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. They 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 different 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 off at speed as they 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 choose 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. 

Climb Out & Scream (Pt. 1)

In a small dirt lot somewhere in Northeastern Missouri, I cracked the window of the rental car and let in a sound. It was a wavering buzz, a chorus of many singers emanating from the trees on this stiflingly hot early summer day. This was a sound I'd driven well over a thousand miles to hear. I looked over at my partner in the passenger seat and cracked a maniacal grin. We weren't too late after all!

Periodical cicadas or "magic cicadas" represent seven different species of cicada that emerge on 13 and 17 year cycles. 17 different broods emerge of separate cycles all across the Eastern United states. In 2024, two broods emerged simultaneously in the Midwest and South- the Northern Illinois Brood and the Great Southern Brood. Collectively, millions of cicadas emerged from the earth, where they spent more than 99 percent of their life, shed their nymphal shucks, and went about doing what sexually mature cicadas do best: screaming and having sex. That's probably what I'd want to do if I'd just spent the last 13-17 years living in the soil too, quite frankly.  Some people aren't particularly big fans of the sound or the bugs themselves. Personally, I think those people suffer from a severe negative attitude problem. How lucky are we that such an incredible ecological phenomena occurs in our backyard? It's such an incredible display of life, a vitally important occurrence in the habitats in which these bugs persist. Throughout parts of their range, some periodical cicadas are not doing well at all. Charles Lester Marlatt, who first assigned Roman numeric designations to the existing broods (as well as 13 others that don't actually exist) noted dramatic declines in the very brood that should emerge in the Connecticut River Valley, attributing it to deforestation and the introduction of house sparrows (Marlatt, C.L (1907). "Summary of the Habits and Characteristics of the Cicada.") Unfortunately, Brood XI was last seen in 1954 and is now extinct, an outright ecological catastrophe most southern New England residents are wholly unaware of.

As I've written about in this blog before, I'm a cicada addict. I adore periodical cicadas and everything about them, from their ornate, jewel like wings to their mechanical sounding call, to their seemingly bumbling flights as they try to evade predators. Of course, it doesn't hurt that fish like to eat them. Fish really like to eat them. Here in Missouri, I was hoping that the fish that would be really liking the cicadas would be grass carp. In North America fisherman often have a pretty poor understanding of what carp are In this area in the midwest it's made no better by a plethora of large native suckers that look vaguely like common carp, and a number of introduced Asian carp species, including grass carp. Grass carp are a bit different than the species that are often in the headlines as Asian carp, which are silver and bighead carp. Grass carp, Ctenopharyngodon idella, are the only species in their genus and look, at least to the trained eye, absolutely nothing like common carp. Nor do they act like common carp, come from the same part of the world (grass carp are from far Eastern Asia, common carp from Europe and far Western Asia. Though both species feed on or near the surface semi frequently, grass carp are built for it a little better with a terminal mouth while common carp have a more inferior mouth (this means that their mouth is on the bottom of their face, not that their mouth is worse). Both are detrimental ecologically in a variety of different ways. Both are also a heck of a lot of fun to catch on a fly rod, but to this point in my fly fishing carrier I'd caught exactly one, this monster from a park pond in the northeast: 

I really wanted more, and I really wanted to catch one without having to throw a bunch of bits of bread in the water. These calling cicadas were singing a promise to me. They were singing a promise that I was surely about to find my fix. I trotted through the brush towards the river, cicadas blundering into branches in their haste to get away from me. Upon reaching the edge of a high clay bank and peaking over, it was immediately apparent that they bugs weren't lying. A half a dozen or so grass carp cruised up and down a bubble line, picking off bugs as they went. They weren't alone though. They were joined by roughly the same number of shortnose gar, a fish species I'd gotten to see for the first time with my friend Hamilton Bell earlier in the week down in Arkansas. They'd snubbed me then (read: I blew a lot of shots), but this opportunity seemed almost too good. And they were eating bugs? What a wonderful surprise! This seemed uncharacteristic for a gar species, but I'm not one to turn down an opportunity at an odd species on a dry fly. Firs though, I had to rush back to the car to rig up. My grin was now twice as maniacal.

