Convergence 2023: The Nights I Live For

 Spring 2023 is in the books now as the most frustrating herring run year of my short time chasing this sometimes magical event. It had its moments though, as any year does. And when I think about it, every year is a slog. Long, long night hours are spent casting at nothing for the occasional crazy night of heavy action or just one or two very large fish. And though on the whole this season was frustrating, the highlights really felt special. Though I managed only about a dozen  bass from my favorite river, the first of the season there topped out at 41 inches. My goal each season there is to get one 40 incher and I have accomplished that each year since 2018, last year being the standout with a 40" and 43" and a few fished that missed the mark by no more than half an inch. Getting my big fish there was a relief- and lucky given the overall lackluster success I had. 

In other parts of the state the story was a little different. My friends Alex and Dave were having an banner year. Twice I fished down their way, and both nights far exceeded anything I saw anywhere on my side of the state during this run. The first night was slow save for a short window at what has become one of my favorite spots to fish in the state. The tide was low and a few alewives were jetting down the riffles to the head of tide, where some would meet their demise. Not only were stripers there to take the desperate little fish. Like miniature fisherman, night herons were visible in silhouette up and down the riffle. It wasn't quite fully dark yet when we got there, but it took hardly four casts to come up with a quality fish. Two 20 pound class fish in quick succession fell to a swung Sedotti Slammer tied with Devlin Blends yak hair. These weren't long fish, they were over-slots but not 40 inchers. They were just absolutely rotund. That short window was enough to make that night special, as only a few more fish came to hand between then and sunrise. 

Photo Courtesy Alex Peru

The second trip down was the reverse. Alex was fishing different spots most of the night with another friend, but we met up early morning to hit what should have been a prime tide at a new spot he really wanted to show me. Action had waned there though, and we bounced around a few spots on the same creek with only a couple small fish to show for it. I was beginning to drag a bit mentally. I'd started to fish well before dark for trout and was now going on hour 13 of fishing and hour 40 of being awake. I almost considered calling it a night. Fueled by caffeine and addiction, I didn't take too much convincing to follow Alex to another spot. I did have a feeling about it. I'd fished the same river earlier in the night and seen better bass than I've come to expect there. Perhaps the falling tide would concentrate herring and stripers in a particular chokepoint in a gritty, urban, junk filled stretch of the creek. Upon arrival it was clear that exactly that was happening. 

Herring swirled and waked through the shallows. There weren't too many as there sometimes are either, just the right amount to make the bass crazy. And we saw and heard predations within moments of our arrival. What followed was the most remarkably hot and heavy herring run fishing I'd ever had, all of it in water less than 3 feet deep. We had fish in front of us chowing on herring until the light of the new day brought the chorus of morning birds up. It almost seemed there was no end to the slough of fish. As the water fell we just kept following them downstream until the bite died, leaving me unsure how many 30 inch and better bass I'd just caught. None were giants, but two or three may have exceeded 20 pounds. One in particular stands out, feeding loudly in a narrow choke point that herring were attempting to pass through. It was in such shallow water that it probably occupied more than half the water column, and it couldn't help but make some incredibly huge swirls in such a place. I really thought it could be 40 inches. It took a little while to get that fish. In the process I got one right at my feet. I dropped the fly in the water to re-cast and set the hook unintentionally when I went to back-cast. A few casts later my fly stopped dead and I set the hook on the bigger fish, which was about 36 inches if I remember correctly... and I probably don't, though I do know caught fish that big that night. It was so good it was disorienting. 

My brain didn't really fully process that bite. I was at the bottom end of my processing power when we got there and the excitement was just enough to keep me focused and functional enough to drive home, where I promptly crashed almost fully dressed. I woke up later that day with one sock on and my t-shirt sort of knotted around my wrist. I never remembered trying to take it off. The memory itself of the late night chaos was more vivid then but already distorted. Many of these herring run memories hold like that. I'm so beaten down and exhausted that they don't register in full but in fragments. 

Sounds. 

Momentary glimpses. 

Feelings. 

Smells. 

Words uttered between tired fisherman. 

The sensation of a heavy striped bass grabbing a fly. 

It's almost dream like to me, as if I don't actually live the herring run but fabricate it in my mind instead. And it would work, because even when its slow like it was this year, its unquestionably my favorite kind of fishing. It would make sense if I were just making it all up for myself. I'd put big migratory fish in small water, chasing bait that is only there for a finite time. I'd make them heavy and powerful, and the streams themselves not only beautifully structured but at times dangerous to navigate. And of course this would all happen at night, with a lot of other wildlife around even in the most urban spots.

Yeah, the herring run really was made for me. Or, more likely, I was made for it. 

Well, it's over for this year. It always feels so short. Till 2024...

