Here Be Carp

From the hotel room I could hear two young anglers chatting with one of the hotel guests on the back deck. These kids were local, not guests at the hotel, but somehow in suburban Michigan I'd stepped into a prior time and these kids were biking in and fishing without getting kicked out. That doesn't happen much in Connecticut anymore, and not just because I'm not a kid anymore (debatably, I'm still plenty immature), but I'd doubt my best friend Dalton and I could have biked to such a place when we were 14 or 15 years old and not gotten the boot if such a thing existed in Connecticut. He and I did trespass a lot, often cautiously, and we still got kicked out sometimes. There was something refreshing about these kids being at least tacitly permitted on the premises of a lakeside hotel. It felt like a whisper of a former time. There was also something refreshing about these kids targeting carp. That's what they were talking about, as I listened through the all-too-sound-permeable wall. And the adult guest was poo-pooing it. "Carp? why not fish for something that actually pulls? Those are just big soggy lumps". I snorted, probably loudly enough for them to hear me. Tell me you've never carp fished without telling me you've never carp fished. They can be accused of more than a few negative characteristics, but not pulling isn't one. Of course I've had a few dullards on the end of my line, but on the whole... they pull and they pull well. And since I hadn't seen these carp yet nor anticipated their presence in the crystal clear, 90 foot deep private lake, I glanced at my prototype Atlas 4wt in the corner and smirked. It was going to get hurt, now that I had this piece of information. 

The carp's introduction to North America is one spans back a couple centuries. Though they are still broadly looked down upon today, as evidenced by that other hotel guest, they weren't always. In fact they're so ubiquitous today because they held thousands of years of history as food, sport, and ornament in Europe in Asia. Another hotel guest, Dan, told me about the large koi found in some high mountain lakes in his native California and how they'd been brought there by Chinese railroad workers during the gold rush. That's just a piece of the puzzle though, as both amur carp (koi), and more often common carp, were being brought into the US and cultivated by enterprising individuals in hopes of providing food for the masses. Inevitably, they got around. Nary a state in this union lacks common carp, withstanding Florida which, contrary to the belief of many that carp like it hot, is too warm for too much of the year to have robust and sustaining populations. And evidently these wild carp lacked the flavor and appeal that cultivated ones had, and coupled with the rapidly deteriorating quality of many water bodies across the country due to industrialization, carp fell out of favor. Not only did they fall out of favor, but their ability to survive what we wrought on native species resulted in a general disdain and even blame, and that eventually grew into a distaste and disdain to even native species that resemble the carp. The American reaction to the invasive nature of common carp was so severe it caused many to look down on fish like buffalo and redhorse that share commonalities. Though the cult of carp that I've profited from has begun to turn the tide a little on the dislike of the species, the general displeasure is still there. I've meet plenty that cringe or wince when I say I guide for carp, though many of those are casual anglers or not anglers at all. I discourage moving carp around and in some cases even encourage their removal, they don't belong here and aren't ecologically beneficial... but that certainly doesn't dismiss their value as angling sport, and I feel increasingly less bad about stabbing non-natives in the face for fun and more bad about bothering the more incumbered natives. 

In many of the places I fish in Connecticut, the water is shallow and turbid, indeed in part because of the carp. That contrasted in many ways from this lake, which was clear as can be. The bottom was sand and gravel though, which doesn't lend to turbidity. The lake was a  kettle lake that had been enlarged by a small dam. Apparently it exceeded 90 feet in depth. That  would be astounding for a lake of similar size in Connecticut, especially given the flat landscape. This was a classic kettle lake, which we do have in Connecticut though none that I know of are quite like this. These a relic of the glaciers, where large chunks of ice remained as the glacier retreated. Imbedded in deep sediment, these pieces took a long time to melt and left large depressions when they finally did. They're one of the more obvious evidences of the glacial history on this landscape, though perhaps less dramatic than remnants I'd see after leaving Michigan. On Kelley's Island in Lake Erie, the glaciers left incredible gouges in Devonian limestone. 

The water around Kelley's Island was just as clear as that little kettle lake, but there were carp out there too, I'm told. And that is no surprise. Before gawking at the glacial grooves I was watching small carp thrash the shallows of marshes in Erie County, with terns wheeling overhead making it sound like home on long Island sound, limestone causeways and canals making it look like Florida, and the carp.... I don't know what the carp made it feel like, other than that I was being followed by them. I couldn't stay away if I tried. The frothed the shallows of the marshland to a soupy brown mess. That's the turbidity I'm used to. But back in Michigan, with a little bit of waiting, I was watching fish feed in seven feet of water thirty feet away. 

The clarity wasn't all that differed from home. These carp, I'd learn, weren't fans of seeing the fly on the fall. I almost need to see it drop through the murk, but these ones would spook from it. After a few blown opportunities that resulted in fish taking of at speed as thy spotted a sinking yellow sucker spawn fly, I opted to fish an almost bait-like tactic. A cast was made a cast when fish were still 15 or more feet away. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more. 

