Haunch '21

 John Kelly and I slipped past the well decorated utility building on our way out of a mostly un-productive morning of blind casting into a large lake. Most noticeable to us was a big message portrayed in pink: "Haunch '21". We didn't know who Haunch was, and the time had come and gone to express our support it seemed, but Haunch seemed suggested of someone well built, perhaps even over built. It would become a running joke of the multi-day mission. 

Our hopes for that dawn patrol had been many fold and were very close to fruition at one point. A fish broke the surface not far from John and he made a cast in its perceived direction of travel. A wake came up behind his fly, then the fish took. It was off about as soon as it was on, but it had been tantalizingly salmonid like in nature. Weather it might be a brown, landlocked salmon, or rainbow we did not know. But we had a good idea what we could expect from the rest of the day. Rainbows; the lake run variety, genetically derived from steelhead but a bit smaller in stature in the more restricted environment that is a smaller freshwater lake, we our target. Many would be wild fish, something automatically appealing to me, as is a migratory critter. There's a lot to be said for wander lust. Though a stream resident trout growing to large proportions takes more years and perhaps smarts than one that moves to where the food is most easily obtained needs to attain the same size, there's also a huge appeal to  fish that makes moves. It may be here one day and gone the next, spending much of its life as a pelagic critter to shove itself in a tiny creek for little more than a week or two for spawning purposes or to feed. I almost feel a kinship with fish that travel.

John made a stop to gather intel from the locals. About a half dozen guys lined a spot, fishing bait. A few were picking up small drum and the odd bass. One offered up advice about where in the system the big rainbows were at the moment. Acting on that, we drove to where the river was small and sinuous. Seeming more like a brook trout stream than somewhere we'd find rainbows well in excess of 20 inches, the river coursed through grey rock and tussocks of green spring grass. We worked our way briskly downstream, passing a center-pinner who told us he'd managed a few fish. 

Eventually I came to a classic bend with a cut bank and deep hole. In the seam coming off the backside of the undercut I could see a few large rainbows. I stood back from the pool a little bit, enough that the fish seemed unconcerned with my presence, and tied on a heavy size 8 Ausable Ugly. I began working the pool. I quickly realized there was a jet of current mid water column that I'd need to punch through. This is a common thing in small, dynamic pools and runs. The current gets stratified not only bey surface and bottom friction but by other structure in the water, causing radical differences in current speed with depth. I adjusted by starting my presentation much further upstream, which in turn demanded a more careful lead of the fly to keep it following the right track. It took me a while to get both to depth and in the right seam, but when I did the biggest of the three trout I could see came off station and at the fly. It was a great fight, a beautiful specimen, and an excellent start to the trip's catching. But I don't think this one was Haunch. 

We continued downriver, hopping run to run gathering data. With migratory fish its very important to gather baselines and understand that change is constant. A run or pool could be hot one day and cold the next, or it could be a sweet spot for some reason- either a place with food abundance, a necessary resting spot, or somewhere in close proximity to spawning habitat. Knowing the difference and parsing the water accordingly cuts out time wasted fishing water that isn't holding. Over the next few days we'd narrow our scope further and further, drawing correlation with how pools were structured, the presence or absence of suckers, and how far up the watersheds we were. 

It's nice to fish with someone whose process for fishing a system is very similar. I fish with people for a living, which I enjoy immensely, but also forces me to mold an experience for someone's learning style and abilities. That has enhanced my flexibility; guiding has changed how I fish in my own time. But it's also altered who I fish with in my own free time as well. I'm more and more inclined to fish with my friends who fish like John, because John fishes like I do. He's minimalistic in what he carries, likes to cover water, and though we can put space between each other we also don't lose each other. The result is a two person fish finding machine- more effective than only one set of eyes and one rod, with neither slowing the other down nor stepping on the others toes all the time. When I'm fishing seriously, which I usually am, I'd either like to fish alone or fish with someone whose style and strategy works with mine as well as John's does. 

We managed to nymph and swing up some beautiful rainbows, but I'm not sure any were haunch. Then, in one run towards the bottom end of a creek, I came tight to a hefty fish on a Complex Twist Bugger. It wasn't a rainbow. It was a smallmouth. I'd been catching big smallmouth at home, and in terms of size this fish was on par. But it was proportionally all wrong. I'd catch a few more like it before trip's end and learn that this was, in fact, the norm here. These fish were Haunch: so absurdly heavy for their length and age that it made this long time smallmouth angler drool. Their heads and mouths were tiny, and so was every fin, as if someone took everything off the body of a small, young fish and stuck it on a big old one. This denoted incredible growth rates. 

