On Point

May 12th. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the wind was cranking. From virtually any perspective, these conditions were less than ideal. But Noah and I aren't ones to shy away from a challenge and the fishing had been exceptional, so we dropped the boat in the lake and prepared to be brutalized by wind in the hopes that we might find some smallmouth.

We hit the first, most consistently productive spot. Nothing. No surprise there. I then suggested we try a point to the south. The wind was absolutely rushing around this rocky point, creating current and an eddy in the lee. I got grabbed in a few casts, then again, missing both. The second felt huge. Then I heard Noah say "snagglepus" and turned to see him bent double, very clearly hung up. A short time passed, then "Snagglepus" started jumping.
A frantic battle ensued, but we inevitably put a 19" (measured, no guesswork) fat smallmouth in the net. Snagglepus was a hog.

A short time later I caught a much less impressive fish and then a much much less impressive fish. Fish were very clearly stacked on this wind blown point, a classic setup in the early season.

After seemingly exhausting the windward side of the point we moved to the lee. We worked our way closer and closer to the current seem running off the tip of the point, and as I'd expected that's where the fish were holding. Noah took center stage with a couple more good quality smallmouth while I piddled around with the dinky males.

Our success was so key to this pone piece of structure, quite frankly the only point on the lake that was in play on this particular weather pattern. Lakes and ponds are often refereed to as "stillwaters" by fly fisherman, but that is a misnomer. Wind and temperature differences both cause current in lakes and ponds, and on bigger water bodies the current created by either factor are very significant. Finding where the current in a lake moves and concentrates food puts an angler in much better position to catch higher caliber fish, or simply to avoid skunking on an otherwise potentially fruitless day. Finding the sweet-spot on a wind blown point is as simple a fishing it thoroughly from on side to the other. Often, especially in the early season, there isn't just one bass, but a whole pile of them.

On another note of tactics, I primarily fished flies tied on 8th and 16th oz. jigs for smallmouth this spring. I didn't have many in my arsenal though, and on this day the color patterns I did have were significantly out fish by Noah's black bucktail jig. In this case there could have been no difference in productivity between fly rod and spin, and in certain circumstances, fishing a hair or feather jig on a fly rod with floating line, rather than a spinning rod with fine diameter braid or flouro, keeps the jig in the strike zone without hanging up as often.
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. 

Convergence '20: Catalyst

Herring are the catalyst. My schedule from April through to mid June revolves around them. Without them, there's little to draw me and many other predators to the tidal rivers that are my office in the spring. Herring are the largest baitfish that runs a lot of these rivers in numbers. In some places shad take that designation, but herring are king where I fish. Their caloric content is the biggest draw. Imagine a river full of swimming cheeseburgers, a virtual buffet. It doesn't hurt that it's full of french fries too: spotfin shiners, glass or yellow eels, perch... the list goes on.

Unfortunately in the current fishery having a lot of herring in the river doesn't mean there's good fishing. I said in the last Convergence post that this was my worst herring run year yet, and that wasn't because there weren't herring. Despite my horrible mental state and erratic motivation causing my hours to plummet, I still managed to be on the water for some of the most remarkable pushes of blueback herring I've ever seen.

May 4th brought with it possibly the biggest push of herring I'd ever seen, and, oddly enough, I didn't fish in the dark at all. The run was extremely heavy right in the middle of the day, and though the fishing was unexceptional the sheer volume of bluebacks filled a need to see something spectacular and I left before the good fishing would even start. 

Under the water were the shimmering apparitions of thousands of 6-11 inch fish, almost invisible in the the deeper water but boisterously obtrusive in the shallows, where the males all jockeyed for position behind the fat, egg laden females. They occupied most of the river, a school of fish so impressive even someone with little interest in ichthyology or fishing would be impressed. As is so often the case I struggled to capture what I was really seeing in the water with my camera.

Were the bass there? Yes. Yes they were. Not a ton, not huge, and because it was in the middle of the day they were finicky. But a flatwing given slight manipulations every now and then got slammed a few times. I only photographed the smallest fish of four... because size doesn't always matter. 

So... the catalyst, the herring, were out in force this year. That just leaves two ingredients needed for a good successful spring mission: hard hours and numbers of larger striped bass. Unfortunately neither I nor the bass would hold up our ends of the deal.

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. 

