Impromptu Redhorse Hunt

 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. 

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. 

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. 

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!

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. 

Lifelist fish #190: Shorthead redhorse, Moxostoma macrolepidotum. Rank: Species

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. 

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. 

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.

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Convergence '20: Death Throws

The gently undulating body of a dying sea lamprey brushed against my leg, as blind to the fact that I was a living organism as it was to the rest of its surroundings. Sea lamprey, like Pacific salmon, die after they spawn. They don't eat for months at a time during their trip into the freshwater streams of the northeast in which they build their nests and deposit and fertilize their eggs. By the time they're finished spawning, they are just about spent. Many rot alive, going completely blind and loosing more and more strength until they succumb, settle to the bottom, and return their nutrients to the river.

People hate lampreys. They don't look pleasant, their rings of teeth and suction cup like mouth strike fear in many. That their bodies are serpentine does not help; the prejudice against snakes and snake-like animals persists to this day. Fisherman accuse them of killing their favorite game species, swimmers fear that they'll bite them and suck their blood like giant leeches, but in reality, in the case of sea lamprey in their native range, these fears are based entirely in falsehoods. The reality is that sea lamprey are on of the most valuable and important species in our waters. Cut off the run of sea lamprey into freshwater rivers, and you cut off the nutrient delivery train. The lipid rich bodies of lampreys, alive or dead, feed, well, just about everything in the ecosystem. Pacific salmon follow an extremely similar life history and are also a huge sea-to-river nutrient carrying species. Salmon, though, are blessed with objectively beautiful physical characteristic. Salmon are highly regarded around the world, almost everyone that knows anything about them wants there to be more salmon and realizes how important they are. Lamprey, on the other hand....
I let this mottled, serpentine, rotting, animal brush by my bear leg and thought to myself how beautiful it was. This individual, in its final death throws, wasn't long from falling limp into the rocks to be ravaged by caddis and stonefly larvae, crayfish, minnow, and juvenile eels. It had likely successfully passed on it's genetic material to a new generation, which would live as tiny larvae in the bed of the river, grow large enough to head out to sea, grow large by feeding on the blood of large deep water fish species that they'd be too small to kill, before eventually carrying the nutrients they attained at sea back into this very stream, to start the cycle again.
I don't think I've ever heard or seen anyone else call a sea lamprey beautiful. Not once. But they are and they deserve to be recognized as such. I will shout it from the hilltops until the day I'm dead. These fish matter. We need them.

This is a beautiful animal. 

As I watched this amazing fish init's final death throws, I recognized that it symbolized the death throws of the herring and striper season in these waters as well. As the lamprey are about done spawning and the last few stragglers are in the river, the herring have all but disappeared and what bass are left have turned focus to other foods. The fishing might still be good, and can definitely be quite interesting. But the run is about to end. Any evening the fish could disappear. I wasn't even here for striped bass this night, but there they were, up shallow, feeding on who knows what. Darters, juvenile eels., golden stonefly nymphs, helgramites... the answer isn't clear as I couldn't and wouldn't stomach pump these fish to see. But they liked something buggy over something fishy.

This has been the story year after year. The herring disappear as the water warms and gets low. There's one last blast, a bug bite, small stripers, five weight fish in five weight water feeding on small food items. Then suddenly there's a full stop, the bass thin out and become unforgettable, and other species become the new focus in these waters. But those death throw days can be something special. This one was. The fish weren't big at all but on the five and 6 pound tippet, it hardly mattered. The larger ones ran hard and fast, like flats fish in equally clean cold water do. I caught many.

 Perhaps more exciting though was the number of white perch in the mix. Silly though this may seem, tidal water white perch are a nemesis of mine. Noah and I have put hours into the winter fishery unsuccessfully. But here they were, very suddenly, and it seemed like I might get a nice one any moment in the mix with the bass and the more typical sized perch. It happened at dusk. I had switched to a small gurgler by then which was drawing strikes but not getting many hookups. I was mostly okay with that, I'd given enough small stripers mouth piercings. But then it got blasted, I strip set, and the fish fought very much unlike the others had. It was a white perch of the caliber I'd been seeking for years. This was the fish of the night.

Though the herring run had ended and the very next night there wasn't a bass to be found in the same spots, this ended up being one of the most memorable nights of the whole run. It was a fitting end as it was a strong reminder of why it's worth going right up until the end and then some. I hate to miss something amazing. Even in the dying gasps of the herring run some remarkable events transpire.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

Species Profile: Sea Lamprey

As most of you hopefully already know, I am a life-list angler. I target, document, and count the number of species, hybrids, and subspecies I catch, specifically on fly tackle. Because of that I spend a lot of time learning about and fishing for many different species of fish. This means I'm more adept at identifying and fishing for an extremely broad range of species than the average angler. This series will attempt to outline species identification, some life history, and methods for targeting with fly tackle. Maybe I'll get to every fish on my life list, but considering it is ever growing... it would take a while. Mostly, I hope this will get a few of you interested in going out and learning about or catching something new. 

