3XUkdTBkegiWb8KkR8pz2870o5yjExUvmClmT2FPcqq2mQEOAc4y1iVlKA3DNwusrGpqzpNYTDPRrMKRFgAlcR_HUZ3MdyFOkVG-yeyG7LagpevvF_mSp-ROXd7C5vFKAe0eMA1LdFO8KJwK_vxMLjwC2coQZU1KbRq9tALB0CBxVSFidR/s5472/DSC08311.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcKYlSnGe-GP3XUkdTBkegiWb8KkR8pz2870o5yjExUvmClmT2FPcqq2mQEOAc4y1iVlKA3DNwusrGpqzpNYTDPRrMKRFgAlcR_HUZ3MdyFOkVG-yeyG7LagpevvF_mSp-ROXd7C5vFKAe0eMA1LdFO8KJwK_vxMLjwC2coQZU1KbRq9tALB0CBxVSFidR/w640-h426/DSC08311.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><p>Some feeding windows are set up to be exceptional, and the fishy angler knows it. There's a feeling, a smell, something like that. Things aren't going wrong. There is an efficiency and a lack of anxiety to the world. Sure, spectacular things happen when its chaos too. Frequently. But there's something special to a relaxed slam fest culminating in a monster fish. It's more affirming than the rushed, panicked fishing. That's how carp fishing has become for me. I've got a founded confidence after a decade of aggressive and targeted fishing for the species in a huge variety of fisheries from North Carolina to Massachusetts. I'd like to think I'm fairly alright at it. Sure, I get some light jitters to this day when I'm casting at a huge one, and there will always be more learning to do an mysteries to solve. But I set out that morning certain I'd catch carp on the fly, and five years ago that never would have happened. I didn't know I'd catch a huge one- perhaps the biggest of the year -but I was completely certain that I'd catch. That's meaningful for me. That defines progress as an angler. The idea after a short spell of having that confidence is to intentionally throw a little monkey wrench in- change something in a way I'm not sure will work, but might and could even further improve my productivity. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-24619116588790753052023-08-02T10:23:00.007-07:002023-08-02T10:23:52.156-07:00Bug Factory<p> A lot of trout waters in Connecticut go pretty much unnoticed. Though the covid fishing boom brought new pressure to some of them, it didn't seem to have lasting affects for most. While the Farmington continues to see a perpetual parade of anglers, other river slink by in the shadows, known to locals and not much in the way of anyone else. One grabbed my attention a while back. At almost an hour away from me, it wasn't exactly convenient, but rumors of large wild fish from the few people I could find that knew anything at all about it encouraged my interest. Garth and I made a few wintertime trips, one of which produced a couple hatchery rainbows while another proved fruitless, but I had a feeling this stream might really pop come spring. Fast forward from February to late May, and I'd certainly missed most of the window when I happened to make a stop while on other business. A small town pull-off gave me immediate access to the river, and when I walked down to the waters edge it was a sight to behold. The rivers surface was coated with little blue-winged olives and March browns. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXaWZLY5_GmfYpDnXlFehmHfxc7yR6iZU407Ui3IXxbhBENHSaDcjS8UTz_QzVxKzzmyNzfVkUSkV1231v6PItzzEk6rlyXNMPHFSCNOM_oLAP1I1d5lJNjTUTbSJ51-RB7KEqdyD1ltGHrGVm8pq69x2ZmkqzP8RzqVlB03hjHRiNjULukaa2uvCvedS/s5472/DSC01590.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXaWZLY5_GmfYpDnXlFehmHfxc7yR6iZU407Ui3IXxbhBENHSaDcjS8UTz_QzVxKzzmyNzfVkUSkV1231v6PItzzEk6rlyXNMPHFSCNOM_oLAP1I1d5lJNjTUTbSJ51-RB7KEqdyD1ltGHrGVm8pq69x2ZmkqzP8RzqVlB03hjHRiNjULukaa2uvCvedS/w640-h426/DSC01590.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpa0kJLv_5pLNcT3s8nI_ujdugZZZOUCBYR-Jjn_aFiLsYXoRP3_nb2rtPKowhTQTEmzUMtlxm1wnEXWKyVi7N4dXHHblAZ-BiPcBkEGaD0_STpeOaiGYzw3aXOvDsItI3KSUfXsc-CrvYJlmXUaFUZQ4VCUBb9AMB2sfldWn3Fpp1YqZvdYj1A_ibGk6o/s5472/DSC01534.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpa0kJLv_5pLNcT3s8nI_ujdugZZZOUCBYR-Jjn_aFiLsYXoRP3_nb2rtPKowhTQTEmzUMtlxm1wnEXWKyVi7N4dXHHblAZ-BiPcBkEGaD0_STpeOaiGYzw3aXOvDsItI3KSUfXsc-CrvYJlmXUaFUZQ4VCUBb9AMB2sfldWn3Fpp1YqZvdYj1A_ibGk6o/w640-h426/DSC01534.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXA3WC3U4YmpyYoYV-mlKAevElggdrleL89Kowo9kZ4Npp71krpcDoJBLTNxBBW8-xqFyZNaw-P_LoVNmjb9vylPjl738IqIwe5m0xPdsoWWZCs4lgQnLL4iuchXbWy9bnrIGY52n7htHkeibEGyKvMEggP0DieP0jWi7u0L1rNCP1qe5PiuOLdm5UVjSo/s5472/DSC01628.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXA3WC3U4YmpyYoYV-mlKAevElggdrleL89Kowo9kZ4Npp71krpcDoJBLTNxBBW8-xqFyZNaw-P_LoVNmjb9vylPjl738IqIwe5m0xPdsoWWZCs4lgQnLL4iuchXbWy9bnrIGY52n7htHkeibEGyKvMEggP0DieP0jWi7u0L1rNCP1qe5PiuOLdm5UVjSo/w640-h426/DSC01628.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>Being a bit of a bug nerd and a lover of the dry fly, I couldn't rig fast enough. My habits have drifted me away from springtime hatch fishing in recent years, which is a shame as it is not only something I particularly enjoy but a style of fishing I had gotten quite good at. There is something special about observing a rising trout, gauging its size and attitude, making an approach, then landing the perfect cast and drift over its head and seeing that snout come up for the fly. It is cliché, but for a reason. That really is fly fishing. The cardinal sin was putting mass on the hook and pursuing the sort of fish that don't eat bugs. As Hank Patterson once said, "a fly doesn't have to be a fly fly to be a fly". But it is nice to fish a fly fly sometimes, and I probably should more often.</p><p>Now, I already knew this wasn't a high density river fish wise. It was classic marginal water. So though there was a blanket hatch in progress, heads were spread out. I found a few gulpers in the head of the first pool I looked at though. I lengthened and tapers down my leader as I watched them feed, then tied on a simple grey Comparadun. With a complex hatch and fish rising in fairly riffled water at the head of the pool, I could see individual fish eating more than one species of bug and lacking fly fishing pressure, I figured these trout would eat something impressionistic rather than an accurate representation of one of the handful of species of mayfly I was seeing. I also watched one fish eat a blue winged olive, a pale mayfly that looked like a vitreous, and a caddis in quick succession. </p><p>Of the four fish consistently rising, none of which seemed especially large, called to me. He was rapid fire housing every bug that came down his lane. I positioned myself above and adjacent to the fish on the bank and laid the fly about two feet above it, making one mid air mend in the process. The drift was fast. The trout rose to the fly without concern and I lifted the rod. There is a simple rhythm to the dry fly game once an angler is attuned to it. The outcome is almost manufactured, is if dropping this gorgeous little wild brown in the net was always going to happen as long as I followed the rhythm. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskpXFamdC6CAZfE01Xj6zd-rlFMzyby4ix0JN90cnFujGyIDpsZA8ayhaA8z0Q-e9gmhls4BXFpfbT5HA1GfreLeo09yzQ-IWj0uP2ZFz81OiKv2sgkjjPVG-9lLzSSADW-wqrMKrmfOpKAyCOky-G92c0VKK_4_xFYaBiR4V2CfN90S_f0_oDeh68yjk/s5472/DSC01553.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskpXFamdC6CAZfE01Xj6zd-rlFMzyby4ix0JN90cnFujGyIDpsZA8ayhaA8z0Q-e9gmhls4BXFpfbT5HA1GfreLeo09yzQ-IWj0uP2ZFz81OiKv2sgkjjPVG-9lLzSSADW-wqrMKrmfOpKAyCOky-G92c0VKK_4_xFYaBiR4V2CfN90S_f0_oDeh68yjk/w640-h426/DSC01553.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>The fish had an interesting different look to it than I'd generally expect, but after seeing a couple of photos of wild fish from the watershed I knew they had a different look. It was nice to get one after a few trips of searching, and confirmation that hard effort might yield even greater results here. The hatch continued into dark, and I kept fishing and picking of risers when I found them. It wasn't incredible fishing, but satisfying. And a testament to the quality of a relatively unknown river. I'm pulled to these places more and more with the popularity of trout fishing ever growing on the well known rivers. I'd rather fish a bug factory of a stream completely alone for just a handful of trout than share a pool with three or four anglers I don't particularly care to know. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-71159760555729920762023-07-24T13:52:00.003-07:002023-07-24T13:52:42.027-07:00Crease Fly Stripers (Photo Essay)<p> November, 2022. Angler: Mark Alpert</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6tz2uobprctUru8SyAg7WR1ORewIXb2wJ5tYXQKqJL1Dqik_xVB6MQLINJHaBx95pya1CkUtm38uwS-qIUxU7ZBbez7NNfaq1UhVePMc1PRlcjE4gjNkPt90_MIr_PDoRH3BmHOXY8ALgzZMBjj5RhZ9xdmzuLAz1T_jINnPictVDE_bJExwPudSU8V_N/s5472/DSC09599.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6tz2uobprctUru8SyAg7WR1ORewIXb2wJ5tYXQKqJL1Dqik_xVB6MQLINJHaBx95pya1CkUtm38uwS-qIUxU7ZBbez7NNfaq1UhVePMc1PRlcjE4gjNkPt90_MIr_PDoRH3BmHOXY8ALgzZMBjj5RhZ9xdmzuLAz1T_jINnPictVDE_bJExwPudSU8V_N/w640-h426/DSC09599.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHlNOvoU31BcWG84xciyJLzlYnZhbmyvMY6vCj2xPkBYyXsq5Y7wAjBkwTDrR-QPFE3hREf5nUCU586oetLs2uoctfCeV2LJz-wg_L60RcyseMwIcIx_WLpEJKvcX2jSbz7p5-pxFol0wx-viPsZjztTx0HJyK56nrfqWA_KjBNrJAD4N4YKStkHtIfzc/s5472/DSC09589.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoAiX1edN6BJzgrh_W5BAoAGUB1YzhVTQdSSpSYHOHnMt324yYwYYWsOidBCmijnZBde3Ok1cKfQ88ie2gZ5KypXgvxMEY8hDOAbbBSp9moTNmLoizEhEfm2u1Na8PzUutLo02KhGdWIIcUNjppOXWLQQKkKB4iy_5PgH2QMmm2J46_iH7YIrpQN3x2dSY/s5472/DSC09691.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoAiX1edN6BJzgrh_W5BAoAGUB1YzhVTQdSSpSYHOHnMt324yYwYYWsOidBCmijnZBde3Ok1cKfQ88ie2gZ5KypXgvxMEY8hDOAbbBSp9moTNmLoizEhEfm2u1Na8PzUutLo02KhGdWIIcUNjppOXWLQQKkKB4iy_5PgH2QMmm2J46_iH7YIrpQN3x2dSY/w640-h426/DSC09691.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></div><p></p><p></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-34556756748089345902023-07-05T18:03:00.001-07:002023-07-05T18:03:34.176-07:00Impromptu Redhorse Hunt<p> I was in Vermont for my younger brother's graduation, and only for a couple days. Fishing time was limited. My partner, Haley, was also with me. Options weren't as broad as they might otherwise be. Contingencies aside, when I'm somewhere I don't always get to be I'm going to fish at least a little. With finite time and a limited number of options within hitting distance, my friend Drew Price pulled through for me with a close to sure bet for shorthead redhorse. Having only caught one lone smallmouth redhorse in western Pennsylvania and being interested in the rest of the Moxostoma genus, this seemed as good an option as any. So I dragged my very tolerant girlfriend with me to a Lake Champlain tributary to look for a new species. </p><p>Redhorse are a diverse genus of North American suckers that includes more than 20 distinct species. Moxostoma are spread across over a substantial chunk of the Eastern half of the continent. Like their other sucker relatives they are often underappreciated, poorly treated, and frequently badly managed by state fisheries agencies. As in all cases, I just don't get that- they're cool as hell. redhorse are native, they fight hard, live in beautiful rivers and creeks, are often hard to fool, and look darned cool. They don't taste half bad either. What isn't to love? Any time redhorse are an option I perk up. I adore targeting them on the fly and don't get to at all often enough. My confidence in success bordered on certainty given Drew's report and we jetted out the door the moment it looked like we might have time. The drive south to the tributary he suggested was about 45 minutes and we only had a few hours to work with so time was of the essence. </p><p>The stream was a lightly-stained freestone over dark grey calcareous shale and blueish limestone from the Ordovician period. Where the stream cut to the bedrock, the step-like fractures allowed sand and gravel from different bedrock layers upstream to collect, and along with algae growth made the riverbed became a rainbow of pastel coloration. Some stretches meandered and featured deep pools with some mud bottom. I was keeping my eyes sharply peeled for any red tails waving in the riffles. The first fish I saw were big smallmouth bass on beds. I half heartedly presented a small Ausable Ugly to the first large one I saw and she ate. The fight was pretty intense as the fish tried to lodge under every large rock in the run. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhuQWnFx9vKKNNTr9CAgC2r0TTj4q4vIDwhcJCPz5ILTh3BgvrXeVrqo44m5bjS9TeR4aicHz4pFfrkqmG2qNp7oSNLeIrYOH2sA8T5Vm4sngb33-TLsRswRSpW4ZPltDggKQECdNXrrS6A3FcgBx5DE_jBPzoGU21m1aD5bvvvxCUOCC1c62JSG4TG7D/s5472/DSC01764.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhuQWnFx9vKKNNTr9CAgC2r0TTj4q4vIDwhcJCPz5ILTh3BgvrXeVrqo44m5bjS9TeR4aicHz4pFfrkqmG2qNp7oSNLeIrYOH2sA8T5Vm4sngb33-TLsRswRSpW4ZPltDggKQECdNXrrS6A3FcgBx5DE_jBPzoGU21m1aD5bvvvxCUOCC1c62JSG4TG7D/w640-h426/DSC01764.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>I continued upstream a little ways, catching a few more bass and a very large white sucker. It was nice to get a native species but I was getting a little worried that the redhorse had managed to make their way out of the system already since I wasn't seeing them. A text from Drew changed the trip... I'd gone the wrong way!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9MnxMs58GSR6HfgK5p-VfRziM7e6xvgwX54eQ5R2aCfaz1-CJIM_ab-s9075yaR_y62K2FRmKnbTmWPthRago3o87zuWY2g6TS-W9tgw1nUdSXhHK4-h50Q-cSrQKQxxkiqc0QowZJ23lW5ZGB9-yfXUpYM-SSw3gZrEq1nlfCcDJoeVYPLPCuJv3OZe/s5472/DSC01773.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9MnxMs58GSR6HfgK5p-VfRziM7e6xvgwX54eQ5R2aCfaz1-CJIM_ab-s9075yaR_y62K2FRmKnbTmWPthRago3o87zuWY2g6TS-W9tgw1nUdSXhHK4-h50Q-cSrQKQxxkiqc0QowZJ23lW5ZGB9-yfXUpYM-SSw3gZrEq1nlfCcDJoeVYPLPCuJv3OZe/w640-h426/DSC01773.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>Counter to my instinct to walk upstream, we turned tail and headed down. It didn't take long to encounter a couple of pools absolutely packed full of redhorse. They stood out quite well in both the pools and the riffles, though I found the fish in the shallow fast water entirely too finicky. The pools were more comfortable territory though- I already know how to catch suckers holding in pools, that's pretty much my typical white sucker fishing scenario back at home. I rigged up with an indicator and left on the Ausable Ugly. The redhorse weren't exactly obliging, but after some time I did convince one to eat: another new species thanks to Drew. He's been responsible for two so far this year. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAh93-B-MnSKcRXPN9l3W19Yd4RusdiQxwNDZPAQlULcZfcQFrh1N55_KU0eXIZtqHWxXzkiG9eswX8jBPZKiZhg1BDVT6eTPaXbHlg_ZVYFm1V55IhJi_4By5CaXWEqcqOYc9INGYd0uEdFDnJXdGwcZspxtSVfEUlbpdtqo0gIoitqcCaKZt15IC3S0/s5472/DSC01782.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAh93-B-MnSKcRXPN9l3W19Yd4RusdiQxwNDZPAQlULcZfcQFrh1N55_KU0eXIZtqHWxXzkiG9eswX8jBPZKiZhg1BDVT6eTPaXbHlg_ZVYFm1V55IhJi_4By5CaXWEqcqOYc9INGYd0uEdFDnJXdGwcZspxtSVfEUlbpdtqo0gIoitqcCaKZt15IC3S0/w640-h426/DSC01782.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lifelist fish #190: Shorthead redhorse, <i>Moxostoma macrolepidotum. </i>Rank: Species</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJrresKOsdULqI5k0JZ3HeOVA1qfen4mqdh5wOaQ3bm31NKigBkWucBio99Wkcl6Kfd9Itbbf-tLU0N7n7FkIw5KCORzjBOCCRL_mNXdNOHFSebFJSkZS4nrk2m_uR18fX3ieR8Y3ZfZrehFWHa0AZYTxyZqZdt2iMdcZxl4uvH9AI3FzNvKLpzzxASxK/s5472/DSC01776.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJrresKOsdULqI5k0JZ3HeOVA1qfen4mqdh5wOaQ3bm31NKigBkWucBio99Wkcl6Kfd9Itbbf-tLU0N7n7FkIw5KCORzjBOCCRL_mNXdNOHFSebFJSkZS4nrk2m_uR18fX3ieR8Y3ZfZrehFWHa0AZYTxyZqZdt2iMdcZxl4uvH9AI3FzNvKLpzzxASxK/w640-h426/DSC01776.