Black Bass After Hours

Some might think my obsession for night fishing originated in trout. I do, indeed, put in a lot of hours each year fishing for salmonids between sunset and sunrise, and have been for about six years. But they're not the fish that sparked my interest in fishing after dark. That honor, actually, belongs to the black basses. Long before I learned to cast a fly rod I wanted to know the behaviors and patterns of big bass at night. Though I was too young to be granted permission to night fish like I do now, I got out when I could, and I caught some big bass doing so. I hate to say it but I'm out of practice these days, I can't even remember the last time I caught a truly impressive largemouth bass at night, but I do venture out from time to time seeking hawgs after dark, albeit with different gear.

Early May this year was exceptionally chilly, it even snowed. Such weather patterns wouldn't seem conducive to nocturnal bass bites, but I hit it right on one particular night.
Big flies come to mind far too often when night fishing is brought up, regardless of species. Though low light conditions routinely make predator fish drop their guard and feed on larger prey, that's doesn't mean small to medium sized presentations won't fish better. Never underestimate a well tied and well presented Woolly Bugger for bass at night.

Now, I should admit that the four cookie cutter smallmouth and single healthy above average largemouth I got on this cold May eve were not expected, I wasn't there specifically for bass. Catching a couple wouldn't have been a surprise at all. But this pile of reasonably good quality fish was noteworthy. Though I wasn't able to get out enough to determine if it were a repeatable pattern, it's in the logbook now and come the same time next year further exploration of a potential predictable yearly bite window is warranted. That said, it may have been a one off. I don't really know.

I've fished for black bass a lot more this year than I typically do and I've had a few pretty good fish, but I'm just not satisfied. With summer very much here now, my efforts will need to be directed at low light periods, and that includes night fishing. Ideally, this is the year I regain my big bass mojo. Let's see what I can learn and re-learn along the way.
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. 

Convergence '20: It Begins Thusly

Later than I'd have liked, the first herring run bass of the year hit my hollow fly and peeled drag after I gave him a couple quick punches. It wasn't a big fish at all but very welcomed, these stripers are tied so tightly to my soul that to feel that grab and set the hook is no longer something I want but something I need. I'd already been out a half dozen times this year and though there'd been herring, at times lots, It'd felt lie there just weren't many bass around. This night, May 2nd, there still weren't many, but a modest amount of herring and bass were present. When I lipped the fish and and got another little blast of endorphins, all was right. He was a pretty little bass in the mid 20 inch range, the most abundant size of fish in the current fishery. In all likelihood this bass had wintered over in CT somewhere, and the first pushes of herring had drawn him from his winter holding place into this small tidal river. I gave him a kiss and whispered sweet nothings to him, aware that, to the fish, I was an annoyance at least and a threat of death at most, but I can't help but talk sweetly to a beautiful thing I love.

Not long later, I was greeted by another tug and gave it the tough love again. Another similarly sized bass made its way to hand, despite its best efforts to avoid me.

Another endorphin boost, another kiss on the head, another fish released... the herring run was beginning to feel official. I can't remember if I caught another fish that night. I could go back and look at my logs if I really felt like it, but I don't and I'm not going to. Though the season of mass convergence had started more than a month prior, I was just now finally joining the party. This year would be a strange one in every capacity. My drive was not what it had been other years and I would be so depressed at times it kept me from taking full advantage. I was in perhaps the worst mental health of my life, and though I at times tried not to let them, these fish, herring and stripers, that have become so important to me, managed to keep me from teetering over the edge. It would be, not to spoil it, the worst herring run year yet for me. But perhaps the most important. This year the convergence of baitfish, predator fish, and birds of prey would remind me what I need most out of life, and that if I don't let these fish and the places they live consume me wholly I'm more lost then ever.
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. 

A Spontaneous Romp in North Carolina

Life sometimes takes funny turns, and such was the was the case when I ended up in North Carolina in the middle of a pandemic. I wasn't there to fish but you can bet I was going to. I'd never fished North Carolina before, and there was ample opportunity for new species. Of course when you aren't focused on fishing new species become hard to get.

The first water I fished in North Carolina was a small, murky creek full of sunfish. My firs ever fish in North Carolina was a green sunfish. This was extraordinarily unsurprising. I'd catch quite a few of that species, and none particularly big or pretty, unfortunately.

Fliers, however, made a very pleasant appearance... I'd not have caught these guys had I stayed at home! After my first taste (not literally) of the species in Virginia, I'd wanted to catch some more. That this one took the Okefenokee Swamp Sally, very much a fly for them, was fitting. 

Another place I fished featured a winding creek with log jams and deep runs, brushed in heavily.

More interesting than the creek itself were the small oxbow ponds in its flood plain. These small, shallow cut-off ponds were actually full of fish, much to my pleasure. This ended up being the a very memorable fishing experience. Walking through thick woods to reach these oxbow ponds full of sunfish and redfin pickerel was awesome. It didn't feel like there should be fish in these places, and yet there were.

