Giant Brook Trout

 I can catch oodles of eight inch brook trout in Connecticut. Those are wonderful, special little fish, and I never take them for granted, but I try to make a point not to travel for a fish I can catch at home. Maine has big brook trout, still. Certainly not as many as it once did, but they are there. When I go to Maine, that's what I want to catch: brook trout that thoroughly dwarf those I could catch back at home. That hasn't always happened, but I've gotten better and better at manufacturing it with each trip. 

Back in Late September with Noah, I'd already gotten some fantastic and healthy fish to hand (read here), but was very much hoping for something even a little bit larger than those. It had become fairly clear from that experience that fairly thoroughly covering quite a lot of water would be necessary in order to find larger fish in these small creeks with lake runners, as they were clearly not evenly distributed and even some of the nicest looking water may not be holding. 

Though we were only about six hours from home, this was very different territory. I traversed high grassy banks along shallow, gravely runs before dropping onto sand bars pocked with moose tracks, staying low and moving swiftly but with intent so as not to spook any fish that might be in shallow, visible lies. I didn't really see fish for a long time, it was clear that most were holding in the very deep, slow pools. That made sense, it wasn't spawning time yet so there was little need for the fish to put themselves at risk in the shallow tailouts and pockets just yet. They were likely hopping from deep spot to deep spot on their way up, with some time in the faster runs with lots of cover as well like where I'd caught them the day before. 

But even those didn't always seem to provide the pull I was looking for. Then I came to one dark, deep bend pool with an overhanging tree and loads of wood in the water. This one had to be harboring something large. The head looked extremely juicy, with the main current dumping over a beautiful gravel shelf into the depths of the pool and a foam covered eddy on the other side with branches sticking through. I dangled and tightlined the big, heavy Ausable Ugly through the faster current, then pulsed and retrieved it through the eddy. Not believing there wasn't a fish there to be caught, I then went back through it again making extra certain the fly got down deep. As small one obliged, maybe 10 inches... that wasn't it. I moved on to the heart of the pool, counting the fly down and retrieving gradually, forming figure eights with the line in the palm of my hand then raising the rod tip in little jumps as the leader neared the tip. Still no satisfying thump. I had moved down to the tail when Noah rounded the corner. We both remarked how incredible this pool looked and that there must be a large fish in it. Looking back to what I was doing I saw a large dark shadow streak out from one of the many logs. I struck, my rod flexing as the hook point found purchase, and said "Oh there she is!"

Large brook trout often don't have the piss and vinegar of other salmonid species, and though this was one of the heavier trout I'd stuck in a while it wasn't terribly hard to control. We had it in the net in just a short time. The fish of the trip was indeed a hefty one, and dressed up in proper brook trout finery. 

It had been a number of years since I'd tied into a Maine brook trout this size, and to do so in a lesser known fishery made it all the more satisfying. It was yet another reminder of the magic these fish I've long adored hold. Brook trout were one of the fish that brought me to fly fishing and made me obsess over it, hiking and biking sometimes 60 miles in a day to try to find new streams before I could drive. I'm less brook trout obsessed than I was back then, but they do remain a driving force in my angling- the hard headed, gaudy, and aggressive native that they are. It is hard to deny the appeal. They stand both for wilderness and the fact that we haven't quite snuffed out wild things yet, even when we've done our damnedest to do so. In Connecticut, there are still wild brook trout swimming behind shopping centers and through neighborhoods. In Maine, there are still big, darkly colored brookies residing in lakes and ponds and a few rivers. They are a stubborn relic of what this land once was. 

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.

One Run (Big Maine Brookies)

The Maine woods are a contradiction. Though vast and mostly very quiet, much of it is little more than a mono-culture crop. Pine trees grown, then are cut down, then grow again. This keeps them at a level of unnatural sterility, as that's not how woods are supposed work. Luckily its possible to find more natural state forest nowadays, especially in proximity to water. We've gotten a bit better at not wrecking everything and understand that clear cutting a riverbank is an inherently bad idea. The woods Noah and I traversed along a small lake tributary had been allowed to do their things for a good while and were a healthy mix of hard and softwood with some different maturities and a few clear areas where berry bushes and wild flowers grew. The mature trees kept shade on the stream, which tumbled through big pale granite boulders before becoming more sinuous and slow moving at its lower end, with grassy cut banks and deep, dark pools.

It was late September, the very end of the general trout season in Maine, and we were after big, colored up lake run brookies. I'd fished this area before a number of times, once with Noah, but never for the glorious fall season. My late friend Alan Petrucci was very much responsible for my infatuation with the Rangeley Region and for much of my knowledge of where and how to fish it. This particular stream was one of his favorites. I'd fished it before a few times, memorably with my father one July. The resident fluvial brookies were small and scrappy, but left me wanting more. Now, in September, the migratory fish should be showing their faces. Alan had made mention once of an 18 inch male he caught under one bridge on an Edson Tiger. Such a fish in that small, tumbling freestone stream... it was hard to picture but easy to want. 

