Another Talk & Late Winter Guiding Season

I've got another presentation coming up at the Middle Haddam Library (2 Knowles Rd. Middle Haddam CT), this one is focused on streamer fishing for trout. More specifically; it's on identifying, understanding and imitating common trout stream and lake baitfish. There is a plethora of available trout-stream based entomology information, from books to videos to articles, but substantially less well thought out baitfish information. As someone who not only studies but actively fishes for the small baitfish species the trout feed on, I've always found the general knowledge base among trout anglers of the species trout eat and how they act to be very lacking. This talk seeks to fill in some of those gaps. 

I've also got another article out in The Fisherman New England edition, March issue, titled Sight Fishing: Fresh For Success. So pick up a copy or subscribe online for that! It'll be far from the last piece of mine published there. 

As we settle into the late winter, early spring season things are looking good for a productive end to the winter salmonid season. My April is booked to the gills, mostly with carp trips, so if you're looking to get a spring trout trip with me this year you should grab a date soon. Or of course, if you want to fill in one of those carp trips as well. That fishing has proven to be one of the more unique and productive experiences I provide clients. Nobody else is doing what I'm doing in regard to small watercraft based freshwater sight fishing in this part of the country. But I'll toot the trout horn too, this has been a good winter despite a very droughty summer last year. Yes, there are some streams producing at a lackluster rate, but I've generally been pleasantly surprised. At the moment I'm offering four types of trips: broodstock salmon (Shetucket River), TMA masterclass (can include daylight mousing and winter night trips as well as the usual winter nymph and streamer methodologies I teach), stillwater streamer fishing, and of course still small streams. March is a lot more open than April will be and I'd definitely like to see some of the prime dates fill up. It's shaping up to be a busy season for me! 

Yes, trout will eat mice in broad daylight... and I can show you! 

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

Drug

One of many spell in the fall of 2022 that I spent living out of my vehicle started with eating tortilla chips and queso in a park and ride. The tide wasn't what I wanted just yet for the one spot I'd intended to fish in the dark that night, so time needed to be killed. I threw on a podcast, got comfortable, and put calories in my body. The inside of my 4Runner probably didn't smell especially savory that night; with multiple saltwater soaked items of clothing drying in the back and my own sweaty, haggered self in the driver's seat. My overall mental state at the time reflected that of a fish obsessed hippy. I was nominally single, still occasionally hooking up with my ex but not bound into a time consuming relationship. I was guiding sporadically. My rig was finally behaving itself after half a year of mechanical problems. This was subsequently be my first fall run with my own vehicle, no partner, and no job. This was the first fall run during which I could do what I'd always wanted to do for years- live at the whims of the fish, tide, and wind alone. The conditions controlled what I did, not anything else. I had grown a tight little network of other anglers of the same mind and similar situational freedom. Our focus was honed on one of the most spectacular natural events on the east coast. The mass migration of baitfish was already underway and the predatory fish and birds were snapping at their heals. Those of us who simply couldn't resist the call of such spectacular biological occurrences came from all corners of the northeast and convened at our chosen churches, a fishing pilgrimage, if you will. Some worshipped on the sand beaches and long jetties of Rhode Island. Others boarded boats to pray from within the melee. I myself would be headed to my place of prayer in a short time, a rocky bit of shoreline in Eastern Connecticut where an estuary emptied into the sound. As I polished off my bag of chips, I saw that it was around midnight- almost time for the mass to begin -and dawned my ceremonial garb. I slipped neoprene socks onto my feet, and a beaten pair of sneakers over them. I tightened the belt of my khaki shorts and threw on a salt stained navy blue hoody. Into a sling pack went a few wallets of flies and some spools of heavy tippet. 

I parked a fair distance from the spot and outside of an open gate. Despite the fact that it was already late, I knew there was a fair chance this gate would be closed by the time I got back to the parking lot. A police officer had already had already warned me of this likelihood a few weeks prior when the tide timing was similar. I didn't at all mind adding to the walk anyway. The darkness enveloped me as the street lights began to disappear behind the trees and a sense of calm arose. In time, the pavement under my feet gave way to sand, then the sand to rock, then the rock to slat water. Wading into the inlet, I could hear the occasional pop and swirl of schoolie striped bass feeding on silversides. Affixed to the tippet at that time was a white Tabory Snake fly, a scraggly looking offering that I'd swing in hopes of drawing attention from a larger, more opportunistic predator. Bypassing the shallow feeding schoolies, I maneuvered the edge of the rocks out to the very mouth of the inlet. There, the estuary emptied out over a sandy delta into a deep area. Behind my lay a large bar on which stripers often roamed. In theory, the outgoing tide and baitfish in the estuary mouth might draw bass either from deep water of the rock bar to feed in the current plume. My second cast was greeted by a jarring strike. Not a bass though. The fish went airborne shortly after the hook-set. It jumped repeatedly and made spastic, energetic runs. This was certainly a bluefish. That poor Tabory snake fly stood no chance. 

