Convergence '18: I Got Really Lucky

Typically, I write and edit a post the day I publish it. I can't do that this time, because I have others to post before this one so as not to disrupt the order of things in this little series. It must be chronological, that's how I'm experiencing it all. But tonight (5/4/18) I have to write this while everything is fresh. Memory always degrades over time, little by little, and the day I just had was far too exceptional for me to risk letting it get sullied by whatever ends up happening tomorrow.

I fish because it is just about the best way I've found to take part in some of the most spectacular events that occur in and on the water.
 I can sit and watch fish, birds, insects... hell, even just running water, for hours. But just being there doesn't fully complete the equation for me. What excites me most is an experience on the water that gets to at least 4 of my senses. The herring run does it. These fish are similar to menhaden in oiliness, and when they are spawning vigorously or being blitzed on, you can smell it. The sight and sound of thousands of baitfish that large; along with spotfin shiners and glass eels; migrating, spawning and being eaten by stripers, smallmouth, large brown trout in what equates to a freestone trout stream is unreal. I've always had an affinity for things of a tactile nature though. And as much as smelling, seeing, and hearing the goings on gets me excited, I have to hold things at arms length. The pull of a big striper taking a fly and turning away, the line slipping through my fingers, and vibration of the spinning reel, the strength and weight of the fish as I lift it out of it's world into mine just for a moment: that's when I know I am taking part in the events. If I'm lucky the fish will come touch me without me even needing to catch them. I've had herring spawn right between my legs, actually leaving milt on my socks and bumping into me recklessly. I've had a striper blindly follow prey right to me and slap my shin with its tail as it passed.
If everything comes together the herring run is a symphony of chaos.

 I'm an odd person, if that isn't clear to you from reading this blog it would become so upon meeting me in person. I get fully engrossed in the experience. Excited to the point of hysteria. When something really awesome is happening around me it's so overwhelming that I'll often babble and laugh like a madmad. "Look at this, look at this! Oh my God, look at that! Hahaha, holy s***! WOW!" It's so all consuming that I lack any understanding of a person who wouldn't want to be in that moment, seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling exactly what it is I'm feeling. If you'd rather just stay home and read about it, or not know about it at all, I really don't understand that. It makes no sense to me. Being there does. It's just... right. And tonight I stood knee deep in 62 degree walking pace water, with blueback herring swirling so close and so recklessly I could grab them, a striped bass charging downstream on the end of my line, and a bald eagle diving for dinner just 50 feet away and it was right. Life had all converged on this little spot tonight and it was right. This was where I was meant to be, and I laughed. I'd waited eleven long months for this, had started to feel like it wouldn't ever happen and finally it was. Pure elation.

Waiting for the tide to turn I got a pretty good idea that this was going to be an exceptional evening as I watched stripers ranging from 16 inches to 25 pounds cruising through very shallow water, perch and herring doing everything in their power to stay out of their path. Bluebacks were already exhibiting spawning behavior, with seven, eight, maybe more males ganging up on the fat egg laden females. It was about to go down.

When the tide finally did turn I got myself into position at a choke point. It wasn't my preferred spot, but I had to wait for the water to drop more to get to those. I fished a clouser, diverging from my typicla large herring imitations, in part because I had to roll cast and that doesn't really work with an 8 inch fly, and partly because I knew that there were mostly of schooling fish around in 14-22 inch range, and it would be easier to hook these on a #2 clouser. It did not take long before a striper took and took hard. When it came up it had a pair of fish bigger than it following, and that became a regular occurrence. And despite some of the fish that followed mine up being from 30 to 36 inches, I couldn't catch one larger than 26.

I've caught some fair sized stripers during the run. I've also lost some very big fish. But I never caught more than four in a night. Tonight I caught 20. It wasn't constant action, it came in spurts. But catching and seeing so many stripers in that water was stunning.

The defining moment of the night came when I finally did get to my favorite spot and change to larger flies. The herring were going ballistic. Two osprey and one bald eagle were posted up in different trees, periodically diving, leaving, then returning again. One especially large bass had stationed itself in a spot above a large boulder pile and every time a school of herring drifted over it there was a large explosion. I tried and failed to catch that fish, which I estimated around 40 inches. As the sky darkened more and more herring were converging on this spot and their spawning and rolling sounds became constant. Every now and then 30 or more would group right around where I was standing, and I got front row seat of their manic mating ritual. It's frantic, violent, jarring... fish have no concept of romance at all, they literally kill themselves and each other in the act. They have to make more of themselves, there's nothing else to it.

At this point so much was happening around me I didn't know where to look. I missed a bunch of fish, but I didn't really mind because I saw them and they weren't big enough to get worked up about. I was living fully in that moment, experiencing something truly awesome in every aspect. I dream about these nights. Maybe this one was a dream. I'm still not sure.

Get Ready.

This.                                                                      Is.                                                                            It.