Thursday, October 28, 2021

The Mirrors of Autumn

 The fly carp season is winding down. Sure, there'll be some late fall and winter bite windows, but on the whole things are coming to a close. It was a very good year for me. I got a lot of fish, my first mirror and then dozens upon dozens more, the most carp I've ever caught in a single day, my first periodical cicada carp, my first mulberry carp, and two top ten biggest carp. I'm going to go ahead and call it my best carp year since I started fishing for these things seven years ago.

Will watching my best season wind, I spent some time walking and casting to small mirrors and commons. Though the mulberries were months gone I still managed to get a handful of fish to come up for the dry. That was one of the coolest discoveries of my fishing career; getting carp, even tailing carp in as much as three feet of water, to come up for a berry pattern. I still haven't applied this method on a waterway that doesn't have mulberry trees, but I will be doing that next season. 



One evening I was battling waning light and mosquitoes and struggling to get looks from the fish. I was also dealing with walkers throwing rocks in the canal... oh, the joys of fishing high foot traffic areas. I was running out of real estate when I found a shallow tailer on the far bank. I made a kick ass cast and the fish turned to find the fly. It didn't seem to see it, so I stripped it. This sounds absurd, I know, berries don't dart across the surface. But for some reason it works. The fish charged hard and ate. Rarely is a hook set as satisfying when a cast with a dry fly to a carp is so well executed and the fish eats just as perfectly and beautifully as you could want. So, so satisfying. And of course the fish responded fabulously with some thrashing on the surface and a good hard run. It was excellent.



 When I didn't get fish to react to dry flies, I was still able to get them on the good old Ausable Ugly. Honestly those hook sets might be just as satisfying. A carp on the fly is a carp on the fly. They don't come easy most of the time. Each one is a result of hard work and hours of observations. 




Most of my clients this season wanted to carp fish. I only ran a very small handful of trips for other species. From the get-go, I knew it was going to be the trickiest fish for me to get clients onto consistently and that proved very true. Some of the worst conditions of the year also happened to set up right on the days I was booked, which didn't help, leading me to take a couple clients out for discounted redemption trips when they didn't even get a single good shot on their first trips. I have to say thanks to those of you that booked me this carp season. If anyone is interested in learning the ropes of late fall or winter carp fishing, feel free to contact me, but such a trip needs to be planned in accordance with a weather window, so if you don't have flexibility I don't want to waste your time. Hopefully I'll see some of you next season, it' going to be a good one. 

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.


Wednesday, October 27, 2021

Needlefish, Blue Runners, and Squid on the Fly

 Launching my kayak on one of the last legitimately hot days of the year, I expected to get into a variety of fish species and possibly some very unusual ones. What I was really looking for were Spanish Mackerel, and despite the fact that I found some of those pretty immediately, I couldn't catch the damn things. What I could catch were loads of blue runners. Blue runners are a fairly frequent late summer and fall visitor to Connecticut waters, though seemingly every year I seem to see a little bit of the same thing on social media... folks very surprised to see these fish around these parts. It's kind of funny how little fisherman actually know about fish, particularly fish they wouldn't fish for. Of course, I fish for everything, so I make it a priority to know as much as I can about as many fish as possible, and I knew blue runners regularly make there way inshore from the gulf stream each year when the water temperatures peak.

Mixed in with the blue runners, I got quite a few Atlantic needlefish. Needlefish are cool animals. I like strangely shaped fish, and needlefish certainly fit the bill. If you think pickerel are long and narrow, well... needlefish are aptly named.


Needlefish are also one of the small handful of fish I've caught that actively try to bite you when you catch one, so be mindful. They have lots and lots of teeth, and 'needle' applies just as well to those as it does to their needle jaw construction.

After a while the sun seemed to shut off the surface activity and I switched to bottom fishing with a sink tip and a Clouser Minnow.  The conditions weren't ideal for kayak bottom fishing with a fly rod because there wasn't a breath of of wind. I rely on having a drift for this sort of fishing, because if gives me a lot more time with my fly down in the zone. Without a drift it was a fan casting game, which can work but isn't the most methodical way to cover water when fishing for scup, seabass, or fluke. It did work though and I was able to get some scup to bring home and eat. The most interesting result, though was completely unexpected. I kept having very strange takes. Initially I just thought I was catching bits of weed, because that's all it felt like. The fly kept coming up clean though. Finally, as I brought the fly up from the depths, I saw the culprit. It wasn't a fish at all, actually. It was a cephalopod. I'd wanted to catch a squid on the fly for a long time, and suddenly I was being presented the opportunity. 