Though I generally chose to fish a fly, I think this spot-and stalk strategy with bait or artificial is equally exhilarating. When you can see the carp and watch her movements, drawing nearer or retreating from your hook, suspense builds. Especially when she is a really big one. I watch, my heart beating more and more loudly as she works ever closer to my little yellow fly. The water is so clear that I can see her eyes and barbels working as she forages, seeking out anything that might be calorically beneficial- something my fly certainly isn't, but I could hope it would catch her eye. I dare not move a muscle as she got within six inches of the fly. She dipped and tucked into a little patch of detritus next to a rock, mouth working hard and pectoral fins waving to push her into the good stuff. That waving action swirled the water near my fly and it's lightness allowed it to tumble a couple of inches in a little whirlpool. Her left eye turned down and I could have sworn she looked right at the fly. And she probably did, because she left what she'd been digging at and with flared lips pressed right down on the fly. I waited for her mouth to close and lifted the four weight only lightly. The heavy creature responded with violence and speed, running no less tan 140 yards down the lake (Soggy lump my butt). It was then my task for the next ten minutes to subdue a creature well over 20 pounds on a rod made to catch small trout, a job it was evidentially up for despite that intent. 

Though that trip was in part a fishing break for me- believe it or not I do want to do other things more than angling -it is impossible to say no when a freshwater fish that size wanders in front of me. Yet many people do still scoff and say no, and that I'll just never understand.

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, Sammy, and Cris & Jennifer, Hunter, Gordon, Thomas, Trevor, Eric, Evan, and Javier 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. 

Jack Attack

 The cook-an-egg-hot Florida sand barely registered beneath my calloused feet as I wandered a mostly vacant beach. As it turns out, an August weekday with a heat index of 118 degrees can provide fair solitude on what might otherwise be busy beaches. I'd surprised myself with how rapidly I adjusted to the conditions, and as with many prior trips to Florida I was routinely being asked the sort of questions that would be asked of a local. My physique didn't hurt the "from here" impression: barefoot with stained khaki shorts and an unbuttoned blue long sleeve, a sling pack, a stripping basket, worn and sun bleached ball cap, 8 weight fly rod in hand, and the ends of my shoulder-length hair blonding from half a season's worth of sun and salt damage. The heat wasn't phasing me, I brushed it off like I do any natural factor. I take some pride in my ability to adapt to different places and conditions. I feel there's a lot to be said for being just as comfortable on a sun bathed strip of southern sand in mid summer as on an icy, dark urban trout river in the depths of January. At least there's merit if you intend to be as versatile an angler as I'd like to be. There's also merit, outside of fishing, to being able to relate to people anywhere you go.

I'd been on the hunt for tarpon for days now. The hope was to encounter balls of bait along the beach being marauded by silver kings, and though I'd seen tarpon there was a distinct lack of minnows to pull them in tight to the beach. The hours and miles covered had jaded me enough that for this excursion I'd left the 12 weight in the car. This beach had produced a couple small snook for me the previous day on the same tide, so I was hoping just to get tight to a favorite species of mine, size irrelevant. And that's how I found myself entirely under-gunned when one of the most remarkable shows I'd ever seen made its way up the beach. 

I'd been working my way north towards a point, picking deeper parts of the trough as I went, when I looked back south and saw absolute melee in progress. large menhaden were being flung as much as eight feet into the air in car-sized whitewater explosions. My jaw about hit the sand and I began jogging in that direction. The attackers were crevalle jacks... huge ones. Suddenly, the Helios in my hand was not the tool for the job at all. It felt like a toothpick. I was quickly tying on the biggest fly in my limited arsenal though, with the chaos rapidly approaching at the same time. As the sounds of death and ravenous consumption became audible the Yak Hair Deceiver entered he fray. It was quickly consumed, followed by about 10 seconds of screeching drag before I thought better of my decisions and buttoned down to let what would have been an unlandable trophy jack break off. I traded the rod for the lens and chased the fish northward, at times just walking, at times at a full on sprint. 

The visuals were incredible. Menhaden beached themselves in a desperate bid to get away from an unescapable death at the hands of one of the fastest and most powerful fish in these waters. The jacks surfed waves over the bar in groups as numerous as 30 or more, then layed siege on the desperate baits in as little as a couple feet of water. Their yellow dorsal fins sliced though the foam in a way that seemed both coordinated and erratic at the same time. 

The fish were so widely spread that at the same time as I had jacks zipping around almost at my feet I could see more over the outer bar and yet more still exploding beyond the breakers. It was a blitz like I'd never seen before, putting any striped bass feed I'd seen to shame in terms of shear ferocity. It was fast too. Before I realized what had happened I was out of breath a solid mile from where I'd started chasing them, watching the fish continue northward. 

In a desperate bid to try to catch up and have a shot at hooking and landing one of these fish, I ran full tilt back to that car, physically spent put pushing myself forward be shear will alone. I threw my gear in the back and tied a large slammer on the 12 weight with my teeth and one hand as I sped north to another access. Even in a vehicle, it was too slow. I had just a couple mediocre shots at stragglers coming down the beach. The whitewater eruptions were just visible a half mile to my north. I'd try to run north again but lost the fish. Ah well, what a show it was while it lasted. These are the moments I live for. 