Given my personal interest in finding and catching the biggest smallmouth in the world on a fly, this certainly intrigued me. So, though I'll certainly make my way to the same fishery again for the trout it seems highly likely that I'll also need to go for bass specifically as well. I need to find Haunch Prime, and that might be the place to do it. It's funny how exploring a place for one specific fishery can reveal one you'd never thought about. 

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

In Winter's Grip

 It was a damp, dark February night. Garth and I parked at a muddy pull off on a quiet New England back road and quickly geared up. I was going wader-less but warm, with long johns and sweat pants under a well weathered pair of khakis, thick wool socks under my leather work boots, and multiple layers on top as well. We both dawned nitrile gloves and pulled rods out of the car before disappearing silently into the woods. We wore no headlamps, as neither of us are inclined to pollute the darkness with artificial light during our nocturnal striped bass hunts. This particular outing was well into a long bender to decipher after dark feeding patterns of large holdover fish. The conditions, we thought, were ideal this time. We'd carefully put together puzzle pieces over the course of the winter: light, moon phase, barometric pressure, tide, frontal conditions... it was starting to fit together. It had been a long road to success, starting years prior for me with multiple failed after hours attempts. I'd eventually come to the conclusion that my holdover spots just weren't worth night fishing. Reinvigorated efforts came as a result of complete disbelief that that could actually be the case. These fish had to eat in the dark too. Holdovers in other places did. Eventually, with a push to be more patient and observant one night thanks to Garth. It would have taken longer to catch anything if one night he hadn't insisted that we sit for a while and let things settle. A condition change occurred as we bantered on the marsh bank and suddenly our discussion was interrupted by the sound of stripers gently swirling on bait. 

Those had been small fish though. I was adamant we could get something larger. We were hell bent on doing so. The appeal of putting up a 20 pound or bigger striped bass in the winter months and doing so on foot in the middle of the night with a fly rod was multifaceted for me. I've been an intensely devoted nighttime angler since I was a teenager and my comfort and confidence navigated all sorts of waters at night is very high. To do so for arguably my favorite target species in a time of year I hadn't figured out yet was very appealing. Add to that the difficulties of sub-freezing temperatures, ice, and even snow, and it gets more interesting still. There's also a patience and subtlety to targeting large holdovers in lower yield locations that demands focus and time. The fish eat delicately and infrequently, and though there isn't complexity to the flies required to catch them there is to the presentation. There's also a lot to be said for being able to blind cast as far as you can in the darkness with limited back-cast for hours on end for just a handful of subtle blink-and-you-miss-it bites. Throw in gobs of frost collecting in your guides and icicles forming in you beard on the worst of nights and you've got a recipe for a lot of guys staying home. And that's probably fair, it really isn't everyone's cup of tea. But f*** man, it sure is mine. I absolutely love it. 

This particular night we were on the cusp of a front and it really wasn't all that unpleasant out. The water was closing in on 40 degrees and the air temperature was a bit over that even after 1:00am. We covered ground briskly on our way to the river, almost but not quite capable of doing this walk with our eyes closed now. Eventually the trees gave way and the ethereal reflection of the clouds off the water's surface came into view. We quietly assumed or first casting positions and began to ply the dead still waters. 

Bites didn't come with any notable frequency that night, but my mind recorded the one that mattered like a bit of grainy super 8 footage. Some winter bass bites are barely a flutter. Others load up on it. This fish slammed the fly hard, as though it had come at it head on. My 6wt flexed under the weight and I uttered "big fish" and Garth hastily made his way over. The fight was a significant one, The fish had a fair bit of energy for being in that cold water. It was a little while before we did get a glimpse at her when we did, it was a moment of exceptional satisfaction. It was the sort of fish we'd come for. 

With new found confidence, we'd push ourselves to the limit the rest of the winter. In the end, we didn't best that fish though both of us just about matched it numerous times. Inevitably, we came out of that season with new questions. Chief among them being just what exactly out upper limit could be. Could we get a 30 pounder in January or February? How about a 40? There's really only one way to find that out. 

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