The problem I had was trying to stick the thing with a single heavy gauge hook. If you've seen anything designed for squidding you understand the issue. You need  multitude of fine, needle-sharp hook points to reliably hook squid. Luckily this odd little creature seemed very determined to eat my Clouser and I eventually got the hook in it. 



Getting to hold this utterly bizarre and shockingly intelligent critter for a few moments was the highlight of the day. I watched it rapidly changing color, manipulating its arms, and looking around at an alien world. Cephalopods are absurd animals, and it's remarkable to me that they will actually take an artificial lure given how intelligent they are. Maybe it's just a curiosity response? There's no way they still don't think a fly or lure is a real fish when they grab hold of it, their sensory system is much too complex. I have no idea, honestly. Squid are an endlessly intriguing animal. Though I certainly didn't get anymore that day, I intend to in the future. And it'll be with a fly rod, and some very odd and unique flies.

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Monday, October 25, 2021

Incredible Ram Induction False Albacore Feeds

 I first heard the term 'ram induction feeding' from my friend Ian Devlin to describe how scombrid species eat small baitfish. Basically, they just slam trough tightly packed schools of bait and it gets funneled into their mouths. This feeding strategy can take on a few different looks, and when the fish are on very tiny "snot" bait it is a particularly remarkable thing to watch. The best example of this is chub mackerel, which routinely organize in compact (though large) schools and coordinate attacks on schools of tiny baitfish. We've had quite a lot of that in these parts over the last few years. Less frequently, little tunny feed in the same manor. A large school of them will bunch tightly together and propel themselves through the bait clouds, taking in the minuscule fish as they move. At times, in rough conditions, it can look like a huge pod of tunny is surfing a swell. Its a wild thing, and something I finally got to see and document this year. 





Catching fish from these types of feeds can be very difficult at times, and there are two strategies that can be employed: One is sniping smaller pods moving along with large impressionistic lures, something I watched one well known angler do on the day these photos were taken. The same can be done with flies, but it's harder to make a quick shot if you aren't prepared. I'll cover this a bit more in a future post. Another strategy is to cast very tiny bay anchovy patterns into the bigger feeds. There's a level of luck to this since the fish are in such a large cloud of bait and aren't actually singling something out then chasing it down and eating it, but if the school is tightly packed enough and up and feeding when you get your fly in them, the odds certainly aren't bad that the fly ends up in one of their mouths.




It was during the days that this was going on that I got some of my only hookups this season, which isn't typically how it works. I usually like it better when there are roving pods, maybe boiling occasionally but mostly not visible. These are hunting fish, and they are often much easier to catch. Of course the fish I did catch on the day I took these photos was roving, I hadn't cast at breaking fish. But it was clear that the bulk of the fish were very keyed on something specific. It was very cool to see but didn't result in the best fishing. The same can't be said for the situation I was met with in the next tunny post. 

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Saturday, October 23, 2021

Big Fly, Small False Albacore

 With the season dragging on and a few good weather windows missed, I was starting to get awfully irritated with the tunny. It had long since ceased being fun and I was now just slugging it out hoping to save my dignity. Turns out there really is no dignity in fly fishing for little tunny and I should probably just fish for striped bass unless it's clearly going to be a good year for the latter. It would be pretty easy for me to go get the appropriate spinning gear and drastically improve my catch rate, filling in those days where a fly rod just isn't the right tool for the job, but I've caught tunny on spinning gear already. It just didn't do it for me. It wasn't fun. So the question is, how do you turn it around during a depressing and obnoxious season when people around you are catching on spinning gear and soft plastics and you aren't able to get the fish to eat normal flies? 

I'd had a few big and brightly colored Tabory Snake Flies in my box the whole season, and more than once I'd thought to myself, "boy I could really get that to act like an Albie Snax if I fish it right." Twelve trips into my season I finally tied it on. Within five casts I was tight. Honestly it wasn't even exciting, it was just a relief. The previous afternoon I'd briefly had one on that broke off due to a nicked leader. Luckily this little fish stayed on for me. The fight was fairly run of the mill. The fish careened into the backing like only a little tunny can, and I then brought it back to me and scrambled down the rocks to get the fish in hand. It was a very small one, but it had eaten the largest fly I'd ever thrown for this species.