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.

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. 

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.

Close Encounters

 Every serious angler has had one or two of those moments- a time span that could be as little as a glimpse or extend to a long duration sighting -in their time on the water. There are some fish out there, mythical ones. Legendary in proportion.  If you angle long enough, you'll run into them. Today the Noahs and I had an encounter with such a fish. 

The lake we were fishing is one loaded with chain pickerel. These native Esox are the dominant fish in that body of water, which we three love. There are certainly bass, the beloved non-native, but the habitat here favors the pickerel. The water is more acidic and carries a dark natural stain. Its classic pickerel water. Most are small though, maybe 14 inches. 20 inchers aren't especially uncommon though, so we've put some time in after larger pickerel on this lake. The goal today wasn't specific though. There are plenty of crappie, bluegill and yellow perch to be had as well, and that was loosely my focus. Noah and Garth switched back and forth between panfish and pickerel presentations. The weather played just as fast and loose. Clouds came and went, as did wind. One moment it felt like it was in the 40's, the next the sun beating on my back made me want to shed a layer. A passing shower's cold wind hit us for a few minutes as the clouds denoting the outflow boundary darkened the sky over our heads, making us fight to hold our drift with the trolling motor. 

It was shortly after that shower passed off to our north that the encounter happened. We'd been working our way up a dock line. The Noahs were casting shore-ward while I fish behind our drift, taking advantage of our slow speed to essentially troll for perch. I'd switched, though, when it happened. Noah had hooked a very small pickerel, maybe 10 inches if I saw things correctly. When he got it boat side what could only have been one of the largest pickerel in the world tried to eat the small one. It didn't even register as a pickerel to me. What I saw was it's diameter, which could best be described as leg-like. This was a pickerel that was honestly about as big around as my lanky thigh.The other two had a better look, and neither would argue that it was less than 30 inches. In fact we think it was quite a bit bigger. How believable is that? Not. I wouldn't believe you if you were telling me. Should you believe me? Shit, I don't know why you would. But we all know what we saw. It was a truly monumental chain pickerel. Record status. A fish of mythical status. A bit later Noah said "I feel strange now" and "I'll be thinking about that fish for a decade"... and I get it. I saw that fish, I know what that was. I've had a few similar  encounters as well, mostly while fishing alone with nobody to confirm the validity of the story.

I compared it to seeing a gray alien out your window. Fish like this aren't real, you don't really see them. And yet for a moment you may find yourself in the very position we were in today. Try to absorb it. It's one of the most thrilling things in fishing. 

We never saw that fish again. Garth got a pretty good one of about 24 inches later, Noah and I both got plenty to 20 inches. They felt extraordinarily insignificant. 

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.

Spectacular Vermont Brown Trout

 "Want to give it a shot?" Drew Price called to me from the other side of the creek, knee deep along a great looking pool. He'd just hung his fly in a limb on the near side after covering the pool fairly thoroughly. I figured I had no shot but said "sure" anyway and crossed to his side. The clear, cold flow of this lowland river squeezed the air out of my waders as I made my way over on a gravel bar. This was a stream I'm never fished before, one Drew told me had been really intriguing him as it refused to give up the caliber fish he knew were residing there. Of course this intrigued me greatly. That's the sort of trout stream that grabs and maintains my interest, the sort that I know has large fish but is impenetrable and hard to crack. So of course when Drew asked if I'd like to make the ride up and fish it with him I obliged. 

The initial fishing enforced the idea that this was going to be a tough nut to crack. Access wasn't easy, the water was very clear, and the narrowness and sweeping bends formed complex current breaks that were hard to read. There were also lots of places for a lethargic trout to bury themselves into during the cold- deep cut banks and log jams -that they likely won't come out of all that willingly.  We didn't catch fish through a bunch of juicy looking water. I'd opted to fish a mono rig and a sparkle minnow. I have confidence in Coffey's Sparkle Minnow for wild brown trout just about everywhere, and the mono rig would allow my to flip and sling the streamer in the abundant places where I'd have no back cast room. I moved two smaller trout as we made our way down, both made their attacks the moment after I completely flipped the direction the fly was swimming. But those fish really weren't all that confidence inducing for me, they were small fish and we were covering a lot of water that felt as though it should be producing that just wasn't. Drew wasn't kidding about this place. 

That was what lead us to that deep pool. In that time, the river had gotten under my skin, just as Drew had expected it would. This was my sort of trout stream. And it was about to get a lot more interesting. I eased up the side of the pool where drew had fished and began casting my sparkle minnow toward the head of the pool. I made a few fairly typical retrieves before I decided to switch it up and two hand retrieve as fast as I could. I don't remember how many casts it was before a nice trout made a visually spectacular swipe at the fly just about right under Drew's rod tip. "Shit, I just had about a 22 inch fish take a swipe" I said. It never touched the fly, but I really didn't expect it to come back. I made three more casts before feeling that telltale tension and with urgency stated "there she is!". I made quick work of the fight and Drew got the net under it. We went crazy, both of us- almost incoherent. It was indeed 22 inches, and an absolutely gorgeous and unusual looking trout. It didn't look like any trout I'd ever caught before. It was very pale overall with spectacular light blue cheeks. It was a lovely brown trout and my first over the 20 inch mark this year. A good start to the new trout year if I do say so myself!