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, oddity on Display, and Sammy 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

Morning Walk

 Sometimes its all too easy to ignore what you have right at home. I live so close to a diverse and fishy lake and yet so often I'm travelling an hour or more away to fish for some of the same species I have right by the house. I try to remind myself of this sometimes and get back to the basics, if you will. When I was still in school I'd walk and bike the lake on weekends and during summer break. Carp were the primary target. I got quite good at spotting them, even when moving quite fast. Smallmouth bass were secondary, and really most of the time I'd only fish for them if I wasn't seeing any carp. Three or four shots at tailing fish were reasonable in a morning, three carp to hand was exceptional. The fish weren't big either. But they were tough enough to be good practice. Not unwilling, but finicky enough that often I'd wonder how I couldn't convert. It was exceptionally good practice with the species. I'm certainly not so cocky as to say I have that all figured out by now, far from it. So why not take that morning walk every now and then?

Recently I took to the sidewalk again one early morning, looking into the glare of the sun for the boils and swirls that denote waving tails. Feeding carp reveal themselves in many way... these are the sorts of things I learned out there on those morning walks. Observation showed me that looking for a waving tail in the air was good but not good enough. Many of the fish revealed themselves with the faintest surface disturbances and small, sporadic bubble patches. These local waters are the places where I devised methods for targeting carp that I actually couldn't see, but which were bubbling- to this day I've yet to see a more effective set of strategies from any other angler be devised to target bubblers, and I've managed to put multiple clients on carp that neither they nor I can actually see by fishing to the bubble patches. I also learned that on this lake, not only does substrate dictate nitrogen production but some years I'd simply not see any bubblers at all. This wasn't because there weren't carp feeding there but because the bottom wasn't releasing any gas. All of these little details came to me as I walked- rod in one hand and net in the other -along that walkway I'd trod so many times before. 

I ended up getting three good quality shots at fish. The first was a bubbler in a little creek off the main lake, a consistently reliable spot that has given up many carp over the years. It was a difficult shot and, semi predictably, I blew it. I then covered quite a lot of ground before seeing another fish. This one was tailing in tight to a rocky bank. I really thought it would be an easy one if I didn't spook it by making my presence known, but it was too smart for that. On three presentations it gently refused a squirmy hybrid variation by dodging carefully around it, swimming a few feet over, then continuing to feed. It was this sort of behavior that endeared carp to me. I'll never really know how to or be able to catch every feeding carp I see, but every year I get a bit better at it. More than a decade after my first attempts I'd certainly hope to be making a little headway anyway. 

The third and final shot was to a bubbler. Bubblers often require a significant number of casts. Since they're generally feeding deeper (otherwise they would just be tailing) bubblers are generally harder to spook. I presented to this one 6 times before it took. I never really saw the take either, the hook set was an educated guess. It often impresses clients when I say "set" and they hook a carp without any visual que. The question often gets asked "how did you see that?" Well, I didn't.

Like many of the carp I'd caught from this lake over the years, this one had a bit of a deformity. I don't know exactly what it is that has caused this and why its so prevalent there. Despite the deformity, the fish was taken as a minor victory on my part and released to mud up the bottom of the lake some more. Though I might not walk the lake daily or even weekly anymore I certainly can't ignore the impact it has had on my growth as an angler and guide. 

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, oddity on Display, and Sammy 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

Moments on the Fly: I'm Talkin' Here!

 Garth and I were exploring a new backwater with carp and bowfin potential when a call I got a call that I had to take. It isn't especially common that I answer the phone while fishing but if I expect an important call I will take it, or if someone that doesn't normally call does I may answer. But I'll sometimes leave my phone down for days on a long trip and certainly on a day trip. While I talked, I kept my eyes on the water. There'd been a few tailing carp working in some weeded areas. Every now and then one would work its way into a clear spot and tail beautifully. Roughly midway through the call, a shot presented itself that I couldn't refuse. A sizable yellow ghost carp made itself a fantastic target. I crept into position, phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, and managed a good cast. The fish moved on the fly and took. I lifted and it was on. Now I had to battle a roughly 13 pound carp on a 5 weight and 6lb tippet in heavy weeds and not drop my phone in the mud. 

It might have been one of my favorite feats of angling prowess... of course I must credit Garth for lending an assist and interpreting wordless directions as well. But I don't think the person on the other end of the line had any idea what was happening on my end at all. I hooked and fought the fish and we landed and photographed it without taking the phone off my ear or interrupting the call. Considering how hard carp are too feed, I'm proud to have managed the task while a significant part of my focus was elsewhere. Though perhaps it isn't the best idea that I take important calls on the water anymore. Not because I can't catch fish, but because when I'm fishing there isn't much that can fully pull my attention way from the water and its surrounding landscape and ecology. 

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, oddity on Display, and Sammy 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