After encountering that toothy critter, the destroyed Snake Fly was replaced by something more durable and I was treated to a pick of modestly sized bluefish for the rest of the tide. Though the bite was nothing to write home about, a few fish got the Tibor to sing nicely and the rod stayed bent for an hour or so. Who could complain about that? I made my way back to the parking spot exhausted and satisfied. Sleep would be minimal, though, as the sun still rises early in September and I had no intention of missing what would likely be a fiery false albacore feed right after dawn. 

I caught a couple hours right there in the parking lot, moderately comfortable in my fully reclined car seat with a pillow supporting my back and a blanket hiding my face from the one glaring streetlight. I moved an hour before sunrise just to be close to where I'd fish and got one more hour of rest before the light of the new day filtered through the fogged up windshield. Cracking a can of peanuts, I stretched and yawned. Almost reluctantly I climbed out into the morning air, binoculars in one hand and breakfast in the other. From the roof of my truck I'd eat my "meal" and watch for the first signs of fast fish. Before the first rays of sun even graced the Sound's lightly choppy surface the tunny were sending spray and piercing the waves out in the deeper water. I hurried my pace and called my friend Alex. There's a stretch in there that my tired mind did not commit to memory, but I cannot possibly forget the highlight of the morning. I know Alex had caught a rather nice striped bass on an Albie Snax and I'd lost one of his creative popper flies to a substantial blue, the I looked a point over and saw birds working in tight. Reluctant to make immediate moves, I let the situation fold out a bit longer. In time though it seemed there was no reason to stay where I was. I waved to Alex, who was further way and likely couldn't see the action from his position and began scampering across the rocks towards the unfolding blitz. I got out in front of the mayhem, tunny still blasting through the silversides just off the rocks, and fired a gurgler out into the fray. A mere few casts later I was treated to the sight of a tunny, shimmering like something carved out of a block of chrome with blue and green reflecting off of it's surface, blasted through the surface and engulfed the skittering fly. I was tight, and soon Alex was too. Any sense of exhaustion or lingering effects of car sleep melted away as though it were the backing leaving the reel as the tunny ran, taking every other problem in my life with it. There are a lot of different kinds of drugs out there and this, well this is mine. It's cliche, it's overused. But some of us sleep in parking lots, ruin relationships, and risk mental and physical health to pull on fish. Our brains crave the chemical stimulation enforced by evolving to predate, to acquire sustenance, and we take advantage of it to feel good, to get high for a moment in time. Some of us get addicted to it. It's not as dangerous as some other drugs, but it can still effect our well being. I must say, sometimes I just don't care. I'd rather look for that next high, and I feel I get so much enrichment through the process of hunting it. Moderation is good though. Sometimes you have to go home and sleep in a real bed.. Eat real meals. Foster healthy relationships. Like many drugs, you can have a moderately healthy balance if you try. Do I?

Nope.

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

Leeches on Trout

 Have you ever caught trout with leeches on them? It doesn't seem to be a common occurrence for one reason or another, and one wouldn't expect it to be frankly. Most environments salmonidae occupy aren't particularly leech filled, nor do trout and salmon make themselves easy targets for mud and leaf-litter dwelling leeches even when they do exist in the same water in large numbers. I can remember one brook trout, caught in a far eastern Maine beaver pond, that had a couple leeches at the base of its ventral fin. The beaver pond factor made that less than shocking. In fact, when I was done fishing there I picked a few leeches off my legs, and later at the hotel more still that had made it into my boots and through my socks. Leeches are perhaps more expected in beaver ponds than even brook trout, so the two in tandem isn't exactly a shock. But I'd never caught a trout in CT with a leech on it. That is, until a few weeks ago. 