Photo Courtesy Drew Price

Photo Courtesy Drew Price

That could have been a start of a roll, but it wasn't really. Drew caught another fish a short time later but other than that I don't know that either of us actually moved another the rest of the day. The water looked great though and I was beginning to formulate methods and approaches. Suffice to say, I'll be back. Likely more than once. Probably many many times. Though that fish was a clincher, there's just something about covering as much water as we did, as much killer looking water, without catching numbers of trout that intrigues me. We know there are fish there. Obviously there are fish there. The question is, how do we catch them consistently? It'll take some time to figure it out I'm sure. 

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.

In The First Minutes of November

 Garth and I dumped the canoe in last few hours of October. There'd been some large striped bass around and I'd been using personal watercraft to explore new territories. A couple days prior I'd caught my largest surf striper, a roughly 44 inch 30-plus pound fish. Minutes before that fish another 40 incher had come to hand. This was in daylight... I was a bit taken with that and felt the need to ply the same waters under the cover of darkness. Access was tricky but Garth and I found our way in.The canoe would be our ferry, the fishing itself would be land based. We just couldn't get where we planned to fish by wading outside of extreme low tides, and we'd inevitably not be able to do the fishing we wanted to in such a scenario. The canoe that Drew Price fished on the waters of Lake Champlain was now getting two young anglers onto the dark waters of Long Island Sound, where we thought we might just have a chance to run into a sea monster. 

There's often a deeply ominous feeling when I climb out onto the furthest rock I can reach to cast into a powerful rip. The water is rarely calm, certainly not on the most productive nights, nor is it clear. A headlamp provides some security but it mustn't be on long and I've learned to do nearly everything I possibly can without one. That darkness envelopes you, as does the sound of the incoming tide flushing around the boulders. All this rock was left as the glaciers receded and is now home to a plethora of baitfish, crabs both native and invasive, the odd lobster, oysters, muscles, and of course striped bass. My hope was that within this particular pile of current ravaged, life encrusted granite, there could be a truly huge striped bass. My mind created all sorts of other creatures though, and as I scrambled onto my rock of choice I looked back at the dry land behind me nervously. The point I was on formed a ridge extending out toward deep water. It's descent was quite gradual, meaning I'd needed to wade a long way through unfamiliar territory to get where I was. I knew the holes between some of these boulders could be surprisingly deep. I also knew that seals and brown sharks like to hunt this same water. Though I knew that rationally these large creatures posed no threat to me, the ingrained fear of that which I couldn't see crept up. The intent, really the necessity of pulling on a large striper prevailed though, and any unwarranted fear faded in the pursuit of a striped bass of a lifetime. Expectation overshadowed reality out on that point that night. One take from a bass of unknown stature was all that resulted.

I had other tricks up my sleeve though. Nearby a shallow muscle bar marked the passage between island and mainland. Despite being very shallow it was enticing structure with good current and multiple ambush points. We picked our way out into the rushing current. I was keenly aware that much of bottom I trod on there was a living mosaic of mollusks. I tried not to drag my feet or step too hard. When I could I walked on what sand I could find. The current here was perfect for swinging, and I worked the water by casting down and across with my large white Hollow Fleye and simply letting the tide carry it. Large stripers are lazy and bait often doesn't suspect pursuit under the cover of darkness. A slow and deliberate presentation will often beat out a fast retrieve.

It was just a few minutes into November when I felt a pull. I pulled back hard and buried the hook. The fish's actions were deliberate and slow. It didn't really define its size, though I knew it wasn't small. My size guess changed again and again as I waded into the shallows, walking the fish back to where I could land here. When I finally did get her on her side in about five inches of water where her silhouette was just visible, I could see that she was a good one. At 39.5 inches and 20 some pounds she was easily my largest November bass. It can be all too easy to ignore the bass in front of you when you feel confident that there are much, much larger ones within a mile of where you, and I'd had a such a good October that I'd started to tire of the smaller fish. I wanted a 40 pound striper on the fly, on foot. And this wasn't it. But I realized her significance... she was a reminder to stay on my toes, to expect the unexpected. I thought there was a chance big fish could occasionally slide onto that muscle bar, but if I'd had to pick one spot in that area to fish that night it would have been where we started and we would have gotten skunked. 

And we almost did. That was the only fish we laid hands on that night. It proved the importance of exploring all the possibilities of a spot, analyzing it critically, and fishing thoroughly and with intent at all times. Though I'd try again, that muscle bar never produced another striper this fall. The point nearby did give me some opportunities. It will take a few seasons at least to really grasp the dynamic of this new-to-me water. After fishing it an hour more that night we paddled the canoe back to our starting point. The whole way I was formulating approaches, considering conditions, and picturing the fish I knew was out there somewhere not far away. Scales as big as quarters. Mouth wide enough to swallow a fluke. I need to catch her. 