Noah and I picked our way down, encountered a scattered number of the same small resident fish I'd remembered catching here before. Knowing the nature of migratory fish, though, I understood that the biomass could be very concentrated and isolated to a restricted length of stream. I pushed further and further down, plying deep plunges and long glides. It was relatively fruitless until I reached one particular deep hole. There were sizable fish rolling- not rising for insects, rolling like salmon -on occasion. I worked that pool for a good long while and missed one large fish, but came up empty handed in terms of the sort of fish I was after; just a few more smalls. Ah well, downstream I continued. 

Not that far below that the stream braided. I followed river right, mostly because it was a path of least resistance. A few emblazoned maples overhung the river, dropping some bright orange leaves. I wanted to find some equally well colored fontinalis. I reached the bottom end of the braid I'd followed and looked up the one to its left. Just up it was a classic little run, complete with undercut bank, overhanging tree with a solid root mass, and a perfect seam along the cut. I eased up to the tailout, crouching low both to stay concealed and get the right low angle to shoot casts under the overhanging tree branches. I was nymphing with a Harvey style leader and a single size 8 Ausable Ugly, casting upstream and leading the fly with a gentle bow in the fly line. That was my sighter. There was no need for colored monofilament, long light rods, or fancy little nymphs here. The technical aspects came in the form of perseverance, understanding how to cover lots of water without spooking fish, and narrow casting windows in the brush. I knew that these fish would eat the fly and eat it well, leaving little doubt as to whether I had a take. The fly line would straighten, I'd set the hook. That's exactly what happened. 

I was then treated to one of the most productive 10 minutes of small stream brook trout fishing I've been lucky enough to experience. One colored up, hefty male was followed by another. For a bit it seemed like there might be a nearly endless supply of them in that little tiny run. 

Eventually the onslaught did end, but for a while there I was like a kid in a candy store. An addict of big gnarly char like myself dreams of small stream fishing like this. Of course they weren't really small stream fish, they'd grown to size in a different environment and were entering this small stream environment for purposes of spawning. In the coming days they'd likely continue to push further and further in, especially if rain made a pulse of flow to ride. Migratory salmonids can be there and gone in so little time. I think back to an obsession I developed for large "river run" wild brown trout years ago. I'd found little smolt-like wild brown trout in a tiny tributary stream that didn't have any resident fish of any size, certainly not large enough to be producing these fast growing young ones. I realized they must be coming and going from the larger river the stream flowed into to spawn. I began visiting this little tributary in October and November, hoping to encounter these bigger fish on some semblance of a run. This stream was so small and so short in length from its mouth to the first migration barrier that I knew with certainty that I'd find the fish if I hit it right.

The telling moment occurred one late October time frame, within 24 hours. It was quite cold, frosty even, when I headed out one early morning to pay the stream a visit. I walked it from barrier to mouth with nothing to show for it but a few small brook trout. It was a good baseline, I knew a bit of rain was in the forecast for later in the day and into the night. Perhaps I'd find what I was after the next night. Sure enough, I returned to the water level just starting to drop and clear the next afternoon. I repeated my routine once again. To my surprise, I found a completely vacated redd toward the bottom end of the brook. In just over  24 hours, the fish had come, done there thing, and gone. 

Though not as extreme, Noah and I would come back to this same magic run the very next day and find that it was completely devoid of fish. They'd already moved on. 

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.

Mid June Update

Man, this season is just rushing by. I had a good spring with clients. It mostly trout trips which are nice and easy, but I'd have liked a bunch more carp, bass, and bowfin trips as those are, frankly, much more engaging. I got one client out for the magical flood plain carp fishery. The window for that generally lasts just a couple weeks but man is it ever glorious. My client Jim got two carp to hand as well as a nice largemouth and had a shot at a pair of bowfin too. Of course, once the water dropped out the fishing didn't actually get any worse, just different. The Connecticut River and its backwater truly are a world class fishery. We've got some of the largest wild carp in the world right here. It's a shame they do a lot of damage, but they aren't going anywhere so we may as well have some fun and pull on them. There isn't another guide in CT who is as well equipped to get you on giant carp on the fly, so if its a game you'd like to learn you ought to book a trip. I can promise you shots, and probably shots at extremely big carp. Record chasers, take note. 