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>After bringing the lifelist up to 190, I relaxed a bit and went about enjoying the action. I caught three more shortheads; one with a couple hangers on in the form of sea lamprey. Unlike the ocean, where lamprey parasitize large fish that are capable of handling the the blood loss, in landlocked environments they can be a big problem to native species. I removed both lamprey from this redhorse accordingly. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJzTGhLJWzJ8Y0BM8nDKsh00YXrUC_EuPQyC1Ko-uL1jrGSFC7yzNv_nTV6udWBUz1jrHjSKZXPSgIrFZLZj35tEHva1iZSrukoyH6hGHHRpG3HWDHv6s6iQrDtfplin7x5Pj7RpLqt1rDKAdzyKdyOCef2g35QxIWqGvyXj878LlWZFKGpcG_xVPeHR6J/s5472/DSC01785.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJzTGhLJWzJ8Y0BM8nDKsh00YXrUC_EuPQyC1Ko-uL1jrGSFC7yzNv_nTV6udWBUz1jrHjSKZXPSgIrFZLZj35tEHva1iZSrukoyH6hGHHRpG3HWDHv6s6iQrDtfplin7x5Pj7RpLqt1rDKAdzyKdyOCef2g35QxIWqGvyXj878LlWZFKGpcG_xVPeHR6J/w640-h426/DSC01785.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Presumably, as anadromous lamprey sometimes do, these guys had latched on to catch a ride up to spawning territory. If so it is remarkable how small they are to be of reproductive age. Of course the landlocked lamprey don't get anywhere near as big as their oceanic counterparts, which attain sizes in excess of 30 inches. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-1mXS8xarQENsqGXN2NDZ45pc0rW__FjFDYHMm0ArHZeh1-Le8ZqPzydf_okcr9oEn2yspaEqPI1WENDZnG8qkOT3JYrRUONTp6_dOih4zGYIft6juioXxuzhn7t4dZ5mnUXlYfwMxAJ6zFXG9FV1VZy0qcfrQviWOe7xx4apFWe35RMiNKvTo1yKCxz/s5472/DSC01802.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-1mXS8xarQENsqGXN2NDZ45pc0rW__FjFDYHMm0ArHZeh1-Le8ZqPzydf_okcr9oEn2yspaEqPI1WENDZnG8qkOT3JYrRUONTp6_dOih4zGYIft6juioXxuzhn7t4dZ5mnUXlYfwMxAJ6zFXG9FV1VZy0qcfrQviWOe7xx4apFWe35RMiNKvTo1yKCxz/w640-h426/DSC01802.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCI3p7znq0M8l1yU6gChOU6XztHOwEhRbhJzchXdUU3JgYs0Wn6_pY-NVTtQKVy5PqDxQ1dvSfe7J-G77EM0tu4kFx8w0-aNSPsK2DMxtXrb28YZVviuGnosxcc0zgNIoL01tx3dUSKcybYunPiwgaU3-rfm6c1Mq4-o0p1T7ZTGp7J1ShNcKSH4dmnM6c/s5472/DSC01792.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCI3p7znq0M8l1yU6gChOU6XztHOwEhRbhJzchXdUU3JgYs0Wn6_pY-NVTtQKVy5PqDxQ1dvSfe7J-G77EM0tu4kFx8w0-aNSPsK2DMxtXrb28YZVviuGnosxcc0zgNIoL01tx3dUSKcybYunPiwgaU3-rfm6c1Mq4-o0p1T7ZTGp7J1ShNcKSH4dmnM6c/w640-h426/DSC01792.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjk9jMEuakSv1nIwus4BnOev-ES0h8SIbUzTmPpYn9gT7_cXkUwSGsb7sX6b9WkrtMWdINEtddaGsYd2lDD7MyvpjDKCIikCUoT-0_JcX7CVH4ZelC1-zhALbidXiIthkjeP2B2kmnX6aQITYSBveoCsMSuvOqdLSV3C9DAbyTi0TtZL21fOgPvSRGVcn/s3944/DSC01796_1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3944" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjk9jMEuakSv1nIwus4BnOev-ES0h8SIbUzTmPpYn9gT7_cXkUwSGsb7sX6b9WkrtMWdINEtddaGsYd2lDD7MyvpjDKCIikCUoT-0_JcX7CVH4ZelC1-zhALbidXiIthkjeP2B2kmnX6aQITYSBveoCsMSuvOqdLSV3C9DAbyTi0TtZL21fOgPvSRGVcn/w640-h398/DSC01796_1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEej3MLX5DA84mn5JHO7ggaD00Ryuqlbd4j3T2GT6V-biThkwu6xT_SxrPcYc5iNWPx3oVywM6gtmXfseyCniUMvnQRVS87xdcfDt4m_Wol6p8W4_jyHExatvtIzujAO0yp5Rz4n1-dQcee2x2XVpdudBZpc0nRir3DguUkXLWY4IUgylhU1qm05-ralf/s5472/DSC01824.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEej3MLX5DA84mn5JHO7ggaD00Ryuqlbd4j3T2GT6V-biThkwu6xT_SxrPcYc5iNWPx3oVywM6gtmXfseyCniUMvnQRVS87xdcfDt4m_Wol6p8W4_jyHExatvtIzujAO0yp5Rz4n1-dQcee2x2XVpdudBZpc0nRir3DguUkXLWY4IUgylhU1qm05-ralf/w640-h426/DSC01824.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8_W5MventwHQMs4Yl5Lrwz6dispq_kILcP9WMaaVrj7nZ0TRWKt1XiFrs66B3ZfFMe6wlxedKo4mgVSfKG9dquGiJEp2PyHzYuPlXKJwIfTFz1psMhqfHZFSyieEvQqT1zRI4Iv2h7iCAmarG4w5ppwMCsnx2NiwcF1SqX7GRO__yghwkIzrdNKKUuz6/s5472/DSC01814.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8_W5MventwHQMs4Yl5Lrwz6dispq_kILcP9WMaaVrj7nZ0TRWKt1XiFrs66B3ZfFMe6wlxedKo4mgVSfKG9dquGiJEp2PyHzYuPlXKJwIfTFz1psMhqfHZFSyieEvQqT1zRI4Iv2h7iCAmarG4w5ppwMCsnx2NiwcF1SqX7GRO__yghwkIzrdNKKUuz6/w640-h426/DSC01814.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>After getting my fill of Moxostoma glory, we hustled back to get ready for graduation related events. Vermont has one other redhorse species to offer though, the greater redhorse. Perhaps next year I'll get to target them up there. Or, better yet, I get out to Pennsylvania again before then to target Moxostoma and a variety of other species again in the waters near where I was born. It's been a while since I had a dedicated lifelisting trip.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></div><div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-72955683267928673502023-06-27T15:48:00.000-07:002023-06-27T15:48:04.360-07:00Convergence 2023: The Nights I Live For<p> Spring 2023 is in the books now as the most frustrating herring run year of my short time chasing this sometimes magical event. It had its moments though, as any year does. And when I think about it, every year is a slog. Long, long night hours are spent casting at nothing for the occasional crazy night of heavy action or just one or two very large fish. And though on the whole this season was frustrating, the highlights really felt special. Though I managed only about a dozen bass from my favorite river, the first of the season there topped out at 41 inches. My goal each season there is to get one 40 incher and I have accomplished that each year since 2018, last year being the standout with a 40" and 43" and a few fished that missed the mark by no more than half an inch. Getting my big fish there was a relief- and lucky given the overall lackluster success I had. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXVTW-g0GuhapsPhs_ZsQCIi7vNJ7NpuX0dL4FXEO9bhx1ATKWFr_0E05fz6_G90DetYYyKAPBTT7is5X0KIeLveDg6VKMFBr5p-lty5ASGd53LPCn6U61pxDth4KrXY4wdOYDP2MSe_IjIEXgHtSkeYjeTR8FlOST1yItsVvYF1CHtIepCqkuKinOM7p/s4032/20230427_224438.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXVTW-g0GuhapsPhs_ZsQCIi7vNJ7NpuX0dL4FXEO9bhx1ATKWFr_0E05fz6_G90DetYYyKAPBTT7is5X0KIeLveDg6VKMFBr5p-lty5ASGd53LPCn6U61pxDth4KrXY4wdOYDP2MSe_IjIEXgHtSkeYjeTR8FlOST1yItsVvYF1CHtIepCqkuKinOM7p/w480-h640/20230427_224438.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZWynL9bGEjhLngdgfFjpRndJ2O0ggPAWu0wdOYd32u8l_ZWyyetSCuwmk4CfWp-A5_HI5Qop-yF8aLMdcp-QI2CeRswf11qOFT6c4UgzUPH4xeNobWWYINQQhgEXlSmPCnZVq0yNKcsIMFj2tU18U20pnHYJKVI4U3wXpXdisf54oi2nZ__KKd4cCz2q/s4032/20230427_224503.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZWynL9bGEjhLngdgfFjpRndJ2O0ggPAWu0wdOYd32u8l_ZWyyetSCuwmk4CfWp-A5_HI5Qop-yF8aLMdcp-QI2CeRswf11qOFT6c4UgzUPH4xeNobWWYINQQhgEXlSmPCnZVq0yNKcsIMFj2tU18U20pnHYJKVI4U3wXpXdisf54oi2nZ__KKd4cCz2q/w480-h640/20230427_224503.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>In other parts of the state the story was a little different. My friends Alex and Dave were having an banner year. Twice I fished down their way, and both nights far exceeded anything I saw anywhere on my side of the state during this run. The first night was slow save for a short window at what has become one of my favorite spots to fish in the state. The tide was low and a few alewives were jetting down the riffles to the head of tide, where some would meet their demise. Not only were stripers there to take the desperate little fish. Like miniature fisherman, night herons were visible in silhouette up and down the riffle. It wasn't quite fully dark yet when we got there, but it took hardly four casts to come up with a quality fish. Two 20 pound class fish in quick succession fell to a swung Sedotti Slammer tied with Devlin Blends yak hair. These weren't long fish, they were over-slots but not 40 inchers. They were just absolutely rotund. That short window was enough to make that night special, as only a few more fish came to hand between then and sunrise. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftYGPILsJZP45AwMYnGdYNZBPQA-uganljIqzSlkD9tX8-ECte5ai0iCmpJbC9-yw_irz-6U__rt7n1_kFcmjyrZdwPibzlQ501MyRoyfI0R1hj28JL5hlr_mxyNEHkHL3ARJK6YMAatvrmJLf119--pls0CtNtd95Waimd1Yr6O6eA3k8AYjTnqKLpma/s1600/IMG_0913.