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

Thunderstorms & Cows: Big Striped Bass on the Fly

 Early October featured some of the most consistent striped bass fishing I've ever experienced, offering regular opportunities at 20 pound class fish on the fly from shore. One of the major factors at play for me was a storm named Ian. Hurricane Ian hammered Florida's west coast, severely impacting thousands of people, destroying homes and businesses, and inundating an area I fell in love with on my very first trip to Florida in 2017. Ian would go on to continue up the coast as it dissipated. By the time it's effects were being felt in southern New England, it was a wide but weak storm. Ian's dying remnants brought some moderate rain and wind to the Connecticut shoreline, and during the inaugural Eastern LIS Tightlined Slam Alex, Noah and I battled rough conditions to find some spectacular bites. Despite, or rather in some ways because of the horrible weather, some truly incredible things transpired during that tournament. We found exceptional adult bunker feeds, including some all out raging blitzes of 20 pound class striped bass. It was difficult, tiring, and very, very wet, but also two of the most exciting days of fishing I've ever had. 

Though we caught a lot of fish, including some large ones, I don't think any of us were satisfied. I certainly wasn't. Ian's death was a slow, labored one, and it continued to throw wind and rain at the Connecticut shoreline for days on end. I took full advantage of the poor weather and low pressure, fishing every night and most days I could. It wasn't exactly easy, especially for a fly rodder. I needed to pick my spots, often walking and wading huge distances to where I could reach fish with fairly short casts. Large flies that imitate menhaden don't exactly cut the wind, not do floating fly lines. I was often casting into or perpendicular to a 20-30 mile per hour wind. The water was churned up and murky. If I didn't have completely that there'd be fish in front of me, and likely big fish, I might not have stuck it out the way I did some of those nights. It felt ridiculous at times. One night, Garth and I slogged it out for a few hours of tide in a ridiculous headwind at a spot I'd never wade fished before, but felt positive would be holding fish. It was, and we caught some good ones, though not as big as I was really hoping for. 

The next night, I revisited the same tide and location with Alex. We started catching a few fish, again good sized but not quite what we were really hoping for. The wind was a little harsher still this night and it had the water seriously churned up at that location. Alex convinced me that we should try to fish another spot to see if the bass had pushed deeper into sheltered water, and I agreed. We'd still have enough tide to come back if we decided we wanted to. It turned out that we'd not be returning. The secondary spot was absolutely stacked with good sized bass. Alex and I slugged it out with 20 pound fish after 20 pound fish while the wind howled and distant lightning gradually came closer and got brighter. The fish ranged mostly from 36 to 44 inches, though we're sure some larger ones were present.  They were stupidly easy. Big flies, big plastics both worked incredibly well. I fished white and black, it didn't seem to make any difference. These fish were just chewing in a way that I'd not encountered before. It was a rare window in which getting sizable striped bass on the fly was just easy.

Well, there's a caveat to the "it was easy" thing. I'm a very stubborn fly caster, and I refuse to let wind dictate when or where I can cast. That has resulted in a lot of practice pounding hard casts into a strong wind, which is what I was doing that night. It also took a lot of time and effort to pattern bites enough to know that these fish might be where they were under those conditions. It was also the wee hours of the night and the weather was about to get a little dangerous. All of that to say, easy is relative. Catching big striped bass on the fly in the surf is never truly easy. It takes time, effort, and resolve. Through the entirety of this early October bite I fished until I no longer could, then slept in the car. I wasn't home much at all through most of the month actually. I took breaks to get work done and check other bites so I'd be prepared for clients. But any time I could be I had my boots in the salt, heavy fly rod in hand, and a large white or black fly tied onto the end of a short 40 pound leader. 

Unfortunately, some of the largest fish from this night were quite skinny, so a few fish that had the potential to exceed 30 pounds were pretty close to 20 pounds. It was, however, the first night I'd ever caught more than one 40 inch class fish on the fly. I could hem and haw over how much bigger these fish could have been had they been more bulked up, or about the one that did get away that sounded and felt huge. But the reality was that when that storm really closed and Alex and I decided to make our way back to the vehicles, we'd had spectacular fishing. I bid Alex a good night, of which there was very little left anyway, and sat in the car eating a snack while some of the loudest thunder I'd ever experienced rocked the ground. 

That night was not to be the last of the spectacular fishing this season. I'd put my hand in the mouth of the third 43" striper of the season, a truly epic year, but my sights were set on a larger target. They still are, though the biomass has now thinned dramatically as we creep into mid November. I'm hoping for one last shot at fly cow glory before the winter fishery sets in... of course, I won't be putting the striper flies away for the winter either. 