There's some minor complexity to catching cicada eating fish, but it isn't so technical as to be prohibitively difficult. Certain fish seem to have certain preferences at different times. I've never gotten carp to eat sinking cicadas well, though I'm sure it happens. On the tailwaters of Maryland during the 2021 emergence, I caught fat brown trout on some sinking cicadas, to exclusion of the dry fly during the midday surface activity lull. I had yet to get the opportunity to put a cicada in front of a grass carp, or a shortnose gar for that matter, but given the methodical behavior of these fish I anticipated a long drift being favorable to a splat-down, and probably minimal action on the fly. And that's exactly what I got. In fact, I was about to have two days of the best dry fly fishing I'd ever experienced. These grassers behaved much like big brown trout do. They chose the same sorts of lies a trout would, holding position in faster water and cycling in the froggy spots. They were selective but not overly so, and they fought incredibly well. They fought astoundingly well too. It was everything I could have asked for. (Short video available to Patreon supporters: www.patreon.com)

I knocked a couple grassers out really promptly, but was immediately keen on sticking a gar. It didn't take too long to find willing participants to grab the fly, they were in fact extremely keen on that, but it did take a little while to get one willing to stick (read: I whiffed a whole bunch of them). When I finally did, it was an elevating moment. My first of a gar species, my third gar species, on a periodical cicada dry fly. That just seemed absurd. But these fish were clearly keen on the bugs. They were setting up much like the grassers were, though they favored cruising the slower water over stationing up. Some were holding lies though, finning in the current and picking off cicadas as they floated by. They showed notable preference for the bugs that were still alive and moving, and in turn for a fly that was twitched like the living naturals. It was just the coolest thing, so cool I had to know if this was a well know phenomena. I reached out to Dr. Solomon David, biologist and gar specialist at the University of Minnesota about what I was seeing. Not only did he respond promptly confirming that shortnose gar are indeed known to feed intently on periodical cicadas, he told me that one of the only pieces of formal scientific literature on the species delved into their behavior while feeding on magicicadas: American Midland Naturalist Journal: Shortnose Gar - Territorial Defense of Profitable Pool Positions. 

How friggen cool is that? Solomon David then asked if I'd be able to contribute any data. I'm always looking for an excuse to provide something that could be of use to fisheries science. If I'm going to go around pricking all sorts of fish in face for fun, some sort of good should at least come of my efforts. Subsequently, for the rest of my time in Missouri, every shortnose gar I caught was accurately measured and photographed. Their behavior prior to capture and exact location were recorded, and I took photos of gar in feeding lanes, cicadas on the water, and overall shots of the river. It added some work on my part, but that isn't unfamiliar. I spent many formative years observing river herring runs to get visual estimates on returns in streams without fish ladders. The amount that can be learned by approaching fish with a scientist's eye, looking for a quantitative analysis, is significant. Fisherman aren't always good scientists, arguably rarely. The goal of catching fish doesn't always necessitate understanding exactly why fish do what they do. It doesn't take a thorough understanding of fish, across all sorts of species and waterbodies, to catch enough to be satisfied. Anglers are often not even that good at telling what species of fish they're holding in their had when they do catch one. So taking a very scientific approach, engaging with the ichthyologists and fisheries biologists, and participating in the collection of data that might further the scientific understanding of fish and their habitat presents a lot of opportunities. I'll jump at the opportunity to take part any chance I get. 

They way gar take a fly has always amused me. It's almost adorable, bordering on comical at times. With these cicadas it was no different. The fly would plop down, perhaps two or three feet ahead of the fish. Either it would respond to the fly landing or I'd twitch the bug. The gar would turn, angling toward the fly, and nose right up to it. By nose up, I don't mean put their snout under the fly. They get it next to their eye almost, next to their jaws on one side of their head or the other. If they could they'd probably be squinting at the fly at this point. If a moment passes and the gar doesn't  commit, I'm inclined to give the fly little twitches. This is usually all it takes, the gar's fins kick a little and it closes whatever gap it has between it and the fly. Then is snaps at it, opening its mouth and jerking its head to the side. Can you picture it? I've seen it countless times from four different species of gar, everywhere from Vermont to Florida to Arkansas. It's very specific, and frankly very funny. 