Of course I figured I'd had it solved and that I'd be able to get a couple more fish before the day was over. I did, but not little tunny. Some bluefish had come around, and they weren't the tiniest bluefish either so they provided some enjoyment. I like bluefish any time they aren't ruining flies and leaders.


As the afternoon wore on, the tunny started exhibiting some very interesting feeding behavior, which we'll delve into 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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Edited By Cheyenne Terrien

Wednesday, October 20, 2021

Denizens of the Dark

 I like night fishing a lot. Perhaps it stems from my favorite part of fishing and fly fishing in particular: the take. Seeing a take is great and fun and often spectacular, but what makes fly fishing so attractive to me is the direct connection to the line. A grab on a tight line is transmitted through the line right to my hand. At night, this is intensified. The angler is forced to fish in such a way that they can feel the take, otherwise they probably won't know it happened. Without sight and with limited auditory signal, every fiber of a good night-fisher's being is focused on feel, and when that line comes tight, the feeling is electric. Few fish are quite as perfectly tailored to this as striped bass. 

A few weeks ago, Garth and I went out on a very dark night to chase a tide that I knew would have the fish chewing. The window was late or early, depending how you look at it, because our trip spanned two calendar days. We waded out into water very familiar to me. I knew where the muscle beds were. I had probably stood on every rock at least twice already. I'd caught plenty of fish here. This was one of those spots that feels like home- where I'm as comfortable wading into the dark as I am swimming to the rocks on a high tide in daylight. It also holds promise of big fish. At first that wasn't what we were getting. Some of the fish were nice, but not impressive. A couple small bluefish were mixed in with the schoolies to make things a bit tricky. Don't get me wrong, I adore bluefish, but small ones can be an annoyance at times. I don't treat them poorly- I have too much respect for them as a species. I dislike when other anglers hate on bluefish. But a few shredded flies made me wish they'd chosen some other area to hunt on this night. 


After a spell messing with those smaller bass, I could feel the rocks way out calling and decided to make the cautious walk out onto the bar. Once positioned on a particular rock, I made casts out over a deep trough. I'd only made a few before I felt that electric pull. I jammed the hook home and went about the process of beating a quite nice striped bass on my 7'10" 9wt, a fairly easy task to be honest. When I got her to the rock and put light on her, I could see that it was a very respectable fish of about 35 inches. I had Garth lip her for me. Being a novice bass angler, this did not go well as he dropped my fish after the fly had already left her lip. Though Garth felt the need to apologize profusely, I told him it was alright, it was a caught fish. The rest of the tide proved that there were more quality fish to be had out there, with a good number of slot-sized bass coming to hand. I fished two patterns, a Tabory Snake Fly and a large Bulkhead Hollow Fleye. As I generally do at night, I retrieved at a snail's pace if at all. Why retrieve if the current can do all of the work for you? A lot of the fish came in less than two feet of water; some of them were hunting right on the bar itself. 



Of course, I hoped for a giant. Really huge striped bass don't come easy or often, much less on the fly. It certainly could have happened on this night, and I know a few of those giants were around. It takes patience and a keen understanding of the fish and their habitat: something I have, but not nearly to the degree I'd like. I'd like to be as much a denizen of the dark as the cow bass themselves... often lurking, rarely seen, knowing exactly how and when to capture my target.

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Edited by Cheyenne Terrien

Monday, October 18, 2021

Black Seabass on the Fly

 As my tunny season continued to be a grind, I started seeking other species to fill in my time on the rocks. I generally don't enjoy the process of catching tunny and bonito from shore. I do get to see some cool things, but it's a lot of standing around on the same rock all day waiting for something to happen. It helps to be able to catch some sort of fish from that rock, and early in the tunny season one of the most readily available species is black seabass. Black seabass, Centropristis striata, belong to the family Serranidae. This family includes groupers and anthias, and black seabass are certainly the most grouper like fish present in New England aside from the occasional visiting actual black grouper that swirls in on an eddy of the Gulf Stream. The genus includes four other species that are generally smaller and rarely encountered by anglers. Black seabass are considered by many anglers in the Northeast to be a very delicious fish, and I have to agree. They're also a fun fish to catch on a fly rod, something people don't intentionally do very often. When I'm standing on a jetty waiting for tunny that probably won't eat my fly anyway, It's a fantastic relief to have some seabass around that are willing to chew on a fly.