Yup. You read that correctly. Sea lamprey. Quite possibly the most maligned and persecuted fish in America in this day and age. After years of seeing article headlines like "The Most Hideous Fish in the World" and "Most Gruesome Animal in History", I felt obligated to spread the word that these fish are important. They are not a pretty fish, and they don't make good sport, but they do not deserve the hate they receive. So, for better or worse, I'm going to profile one of the most fascinating species on the planet: Petromyzon marinus.



Lamprey are truly ancient, oft considered the most basal of existing vertebrates. All of the almost 40-some lamprey species are eel-like in shape, jaw-less, and have circular suction cup-like mouths. Sea lamprey are yellow-brown, often mottled, and can grow to nearly 50 inches. Of the many species two are native to the CT, sea lamprey and American brook lamprey. The brook lamprey, Lethenteron appendix, is listed as endangered in this state. Sea Lamprey are not but declined dramatically in numbers for a variety of reasons. They have suffered from most of the same things that rendered the Connecticut River's wild salmon population extinct. But they have a life history that has allowed them to return more easily, and a native lamprey run exists now in the river many times greater than it was before. Though we don't know much about what sea lamprey do out in the Atlantic, it is safe to assume they follow a very similar lifestyle to other parasites like leeches and ticks, attaching to and feeding on big bottom dwelling fish and not killing them. Unlike salmon, lamprey don't home. At present we are almost certain that adults are attracted to spawning water by pheromones being released by ammocoetes (larval sea lamprey). They may swim the whole way to the spawning grounds, but evidence suggests at least some also attach to large migratory species like striped bass and let them carry them closer. This type of hitchhiking generally doesn't put the lamprey's carrier at much risk of mortality at all. Once in the river, female lamprey carefully construct nests by moving rocks and gravel around with there mouths. Males grapple for position to fertilize the eggs. The spawn typically occurs in May and June. Like Pacific salmon, lamprey all die after spawning, providing the river and it's surrounding with rich nutrients. After ammocoetes emerge they do much the same thing a muscle does. So, when you wade through an East Coast stream and remark at how clean the water is, you probably have the humble sea lamprey to thank (among other things, of course). There is something special in regards to CT and lamprey. We have some very forward thinking fisheries biologists and are currently one of the only states on the coast doing lamprey run restoration work. We have one man in particular to thank for this: Steve Gephard. Gephard and a few others saw what most other still don't in these wonderfully weird fish: they aren't some demonic alien come to destroy our pretty trout and stripers, they are an invaluable environmental asset that we need to protect. Every year CT DEEP counts lamprey in fish lifts and does nest surveys. To restore runs, ammocoetes and adult males have been planted to attract the migrating breeders. And our rivers are all the better because of this. And because of the work CT has done, rivers in other states are getting better lamprey runs too. But because we are really the only ones working on this, there's only so far it will go. Other states need to follow suit.



One of the reasons Americans still despise the lamprey is the destruction of great lakes fisheries by these parasitic fish. Lamprey are not native to the great lakes, and have been relegated to a landlocked population there. Unlike the ocean there are no huge bottom fish for Lamprey to feed on in the lakes, so the feed on walleye, lake trout, brown trout, and salmon. They kill them. It is gruesome, and a massive ecological disaster. Every last Great Lakes Lamprey should be killed, and many states are undertaking that impossibly difficult task. Alas, this destruction and the mere appearance of these ancient animals left such a bad taste in millions of people's mouths, and now the policy with lamprey everywhere seems to be kill first, ask questions never.

And that is a damned shame. 

In late spring of 2015, I sat at the tailout of a pool on the Salmon River and watched a female sea lamprey build her nest. Her body undulated in the current, much the same color as the rocks and moving like a long strand of algae growth. She moved rocks one at a time, carefully forming a bowl shape in which to deposit her many eggs. I wasn't looking at a hideous, gruesome, evil creature, I was looking at another of nature's beautiful fish doing what it evolved to do where it evolved to do it. Right then and there I new I could never again leave a negative remark about native lamprey go without retort. I care about these fish as much as any wild, native species and I will fight to the death to keep them around.

For the few true fish nuts out there that want to see lamprey, visit a freestone river in early June and look in the same water that trout would spawn in, gravelly tailouts. My favorite place to observe lamprey is the Upper Delaware and Beaverkill rivers. On sunny days one may see dozens carefully working their nests their in crystal clear riffles.

Catching a lamprey on the fly is an odd proposition but I have done it. Like a shad or salmon they hit out of aggression to protect their nests. If you are going to attempt to catch a lamprey on the fly use barbless streamers. The females are the ones most likely to grab and a broken or cut off fly in their mouth will make their nest building job much more difficult. Getting one to grab is very easy. You can handle the fish it you want to, but I recommend a "medina release": poke the fly out with the rod tip after photographing the fish. Of course, I don't expect many to follow up on any of this advice. Only crazy life-listers like myself. But that's fine.

I hope this post opens a few minds. These fish really are remarkable. Respect the lamprey.