My satisfaction with life is heavily contingent, probably too contingent, on laborious exploration of places I've never been with either a fly rod or a camera in hand. There isn't necessarily anything relaxing about it at all, sometimes I wear myself down to zero. I beat myself to a pulp wading twelve miles of river one day and had to pull over on the side of the highway because the cramping was too severe to drive through. I forget that my body even exists in favor of paying attention to everything else instead. And when an event is ephemeral and temporary, or my time in a place is short, I can be almost frantic about it. Not so frantic that I don't take time to be completely stationary though. 

Standing on a high, sloping bank above one long, slow pool, I could see a few grassers larger than the one's I'd been catching working the surface. The rock below my feet was sheet thin layers of sedimentary strata, layer down millennia ago when this whole place was underwater. Not much had altered it since it had hardened as it was near perfectly level and didn't who much at all in the way of signs of metamorphosis from heat or pressure. The river had carved at it though, revealing the time it had been laid as step-like layers sloping down to the riverbed. On top of it was a less old form of the same process- layers of sand and clay that had been dropped by the river when it was younger. The rock made a good seat, I decided to watch the fish feed for a bit and take in as much information as I could while I had the opportunity. The larger fish were definitively wearier than the smaller ones, and didn't spend as much time hovering right under the surface. Since the water was extremely turbid they were only really visible as dark, long smudges with wavering tails. Some of the little ones stayed up and cruised around. But the larger ones, some of which were probably in the high 30 inch class, rose up from the gloom and held position for a moment or two, picked off a couple cicadas when they came by, and then sank back down. They were clearly favoring proximity to shad, though they didn't seem to need to be in it all the time. Fish treat shadows as cover,, because it is. I couldn't see them well at all when they were in the shade, but could see them fairly clearly around the periphery of it. They seemed to want to remain close to that shadow as a quick escape if it became necessary. Eventually sensing a pattern of movement with the larger fish there I eased down to the water's edge. From that level seeing the fish before they surfaced to eat was nearly impossible, so I waited with fly line in hand to make a quick but long cast. When one topped, I let it fly. The bug landed, a few seconds passed, and white lips opened around it. I held ground until the lips closed and the head turned to go back down and lifted the rod. The pool then erupted as an angry grasser mad it's feeling about being deceived known. 

I repeated the process over an over that second day, scrambilng up and down steep banks, watching fish, and walking river in deck boots and shorts, hunting and hunting some more until I was fairly satisfied with the results. I'd come, I'd seen, and I'd caught. I watched birds hunt the cicadas and seen a few snakes slide away into holes. I'd done some minor gar science and bent an eight weight on more grass carp than I'd caught up until that point prior. Understanding that the time had come to push northward, we said goodbye to Missouri- as place I'd not had anywhere near the respect for that it deserved until driving it's entire extent from south to north. But there were more bugs, more fish, and more places to be. The clock is always ticking, and I needed to find more to keep that maniacal grin on my face. Though there was a tornado to be chased in Nebraska first, the next stop on the cicada pilgrimage was Illinois. 

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, Courtney, Hunter, Gordon, Thomas, Trevor and Eric 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.

Surfing Ducks and Tailing Carp

A little rubber duck holding a surfboard lead the way from the front of the canoe as I polled through a central CT woodland. Just behind the duck, in the hot seat, was Tom Rosenbauer, legend of the fly fishing world and carp fiend. Behind Tom, patiently waiting for his next turn, was my good friend and guy who was very happy to have caught a big fantail earlier in the day, Drew Price. It was his first time back on his former vessel since I bought it from him. And then there was me, standing on the rear platform and scanning the shallows for muds, bubbles, and waving tails. We'd seen plenty of that already and would see plenty more. In fact, there was a bit of that going on within sight and I was just slowly making my way in that direction and trying to assure that I didn't run over some less visible fish first. Being overzealous and quickly heading toward a fish I can see 50 feet away often results at blown opportunities, I've learned to be patient and slow. 

In fact, just moment later I looked down and within a rod length was a big mudding fish. Head invisible in a cloud of its own making, this fish was blissfully unaware of the three anglers now just feet away. Though I'm not certain why, carp in the woods allow a much closer approach than in many other scenarios. I think this is owed to the broken up, shadowy, complex background, but other factors could be at play as well.