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftYGPILsJZP45AwMYnGdYNZBPQA-uganljIqzSlkD9tX8-ECte5ai0iCmpJbC9-yw_irz-6U__rt7n1_kFcmjyrZdwPibzlQ501MyRoyfI0R1hj28JL5hlr_mxyNEHkHL3ARJK6YMAatvrmJLf119--pls0CtNtd95Waimd1Yr6O6eA3k8AYjTnqKLpma/w480-h640/IMG_0913.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy Alex Peru</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The second trip down was the reverse. Alex was fishing different spots most of the night with another friend, but we met up early morning to hit what should have been a prime tide at a new spot he really wanted to show me. Action had waned there though, and we bounced around a few spots on the same creek with only a couple small fish to show for it. I was beginning to drag a bit mentally. I'd started to fish well before dark for trout and was now going on hour 13 of fishing and hour 40 of being awake. I almost considered calling it a night. Fueled by caffeine and addiction, I didn't take too much convincing to follow Alex to another spot. I did have a feeling about it. I'd fished the same river earlier in the night and seen better bass than I've come to expect there. Perhaps the falling tide would concentrate herring and stripers in a particular chokepoint in a gritty, urban, junk filled stretch of the creek. Upon arrival it was clear that exactly that was happening. <div><br /></div><div>Herring swirled and waked through the shallows. There weren't too many as there sometimes are either, just the right amount to make the bass crazy. And we saw and heard predations within moments of our arrival. What followed was the most remarkably hot and heavy herring run fishing I'd ever had, all of it in water less than 3 feet deep. We had fish in front of us chowing on herring until the light of the new day brought the chorus of morning birds up. It almost seemed there was no end to the slough of fish. As the water fell we just kept following them downstream until the bite died, leaving me unsure how many 30 inch and better bass I'd just caught. None were giants, but two or three may have exceeded 20 pounds. One in particular stands out, feeding loudly in a narrow choke point that herring were attempting to pass through. It was in such shallow water that it probably occupied more than half the water column, and it couldn't help but make some incredibly huge swirls in such a place. I really thought it could be 40 inches. It took a little while to get that fish. In the process I got one right at my feet. I dropped the fly in the water to re-cast and set the hook unintentionally when I went to back-cast. A few casts later my fly stopped dead and I set the hook on the bigger fish, which was about 36 inches if I remember correctly... and I probably don't, though I do know caught fish that big that night. It was <i>so good</i> it was disorienting. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVM7jM06Z8O6iOsAu1qMzJ_AnNWFVSJCCV70_fmqf1_-UCSbpQsbbJCFKwtgEqQbwtvrwVMTJ2SuOVskHn06tyAjwQ7FtfZp-95lzeNCoKdtS122YKzGL5AEbnViefW6aiF-1vI4vSgQRdiHDoweBVxxt1X1Bo27nb0YLwOivowfm9aYFq8W9ZLn_M7uCL/s4032/20230506_033120.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVM7jM06Z8O6iOsAu1qMzJ_AnNWFVSJCCV70_fmqf1_-UCSbpQsbbJCFKwtgEqQbwtvrwVMTJ2SuOVskHn06tyAjwQ7FtfZp-95lzeNCoKdtS122YKzGL5AEbnViefW6aiF-1vI4vSgQRdiHDoweBVxxt1X1Bo27nb0YLwOivowfm9aYFq8W9ZLn_M7uCL/w480-h640/20230506_033120.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxFGmhblBrqZo0qhAEeiCcd_q8t7cATmk2cIXlR8ZeXxhgFifXbF5ko7H_Q0445YEkgqps4jkZKNlf3k1VAorLjTFh7QNBG56BJQswa1okLASv_PGpjOY1B2On_yfj0pfyKThuBtW6LU5ohwK6xdDx79tZ5b4epz2TmFnuVncqtWEPsg4DvNVUO5r90uS/s4032/20230506_033149.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxFGmhblBrqZo0qhAEeiCcd_q8t7cATmk2cIXlR8ZeXxhgFifXbF5ko7H_Q0445YEkgqps4jkZKNlf3k1VAorLjTFh7QNBG56BJQswa1okLASv_PGpjOY1B2On_yfj0pfyKThuBtW6LU5ohwK6xdDx79tZ5b4epz2TmFnuVncqtWEPsg4DvNVUO5r90uS/w640-h480/20230506_033149.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_cxMF3KpZ0D2EKJUhflBUfnq37G4GXpbhnRhSaAEupZ388zNPvbT16lR0tpNwKqBPb1td933swd3HLvlKLZEcgfqUxlhrBgidI3l3rtwf9m_Z_THY73lDlxm85mmdV4Q4d_6fK_U_qHIdMLfKQ1LrXvM0OL5XhAFNfxQHFs8Y628NUitcojDwiZ4oh7W/s4032/20230506_041951.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_cxMF3KpZ0D2EKJUhflBUfnq37G4GXpbhnRhSaAEupZ388zNPvbT16lR0tpNwKqBPb1td933swd3HLvlKLZEcgfqUxlhrBgidI3l3rtwf9m_Z_THY73lDlxm85mmdV4Q4d_6fK_U_qHIdMLfKQ1LrXvM0OL5XhAFNfxQHFs8Y628NUitcojDwiZ4oh7W/w480-h640/20230506_041951.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div>My brain didn't really fully process that bite. I was at the bottom end of my processing power when we got there and the excitement was just enough to keep me focused and functional enough to drive home, where I promptly crashed almost fully dressed. I woke up later that day with one sock on and my t-shirt sort of knotted around my wrist. I never remembered trying to take it off. The memory itself of the late night chaos was more vivid then but already distorted. Many of these herring run memories hold like that. I'm so beaten down and exhausted that they don't register in full but in fragments. </div><div>Sounds. </div><div>Momentary glimpses. </div><div>Feelings. </div><div>Smells. </div><div>Words uttered between tired fisherman. </div><div>The sensation of a heavy striped bass grabbing a fly. </div><div>It's almost dream like to me, as if I don't actually live the herring run but fabricate it in my mind instead. And it would work, because even when its slow like it was this year, its unquestionably my favorite kind of fishing. It would make sense if I were just making it all up for myself. I'd put big migratory fish in small water, chasing bait that is only there for a finite time. I'd make them heavy and powerful, and the streams themselves not only beautifully structured but at times dangerous to navigate. And of course this would all happen at night, with a lot of other wildlife around even in the most urban spots.</div><div>Yeah, the herring run really was made for me. Or, more likely, I was made for <i>it</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, it's over for this year. It always feels so short. Till 2024...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></div></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-73254016036169031742023-06-20T21:11:00.008-07:002023-06-20T21:11:57.430-07:00Morning Walk<p> Sometimes its all too easy to ignore what you have right at home. I live so close to a diverse and fishy lake and yet so often I'm travelling an hour or more away to fish for some of the same species I have right by the house. I try to remind myself of this sometimes and get back to the basics, if you will. When I was still in school I'd walk and bike the lake on weekends and during summer break. Carp were the primary target. I got quite good at spotting them, even when moving quite fast. Smallmouth bass were secondary, and really most of the time I'd only fish for them if I wasn't seeing any carp. Three or four shots at tailing fish were reasonable in a morning, three carp to hand was exceptional. The fish weren't big either. But they were tough enough to be good practice. Not unwilling, but finicky enough that often I'd wonder how I couldn't convert. It was exceptionally good practice with the species. I'm certainly not so cocky as to say I have that all figured out by now, far from it. So why not take that morning walk every now and then?