One morning there were seabass and chub mackerel feeding on peanut bunker at the surface along one stretch of the jetty. Generally I need a sink tip line to get flies down to the seabass, but I've encountered a handful of surface feeds over the years and this one provided some of the largest fish. Other fly anglers were catching big back seabass even on intermediate lines with a fast two hand retrieve. It was an impressive show of what can happen when the conditions line up right. I've encountered a number of "bottom fish" not being bottom fish at all when enough bait is present. Seabass and different scombrids feeding near-surface are actually a pretty common theme. On the Cape I've seen seabass breaking alongside king mackerel, in Connecticut I've found them right in tunny feeds. Now in Rhode Island I was finding them alongside chub mackerel. 


The next time around there were no surface antics, but there were still loads of seabass. I utilized a sink tip, small flies, and count-down tactics to catch the fish. When fishing a jetty with a fly rod for fluke, scup, seabass, or tautog, knowing how to run a fly deep without hanging up constantly is key. The angler should know the sink rate of their line and the depth of the water. It is also important to know the contour of the jetty, which depends heavily on it's age, location, and construction. Old jetties break up in big storms, and the jumble of rocks create a sloping contour, while some well maintained and carefully built jetties drop off more steeply. The inside edge of  the Rockland Breakwater in Maine is almost vertical compared to the Scusset Beach Jetty at the east end of the Cape Cod Canal. That determines how what line you need to use and how you fish these places. 

I find that erring on the lighter side with your line is often a good idea, and if you are struggling to find bottom simply add split shot. I know this isn't something people think about in salt water fly fishing, but I like breaking new ground. Strategically targeting scup, fluke, tautog, and seabass on the fly isn't exactly the most well trodden topic. Retrieving should be fast enough to keep the fly and line from hanging up but slow enough to keep it within a foot or two of the bottom.







Getting keeper size black seabass from the shore seems to be a very tricky thing to do. I've only gotten a handful of legal sized fish from the rocks and only in one location. That said, I haven't put too much effort into patterning them... yet. It is something I intend to do. It is certainly fun to catch them when I'm waiting around for unwilling tunny but the way to really catch a fish is to focus on it. Of course it could be said that my being distracted from tunny by black seabass prevented me from catching my target, but when there simply aren't any of your target fish in casting range what's the point of standing around without a line in the water when different perfectly willing fish are right in front of you?

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Monday, October 11, 2021

False Albacore Fly Woes: Bigeye Scad

 

Time for yet another day with tunny around and me not catching. Yeah, this was day six. My sixth day with tunny around and no tunny to show for it. This time the conditions felt a bit better and there was at least bait present, though no he ideal bait. Peanut bunker are only the ideal bait if the tunny actually eat them, and I've only seen it happen a handful of times. It seems to be far more common on the south side of the Cape and around the Elizabeth Islands. Maybe the size of the peanuts varies as one go up the coast and the Connecticut and Rhode Island peanuts are bigger and less appealing to the tunny when they get here. What was strange though was how willing the chub mackerel seemed to be to pick of a peanut. I dragged flies below the bait and picked off the first chub mackerel of the year- very late compared to the last four. I was using a 12 weight though and the fights were subpar. 



It's a bit regrettable that I'd still yet to get even a bonito, Spanish mackerel, or frigate before I got those chubs, but at least a scombrid had found it's way to my fly. 2021 had shaped up to be an odd year. 

As the morning progressed so did my frustration as I watched a couple of casters pick off tunny on epoxy jigs. There just wasn't anything for it, I could get my fly to the lane the fish were running but I could pull it through it and that's what really matters. Confounded by some of the same line twist and tangling issues that had already plagued me this season, I started to consider giving up. Then I caught something interesting. 

Bigeye scad are most numerous in tropical regions around the world. There are a lot of species of scad, including yellowstripe scad, mackerel scad, and torpedo scad, but I'm primarily familiar with bigeye due to their presence on the East Coast. In Florida they're a commonly used bait species and called goggle-eye. It isn't unusual for some bigeye scad to wander up the Gulf Stream and end up in parts north. This year I'd seen a few examples from New Jersey. Now, I was holding one from Southern Rhode Island. It had latched onto the Surf Candy I was fishing, a fly not much shorter than it's own body length. Unknowingly it had put me just 15 fish away from #200 on my lifelist. Yup, another wandering tropical species proved that my tunny obsession was worthwhile despite the fact that I couldn't seem to catch a little tunny.