The best fish I caught out of any of those oxbows was, in my opinion, the stunning little warmouth pictured below. The colors on it were stunning.

The creek itself produced redbreast sunfish, and I had takes and misses by some small shiners. What those shiners were I do not know, though they were very likely a species I'd never caught before.

I ended up fishing the same waters after dark one night in an attempt to spotlight a new species. I caught no fish at all, though I did see a lot of wildlife. Freshwater shrimp were notable, a species I'd never seen before.

The last fishing I did in North Carolina, on this trip I should say as I will definitely fish there again, was in a huge reservoir. Something I'd always wanted to see was going on there... the shad spawn. Threadfin shad are very common in the southeast and are an important baitfish. With such spawning action happening I hoped I'd find large bass feeding on them.

Instead what I found was the most carp I'd ever seen feeding, rooting around for the shad eggs in the flooded timber. It would have been remarkably easy fishing... were these not carp, and in flooded timber. I hooked and lost fish after fish, all small but big enough to wrap me around one of the many, many branches... I wasn't losing flies much, but time after time after time the hook pulled. I hooked and lost more carp than I can typically expect to in a year. Eventually I got one ugly little fella to hand, and I decided not to photograph it. But I mostly regret not spending more time photographing all the hundreds of tailing fish. I let a fantastic opportunity slide in that regard.

North Carolina was weird in every capacity... how I ended up there, my time there, and what transpired afterward. But if nothing else I learned a few things. Take chances but don't be stupid. I'll be back, almost certainly for the express purpose of fishing next time.
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. 

Hopping Ponds and Loosing Giants

Early spring is an exciting time in the Northeast for fisherman who enjoy variety. Winter holds very little of that... if you want something different from December through mid March in the northeast you are probably going to have to drive a while for it. But as waters warm in April everything starts to eat and any given day there are too many choices... one can't be 10 places at once. But Noah and I sometimes try. Pond hopping is one of those joys of the early season that just doesn't get old. On April 15th (yes, I am just about exactly two months behind), the weather was perfect for hopping spot to spot and we went out seeking panfish to kill and bass and pickerel to release. Our target area was a vicinity I'd spent quite a bit of time in a few years back but hadn't fished that much since. A couple of the ponds aren't that out of the ordinary that I've been missing much but a few are very special.
The first has a miraculous tendency to produce bluegills on dry flies any day it isn't frozen over. I even got a couple on top one day when there was still some ice on the shaded southeast corner.

bluegill x pumpkinseed hybrid

It wasn't in finest form this day but it knocked the skunk of quickly and thoroughly. A morale boost, if you will, though we didn't really need one. The next pond is the one that interests me most as I'd seen and hooked  number of truly large bass in it. Pickerel had also always been abundant there, though of diminutive size. And unlike the first pond it wasn't restricted to catch and release so we'd be assured to leave with some meat.

As we walked the trail around the pond to one of the open areas, I hear Noah exclaim "snake!" from behind me. I dropped my rod and ran back. It was a common species, the most common species frankly, but it was a lovely Eastern garter and posed wonderfully for me, allowing me to get one of my favorite photos I've ever taken of the species.

Garter photographed and sent on his way, we began plying the waters. Bluegills and small pickerel were, predictably, the first fish we caught. They're the predominant species in this pond, closely followed by the ubiquitous and popular Micropterus salmoides. 

It wasn't long before the old green meanie decided to make an appearance. This was not the big one that I was casting at at the time though, she was at least three pounds. But I'd have to be satisfied with the little one though.

Noah, down the bank a ways, managed a near trophy caliber fish. I had never caught or seen a crappie in this pond and here was this beautiful foot long specimen with wonderful iridescent colors.

We decided to eat that fish.

We decided to head back to the van, fill a cooler with water, and then head out on kayaks to try to fill that cooler a little more thoroughly. One crappie does not a meal make. 

It ended up being a small pickerel slam fest, though I was catching bluegills consistently enough to start filling that cooler. I'd started the day with a white woolly bugger, and wasn't feeling any need to change that fly. It was catching fish. 

With the sheer number of pickerel I was catching, I started to wonder if my 6lb tippet would become a potential liability. I didn't expect to lose any large pickerel because of it because I didn't expect to find any large pickerel in this pond, but I didn't want to loose a fly to one of these little hammer handle sized fish.