Of course, all this fantastic fishing has me very worried that some people will feel that the stock is going to recover with ease. It might, we currently have a fairly strong spawning stock. There have been good spawns coming from the Hudson as well, it seems. But the Chesapeake is going to continue to be a problem. A combination of climate change and human habitat degradation may eventually render the Chesapeake spawning stock incapable of maintaining its share of the fishery. I don't think anglers are remotely prepared for the level of advocacy it would require to slow that train, and it may not be stoppable at this point anyway. It has been hard enough to sway species management and we barely get anything done there. ASMFC is still not adequately dealing with conservation equivalency. Any measure that has been made in regards to striped bass management is little more than a half measure, and a poorly enforced one at that. A lot of anglers don't care. Snag-and-drop is still being done, guys are completely ignoring the circle hook law (which might be a problem as well, I may elaborate on that soon). When anglers that do care see poaching behavior, it seems they're either too lazy to call it in or just don't think anyone will come. Well... nobody comes if you don't call. 

We've got a long way to go. I've been over the moon with the quality of the fishing this fall. it was spectacular. I worry that this will be my good old days. This may not continue well into the future. There are too many problems that aren't being addressed. 

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

My Best CT Brook Trout Yet

 My hunt for giant wild brook trout was going quite well this spring when I started to ply anew stretch of stream. I'd caught 11 fish between 12 and 14 inches already in two other streams, and this one had similar characteristics. It had everything I've learned to look for with one exception: it had brown trout. I was a bit worried this might be hamper the brook trout from reaching their potential. Generally, where brown trout exist, if brook trout persist they do so in a compromised state. They don't attain the sort of size that they could otherwise while they compete with the more piscivorous and more warm water tolerant browns. The result is often a somewhat stunted brook trout population. I had hope for this stream in spite of that, why I'm not exactly sure. 

On my first visits this spring I didn't even catch a brook trout. It was browns with a few large fallfish mixed in. A few of the browns were quite decent but the largest fish I caught on the second visit was a one pound fallfish. Each time I fished evening into dark, fishing down with streamers then back up with a small mouse pattern. The streamer fishing predictably outperformed, but I managed a few fish on the mouse as well. During those trips, the flow was moderate. I pinpointed a particular hole that I felt could really hold something special. It had all the right ingredients: cut bank, notable depth, a nice incoming run. I was surprised it didn't produce a fish on those first few attempts. 

On my fourth visit, the water was much lower and I was struggling to find the success I had hoped for. The brown trout were turned off and either darting for cover or already underneath, and just not receptive. I tried being extremely slow and cautious but it just wasn't working. Then I came to that hole, the one I had high expectations for. I tied on larger fly than I'd been using, switching from a #10 Ausable Ugly to a #4 Half Pint. This hole was, after all, multiple feet deeper than anywhere I'd yet fished and I felt I needed not only to get down but to have something fairly meaty on. In four casts, I came tight. A torpedo shaped salmonid came out of the water, leaping as spectacularly as a fish of such size possibly could. To my astonishment I could clearly see that this was a brook trout and an extraordinary one at that. It actually had some control for a few moments, taking nine and dogging towards the cut bank. That's not something I'm used to with CT brook trout. I was fishing a 5wt though, as well as 8lb tippet, and it couldn't win. When I got her in the net I uttered a low guttural laugh of astonishment and gratification. I'd put a lot of effort in over the late winter and spring after large salmonids, split between rogue brown trout and giant brookies. Now I had my heaviest CT brookie in my hands.

I know, of course, that there exist some wild char in CT that are even larger than this one. But for the summer, I think I'm mostly done with big brookies locally. It's been dry and hot. No need to over-pressure them. I may well end up of a bender again when the water starts to cool down, but I'm not sure. 

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.

Lake Champlain with Drew Price

 It had been a long time since I'd last fished Lake Champlain when I went up to buy Drew Price's canoe. Noah and I made multiple trips some years back, finding success on our own. It was Drew's blog that had originally got me interested in Champlain and it's abundance of native, bowfin, gar, freshwater drum, as well as multiple introduced species that we'd not caught. The opportunity to fish the lake with the guy that really sparked my interest in it was something I was very excited for. 

Early the morning after my arrival, Drew thought we'd have a decent shot at lake trout. This was certainly something I was excited for, as it was a species I'd not yet had good opportunities to target. Drew warned me that it wouldn't likely be great fishing, but I didn't particularly mind. The idea of targeting lakers with fly tackle in deeper water and at a time when most anglers would troll or jig instead appealed to me. We went out to explore the possibilities on a couple humps Drew had been catching on in the weeks before. We fished heavy sinking lines and big heavy flies, plumbing the depths and hoping for a hard strike. Unfortunately it never came, though I did have a smallish lake follow the fly almost to the surface, something Drew had mentioned was possible. 

After a little while and no success, it was time to switch gears and re-launch further north. The rest of the day was to be devoted to a different game in the shallows. Lake Champlain is an incredible place to sight fish, with expansive weed flats and generally clear water occupied by such a broad variety of species it will make your head spin. After just a short run from the launch, we were in a spot Drew new held a large variety of fish. In no time at all we were looking at pumpkinseeds, bluegills, yellow perch, white perch, common carp, tench, rudd, bowfin, brown bullheads, and largemouth bass. Just  short ways down the sam shoreline we began to see pike, chain pickerel, and longnose gar. At one point we saw a giant channel catfish. If variety is the spice of life this place is heaven on earth for the freshwater angler. 

