Down & Dirty Browns Up North

It's rare that I head north during the winter. I typically keep my trout fishing south of the CT/MA line from December through March, but when the opportunity arose to go explore a river to the north that I've wanted to for a while, I was perfectly happy to cross that line knowing that I could well come in contact with a wild brown of two feet or bigger. Besides, I was getting sick enough of the incessant repetitiveness of going to a river, fishing nymphs, fishing streamers, and catching very little other than trout, doing so somewhere I'd been interested in for a while would be at least better than fishing the same old places I had been all winter. So, towards the snow and older temperatures I ventured.

I assumed I'd be on my own for this outing. I also assumed at first that it would be very short, but I managed to get more than six hours in, and my good friend Brandon, who knew the river well, was able to make it out and show me around the place.
My first impression of the river, it was about what I'd expected. A developed, industrialized, heavily human-impacted river, much like some of my favorite brown trout streams. That may seem weird but its true, I like mid-sized to large streams that have healthy but not especially numerous wild trout and a few really big fish. In southern New England, very few streams match description aren't urban, gritty, gungy places. These streams aren't conducive to huge numbers days, don't get the best hatches you'll ever see, and often don't hold every fly angler's attention very long. I felt pretty comfortable here though. Murky water and the promise of meat-eating browns kept my head in the game.

My first fish. my first brown trout in the particular state we were fishing, actually, took a jig sculpin pattern. It positively slammed it, being one of a pair of small browns both after the fly simultaneously.

I then went 0/3 in that same pool with a Bunny Bullet Sculpin under an indicator. One of those three takers was indeed an absolute slaunch, a HUGE wild brown. It was on and off in short order but I saw enough of it to know it was the largest wild trout I'd stuck in a long time. Would that I could have stuck it better, though.

And then things got slow. For hours, actually, Brandon and I both went fishless, despite changing locations, flies, and general methods. Fisherman like to find things to blame on their lack of ability to catch fish; what I came up with for this afternoon was a water colder than air situation. The river got progressively murkier throughout the afternoon, so it was clear snow was melting into the river and that typically prevents the water temperature from rising even though the air temperature does. Whatever the case may be, we weren't catching fish. Until late, that is, when my indicator plunged for the first time in a long time in a manor that wasn't snag-like, and I set into another small brown that had eaten a BHHESH. She wasn't much, and didn't signify a pattern as neither Brandon nor I had another take while nymphing, but she kept the lights on.

We fished into darkness, hoping for a miracle. That miracle came in the form of a violent strike on my olive Heifer Groomer, an eat that took me completely by surprise in the waning light and old water. The fight was short but sweet, the fish going airborne a couple of times. It wasn't huge, but it was an absolutely gorgeous specimen of a wild Salmo trutta. It was worth the ride up and guaranteed my return.

Actually, scratch that: it was the monster I lost that guaranteed my return. It may be May or June by the time I do get back there though. In the meantime, I've lots to do. and I'm very pleased to report that a lot of it doesn't have to do with trout.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

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