Goliath

 It's rare that I take the canoe out on my own. It's big and bulky and blows around like crazy. There's little sense in sight fishing from it unless I can anchor. I'd actually never bothered to do a solo trip in it until a morning not all that long ago. After multiple client trips with loads of channel cats and carp blind fishing, I wanted my own little piece of the action in solitude. I set out in the early morning haze, groggy and slow but confident. I went about the methodical process of launching the boat without concern of anyone else showing up at the launch on weekday dawn. I undid straps, grunted under the strain of hoisting the yoke over my shoulders, and disrupted the calm by letting the hull slap down when I flipped the boat over onto the river's surface. I feel a little bad when I do that kind of thing and tried to make up for it by poling myself downriver in a manner that blended with the waking up world. Upon getting to the deep cut I'd fish, the push pole served as an anchor with a roped tied to it for easy adjustment. The glassy surface rippled from my activities as well as those of channel catfish and common carp that were just as excited about the warm, humid and calm conditions as I was. 

My strategies for blind fishing carp and catfish are simple, involving relatively small flies, slow presentations on floating or intermediate lines, and patience. As John put it: "Its exactly like bluefin tuna fishing, apart from every single detail". But however slow it may be it is also wildly productive. Though I hardly have any clients interested in it, those that are as well as myself have put a staggering number of fish in the boat this summer. I'm not sure another guide has netted so many fly caught channel cats for their clients in a single month. And the fish themselves are incredibly sporting, pulling like demons and demanding careful fighting and forethought of knot strength and line deterioration. They aren't objectively pretty- not the channels at least, I find carp scales strikingly pretty. But channel catfish, especially big ones, are gnarly looking monsters that are hard to make photogenic. I appreciate their form and function though, and hold the opinion that every living thing holds beauty. The little ones, now some of those are indeed pretty. They have almost a light glitter to their flanks, more like a silver or gold iridescence, and lovely little black spots. Despite all their lack of visual glamour, its still the biggest one that I really want. Garth, John and I have devoted a lot of hours to the species this summer. It's high time for a giant to show. We're after a record. 

The bite proved consistent as the day gradually brightened. I picked off channel catfish from one to eight pounds and a couple smaller carp at a steady rate. By the time the sun hit the tree tops way up above the bank I was fishing, I'd netted more than a dozen fish. 

It was around that time that the Helios registered a faint bite and I swung into shear mass and authority. The fish ran perpendicular and down current, making the line vibrate in the water as it went. I knew it was a carp, and though it would be quite a while before I saw it I knew it was large. It had been a while since a carp had got me into my backing, even on light tippet and rods. This one did so and then some, in the process pulling my makeshift anchor out of the mud and giving me what I'll call a Connecticut River Sleigh Ride. It was 50 yards before I actually saw the fish. and 50 more longer, shakier, heart pounding yards before I sunk it in the net. She was a huge fish, just short of the second stripping guide on the rod and substantially over 30 pounds. I can hoist 20's with two hands not problem but this fish needed to rest on my knee for the photo to work.

Some feeding windows are set up to be exceptional, and the fishy angler knows it. There's a feeling, a smell, something like that. Things aren't going wrong. There is an efficiency and a lack of anxiety to the world. Sure, spectacular things happen when its chaos too. Frequently. But there's something special to a relaxed slam fest culminating in a monster fish. It's more affirming than the rushed, panicked fishing. That's how carp fishing has become for me. I've got a founded confidence after a decade of aggressive and targeted fishing for the species in a huge variety of fisheries from North Carolina to Massachusetts. I'd like to think I'm fairly alright at it. Sure, I get some light jitters to this day when I'm casting at a huge one, and there will always be more learning to do an mysteries to solve. But I set out that morning certain I'd catch carp on the fly, and five years ago that never would have happened. I didn't know I'd catch a huge one- perhaps the biggest of the year -but I was completely certain that I'd catch. That's meaningful for me. That defines progress as an angler. The idea after a short spell of having that confidence is to intentionally throw a little monkey wrench in- change something in a way I'm not sure will work, but might and could even further improve my productivity. 

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