I directed Tom to the fish's location, denoted by a tail waving a foot below the surface and a plume of bubbled suggesting where her head was. Tom's first presentation crossed the fish's body, and as he lifted the rod the fly caught on the carp's dorsal fin. Though not actually hooked, the pressure was enough the Tom pulled that fish up to the surface. For a moment its tail sloshed, then the hook was free. This isn't a terribly uncommon thing when you can't see the fish well, and we're pretty good at preventing these snagged fish from staying stuck when we know that's what has happened. But surely this fish was now done and spooked, Rosenbauer had lifted it a good foot off the bottom. 

I was dead wrong, and to this day it makes me shake my head- that fish went right back to eating. I was ready to move on but Drew watched it happen and stopped me. Tom's next cast was on point and he effectively used the force, striking without a notable visual cue.  He lifted and firmly lodged his fuzzy niblet in the fish's lip, and off she went. Maybe you've seen the brief clip of the beginning of this fight, with Tom chuckling deep and jolly and the carp bending his Helios to the cork. We were all pretty thrilled with that one, it was just such a weird way for the bite to happen. Unfortunately that fish would be one of the few that would make the best of us in a snag, but it was such a fun fight while it lasted. There'd already been so many great fish in the net and there'd be so many more. In a spring of guiding full of highlights, that was a pretty tremendous day. The little surfing duck, grimy with age but still in good shape otherwise, now splits its time between the cooler and the bow, coming out on days where I need a little moral support. 

 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, Courtney, and Hunter 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.

Knee Deep in The Trees

 It isn't terribly common that I stay out on the same piece of water I just guided on for five hours. Typically I've seen what I need to see and am keen to go elsewhere and explore or make sure some other bite is setting up. But sometimes a bite so good is underway that I'm compelled to stick around. That was the case one day in late April this spring. I'd found hoards of carp churning the water into a muddy soup in a flooded area so thick it made approaching them in the boat tricky. But I knew I had waders in the car, and that the bottom was firm enough I could approach these fish on foot. So after I parted ways with my client, I hastily dawned my waders again, offloaded some un-needed weight from the canoe, and paddled back to the area in question. With the boat hauled up safely onto a dry embankment, I crept my way out into the flooded forest trying to make as little wake and disturbance as possible. 

Carp often have somewhat predictable feeding patterns and paths in lakes and rivers that maintain a semi predictable route unless spooked, but in flooded woods they don't set up the sort of home territories. The same individual fish are often in the same area- I've seen the same orange koi in the same patch of flood plain for the last three seasons -but their feeding is very random. There'll be a post up on Patreon about carp feeding patterns soon for those interested. But for the context of this story, what that means is that I had very little clue what each fish I spotted was going to do next. They might tail 15 feet away one moment then pop up right at my feet, linger in a bush for a while, or just go in a straight line. It was very erratic, which made things both interesting and quite tricky. The thick mud they were stirring up was also a complication, making it near impossible to see some of the fish. I've become fairly good at both finding the fish and intuiting the strike without feeling or seeing it though, and that makes all the difference. It really wasn't all that long before I go one, a feisty little common. I maneuvered the rod and put a lot of pressure on it to control the fish in the tight quarters and snaggy environment. It's a close quarters brawl, no room to see backing here. 

I continued along after I let that fish swim, looking for tail swirls, fresh muds, and patches of tiny bubbles or "fizz". Fish were absolutely everywhere, so it was more about finding the easiest target than finding a target at all. It wasn't unusual that I could mark half a dozen or more fish feeding within 30 feet of me. Regardless of size, I always erred to whatever fish was closest to me. In fact, I didn't even know what I was casting to when I got this gorgeous little fantail to eat. 

2024 has been the year of the fantail here. Last year I only put one in the net. This year there's been more trips when one made it to the boat that trips where one didn't. Often we've managed more than one! I'm not sure what accounts for that abundance in the genetic stock, but there sure are a lot of them. I'm not complaining. They're such absurd and cool looking fish, with crazy elongated fins, droopy long barbles, and wild pom-poms in their nostrils. They're really quite beautiful fish. Especially the one I got on the other day I stayed late and waded after a trip....

I count myself so, so lucky to have a fishery of this caliber at my fingertips. Though the flood game is short lived its just so incredibly engaging, even on the days when very few fish commit to eating. It's like being in a bayou, but right here in the northeast. And in that bayou there are 5 to 30 pound fish cruising around and feeding, and with the right boat and gear I can get clients to put flies in front of those fish. It's just so, so cool and there's really no other fishery like it around here. 