The trout trips all went well, some so well my clients immediately booked second trips. The dry fly action was minimal most of the days I had trips, but nymphing and streamers produced an excess of  fish. Jim and Trein had two very memorable days, first each hooking large holdover salmon and catching loads of rainbows, then putting the hammer down on copious amounts of trout and big fallfish.

A week ago I took a step forward that will take both me and my clients to new places. I've followed guide and angler Drew Price of Vermont for years, he's had a large influence on my interest in non-traditional targets like bowfin, gar, and freshwater drum. For the better part of a decade I've admired from afar the rig he guided from an fished, a sweet 14' Indian River canoe that he rigged up to suit his needs. When I started thinking of getting a small boat to guide motor-less in CT River backwaters, coastal flats, and marshes, and with a motor on CT's many "non-navigable" lakes, ponds, and swamps, I reached out to Drew for advise. We became fast friends, and when he bought Chris Willen's Towee Skiff and wasn't sure he wanted to keep the canoe I said I'd take it. So it was that I was driving up to Vermont last week to get myself a boat. 

With the "Champlain Stealth II" now under my possession and command, I'm ready to open the can of worms that is the Central CT multi-species fishery wide open. There are so many species and options here that are so far have remained untapped by fly anglers. I've got the experience and know how, and now I've got the boat. Monster bowfin, 35 pound carp, giant channel catfish, monster bass and pike... it's time to take my guide business up a notch. 

The first fish on the canoe under my ownership was caught by my mother, her first fish on the fly believe it or not. The second was a good channel catfish caught by me. A good sign of things to come, I'd say!

Until I've got here fully registered (expect by the end of the month) I'll run just man-powered trios on the CT River backwaters for carp, bowfin, catfish, and top water bass. It's been good lately, I've been catching all four, often in the same trip. Once it's registered I'll start running trips on the bass , walleye, and carp lakes where I cut my teeth: Pocotopaug, Moodus Reservoir, Gardner Lake, and others. 

It's going to be an exciting new chapter! I hope to see a lot of new faces and put you on some incredible fish very soon! 

 Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, 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.

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!

Monster Rogue Brown Trout

 Trout wander. Some go upstream, some down. Some wander down a tributary, up the river it flows into, then into another tributary. This is how fish spread and proliferate, it's a necessary function of their evolution and survival. Sometimes this results in trout, be they stocked or wild, finding their way into water that isn't looked at by most fly anglers as trout water. I'm talking about the trout that go way down, as far as they can. Some go to big, slow, lower river channels, some end up in lakes or ponds, and some end up in estuarine waters and become sea run trout. These trout often get big on a greater abundance of bait fish, or they already are big and that's how they survive- usually the sort of places these fish end up have larger predators that happily chow down on small trout. Encountering these fish takes a lot of skill and even more luck if you intentionally try to catch one. Most of the time though these trout get caught by people casting lures for bass, stripers, walleye, and other species that are well known to inhabit the water they're fishing. 

I still remember my first encounter with a rogue trout. It was a wild brook trout caught out of my home lake, a place nobody would ever rightly expect to catch such a fish. I did not catch it, my friend Dalton did... on a wacky rigged senko of all things. The fish was near the mouth of the tributary it had undoubtedly come out of, feeding on corn that had been thrown into the lake to attract carp. It remains the most impressive wild brook trout I've personally seen caught in CT. 

My own history with actually catching these rogue trout in Connecticut, be they sea run, lake runs, or what I call "river runs" that drop from tributaries into large slow rivers, is filled mostly with disappointment. I've caught only one definitive sea run brown trout, a small but stunning wild fish that I landed back in 2014. River run and lake run fish have been just as scarce for me, though I've had my encounters. Then, just a couple weeks ago, Lady Luck smiled and I happened into a monster. 

I'd been putting a fair bit more effort into trout in general but particularly big, rogue trout this fall and early winter. With a summer of exceptional rainfall allowing- and in some cases forcing- trout to move around, I figured there'd be a better chance of running into big ones in what some might consider unlikely places. After a bunch of trips without the sort of success I was really hoping for, I set out one morning under cloudy skies and cold conditions to cover a piece of water that could hold some large trout. I fished thoroughly, starting at the uppermost point I thought I might encounter a trout and working down towards the mouth of the river. Not everywhere was reachable or fishable, some of it was too deep and swift and chunks of the bank were private or just too treacherous, but I felt I would be able to cover enough. 

The fish came at the tailout of a large pool, in slick gliding water like I'd expect an Atlantic salmon to roll in. In fact, the fish rolled my fly, a big white Drunk & Disorderly, very much like a salmon. The squared off tail that began slapping the water, though, said monster brown trout. That's exactly what it was, a huge rogue brown trout. The fish gave a pretty good fight on my 6wt, running a bit, thrashing on the surface, and dogging deep. Soon she was in the shallows and I had her. The still-worn fins signified that the fish was of hatchery origin, but proportionally she was shaped like she'd been around a while. She was miles from anywhere such trout are stocked, and had the wounds to show that she'd been around the block. Scars on one side of here head were clearly left when an angler removed the trebles of a large striper plug. This is a brown trout that has been cruising around striped bass and maybe even bluefish haunts. 