</p><p>Recently I took to the sidewalk again one early morning, looking into the glare of the sun for the boils and swirls that denote waving tails. Feeding carp reveal themselves in many way... these are the sorts of things I learned out there on those morning walks. Observation showed me that looking for a waving tail in the air was good but not good enough. Many of the fish revealed themselves with the faintest surface disturbances and small, sporadic bubble patches. These local waters are the places where I devised methods for targeting carp that I actually couldn't see, but which were bubbling- to this day I've yet to see a more effective set of strategies from any other angler be devised to target bubblers, and I've managed to put multiple clients on carp that neither they nor I can actually see by fishing to the bubble patches. I also learned that on this lake, not only does substrate dictate nitrogen production but some years I'd simply not see any bubblers at all. This wasn't because there weren't carp feeding there but because the bottom wasn't releasing any gas. All of these little details came to me as I walked- rod in one hand and net in the other -along that walkway I'd trod so many times before. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDgyRCdCwSrKJAjcrRxG1I3KJT5FyGTWSx4AVf4ZlO8tFMZFcnjJheowz8UBiMH0vO2eF8vwJB1UVV3D0o1z37krszArOiYc9ORM-HLLCCIsJbssyHG_DXGoWGSQEfTx_3EB_G6uFWroeAMphM4l0bPTd0c1Ljf2rLmkOtha5cmqrVX321gHEz3qAGSho/s5472/DSC04204.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDgyRCdCwSrKJAjcrRxG1I3KJT5FyGTWSx4AVf4ZlO8tFMZFcnjJheowz8UBiMH0vO2eF8vwJB1UVV3D0o1z37krszArOiYc9ORM-HLLCCIsJbssyHG_DXGoWGSQEfTx_3EB_G6uFWroeAMphM4l0bPTd0c1Ljf2rLmkOtha5cmqrVX321gHEz3qAGSho/w640-h426/DSC04204.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>I ended up getting three good quality shots at fish. The first was a bubbler in a little creek off the main lake, a consistently reliable spot that has given up many carp over the years. It was a difficult shot and, semi predictably, I blew it. I then covered quite a lot of ground before seeing another fish. This one was tailing in tight to a rocky bank. I really thought it would be an easy one if I didn't spook it by making my presence known, but it was too smart for that. On three presentations it gently refused a squirmy hybrid variation by dodging carefully around it, swimming a few feet over, then continuing to feed. It was this sort of behavior that endeared carp to me. I'll never really know how to or be able to catch every feeding carp I see, but every year I get a bit better at it. More than a decade after my first attempts I'd certainly hope to be making a little headway anyway. </p><p>The third and final shot was to a bubbler. Bubblers often require a significant number of casts. Since they're generally feeding deeper (otherwise they would just be tailing) bubblers are generally harder to spook. I presented to this one 6 times before it took. I never really saw the take either, the hook set was an educated guess. It often impresses clients when I say "set" and they hook a carp without any visual que. The question often gets asked "how did you see that?" Well, I didn't.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpLT01UjhGSbp8ZPYJH_PQgi17IoegQUN9IwvjKuvgQUVo4M4Zj4vPwF_nsufP097fLptgm6BsYek5Z3JgRbLT01lJNmI4V--Y5rQ8dkvlkxl-WOvr1aH2xT2NYiQ0A-qFgLqXdNbWUTHBzF7ADxPyvqrekKwZOCy_wy3-i0cEh3k3YBMsGipqcpkq48O/s5472/DSC04210.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpLT01UjhGSbp8ZPYJH_PQgi17IoegQUN9IwvjKuvgQUVo4M4Zj4vPwF_nsufP097fLptgm6BsYek5Z3JgRbLT01lJNmI4V--Y5rQ8dkvlkxl-WOvr1aH2xT2NYiQ0A-qFgLqXdNbWUTHBzF7ADxPyvqrekKwZOCy_wy3-i0cEh3k3YBMsGipqcpkq48O/w640-h426/DSC04210.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>Like many of the carp I'd caught from this lake over the years, this one had a bit of a deformity. I don't know exactly what it is that has caused this and why its so prevalent there. Despite the deformity, the fish was taken as a minor victory on my part and released to mud up the bottom of the lake some more. Though I might not walk the lake daily or even weekly anymore I certainly can't ignore the impact it has had on my growth as an angler and guide. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-49050997709847849562023-06-05T18:38:00.001-07:002023-06-05T18:58:40.199-07:00Moments on the Fly: I'm Talkin' Here!<p> Garth and I were exploring a new backwater with carp and bowfin potential when a call I got a call that I had to take. It isn't especially common that I answer the phone while fishing but if I expect an important call I will take it, or if someone that doesn't normally call does I may answer. But I'll sometimes leave my phone down for days on a long trip and certainly on a day trip. While I talked, I kept my eyes on the water. There'd been a few tailing carp working in some weeded areas. Every now and then one would work its way into a clear spot and tail beautifully. Roughly midway through the call, a shot presented itself that I couldn't refuse. A sizable yellow ghost carp made itself a fantastic target. I crept into position, phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, and managed a good cast. The fish moved on the fly and took. I lifted and it was on. Now I had to battle a roughly 13 pound carp on a 5 weight and 6lb tippet in heavy weeds and not drop my phone in the mud. </p><p>It might have been one of my favorite feats of angling prowess... of course I must credit Garth for lending an assist and interpreting wordless directions as well. But I don't think the person on the other end of the line had any idea what was happening on my end at all. I hooked and fought the fish and we landed and photographed it without taking the phone off my ear or interrupting the call. Considering how hard carp are too feed, I'm proud to have managed the task while a significant part of my focus was elsewhere. Though perhaps it isn't the best idea that I take important calls on the water anymore. Not because I can't catch fish, but because when I'm fishing there isn't much that can fully pull my attention way from the water and its surrounding landscape and ecology. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWXMqZ7XgvUH4e5wgQiN5DLQhweZXKuGlRfdcT5fuFnhsH5KbJQ0lA3FbGo1Tj1htASknxnMu7TKKzY_JpKgykXLU7ATMih3v1Q4DS6nFFFZnNbZPLex3ALijqbd_z6MR4H9nylcGCZFmVzyGyEiWhK46tc0LHFbEEJTYUEVOCOAI6kL05CWAFsGRKg/s5472/DSC04764.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWXMqZ7XgvUH4e5wgQiN5DLQhweZXKuGlRfdcT5fuFnhsH5KbJQ0lA3FbGo1Tj1htASknxnMu7TKKzY_JpKgykXLU7ATMih3v1Q4DS6nFFFZnNbZPLex3ALijqbd_z6MR4H9nylcGCZFmVzyGyEiWhK46tc0LHFbEEJTYUEVOCOAI6kL05CWAFsGRKg/w640-h426/DSC04764.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-16943929743666406032023-05-24T15:24:00.000-07:002023-05-24T15:24:02.123-07:00Miles on Foot<p> Covering miles of freestone trout stream on foot isn't an easy physical endeavor. Waders are clunky and heavy, limiting mobility, and though wading shoes or boots with neoprene socks are less restrictive they leave an angler open to cold water, insects, and still usually carry some water weight. Some rivers aren't too hard to navigate, with sand and gravel substrate and trails along their edges. But some are strewn with large boulders, slipper algae, cliffs, waterfalls, and generally lack easy trail access. And whether there is good trail or road access or not, sometimes it doesn't go where I want to go. When I was younger and didn't have a vehicle, my obsession with trout drove me to what many might consider absurd lengths. My mode of getting to the water was a bike, and once I was there I invariably wanted to fish as much water as possible, and to do so I needed to walk. It wasn't unusual that I'd bike to a river anywhere from 6 to 25 miles away, then fish 4 to 8 miles of it on foot. When I could be dropped off by a parent, I would do the same thing further from home. Not all that many years back I was left to my own devices for two days on the Beaverkill and covered 3 miles of water downstream one morning, then turned around and fished back up, passing the campground and going another two miles up river. That was nothing for me at the time. I fished trout streams a lot and that's how I did it. Once I got a vehicle I both shifted