After getting four nice, feisty fish in a short session, I made my way back to the canoe, taking a shot at an unwilling much bigger fish up way shallow on the way. It's pretty wild to see how far up into the floodplain a fish of over 20 pounds will wander. 

If you'd like to experience this fishery with me next season, it's best to book early. By mid March this year my calendar was pretty darned full and the only open dates were when I had cancelations or had to shuffle folks around. So be prepared to grab dates as early as February. 

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 for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. 

Moments on The Fly- Log Common

 On a winding Ohio creek shaded by lush trees just beginning to get touches of fall color, I found a school of perhaps 20 carp relating to a tree that had fallen in the river. I'd walked quite a lot of this creek already, finding some redhorse here an there, catching striped shiners and smallmouth bass. This was the only place I'd see carp, and there were a lot of them there. This wasn't an atypical thing in my experience- I fairly regularly encounter isolated schools of carp in a pool or perhaps two consecutive pools on a small river in low flows with none whatsoever to be seen above or below. Sometimes these schools have just temporarily taken up shop in a spot and will only be seen there for a season, perhaps having made there way there during high water conditions. Sometimes these locations prove to consistently hold fish at all times of year. Which of the two cases this was is not known to me, as it remains the only time I'd ever fished this river. I do hope to return of course.

When I spotted the carp it was because I disturbed them a little bit. Two of the fish noticed my movements and left the log. Their retreat to deeper water wasn't especially hastily and it didn't seem to disturb the other carp there much though they did begin to move around a bit. The moment I'd noticed these fish I stopped in my tracks, very literally. Once the pair that left were out of sight I slowly adjusted from my mid-stride position to a more comfortable stance and just waited and watched as the carp that had decided to shifted and adjusted into new positions as well, taking advantage of the new room. Even if some fish are spooked or disturb in a school, an immediate shift to being a still and quiet as possible can keep the ones that weren't from taking notice. Common carp are a particularly aware and weary species and it won't always work on them. This time everything went according to plan. The fish went about their business as though I wasn't there and in time I felt comfortable enough with their behavior to try to present a fly to them. The choice of target wasn't difficult when one fish sidled out of the shadow of the log and worked its way toward me parallel to it, shopping the river bottom for morsals. It wasn't the biggest fish there but none were that big nor were there any mirrors, ghosts or any other interesting morphs I might rather catch. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth so I fed that little fish a green weenie. I'll often take a smaller feeding target over a non-feeding but bigger one so long as neither is actually that big, and none of these fish looked over 10 pounds to me. That active little common ate the weenie in textbook fashion and I lifted the rod to set the hook. Within the next few seconds there wasn't a carp in the lot that was left undisturbed. 

Though it wasn't an especially big fish, the circumstances made is a standout catch from that trip. Carp will always be a favorite of mine, big or small, and small midwestern creeks provide a backdrop to the pursuit of this species that I'm not as familiar with. Though I was looking for new species out there, the novelty of catching an old stand-by in a different setting withstood. 

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 for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. 

Morning Walk

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version

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

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

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

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version

Belly Crawlers

 The drone of late summer cicadas and crickets pierced the hot summer air as I crept around the periphery of a grimy looking pond in Rhode Island. This was the sort of water that might make many fly anglers cringe or scoff. It was trash filled, murky, and heavily impacted by a couple centuries of human encroachment, industry, and neglect. In fact the fish I was after in this pond, Cyprinus carpio, had been introduced by Europeans and hadn't exactly helped the natural landscape. Lightly put, this place was a mess. But it was a mess among which I'd found very enjoyable sport. The carp in this pond varied from wonderfully ornate mirrors with a variety of scale patterns to large, chestnut colored commons. When the conditions were right these carp came into the shallows to feed and there I could stalk and cast to them with light fly tackle. Along one particular stretch of this pond, the fish would regularly come up so shallow that their backs would be out of the water as they fed. Belly crawlers, I call them, borrowed from the redfish world. These fish would be keenly aware of disturbances in their periphery. Carp seem to know how vulnerable they are in extremely shallow water, as most fish do. Though their field of vision outside the water is restricted to a tiny window because their eyes are so near the water's surface, sounds and vibrations could quickly send them scurrying into the safety of deep water. 