At the time, since I knew it wasn't a wild fish, I wasn't as excited as I probably could have been. It was an exceptional and in many ways unlikely fish. Considering how long I've known that catching these rogue fish was possible, I'm really glad it came to fruition. Now I just want to do it better. I want more, I want bigger, and I want wild. 

I'm obsessed. I probably need help. I'm in the salmonid mood again and I'm hell-bent on catching the biggest trout I've ever seen.

Until next time, 

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

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

Edited by Cheyenne Terrien

Giant Brown Trout in the Dark

 It was never going to be a warm night, but if the temperatures don't dip into the teens and the other conditions are tolerable, I take what nights I can get between the end of November and the end of March. Trout eat at night all year, especially really large wild trout, so when an angler wants to catch the largest wild brown trout they can, taking winter nights off isn't a good idea. But perhaps neither is the original intent if you value your sanity. Cold, dark, long winter nights rarely produce the excitement that summer and fall can give. Hookups are few and far between and rarely is there not at least one body part- usually more -that's in pain. The air hurts you in the winter. 

Garth had texted me asking if I'd like to night fish the Farmington with him earlier that day, and I said yes but with a caveat. We wouldn't fish the Farmington, I had better ideas. I wouldn't tell him the names of the streams though. He rolled into my driveway a bit after 9:00 asking if we were going to this river or that river... none were correct answers. Eventually I had to tell him where we were going, but all I said was "head like you're going to that one burger joint." That was enough of an answer for him. "No!" he replied. "There? No!"

He'd fished the same spot, I knew that. But never for trout, and I was sure he didn't think there'd be wild brown trout there let alone giant ones. Most people wouldn't think there could be large wild trout at this spot, and I'm okay with that. This was exactly the sort of place I target when looking for monster nocturnal browns. 

We covered one run for a little while without anything to show for it but ice crystals in our guides. I kept thinking about the next run downstream, which was essentially the head of one excessively long glide. I knew from a recent daylight visit that there were lots of fallfish down there, on the order of hundreds, and up to 14 inches. There were also lots of spot tail shiners and juvenile white suckers. This was exactly the sort of place a large brown trout would visit under the cover of darkness. It was much too shallow and visible for such a fish to spend any time there in daylight, but without the sun shining down on this run, a big predatory fish could do its dirty deeds without eagles, herons, or people seeing it. Perhaps there would be one exception tonight. Maybe Garth and I would get to see one of these fish. 

We made our way down and slowly worked the run. I was fishing a large, black articulated streamer, about the size of many of the smaller fallfish and suckers. I swung the fly through every possible feeding lane, working it slowly, only manipulating it very slightly with small twitches. I got about as far down the run as I'd reasonably expect a trout to be when one decided to interrupt my routine. The take was subtle, just a faint tick. I lifted the rod decisively but not too sharply, and felt an initial jerky head-shake. I stripped down to bury the hook if it wasn't already and that told the fish something was really up. It began making sweeping head-shakes, yet not breaking the surface, and made a decisive turn to head downstream. This told me just how large this trout must be. It had control here, I couldn't have easily turned it. I didn't feel I needed to though, and instead opted to follow. Garth heard this commotion but wasn't yet sure exactly what was going on. 

Suddenly movement ceased, and there were a couple faint sensations of tension changing. Nothing felt good. I pulled and nothing pulled back. The fly was stuck on something and that was no longer the fish. I could tell that it was a branch, probably quite a small one as there was a bit of flex. As only a handful of fish had managed before, this beast had perfectly transferred my fly to a branch. I can picture a lot of the fish that have done this to me before because I've seen most of them. But this one I don't know. I could let my imagination run wild. It could be a giant silvery hen, with black spots like bits of pepper. Or perhaps a lean, heavily kyped buck with giant red spots and an orange belly. But I don't know, and I never will. All I know is that it was huge. Garth and I discussed the situation and decided to continue with our night as if that could happen again. Maybe it could have, but it didn't. We crept around in the glow of street lights and businesses trying not to cast shadows over deep pools and log jams. The sense I got was that monsters lurked here. Perhaps I'll encounter one some other night. Maybe I'll even get to hold it for a moment. 

Happy Holidays everybody. Stay safe, healthy, and warm. Fish when you can. Be good to the people around you. 

Until next time, 

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

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

Edited by Cheyenne Terrien