After I got the release photo above and put my camera away, I picked up my rod to far more weight than should have been there. Thinking I may have forgotten to unhook that fish I'd just released I lifted the rod and looked down into the clear water... and saw a giant. Things suddenly got frantic. My white woolly bugger, dangling in the water while the kayak was drifting and I was busy dealing with a small pickerel, had been eaten by a 25-26 inch monster chain pickerel, a fish the likes of which Id not hooked in years, and I was now virtually guaranteed disappointment. There was no way that 6lb tippet would hold. The fish was fighting hard but staying close enough that I could see it, and eventually I could tell it was hooked in such away that the tippet wasn't in its teeth. Maybe I was in with a shot? No. That pickerel broke my tippet so damn easily on one long hard run. Had I had a net I'd have gotten her. She was up top and close to the kayak for a while. I was gutted. A pickerel of that size is equivalent to a 45 inch pike in my book. They are hard to come by, especially on the fly.

We made a few more drifts there with nothing special happening before moving to another area. We found very little life in a good crappie spot I'd fished before but managed to find some action at a pond I'd seen but never fished. There was a bit of flow coming down from the next pond up the system and some bass and panfish were gathered near that. I rounded out our take with another crappie, this one very dark and spawn-ready.

This was a pretty typical April day, the sort of fishing that was fly fishing for me for a long time. These are my roots, these freshwater ponds in the Northeast, and I won't ever outgrow them because I clearly still haven't figured everything out. I learned so much this one day. If I can't apply what I learned in the future, that's a failure on my part. That's what separates a fisherman from somebody that fishes sometimes. I don't ever want to fall into the latter. Always learn, always grow.
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. 

Virginia Backwaters

There are some places I've ended up fishing that, years ago, I'd never have thought I would. Inland southeast Virginia is one of those places. But ask me six or seven years ago if I'd want to go all the way to Virginia to try to catch some small endemic sunfishes, I'd probably have said no. For about a year though the area had been high on my list. Noah and I were keen on fishing it on our way home. So we high tailed it out of South Carolina, slept in North Carolina, and ended up in the home waters of fellow fishhead Bobby Emory by mid morning. Though we wouldn't get to fish together on this trip, he and I share very similar fishing perspectives and were fast friends. He was kind enough to give me some ideas of where to go. So Noah and I were going to bounce from spot to spot, free-style a bit, and explore this area that was very unlike anything either of us had fished, with a suite of species we'd never seen.

We were looking for Roanoke bass in the first spot. Very close in relation and appearance to rock bass, Roanoke bass inhabit a very small range through parts of Virginia and North Carolina in only a handful of watersheds. They're a cool fish and I knew Bobby had caught one here just the day before... but all Noah or I managed this morning was one small largemouth on a beetle spin. We decided we'd try again later and see if warming water throughout the day would lead to a bump in activity. 

The next spot was different, a little more familiar even, in that it wasn't unlike some mid sized lower gradient rivers I'd fished in the Northeast. It was cold though, impressively so given how hot the air temperature was becoming.

A large chub mound. A good sign.

Walking the banks hundreds of tiny frogs revealed their presence, bouncing like popcorn away from our steps. These were eastern cricket frogs, a common species but one I'd never seen before. On the bridge were a couple of five-lined skinks that I was unable to capture. In a small debris pile, I found a  juvenile brown water snake basking. The herps were out in force.

There were fish there too, notably schools of small shiners, some darters, and sunfish. I could not for the life of me convince the shiners to take well enough to hook, which was frustrating as they were likely a Notropis species I'd not caught. I managed one of the sunfish, a redear, and one of the darters, a at-present time tessellated, but some reclassification work is being done and though it is less likely to happen than some other areas, I could get lucky and have the species in this drainage turn out to be something else. Armchair lifers are nice.... 

Thinking again that the water was just too cold, we again headed to the next spot. It was an oxbow, a good looking piece of water I'd spotted on the map, not one of the places Bobby had suggested. And it sucked, at least at that moment. Considering it was on the same road as the next spot he'd sent me, he'd likely have mentioned it if it were worthwhile. Maybe at times it is, but it wasn't then. Excited though for the next couple places, we pushed onward. The next spot was awesome. Small, inviting, and and with flowing water... it felt right. And indeed it was right. 

After missing a number of takes, I hooked up and a small sunfish came to hand. It was clearly nothing I'd ever caught before, and the round tail was a dead give away. Still unsure though, I sent a photo to Bobby, who confirmed my suspecions: "female obesus my dude". Finally, finally I had caught my banded sunfish. She wasn't much to look at, but she was the right kind. I've you've followed along for... years, frankly; banded sunfish have been a long standing nemesis of mine. To finally have held and photographed one, caught on a small nymph, was a feeling of elation only a life lister knows. Sometimes we put literally years into finding a species before it eventually is found. That's been banded sunfish for me. I've left CT seeking that species and gone home without ever seeing one more than once.