The first trophy of the day was a giant pumpkinseed. I'm a big fan of these extravagantly colored native sunfish. They were being fairly picky and particularly prone to spooking, something I'm not at all used to from this species. It actually took a while to get one, but when we did it was my personal best.

Even more abundant than large pumpkinseeds were the brown bullheads. I've never seen so many bullheads. They were everywhere, poking their heads out of nests they'd dug in the mud bottom. At times as many as six or seven of them were visible at once. One of the nice things about bullheads: generally, if you get a fly in front of their face, they are going to take it. They were much easier than the pumpkinseeds. They were easy enough that I caught more than one of them blind casting. That has certainly happened to me before, I've caught many bulheads on the fly over the years, probably more than most fly anglers could expect. But I'm not sure I've ever caught more than one blind casting in a day, and I got three this time on top of the small bunch I sight cast to. 

The highlight of the trip was a 25 minute time window in which we put some serious trophies on the boat, all on a Gamechanger Craw. Initially for that window, I was on the poling platform. We were looking for the giant channel catfish we'd seen earlier in the day, but not finding it. I spotted a good sized largemouth though, and Drew was able to drop the fly on it and it smoked it. It was an incredibly stout fish.

Seemingly just moments after releasing that fish we spotted a big bowfin. This was a fantastic opportunity for me to watch the bowfin master do what he does oh so well. I somehow managed to pole well and got the boat in a good position, and the fish followed the script. The eat was spectacular. The fight was spectacular. The fish was spectacular. 

Then I was up to bat, and we went to look for a huge bass we'd seen a bit before. When I laid eyes on her and saw that she was stationary and her body language was relaxed, I knew I had her. I sank the Changer Craw in front of her, letting it fall right to the bottom, then gave it one little move and she inhaled it. The fight was short, largemouth aren't exactly the strongest fish, but this was one of the largest black bass I'd caught in a long time. Ironically, after years of mostly catching largemouth incidentally rather than going out and targeting them, catching that fish has sparked a revival in my interest in the species and I've been specifically targeting them quite a bit lately. 

As the sun went down, we headed back toward the launch having put a ton a lot of fish in the boat and had just a fantastic time. I learned a lot from Drew, which I'd fully expected. It was great to finally get to fish with him, and I'm sure I will again before too long. 

If you're interested in experiencing what I did up there, that truly world class fishing, check out Drew's website and book a trip. There isn't a better guide up there. He's been in front of the curve the whole way. 

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 Connecticut Brook Trout

 I've been on the hunt for big brookies this spring. After a number of years of less dedicated wild brook trout fishing, wherein I'd just occasionally revisited easy spots already well known to me and caught very typically sized fish, I'd got the bug again this year and wanted to find something impressive. I hadn't caught a wild brook trout of over a foot in Connecticut in quite a while. Catching fish like that can sort of just happen if you fish for brook trout enough, but I didn't just want to go out and hammer brookies every day. That isn't really my thing anymore, and I don't think it does the fish any favors. I've taken to resting streams and having a measured approach. I'm not trying to catch every brookie in the water I fish, just the largest ones. I'm also not just fishing any old water. I've come, over time, to understand what makes big brook trout in CT, and it doesn't happen just anywhere there are brook trout. If you think I'm going to just go ahead and tell you the magic ingredients, well... I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I won't. They make sense though. If you follow the natural patterns, understand the biomass factors, and think about how different habitats work you'll figure it out on your own. That's a great feeling and I don't want to deprive you of that. 

Once I'd figured out the formula it was just a matter of time, and not much time. I'd stacked the deck in my favor, if I caught brook trout at all in the places I was fishing there was a strong probability one would be a monster. To catch the fish, I'd also stack the deck by using larger flies than I might otherwise. I've never been a big fly for brook trout guy, in large part because bigger hooks and small delicate fish do not mix. But I wasn't after small fish, and there wouldn't even really be any small fish in the places I was fishing. I'd fish larger streamers, mice, gurglers, and things of that sort unless I saw fish actively feeding. I wasn't taking that strategy because the fish would want really big meals, more so because I needed flies with a bit of calling power because I didn't know exactly where the fish would be sitting a lot of the time and wanted to fish in a way that would potentially draw a big brook trout from further away.

It's funny, frankly, just how quickly it came together. Of course that's ignoring the years it took to put everything in place to make it easy to do, but once I had the idea in my head it was a matter of days. The location I had the most confidence in showed me two giant brook trout on my first visit of the year, though I didn't catch either one. On my second visit, I caught one of the largest brook trout I've ever caught in CT. At fourteen and a half inches and carrying about a pound, it was an extraordinary specimen of a native salmonid. 

As we shift into what feels like a very early summer here in CT, I do intend to devote a bit more time over the coming month or so to these big brook trout. Since I got that one I managed a few other monsters as well, but I'd really like to break the 18 inch mark here in CT. I think it's possible, though I don't know of anyone that has done so recently. If nothing else, it's a relief to see that our only remaining wild native salmonid is doing well enough to kick out specimens as big as a pound. That certainly is a good thing. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, 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.