Lifelist Fish #185, Bigeye scad, Selar crumenophthalmus. 

With my first scad ever on the books, I was satisfied enough to stop torturing myself and walk back to the car. Well, it was really only a temporary cessation in torture. I'd be back in fruitless action soon. 

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Thursday, October 7, 2021

March of the Toads

 We've had extraordinary amounts of rain in Connecticut this year. Perhaps too much rain, in many ways. Trout anglers who have long complained about diminished flows and low reservoir levels on the Farmington River got to see what the exact opposite does, as runoff flooded into the Colebrook and West Branch reservoirs and caused them to de-stratify; meaning there was no longer cold water at the bottom of those lakes and therefore no cold water to draw into the tailwater. The river ran warm for a very long time, and all the way from the dam in contrast to the typically frigid water that leaves the Hogback Dam most summers. 

Some species benefited substantially from the rainfall and associated weather conditions. One of those species is possibly the most charismatic, strange, and magical frog in New England: the Eastern spadefoot toad. These animals spend the bulk of their lives in dark subterranean burrows of their own creation that range from a few inches to, in extreme cases, a good many feet below the surface. They remain dormant for months at a time but are summoned to the surface by heavy rainfalls associated with a significant barometric pressure drop. They then breed in massive numbers, using temporary pools to deposit their eggs. These eggs develop in as little as a day, and the tadpoles that emerge will metamorph into tiny bug-eyed frogs in just two weeks time. 

Because Eastern spadefoots require specific sandy and loose soils for burrowing, breeding pools that may only exist for a few months throughout the whole year, and are very rarely on the surface to be seen, they have unfortunately been extirpated from many areas. In Connecticut they are now endangered. Gravel extraction, development, and road crossing mortality are the biggest factors in their demise. If it weren't for a handful of dedicated conservationists the number of spadefoot toads would likely be even smaller. When yet another big rain happened in the first days of September, I joined one of those people- herpetologist Dennis Quinn -on a mission to observe spadefoot toads and survey a property that could be holding them. 

The night prior I'd payed a visit to a different area under Dennis' direction to try to see my first ever spadefoot. It was indeed the right conditions. The pressure had plummeted and it was pouring, like really pouring. The same storm system had produced a violent long-tracked tornado in New Jersey and though it was now messy and disorganized, there was a minor probability of a weak and isolated tornado in Connecticut. The rain was really coming down, harder than I'd ever driven in before. Lightning and strong wind added to the ambiance. I made my way to my destination very hopeful that I was about to finally see an animal I'd wanted to ever since I was a very young child. I got to the road Dennis told me to cruise, and sure enough 20 minutes in I saw the shape of a spadefoot in my headlights. In a mad rush I jumped out of the car and ran to the animal, and there in my flashlight beam was the coolest, strangest frog I'd ever seen. 


I was floored, and that was far from the last spadefoot I'd see that night. 




Having observed both adults and juveniles and gotten absolutely drenched, I headed home late that night to get some sleep. The next day I'd head out around sunset to meet Dennis in the same part of the state: this was the epicenter of Connecticut spadefoot activity. We drove around an area where he suspected some breeding pools might exist with the windows down, listening. 

Now, I'd never heard a spadefoot call in person before. It was quite a familiar sound though. When I was little my parents gave me an audio device into which I could insert different cards, upon which were the calls of a variety of wildlife. Some of the cards were birds of prey, some were warblers, some were woodpeckers. One of the cards was all frogs, and one of those frogs was the Eastern spadefoot. I'd listened to every call on that thing hundreds of times, and most intriguing to me of all was the spadefoot's. Perhaps that was just because it was so strange and funny.

A spadefoot's breeding call is a very loud groan, a sound that is hard to describe yet familiar to many herp enthusiasts. It is so loud, actually, that rumor has it one population in Southern Connecticut was eradicated simply because the residents were annoyed by the frogs' incredibly loud calling. Whether that is true or not I can't confirm, but I can say that they are loud. When Dennis and I did finally approach a known breeding pool the trill was audible from quite a distance. We checked for calling activity at three pools, and upon confirming that all three were active we set out to survey a new property. The easement onto it turned out to be a little hard to locate. It was the edge of someone's lawn, and they'd put garbage bins and a brush pile right on the easement. We made it in without some angry homeowner shouting at us, then started surveying the property. Some common species were present, including grey tree frogs and a wood frog, but no spadefoots. 