I've been paying semi-regular visits to a classic small CT brown trout stream that I know has the potential to kick out some high quality fish. It's a tricky stream to negotiate, at least the stretch I've come to prefer. Tangles of felled trees make fantastic and necessary habitat. They're also great at keeping anglers out of a lot of water, doubly excellent. I love crawling under, climbing over and clambering through fallen trees and thick brush to explore streams. It destroys waders and other clothes and does a little damage to the skin sometimes too, but I feel it's worthwhile. After negotiating my way through the maze one morning in mid January, I worked the water for a little while before a brown took my streamer. When I got it to hand, I could see that it had some small leeches on its tail and ventral fin. This was the first of three trout I'd catch that day that had leeches on them. One other fish didn't have any. Given the notable absence of leeches on trout anywhere else I'd fished in CT, I found that noteworthy. 

So what does it mean? Well, I don't know. It likely speaks to the nutrient levels of the stream, and certainly to the substrate. A lot of the stream bed there is fine sediments and mud, goods habitat for some leech species. Whether the leeches are having any notable impact on the trout themselves, I'm not sure. The easy leap is that parasite=bad; but that isn't completely accurate. The trout these leeches were on were no worse for wear. If there are more leeches in this stream than is typical they may in fact make up a substantial portion of their diet. But really, I'm not sure. All I can say is I don't generally find leeches on trout so to see so many on a high percentage of the fish I caught in one day seemed interesting. What do you think?

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

Belly Crawlers

 The drone of late summer cicadas and crickets pierced the hot summer air as I crept around the periphery of a grimy looking pond in Rhode Island. This was the sort of water that might make many fly anglers cringe or scoff. It was trash filled, murky, and heavily impacted by a couple centuries of human encroachment, industry, and neglect. In fact the fish I was after in this pond, Cyprinus carpio, had been introduced by Europeans and hadn't exactly helped the natural landscape. Lightly put, this place was a mess. But it was a mess among which I'd found very enjoyable sport. The carp in this pond varied from wonderfully ornate mirrors with a variety of scale patterns to large, chestnut colored commons. When the conditions were right these carp came into the shallows to feed and there I could stalk and cast to them with light fly tackle. Along one particular stretch of this pond, the fish would regularly come up so shallow that their backs would be out of the water as they fed. Belly crawlers, I call them, borrowed from the redfish world. These fish would be keenly aware of disturbances in their periphery. Carp seem to know how vulnerable they are in extremely shallow water, as most fish do. Though their field of vision outside the water is restricted to a tiny window because their eyes are so near the water's surface, sounds and vibrations could quickly send them scurrying into the safety of deep water. 

I slowly approached point around which I could expect to encounter belly crawlers. It was actually just a shallow gravel bar that emerged as a dry, vegetated point during low water conditions. Its gradual slope created a flat of sorts on either side. Though I could never figure out why, the fish favored the eastern side. It was about a 5/1 ratio; fish I'd see on the east side to fish I'd see on the west side. Even from 40 yards away, now, I could see three carp on the east side of the point. Two small ones, one sizable. Each wallowed in the muddy, weedy flat rooting for macro invertebrates, dead things, anything they might be able to eat. This was the picture perfect scenario, a fly-carper's dream. Though none of the fish, even the largest, was a particularly large individual, this was the ideal set-up to get fantastic visuals and present a fly to a carp in water just inches deep. I crept into position, careful not to step on anything that might make a loud crack. I used the low brush of the island to conceal my own silhouette, rather than standing plainly visible against open sky. I knew this would be a one fish deal, so I focused on the largest while trying not to spook the other two. I knew I could get very close to these fish without spooking them as long as I was slow and extremely quiet. I remained low and edged closer bit by bit as the fish continued to feed. Once in a good position, I watched and waited for a clear shot. almost like a hunter waiting for a buck to make its way out of thick brush, I needed my target common to move out of the weeds and into an open spot. It would eventually, and a clear shot could be had. Cast too soon and I'd risk hanging the fly up in the weeds and potentially spooking the fish. So I waited, patient but slightly on edge, for the fish to move into a gap in the weeds. Eventually it did. I raised the rod and made a short and gentle cast, landing the fly a few feet beyond the fish. I then lifted the rod and drew the fly to the fish before letting it fall just inches in front of the carp's mouth- a drag and drop presentation. The carp confidently moved forward and flared its rubbery lips, taking in my hybrid fly. I set the hook sharply and the battle was on. The fish never preformed a long run but dogged hard in the weeds, thrashing at the surface than diving down and into the brownish vegetation. It was a relatively short battle, but the belly crawler soon came to net. 

That was far from the only carp I cast at that day, nor was it the only one I caught. Each presented its own challenges and was a memorable catch in its own right. That's one of the wonderful things about sight fishing. You take in so much information, so many visuals, and it can really cement an experience in an angler's memory. Even in a dirty, trash filled New England pond. 

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