away from trout and had less incentive to cover huge lengths of water. I lost touch a little bit- stopped exercising certain muscles -and didn't think much of it. Then I recently went to fish one of my favorite northeast trout rivers and got chewed up and spit own like a piece of gum. </p><p>Large, road-less areas along sizable trout rivers aren't especially common in this part of the world anymore. Drawn toward solitude, wilderness, and exploration, I'm pulled to these places whether they have big fish reputations or not. And this one river, though known and fished through some stretches, has a very large un-developed area. Limited to non-existent cell service, treacherous terrain, and a high likelihood of seeing very few other anglers are almost as appealing as the abundant wild trout. Two years back I fished it from one access going upriver a modest distance to break up a drive home from fishing the periodical cicadas. I was entranced by the river itself as well as the surrounding landscape and vowed to come back. When a day opened up recently, I made the drive out early in the morning. I arrived at a new access right before sunrise, determined to fish down to where I'd ended the previous trip. The result would be roughly 10 miles of fishing and some added out of river walking. </p><p>The day dawn crisp and clear with air temperatures in the low 40's. I packed as much food, water, and safety stuff as I could fit in a sling pack and hoofed down to the river. Tendrils of steam rose from the boulder strewn pocket water, signifying that the water was a bit warmer than the air. The sun wouldn't reach into the gorge for a while, and I'd need to keep moving to stay warm. My plan, fishing wise, was to prospect with streamers until I saw heads. I needed to cover a lot of ground and to get where I wanted to go, so I'd have to fish faster than effective nymphing would allow. </p><p>For a while the quality of the fishing wasn't great. Limited bumps and swipes, some good water not producing any signs of life... I switched flies, retrieves, and approaches a few times but I eventually assessed that the fish weren't all that active yet. Eventually I did pull on a gorgeous and very dark brookie, but it wasn't until the sun got on the water that things got going a little bit better. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ78E2xKDtNyVRip7zbFNMi5iYvhFjYTD9DngZflH5PbM8RNRziphAYYX6pDnXLqiME0rzo3ergcgNcaUCRnm0CS_wrnquSqRx7fFBRKdZf49kgZMQ5nVvuXoLrweT5sq2TSh8SpqeDaZAu9jr2Y7yFWSZoWgUVBKAyd4anc-uHTcJVXkEmH-e6z84g/s4032/20230514_060155.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ78E2xKDtNyVRip7zbFNMi5iYvhFjYTD9DngZflH5PbM8RNRziphAYYX6pDnXLqiME0rzo3ergcgNcaUCRnm0CS_wrnquSqRx7fFBRKdZf49kgZMQ5nVvuXoLrweT5sq2TSh8SpqeDaZAu9jr2Y7yFWSZoWgUVBKAyd4anc-uHTcJVXkEmH-e6z84g/w640-h480/20230514_060155.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-aQPJJ3_8a_FIoOsiJOEPaBbfYMxC94Ui2JpWrm5ePZtQpIAZzvuF-ps0eTJhUnBrTR-BT0JDWHMMmVMHdpwKwXX9TXhLBofwmmrfdXkFHAvd0p_BFmM_YXJeaLNOdKny751Y6t51W7BnPO_SmfUzML4efafNCBy1yzcu3KeQGZiNxTX4RLFcaDqLqA/s4032/20230514_062413.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-aQPJJ3_8a_FIoOsiJOEPaBbfYMxC94Ui2JpWrm5ePZtQpIAZzvuF-ps0eTJhUnBrTR-BT0JDWHMMmVMHdpwKwXX9TXhLBofwmmrfdXkFHAvd0p_BFmM_YXJeaLNOdKny751Y6t51W7BnPO_SmfUzML4efafNCBy1yzcu3KeQGZiNxTX4RLFcaDqLqA/w640-h480/20230514_062413.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When the hits did come it was like a freight train. This fits my previous experience on this river, though I was fishing the Ausable Ugly then. The fish dart out fast, grab, and vacate fast. If they try to leave with the fly still in their mouth they pretty much set the hook on themselves. If not, they leave you questioning what you could have done to hook them. It really is a hit and run. Fight wise, some of the fish were very hot. Others seemed to be a bit less interested in winning the battle. They were all elegantly beautiful wild trout regardless. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CuC3B1scbMzjuiA3k40Pk265k8kjfQLZtQrvqUhCrqfeDXz3JaxdmHUeYtivZpFQk6C7XokmO-Pn9h6u9KOknQpnTee5KyMPOJNKY5WwAXvZKVB7RWN5A43384py-LG0sIUuaXZSnDK_6FiWyGpUPX_kt-TYfTFdMO88GT-cjzTufQ66Fs9aNTjyDg/s4032/20230514_065352.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CuC3B1scbMzjuiA3k40Pk265k8kjfQLZtQrvqUhCrqfeDXz3JaxdmHUeYtivZpFQk6C7XokmO-Pn9h6u9KOknQpnTee5KyMPOJNKY5WwAXvZKVB7RWN5A43384py-LG0sIUuaXZSnDK_6FiWyGpUPX_kt-TYfTFdMO88GT-cjzTufQ66Fs9aNTjyDg/w640-h480/20230514_065352.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOTtav1QoFiQpLhiyBuWuo7pc5786yoJMCKIEUBcixUQkTnK0HZRlL6QyJHUl61NaM2zTHh7aI7t4tGOLobcpEdGeIwyea2wIq_QlSopEm_BjZMDofzfgxO_anZleLT3Xl8ptoVoZgV6ES32sxkr2CjTURihEoegTDYcejUazvJ8SHS6BHaAxGqNp3Q/s4032/20230514_072353.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOTtav1QoFiQpLhiyBuWuo7pc5786yoJMCKIEUBcixUQkTnK0HZRlL6QyJHUl61NaM2zTHh7aI7t4tGOLobcpEdGeIwyea2wIq_QlSopEm_BjZMDofzfgxO_anZleLT3Xl8ptoVoZgV6ES32sxkr2CjTURihEoegTDYcejUazvJ8SHS6BHaAxGqNp3Q/w640-h480/20230514_072353.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjazRXO_vqYOBMazbG4Yby8I-R7CW2umIMaJLhAiqXryY4DHpsEb6qtggsCedpmrc7tGTWjhzI57_RDlbZSV4lb35SJzFd3LMi_UK1RVdBTe5yAxHYvO8vr1OpWpUXDvbVxjTJ9UXQED05q29JJlOd-8SZqGX4gLOd2-Nzko_sTudohzACZRfTq38lCcg/s4032/20230514_075450.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjazRXO_vqYOBMazbG4Yby8I-R7CW2umIMaJLhAiqXryY4DHpsEb6qtggsCedpmrc7tGTWjhzI57_RDlbZSV4lb35SJzFd3LMi_UK1RVdBTe5yAxHYvO8vr1OpWpUXDvbVxjTJ9UXQED05q29JJlOd-8SZqGX4gLOd2-Nzko_sTudohzACZRfTq38lCcg/w640-h480/20230514_075450.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfe5J-edEFqWXyjOQ1sQbNJvn4AomtxTmJ00USUn0CqctuU0KSVW27-bRML_2jaCuazwJU4QrihJb-cdulcLbMLUMKYYivg5OHEJOd6X5rxWRhIV-DKf76KC0JjEttG9FuPJwN6U4FIf2dWfGWS0wPl6qTJx79En1qCz7yVXlyBCAzHHi-MK3XNTs7Q/s4032/20230514_080957.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfe5J-edEFqWXyjOQ1sQbNJvn4AomtxTmJ00USUn0CqctuU0KSVW27-bRML_2jaCuazwJU4QrihJb-cdulcLbMLUMKYYivg5OHEJOd6X5rxWRhIV-DKf76KC0JjEttG9FuPJwN6U4FIf2dWfGWS0wPl6qTJx79En1qCz7yVXlyBCAzHHi-MK3XNTs7Q/w640-h480/20230514_080957.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>After a little while, the last vestiges of angler's foot prints faded as the terrain became more rough. I knew some people had almost certainly been through recently but at least not since the previous rain. Travel, atleast via the side of the river I was on, became complex when I reached a very deep pool flanked by a cliff. Most of the passage wasn't difficult until the little shale shelf I was skirting pinched off. With water over my head behind me, I hugged the ledge and pulled from a very modest understanding of handholds and footholds from rock climbing to negotiate the impass. It's this sort of stuff that makes me feel like I'm really trout fishing. <div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoIsjEHxtYGxnLgy0KMYSlu89gJVoBrvEEt14BAIJOzMj_PnZA9aOWY-LyLgOokoI0c0o56aiczwHvv9uxyGFbT2keIpS9BIn30W7I3tkWJVzzAB6dUQ02Ua84HhkyIHC88S01AUjwe80xAdjxxmmHM5m6U8eVRBh3CY5dcjUTqf61QAcChy5HNP8-w/s4032/20230514_083046.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoIsjEHxtYGxnLgy0KMYSlu89gJVoBrvEEt14BAIJOzMj_PnZA9aOWY-LyLgOokoI0c0o56aiczwHvv9uxyGFbT2keIpS9BIn30W7I3tkWJVzzAB6dUQ02Ua84HhkyIHC88S01AUjwe80xAdjxxmmHM5m6U8eVRBh3CY5dcjUTqf61QAcChy5HNP8-w/s320/20230514_083046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The biodiversity as I pushed ahead became more and more obvious. Lush plants sprouted were springs seeped from the cliff face. American toads called everywhere. They were in the heat of their breeding period and I had to take extra care of the strings of eggs laced through the shallows. Northern watersnakes basked on midstream rocks, seemingly unbothered by my presence. There were larger terrestrial fauna too, though it was a while before I saw any. Their tracks, though, dotted the sand bars and muddy spots. Some of the more significant trails through the woods were game trails rather than human trails. I found racoon, possum, fox, dear, mink, bear, coyote, and bobcat prints along the river. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKTPmHl819YN9DvkabgQ2xO0hgbha-4SmVszkNX6pBqlSBz8AtLuxNLqCB7wRXfbZG8QDdaq32Xtk4BgORQ1_f7yTU2K5AfcIR5AozXj5KvSiUbUO7e-spjYB1dDVomXadrp8BDq-ZTEhoKPXxs2-HroK5mjGrsBPU-r0sUXBnmNS5szkUr6egAOuDA/s4032/20230514_083226.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKTPmHl819YN9DvkabgQ2xO0hgbha-4SmVszkNX6pBqlSBz8AtLuxNLqCB7wRXfbZG8QDdaq32Xtk4BgORQ1_f7yTU2K5AfcIR5AozXj5KvSiUbUO7e-spjYB1dDVomXadrp8BDq-ZTEhoKPXxs2-HroK5mjGrsBPU-r0sUXBnmNS5szkUr6egAOuDA/s320/20230514_083226.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HWNvgH8RYBDcBzVgSQDHHy5YRkiwNPJOFvSmWJ-h3bAt7MMk8L4Xhllm54JJYx97F1FMQZxQPVtFg-Wtnn0wSOaqf0u_hajOHZCE0W5-VuVuDaJvhlQcvDzR5bMPXpD07XF7-GNpGpxY-fgttSApBPae7YOjGFeCtUis8j7_XHJrFejhCwYrXzIZBA/s4032/20230514_083800.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HWNvgH8RYBDcBzVgSQDHHy5YRkiwNPJOFvSmWJ-h3bAt7MMk8L4Xhllm54JJYx97F1FMQZxQPVtFg-Wtnn0wSOaqf0u_hajOHZCE0W5-VuVuDaJvhlQcvDzR5bMPXpD07XF7-GNpGpxY-fgttSApBPae7YOjGFeCtUis8j7_XHJrFejhCwYrXzIZBA/s320/20230514_083800.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgyJ5MR8_NkoKT8ECra_2QdP7Jh9Mqy1LOXuUA5rtbEDETCFJjnHfp3k4oB4tv9DIbZLk4lQmRQRbQfHPmSHVUzOhR2UMw4yTvxBQkRVvxPQB8q66AkYYjtaVwoCbgkusfFJJH8PE65wFKS1O20qBhMI4e66mKlLqe15u4wZ3GwwNX_RFWWatlC0jDg/s4032/20230514_083856.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgyJ5MR8_NkoKT8ECra_2QdP7Jh9Mqy1LOXuUA5rtbEDETCFJjnHfp3k4oB4tv9DIbZLk4lQmRQRbQfHPmSHVUzOhR2UMw4yTvxBQkRVvxPQB8q66AkYYjtaVwoCbgkusfFJJH8PE65wFKS1O20qBhMI4e66mKlLqe15u4wZ3GwwNX_RFWWatlC0jDg/s320/20230514_083856.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUyHzBr80DVB2FGR4eG7vPqcfLwMUTvIHHjGWkM4-SM1upNkjJ7e4K9XA2SnGuerB3ataTsa8dvAjHF4Qq83kEH8XaYmEs9JRK99Dq_g6sWgMzmx6vUGVbzG9OFNHvkMtX4RlIrTXBvnpPv8ubrTWd6SeB0TVaWQz6lr1lH2CGl3E6eFh3s8drIrgECw/s320/20230514_091643.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzCD6mA0i8KsV54Y_NVrkKNJ0e_-KBqP2G7gyI_UVJarUiEfGguEcxQiDXbDRF3c83AoWg8BeRir7J-SSw4BiuRbRje1eedmt6rjZrfXMFlcXhk9cpjxZRt4kzIndSo5EOFaeC8TgfuMfkfM5QBK-S3C2KZ2VtdPwfdhVULB36aiX7-3WM-ty7_d3oA/s4032/20230514_091652.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzCD6mA0i8KsV54Y_NVrkKNJ0e_-KBqP2G7gyI_UVJarUiEfGguEcxQiDXbDRF3c83AoWg8BeRir7J-SSw4BiuRbRje1eedmt6rjZrfXMFlcXhk9cpjxZRt4kzIndSo5EOFaeC8TgfuMfkfM5QBK-S3C2KZ2VtdPwfdhVULB36aiX7-3WM-ty7_d3oA/s320/20230514_091652.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUY476NfLZ3Gp6TQ7PtcpC29V21F62k4H07p9aIzbH4_NasjniLQl9B9yG53LJy5ft9GuvN5t4UIlKMPIr6fumpJLk0GqOtdX1T-Ppy398wDUsmTeRawP0cYs8a_X6npEjrYRLQEGPOHWtcPaVH5aPu4S6ilMNOU2nfTLXdnwStqlYxK3y3pQ9_KYxqA/s320/20230514_105018.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHwzNtZmfDTv3pT5gArwcaql_eWioP9cjRsQ1Fi1nd51-bwvGoeALrptwUKJ7KOYYR4Tq-nIk4GwY0yCAZLrY7qPLxPs6ijGmPFfdDu_9NilAkZYgw82xhw7fe7A2KGZlgrzANUH6qthLKPSVh4bHOM1sY9TgOwOncbm_HK9iP-484oSkylshZB6KUQ/s4032/20230514_105351.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHwzNtZmfDTv3pT5gArwcaql_eWioP9cjRsQ1Fi1nd51-bwvGoeALrptwUKJ7KOYYR4Tq-nIk4GwY0yCAZLrY7qPLxPs6ijGmPFfdDu_9NilAkZYgw82xhw7fe7A2KGZlgrzANUH6qthLKPSVh4bHOM1sY9TgOwOncbm_HK9iP-484oSkylshZB6KUQ/s320/20230514_105351.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbLAyLLmddCzk0LAn6k41rfYFIoIPG0gUS4eTAiGC5o3RQhvuT24t1DZkFJVApoEQlxAvj6SFHxwyqj2VP6w3LQ6p6bk7YsRyTERyJUWjthVTZIeCqu_Wkz1Fr06CALTiPpf1KLnPYPejJ7VlYn3jbGhbDhYn_er3sOEFLLwp4tuESGltqJMg6OWAJg/s4032/20230514_114018.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbLAyLLmddCzk0LAn6k41rfYFIoIPG0gUS4eTAiGC5o3RQhvuT24t1DZkFJVApoEQlxAvj6SFHxwyqj2VP6w3LQ6p6bk7YsRyTERyJUWjthVTZIeCqu_Wkz1Fr06CALTiPpf1KLnPYPejJ7VlYn3jbGhbDhYn_er3sOEFLLwp4tuESGltqJMg6OWAJg/s320/20230514_114018.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually I did pass a couple other anglers that had come in from the other access. They reported spotty action as well. I soldiered on, catching sporadically as I went. Finally I did reach my intended destination. The pool I'd seen a few big fish in a couple years ago gave up the largest I'd catch on this trip. Ironically I didn't realize it, being on the opposite side of the river and approaching from above and with different flow conditions. I ended up passing it by quite a bit until I hit and unmistakable bend. That added distance would compound and already building problem. I knew I was going to be hurting when I got back to the car. Short breaks to rest and stretch became as mandatory as eating and drinking.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUolMiDg9jaYGGjce_bgd8CdqdYlSFLd5Sqy8kyxcNXldJj15rGAj2cBp6bQPwUfkUuJGCx_JJbW94Ci21OgZP179dWjk9Bp7gzd0tYfwQ2x8EtMieypzQzX8ZQk28_xMCoG_-VtkyYlgEwOFqFOIuIVV9HdpTtcIN9QEllc47ZlJODRa5MAOZ__kdoQ/s4032/20230514_122435.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUolMiDg9jaYGGjce_bgd8CdqdYlSFLd5Sqy8kyxcNXldJj15rGAj2cBp6bQPwUfkUuJGCx_JJbW94Ci21OgZP179dWjk9Bp7gzd0tYfwQ2x8EtMieypzQzX8ZQk28_xMCoG_-VtkyYlgEwOFqFOIuIVV9HdpTtcIN9QEllc47ZlJODRa5MAOZ__kdoQ/s320/20230514_122435.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNi_-hKtb4GEKQv16a50ZU5HfE9B3m9Z94-Zfqj_E36rEI9Wza_RgOFEjPdShgxohGV7Ca2pw5vstZFLKDuwRuIGzT6Mlrgff-JT3TtBgPFRqZNLOtGgOLBZQSbSmdGbUk41SPiMMbhBYP-FkJyqmGxxMDMfCNEd3rWR9lJ9627NMnLZQ6U9c8l9pkg/s4032/20230514_133519.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNi_-hKtb4GEKQv16a50ZU5HfE9B3m9Z94-Zfqj_E36rEI9Wza_RgOFEjPdShgxohGV7Ca2pw5vstZFLKDuwRuIGzT6Mlrgff-JT3TtBgPFRqZNLOtGgOLBZQSbSmdGbUk41SPiMMbhBYP-FkJyqmGxxMDMfCNEd3rWR9lJ9627NMnLZQ6U9c8l9pkg/s320/20230514_133519.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It wasn't until I re-fished a stretch almost middways back that I experienced legitimately fast paced fished. There seemed to be trout in every pocket and run, often multiple, and they were very interested in a half pint. I missed a lot and lost quite a few as well, but had a stretch where I was catching very regularly. None of the fish I ran into were all that large. I flashed two that I thought may have been over 20 inches but I couldn't be sure. It was abundantly clear that there were loads of healthy wild trout though, so I was in paradise. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qKANdmCHUbUGoqCXkOFEL4wjRSvC0fN7mWVRyG1YQUro0XieSV6e0si643_zqepxL3CEYeTvTXLKNT5rWi_Sib7Du6IUwDUiF5Mu4gyWtDyfzRxeQq8tbgg66hkMfw8VxPukEQoZkK2a7ryNDn8IQJIlmQe2qlE0VSU3lOHzLOUF9Jsj-nznOqiwyQ/s4032/20230514_151304.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qKANdmCHUbUGoqCXkOFEL4wjRSvC0fN7mWVRyG1YQUro0XieSV6e0si643_zqepxL3CEYeTvTXLKNT5rWi_Sib7Du6IUwDUiF5Mu4gyWtDyfzRxeQq8tbgg66hkMfw8VxPukEQoZkK2a7ryNDn8IQJIlmQe2qlE0VSU3lOHzLOUF9Jsj-nznOqiwyQ/s320/20230514_151304.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The one thing that I'd hoped would materialize was a strong hatch, and it never did. There were a few caddis, a Yellow Sally here and there, one or two March Browns, and a few Light Cahills. It was never enough to get any heads poking though. When I first started fishing the Catskills I wouldn't have cared, I was streamer obsessed. Now that's just amusing to me, I relished the idea of getting a break from the constant motion to rebuild my leader, tie on a dry fly, and target a specific fish. At one point it seemed like the opportunity might arise as a few fish began sporadically taking along the far bank of the same cliff edged pool I'd traversed on the way down, but they never increased the frequency as there was hardly a trickle of mayflies coming off. I tried for a little while but gave up. They weren't especially large fish anyway.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j6QCyfXyGRnOpFruCJ3YzT9iTrRuzAxgjHWPxGXA-bxiDOWew1Cfv3t4L-eftwEkjAM1928S3TJ2zWa50-R7yv14qPMwbCt8j9P_oMkuuAlZDmNip4JeMO9VwZid6LEC0gvp8FwWR5Kj8_YG89tf044-xdJV8RB0xjn4_Wf25_XLNWxuT6RqLFTinw/s4032/20230514_191210.