Getting in The Crap

 I have a habit of not linking to lose fish. I really don't like it, if it can be avoided. I also don't like to let seemingly impossible situations prevent me from taking a shot. I will cast at carp tailing within fallen trees, brown trout rising tight to grass tussocks, or bowfin deep in the weeds. I love to fish for stripers right in boulder fields, pike in narrow creek channels, and brook trout under low canopy. My natural inclination when I see something difficult or seemingly impenetrable is to take it as a challenge. It gets me to more productive spots and catches me fish others mat not even cast at.

Last week I had my client Jim on the canoe for a multispecies trip with some emphasis on bowfin. I finally spotted one in a spot I'd highlighted prior as a likely consistent producer. This fish was sitting nearly stationary in a messy tangle of roots and branches. I knew this fish would eat and I knew we could get her in the net if we played everything right. I nosed the canoe into the crap and Jim dropped Drew Price's Mr. Bow-regard on the fish. It actually backed up to eat the fly, then dove straight down into the sticks. Not to be deterred, I made sure the canoe was securely placed and entered the water to assure I could put the fish in the net. She was buried under a few logs but I was able to finagle her out, and Jim got to hold his first ever bowfin!

Though I was prepared to dive under if I had to for that bowfin, it was nice not to need to. While carp fishing in Rhode Island last week though, I was forced to take somewhat drastic action. I found some fish feeding in an area around multiple deadfalls. There really wasn't any gap between the deadfalls and open water. The space the carp were feeding in was very finite. If hooked a fish was most certainly going to leave that area through the deadfalls. I was willing to take that risk. The fish I presented to ate with confidence and when the hook was set she promptly exited under a large mostly submerged log. I removed my sling pack and entered the water, plunging under to feed my rod under the log without jamming the tip against anything. I emerged and the fish was still on. I finished the battle and netted the carp in muddy, belly deep water. Was it necessary? No. Was it fun? Heck yes. Did it save me from skunking? Indeed it did. That lake didn't produce another fish. 

Now it must be said, none of this is necessary. You don't need to dive under logs to catch  fish, you don't even need to land every fish you hook. You probably don't even want to do this stuff. But I kinda do. I'm at a point in my fishing career where I'm more interested in the fish I don't think I'll have any easy shot at landing than the ones I can almost guarantee. I want to be the best angler I can be and to me, the best angler I can be is being capable of catching every fish possible, and knowing what fish I aren't possible. Is that even remotely attainable? 

Nope.  

But getting in the crap, diving into the water, and plowing through prickers gets me a little bit closer. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, and Jake 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.

Big Fish Strategies: The Importance of "The Fall" for Carp on the Fly

Big Fish Strategies is a new series covering simple tactics that help catch large fish on the fly. This series covers a broad range of species and water types, but focuses on larger species and larger specimens of a species. Enjoy!

In certain parts of the country, angler seem to have quite good success retrieving flies in front of carp. At Beaver Island and other parts of the Great Lakes, Midwestern rivers, even just other parts of the Northeast, carp seem to be fairly receptive to a moved fly. In my waters, however, a retrieved fly is almost always rejected. I'm not quite sure why this is, but it is proven over and over any time I try to strip or twitch a fly in front of a carp. 9 times out of 10 it either ignores in of even spooks. Since the fly invariably needs to stand out to the fish visibly, that leaves pretty much one option. The fish needs to see the fly while it is actively falling through the water column. 

There are three important considerations to make when you want a fish to see the fly on the fly: How quickly the fly sinks, where you are showing it to the fish, and what that fish is doing. Let's break each of those down one at a time.

The importance of fall rate should be fairly obvious: if you want a fish to see a fly while its falling, that fly should fall for a good little while. I always try to get away with the slowest fall rate I can. The deeper the water, the faster the fall rate of the fly I'm using. In 1-1/1.5' of water I fish unweighted flies or flies with light bead chain eyes. In 2-3 feet of water I fish flies with bead or small cone-heads and smaller lead eyes. In 3-5 feet of water I fish flies with heavy cone-heads and large lead eyes. The material and profile of the fly does matter as well. Slim profiles sink faster, broad profiles sink slower. Things like deer hair or bushy, thick hackle collars can also slow a sink rate. Generally though, look at how the carp flies in your box sink and familiarize yourself with their sink rates, then stick to the slower ones in shallower water and the faster ones in deeper water. 

This common fell to a slowly sinking unweighted mop in 16" of water.

Where you are showing the fish the fly is often overlooked by the average angler, it's something I don't think gets remotely enough focus. Carp don't just see everything in their surrounding area, so a fly falling in a certain area may go unnoticed. One spot that is a little bit blind to them, and the place I was so inclined to cats at when i first started as well as a place I routinely have clients cast at, is right on their nose. Now, in deep enough water, they'll see the fly initially before it falls into a blind spot. At that point they may want it but have a hard time finding it. In very shallow water they may not see it at all. I think of the zones I want the fly to fall through as being roughly dinner plate sized circles around either eye. In clear water that window does expand out, occasionally as much as two feet. Put simply, put your fly either to the right or left of the carp. Also consider which side is closer to you and try not to cross the fish and show the fly to its far side: that can result in lining the fish and spooking it. 

Last but certainly not least, you've got to pay attention to what the fish is doing when you make your cast. It may not see your fly because of its own behavior. If the fish is kicking up a heavy mud cloud, it will likely have a difficult time seeing a fly falling through the water column more than a couple inches from its face. Sometimes, in heavy mats of life litter on the bottom, the carp will even have there head burring in the bottom while the feed. In these cases, watch for the fish to pick up and move from one spot to the next. While it is doing so is the time to present your fly to the fish. At times, the fish may also favor one side, so regardless of its feeding strategy, if you don't get a positive or negative reaction on one side of the fish try presenting it to the other if it is possible to do so without crossing the fish with your leader.