Why You Should Tie & Fish Hair or Feather Jigs

Hair and feather jigs are some of the most utilitarian lures in the fishing world. Cheap, simple, and easily fished, small jigs bridge the gap between fly fishing and gear fishing. I was generally reluctant to start fishing jigs with a fly rod under the misconceived idea that they'd be too heavy. Then, in a fly swap, I received some flies tied on simple dart jigs by shad guru Sonny Yu. I eventually got around to trying them, but not for shad. The first time I used jigs on a fly rod was while targeting trophy sized yellow perch. They quickly proved their utility. 

Before I started using jigs, I didn't have a particularly good understanding of how specific weights fished. I'd tie nymphs and streamers with brass or tungsten beads or cones, copper wire, lead wire, non-lead wire, dumbbell eyes, and other materials to add weight but I didn't pay much attention to specific weights. When I started to tie jigs that was suddenly the foremost factor. I was buying weights as much as I was sizes: 1/64oz, 1/32oz, 1/16oz, so on and so forth. I knew pretty much exactly how heavy a fly I was tying, minus added material. It turns out that's a huge game changer for a fly tier and angler. I now could correspond how a fly fished in different scenarios directly with its weight. I could also see how different materiel and fly sizes impacted the sink rate and action of  jigs of the same weight. For example, a long and bushy bucktail in 1/16th oz sinks quit a bit slower than a short, sparse one. The part of the tail I tied with had an impact too, of course. I could then make a pattern of the same size and material on different weight heads to fish different depths and different current speeds. That's huge. Jigs made learning it easy and lead to me paying a whole lot more attention to the weight of the other flies I tie. 

Jigs also just seem to work really really well, often when other offering won't. Two people's catch rates in particular heavily influenced my interest in tying and fishing jigs: Tim Galati (www.youtube.com) and Josh Rayner (www.ctfishnerd.com). Tim's success regularly catching trophy sized fish of a variety of species on bucktail jigs piqued my interest, and Josh's regular success with his own hand tied jigs at times I'd previously had a hard time catching similar numbers and sizes. Noah caught on a bit quicker, resulting in a few really big early season smallmouth bass, at which time we proposed building a shrine to Tim Galati. The bucktail jig is magic, it really is. And at sizes under 1/8oz they can be fished to exceptional effect on a fly rod. I found that using such jigs on a floating line allowed me to very effectively fish 5 to 10 feet of water early and late in the season for less aggressive bass and walleye in my local lake. It opened up new spots where I'd previously felt I was fishing dead water. I could now feel bottom contours and regularly catch fish where I wasn't previously. As soon as I knew how to fish a spot with jigs, I could easily switch over to other flies and lines and find success that way as well. But the jigs just flat-out worked, so I only occasionally bothered to switch it up.

Jigs also present extraordinarily well under a float. The number of impressive fish I've caught on a 1/64oz chartreuse marabou jigs under a Thingamabobber is ever-growing. Last spring I got walleye, crappie, carp, and a huge smallmouth on that rig. When the water is cold and the fish are sluggish, particularly either with slow current or light wave action, this has been exceedingly deadly. Sometimes fish want very little horizontal movement, and retrieving the jig through the zone won't result in many hookups. A float allows you to hang a jig at an exact depth. This can be huge when it comes to suspending fish like crappies, especially when shore bound and fishing to schools that are further away than the tip of your rod. It's just vertical jigging at a distance. Wave action adds action to your jig, so wind is often helpful with this strategy. 

Another huge benefit of these simple jigs is their affordability. I tie my own, of course, which gives me creative control over size and color combinations. Mine are either all marabou, marabou with a chenille body, woolly buggers, or bucktail jigs. Getting jigheads on the cheap is exceedingly easy, and oftentimes scrap materials left over after tying nicer, fancier flies and perfectly suitable for simple little jigs. You can get more out of what you were probably already buying anyway. Of course if you don't tie, you can get get marabou jigs exceedingly cheap at just about any walmart. Or, if you want something specific, you can send me an email and I can put together a custom order. If you're using them as flies it definitely doesn't feel as much like a travesty if you have a bit of creative control. 

That brings up a fun question... are these jigs flies? You'll have to answer that yourself, but I'll leave you with two facts: I've cast a Clouser Minnow about 45 feet with a medium light spinning rod, and I've fished an inline spinner very effectively on a 9' 5wt fly rod. The gap was bridged years ago, it's all in what you chose to make of it. 

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

Night Fishing Seminar (In Person)

 I'll be presenting one of my night fishing seminars starting at 6:00pm on April 10th, at the Middle Haddam Public Library (2 Knowles Rd, Middle Haddam, CT 06456). This will be the first in person presentation I've done since the pandemic! Admission is free.

This seminar will cover the necessities for anyone looking to start or expand their skill-set night fishing trout streams. It covers gear, safety, flies, reading water, and other strategies. It'll run about an hour long. I hope to see some of you there!