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j6QCyfXyGRnOpFruCJ3YzT9iTrRuzAxgjHWPxGXA-bxiDOWew1Cfv3t4L-eftwEkjAM1928S3TJ2zWa50-R7yv14qPMwbCt8j9P_oMkuuAlZDmNip4JeMO9VwZid6LEC0gvp8FwWR5Kj8_YG89tf044-xdJV8RB0xjn4_Wf25_XLNWxuT6RqLFTinw/s320/20230514_191210.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was after fishing that pool for a while that I chose to peel away from the river and shorten the walk back. The game trail that lead me across the steep hillside over the river had some notably careless tracks on it that I couldn't identify for a while. The wet leaves didn't give a good read but they weren't deerlike at all. A pile of scat soon told the story. A mother bear and cubs. The mothers prints were far from obvious, in fact I only found one indentation that I think was hers. The cubs, young and naive as they are, left obvious and meandering prints. They were fresh. I realized I ought to get off that path. No sooner had that thought entered my mind then I looked down the slope and saw the cubs maybe 130 yards out in a stand of mature hardwoods. Two scrambled down from the tree they were in while the third waited on the ground before they departed hastily. Mama wasn't visible amd I didn't particularly want to see her. I gave them a wide berth.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQLHHFZneXabuHZSTX8kzRoBpPPEg2fD4GDeiphGDyLtHYGXK2P0B28fqmikI5PTn4knzHYoboybuF_T0zhfjZy7hIIpypHjQhXtMJ4uJPbzygjqYcnWye4oDjyVY-32E4n2wjjrBvnpq_V7mb-zy32UlVfvyXQl0ACnmZKD8eiOkC-Sns4LEHLaGng/s4032/20230514_192915.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQLHHFZneXabuHZSTX8kzRoBpPPEg2fD4GDeiphGDyLtHYGXK2P0B28fqmikI5PTn4knzHYoboybuF_T0zhfjZy7hIIpypHjQhXtMJ4uJPbzygjqYcnWye4oDjyVY-32E4n2wjjrBvnpq_V7mb-zy32UlVfvyXQl0ACnmZKD8eiOkC-Sns4LEHLaGng/s320/20230514_192915.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLu0KHAxb-wKxt8MFBWhVPFlAn6RvCZIVV0OG-y5aBRbdU1cfgIYm-0wojqwPM2hk8uh8XG2EfkSFHj-iStKWT1POTWDQRhL5B5E2wzmu-UMuEhMCh-Qh8f47V1q0WBdNCh5VAC1cVAw04eBOp8aGukTuWjLI4K_5StLyn9DRU1z9X67fGRX2ASIMWw/s4032/20230514_193128.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLu0KHAxb-wKxt8MFBWhVPFlAn6RvCZIVV0OG-y5aBRbdU1cfgIYm-0wojqwPM2hk8uh8XG2EfkSFHj-iStKWT1POTWDQRhL5B5E2wzmu-UMuEhMCh-Qh8f47V1q0WBdNCh5VAC1cVAw04eBOp8aGukTuWjLI4K_5StLyn9DRU1z9X67fGRX2ASIMWw/s320/20230514_193128.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>On the way out I passed through a bizarre grassy clearing. It was totally isolated and full of deep rock piles. I took a break to flip some rocks as it looked like excellent milksnake habitat, though none were found. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTdovVjmti6fiG6D74xyO1Q_hWw0eG9ADCVj68Zr3DsHFM8RP9OzS-oig6DsxhHqbnz2RnC-GWju3rSSzg_fiLt9xja_eXEip-T6xGmTvK6R9kTsk8NypL2r-n4VjLHHJYvV9OvRDY-4Yf-ATY8HuNHrYNkFs7LBM7EUmSaKC2qHZsOhZwj4yZigLBAw/s4032/20230514_193835.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTdovVjmti6fiG6D74xyO1Q_hWw0eG9ADCVj68Zr3DsHFM8RP9OzS-oig6DsxhHqbnz2RnC-GWju3rSSzg_fiLt9xja_eXEip-T6xGmTvK6R9kTsk8NypL2r-n4VjLHHJYvV9OvRDY-4Yf-ATY8HuNHrYNkFs7LBM7EUmSaKC2qHZsOhZwj4yZigLBAw/s320/20230514_193835.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Eventually, haggered, hungry, and with the beginnings of what would prove to be some absolutely horrendous leg cramps, I made it out. If there's a lesson here, it's to be as prepared in training and warming up as in provisions. I'd brought as much food and water as I'd needed, had drinks with electrolytes and bananas for potassium... but I pushed way, way harder than I've pushed in years and payed the price. Know your limits. Push them if you'd like, but not so far that it compromises your safety. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version</i></p></div>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1271872397720787748.post-53547727365117595962023-05-02T19:33:00.003-07:002023-05-03T06:04:53.805-07:00Close Encounters<p> Every serious angler has had one or two of those moments- a time span that could be as little as a glimpse or extend to a long duration sighting -in their time on the water. There are some fish out there, mythical ones. Legendary in proportion. If you angle long enough, you'll run into them. Today the Noahs and I had an encounter with such a fish. </p><p>The lake we were fishing is one loaded with chain pickerel. These native <i>Esox</i> are the dominant fish in that body of water, which we three love. There are certainly bass, the beloved non-native, but the habitat here favors the pickerel. The water is more acidic and carries a dark natural stain. Its classic pickerel water. Most are small though, maybe 14 inches. 20 inchers aren't especially uncommon though, so we've put some time in after larger pickerel on this lake. The goal today wasn't specific though. There are plenty of crappie, bluegill and yellow perch to be had as well, and that was loosely my focus. Noah and Garth switched back and forth between panfish and pickerel presentations. The weather played just as fast and loose. Clouds came and went, as did wind. One moment it felt like it was in the 40's, the next the sun beating on my back made me want to shed a layer. A passing shower's cold wind hit us for a few minutes as the clouds denoting the outflow boundary darkened the sky over our heads, making us fight to hold our drift with the trolling motor. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYh3dMJuBTkpoHv2w_19-5L4Fv7pmNULpgkbgDRITDHqlQZHP617FCL8SZoXLzyob3RrOTZ0fG41TApzoRKtzhZY1azyyyMQPMwBJmqVc4kBkfeZHxvFusBy9e6KS1021v5XXeva2UrEJWLmYWt5gX9xjal_ogOsONg5GmgagsdRijwsd--JwzOakqyA/s4032/20230502_161518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYh3dMJuBTkpoHv2w_19-5L4Fv7pmNULpgkbgDRITDHqlQZHP617FCL8SZoXLzyob3RrOTZ0fG41TApzoRKtzhZY1azyyyMQPMwBJmqVc4kBkfeZHxvFusBy9e6KS1021v5XXeva2UrEJWLmYWt5gX9xjal_ogOsONg5GmgagsdRijwsd--JwzOakqyA/w640-h480/20230502_161518.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>It was shortly after that shower passed off to our north that the encounter happened. We'd been working our way up a dock line. The Noahs were casting shore-ward while I fish behind our drift, taking advantage of our slow speed to essentially troll for perch. I'd switched, though, when it happened. Noah had hooked a very small pickerel, maybe 10 inches if I saw things correctly. When he got it boat side what could only have been one of the largest pickerel in the world tried to eat the small one. It didn't even register as a pickerel to me. What I saw was it's diameter, which could best be described as leg-like. This was a pickerel that was honestly about as big around as my lanky thigh.The other two had a better look, and neither would argue that it was less than 30 inches. In fact we think it was quite a bit bigger. How believable is that? Not. I wouldn't believe you if you were telling me. Should you believe me? Shit, I don't know why you would. But we all know what we saw. It was a truly monumental chain pickerel. Record status. A fish of mythical status. A bit later Noah said "I feel strange now" and "I'll be thinking about that fish for a decade"... and I get it. I saw that fish, I know what that was. I've had a few similar encounters as well, mostly while fishing alone with nobody to confirm the validity of the story.</p><p>I compared it to seeing a gray alien out your window. Fish like this aren't real, you don't <i>really</i> see them. And yet for a moment you may find yourself in the very position we were in today. Try to absorb it. It's one of the most thrilling things in fishing. </p><p>We never saw that fish again. Garth got a pretty good one of about 24 inches later, Noah and I both got plenty to 20 inches. They felt extraordinarily insignificant. </p><p><i>Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.</i></p>RM Lytlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17177569674375245099noreply@blogger.com0