Mastering the intricacies of the fall is transferable to other species as well, from brook trout to bonito. If you'd like to learn more about strategies, book a trip with me or join Patreon, where I'll be delving into technical aspects of fly fishing on a regular basis. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, and Jake 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.

Monster Carp on The Fly at Night

 Quick reminder: I'm doing a talk this coming Thursday, August 11th, at 7:00pm at the Middle Haddam Library on fly fishing for Connecticut River Carp. It should run about an hour, I hope to see some of you there!

The Hex hatch is a CT summer featurette. It's tough to pinpoint, devilishly so, and doesn't last. If the conditions aren't just so there often aren't even that many fish feeding on it. When it does come together though, wow is it ever magical. The water boils with a multitude of fish species frenzying on the huge mayflies. This year, so far as I do occasionally run into later August hatches, the fishing has been average, which is to say an exciting experience but not one that resulted in a significant number of notable catches. Last year was subpar but one night yielded giant crappies slurping spinners, which was just incredible. This year it was mostly average sized white perch and smallmouth bass making up my catch each night. With one exception. 

I always linger after the hatch, especially early in the event. If it's marginal, the nymphs will often swim for a little while after the ones that are going to emerge do so. It's slower, slightly less exciting fishing but It has produced some of the larger fish. One night, I was standing under a streetlight casting  Pat's Rubber Legs- an un-ideal but passable hex nymph imitation -when a shadowy form emerged from the depths into the lit area. It was a carp, a decent sized one at that. I let it approach then presented my fly to it. It moved forward and flaired its lips, so I set. I was into something solid. Too solid, I thought, it felt snagged. I started to attempt to detach the fly, knowing full well the carp was going to spook off. It left fairly passively, which was odd. Suddenly, line was coming out of my had. "Oh, she is on" I muttered aloud. The fish left with patient autority, buckling my 5wt but in no real rush. I knew it was big, though at that point I wasn't quite sure just how big. 

Yeah, uhhh... she was huge. She was actually tough to lift. I've only had that issue with a small handful of carp. I suppose the takeaway here isn't extremely clear, so in case that's true: keep fishing. You can't always predict when a trophy fish is going to present itself. Some are a result of fishing hard, planning, predicting... and then others just sorta happen. In either case, you can't be sitting at home. Fish when you can, always. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, and Jake 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.

Figments

 The wall seems all that much longer on hot summer days. The sun beats down, making me sweat, and the wind dries that sweat right away. The two conspire to suck the moisture clean out of the weary anglers very skin. Guzzling water is the only thing that staves off possible disaster. When the tide is down the best move is often to go all the way to the end. That's almost a mile- completely exposed, no shade, no cover at all. Going halfway sucks. Going all the way feels stupid; especially in this early season when the fish might not even be there. 

The fish are bonito. Atlantic bonito arrive earlier in the summer, often August but sometimes July. More ethereal than little tunny are these days, there's even less assurance that there will be good numbers of bonito any given year. There could easily be very few, there could be hundreds. The good news in my experience is that they will eat pretty readily most of the time if they are there. It may take minor presentation adjustments, but bonito will take bigger flies, often a little more impressionistic ones, sometimes the feeds are a bit more sustained. I've seen a small bonito eat a 6 inch long Deceiver. They have substantial teeth, which they seem to use to chop up somewhat larger baitfish. Well, they seem easy when they're around. But if they aren't around....

Some days the chop on the water serves to conceal signs of life. That chop also often makes the fish stupid easy. That's always been true of tunny for me, and I think bonito as well. It makes it hard to see them though, and when there's big question as to their presence or absence that causes a lack of confidence. This day the chop and swell are significant, I really can't tell if fish are breaking at all. Maybe they are, maybe they're hiding behind the swell. Maybe some of those white caps are actually bonito cresting over the waves. Probably not though. Could I effectively fish I'd be able to answer that question, but there's a thick line of weeds that prevents me from getting a fly through the water clean. Bits of reddish brown gunk cling to it after each cast. This may just be a waste of time. 

Bored yet stubborn, I wait for some sign of life. I sit on the rocks, scanning. Birds cruise by, also scanning. I always wonder how the chop and breakers effect their ability to find fish. I'm sure less so than it does me, but I've watched them lose track of the fish plenty of times. They have an especially hard time with hardtails. Out of the corner of my eye I catch something. A break maybe? I can't be sure. My mind plays tricks on me when it's like this and I've been out for hours, just waiting. 

It does get better when I can actively fish. I don't have a heavy sink tip with me this time which negates the possibility of dredging g deep and picking up some seabass, scup or fluke. I try to let my intermediate get deep but that just isn't what it's made for. All there is to pass the time is watching boats. I observe how they're fishing. Everyone today seems to be drifting and jigging. Nobody is chasing birds. I don't think any of the boats are targeting the fish I'm after. I still watch, seeing if some devote significant time to drifts I've not fished. I don't know what they're after, fluke or scup probably. I take note regardless. Maybe some know something I don't. It's always worth paying attention to those things. 

Suddenly, there, near the fish trap... that was a fish, it had to be. I train my eyes on the area, watching intensely and squinting through the glare. I'm sure that was a fish, but will it show again? After some time passes I scan further from where I spotted the break. It can't be that close to where it was by now. Is there the slightest but of hope that I'll see it again? Not a prayer. It has vanished into the sea, a mere figment of my imagination. I don't think it even was a bonito after all. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, and Jake 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.