We did start to hear some calling which we though might be coming from the property. Dennis and I scoured the place only to determine that the callers- just a few males -were coming from somewhere off-property. Having done the job, we briefly tried to find the calling males as they were certainly not in a known pool. Frustratingly they went quiet so we ended up on the most well known pool in the area to document whatever activity was still occurring before the temperature drop shut things down. The pool was literally a flooded backyard, we walked right under that owner's living room window to access it. Dennis told me the story of the discovery of the breeding pool. Upon hearing the frogs calling in the backyard pool, the herpetologists walked to the house and could see a man seemingly sitting down and watching television. They knocked on the door and got no response, that is until the man's wife awoke and answered the door. It turns out both of them had been asleep. Surprisingly they were more than happy to let a bunch of headlamp-clad herpetologists look at their toads. They've allowed the biologists access ever since, and I was grateful for being able to accompany Dennis on the property. A few dozen males called from the pool and the grass bottom was covered in egg masses. Dennis also found some tiny metamorphs from the previous breeding event. 



Throughout the night Dennis was on the phone with other herpetologists who were also out in the field observing spadefoots in various parts of the state. It seems that any time there's more than two inches of rain and a significant pressure drop, more than just the spadefoots burst into a flurry of activity. This was he third breeding event the herpetologists had observed in 2021. Three breeding events in a single season is almost unheard of.

 In years to come I'm going to continue to be a part of this. Like so many species before, spadefoots have completely captivated me, and I feel compelled to help preserve and protect them and their habitat.

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, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah 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.

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

False Albacore Fly Woes: Lizardfish

 My third day targeting tunny I had limited time. I had a short window to fish before I needed to go to work. Fish were present- both bonito and tunny -right upon my arrival. The were feeding in very slick water, often a recipe for picky eaters. I felt I got a few shots the should have been seen but I'm not sure. 

I was fishing with a gartside gurgler. This often isn't pegged as a tunny or bonito fly but these fish love lures that skitter on the surface, so a fly that skitters on top is a logical choice. I've had days where a gurgler really saved me from skunking. Notably, back in 2017 when the tunny were actually numerous and widespread, one of my best days saw numerous tunny in slicked out conditions very willing to eat gurglers but not much else. 


Unfortunately this time my tricks didn't work, at leas not for tunny. What I did get, interestingly enough, was a new species. On one retrieve my fly came in with what initially seemed like weeds on it. Upon closer inspection it was actually a fish! Specifically, and inshore lizardfish. This is a species I've expected in Florida for years now, where they are abundant and at times considered a pest. Instead I'd caught my lifer on a gurgler in 10 feet of water in Connecticut... very strange. 

Lifelist fish #184, Inshore lizardfish, Synodus foetens. Rank: Species

Lizardfish aren't completely unfamiliar fish in the Northeast. They're known to occur in the same are I was fishing most years, though 2021 has certainly seen a relative abundance. Though aggressive lizardfish hunt from the bottom of the water column, as evidenced by their head structure and eye position. They are ambush predators that attack prey from below, concealed against a mud or sand bottom. Adults reach lengths over a foot, with females generally being larger than males. A lizardfish's mouth is full of small teeth, and I imagine being bitten by one would be a little unpleasant. They are  very cool little fish honestly and I wouldn't mind catching more of them.

I've ended up encountering lizardfish repeatedly this season, and that has been quite interesting. But for the third day I had to be content with a couple of them and simply watching the tunny and bonito slip by, unwilling to eat what I was presenting. It was starting to feel like I'd forgotten how to catch these fish, though it was still only the beginning. 


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.


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Saturday, October 2, 2021

The Blitz Is On

 The cold north wind really got things going. The bait is flushing out of the estuaries, the bass and tunny are on the move, and there a few bonito and bluefish around too. This is the season of chaos, fast action and visually spectacular feeds. I you'd like to fish the fall run with me, book soon! I'm running trips along the Rhode Island beaches until the end of November. Day and night, weekdays and weekends. Email me at brwntroutangler@gmail.com if you're interested!