Banded sunfish, Enneacanthus obesus. Life List Fish #163, rank: species.

(Note: I've messed up in my numbering somewhere along these posts and I'm not sure where yet or how to fix it. So bothg tarpon and banded sunfish are under #163... my list stands at 164, not 165, so I know I did mess up but I have no idea where.)

 Short time later, another new species came to hand. The flier is a widespread sunfish throughout the American south but is, to me, perhaps one of the most beautiful. They don't look quite like any other species, more like they were cobbled together with parts from bluegills, crappies, spotted sunfish, and redears.

Flier, Centrarchus macropterus. Life List Fish #164. Rank: species

Not long after, another found my nymph to its liking.

That spot then produced a little golden shiner before going quiet. We moved on again, this time a little further even off the beaten path. Small paved roads gave way to gravel, and there were no longer fields and old barns along the sides, just woods. Virginia was turning out to be an exceptionally pleasant surprise. I found this are beautiful in an almost nostalgic way. This area, unlike many parts of the Carolina Piedmont which features similar topography and fisheries, had evaded expansive development. It still felt real. And I don't mean natural, because this was still much changed from what it had been before Homo sapiens found it, but here the farms were spread out a bit more, the towns were small, and there weren't any new developments full of hideous un-unique houses. There might not be a whole lot going on here, there may not be much money moving through, and there's little to attract most people there. But to me that made it more appealing. It's places like this that would economically benefit from fishing tourism, but unfortunately nobody is traveling to inland parts of Virginia to fish for mud sunfish or Roanoke bass. Well, not nobody, we were there, but not enough to make some economic difference.

The next spot felt almost like brook trout water to me. A small blackwater stream with a dark, deep culvert hole? Well, there weren't brook trout here and hadn't been for many thousands of years, but in their place were redfin pickerel, mud sunfish, banded sunfish, bluespotted sunfish, and pirate perch. These were more interesting fish than brook trout to me at the moment. Unfortunately they also didn't seem to be too inclined to bite at the moment.
We decided we'd bounce back through the earlier spots again now that the day had warmed and come back through here again around sunset and hopefully things would have changed.

Atlantic Coast slimy salamander

Most of the earlier spots hadn't improved much. But it was worth going back through, especially the first, which produced a pickerel and a nice warmouth on the second pass.

Driving around we saw snakes, including a large redbelly watersnake which I jumped out and chased but failed to catch. We also saw eastern box turtles that had been hit, which is always a gut punch. It was now quite hot out, almost oppressively so. By the time we got back around to the small waterways we hoped would be our chance at mud sunfish, the sun was setting but we were feeling the effects of heat and exposure. This was our last chance. We'd fish the two last spots Bobby gave me, then go back to the best looking one after sunset to attempt spotlighting something.

Noah managed to squeak out his life banded sunfish, flier, and a few species we'd caught previously before sunset, including a brown bullhead.

After dinner and after dark, we set about spot lighting. The first fish I saw was an unwilling male banded sunfish. The second a redfin pickerel. Then a mud sunfish that spooked. The first fish I actually got to eat was a very handsome male banded that I missed. I was coming up short here, I'd hoped the spotlighting would be easy. It isn't always. But then I spotted the holy grail. A fish unlike any other I'd ever set my eyes on. The holy grail of these waters: the pirate perch.

It took.

I missed it.

It was certainly too good to be true, pirate perch are one of those holy grail type fish that one could spend a lifetime searching for. They re hard to find and catch but worth the effort despite being small. They make up for what they lack in size by being incredibly unusual, but I will save the details for the day I finally do catch one. And it will happen, I'm sure of it.

As we made our way back to the highway to head home, the heat that had festered all day gave way to some of the heaviest rain I've ever seen. We had to slow down drastically to have any prayer of seeing the road. I couldn't help but wonder what the fishing would be like the next day, but it would likely not be good. This rain was associated with a cold front. We weren't headed home at a bad time.

We'd been on the road for what felt like a whole month. We'd seen new places, new animals, and new fish. We'd learned a lot. We'd had some ups and some downs. It was an incredible trip. I'm so thankful I get to occasionally do things like this. It's all I really live for. There's a lot out there, and I'd like to see and catch as much as I can.
Don't ignore these places like Southeast Virginia that aren't famous fishing destinations. They hold some incredible things. That is perhaps the biggest thing I've learned in my time fishing.

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.