I slowly approached point around which I could expect to encounter belly crawlers. It was actually just a shallow gravel bar that emerged as a dry, vegetated point during low water conditions. Its gradual slope created a flat of sorts on either side. Though I could never figure out why, the fish favored the eastern side. It was about a 5/1 ratio; fish I'd see on the east side to fish I'd see on the west side. Even from 40 yards away, now, I could see three carp on the east side of the point. Two small ones, one sizable. Each wallowed in the muddy, weedy flat rooting for macro invertebrates, dead things, anything they might be able to eat. This was the picture perfect scenario, a fly-carper's dream. Though none of the fish, even the largest, was a particularly large individual, this was the ideal set-up to get fantastic visuals and present a fly to a carp in water just inches deep. I crept into position, careful not to step on anything that might make a loud crack. I used the low brush of the island to conceal my own silhouette, rather than standing plainly visible against open sky. I knew this would be a one fish deal, so I focused on the largest while trying not to spook the other two. I knew I could get very close to these fish without spooking them as long as I was slow and extremely quiet. I remained low and edged closer bit by bit as the fish continued to feed. Once in a good position, I watched and waited for a clear shot. almost like a hunter waiting for a buck to make its way out of thick brush, I needed my target common to move out of the weeds and into an open spot. It would eventually, and a clear shot could be had. Cast too soon and I'd risk hanging the fly up in the weeds and potentially spooking the fish. So I waited, patient but slightly on edge, for the fish to move into a gap in the weeds. Eventually it did. I raised the rod and made a short and gentle cast, landing the fly a few feet beyond the fish. I then lifted the rod and drew the fly to the fish before letting it fall just inches in front of the carp's mouth- a drag and drop presentation. The carp confidently moved forward and flared its rubbery lips, taking in my hybrid fly. I set the hook sharply and the battle was on. The fish never preformed a long run but dogged hard in the weeds, thrashing at the surface than diving down and into the brownish vegetation. It was a relatively short battle, but the belly crawler soon came to net. 

That was far from the only carp I cast at that day, nor was it the only one I caught. Each presented its own challenges and was a memorable catch in its own right. That's one of the wonderful things about sight fishing. You take in so much information, so many visuals, and it can really cement an experience in an angler's memory. Even in a dirty, trash filled New England pond. 

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.

Trouting About in Vermont (Pt. 2): Tag-Team Sight Fishing Brook Trout

A washboard dirt road was shaking up everything in the 4Runner as Garth and I descended the hill from our first stream of the trip. At the base of the hill, we knew there was another river. We'd crossed it on the way in the previous night and I'd examined satellite imagery of it prior to the trip. It looked marginal, but if you don't check the bridge pool on a new stream on and exploratory trout trip, can you even call yourself a trout angler? We pulled off just before the bridge and hopped out. There was an man leaning against the upstream rail, looking at the water. We looked at the downstream side, scanning the slow, mirror calm pool for signs of salmonids, and patiently waited for the man to continue on his morning walk. We just didn't want to encroach. When he left, Garth took his place on the upstream side. "Oh", he said, having spotted what the gentleman had been looking at. There was a school of brook trout there, maybe 20 strong, some of them quite substantial. These couldn't possibly be wild fish, but when presented the opportunity to sight fish anything I take that opportunity. At very least they'd been in the river for a while and would be very selective in the slow pool. 

Knowing they'd not be visible from the position we'd have to cast from and that accurate casts would be necessary, we decided to tag team sight fish for them. We'd take turns, one of us would make the casts while the other stood on the bridge and called out the shots. This is a very fun way to fish and can be a fantastic learning experience. We rigged up a long, light leader with a small dry initially. My recollection of what that fly was is a little fuzzy, I believe it was a tiny nameless emerger pattern. Garth was at bat first. I positioned on the bridge while he waded slowly and quietly into place. It took a short time to dial the operation in, but he soon landed the fly over the fish and I watched one peel out and rise to the fly. 

We each managed a fish on the dry, but had other plans in mind. We opted to move on but return later in the trip if we didn't get distracted by something interesting somewhere else. 

A couple days later, there we were on that bridge again looking at that school of brook trout. This time they were un-inclined to rise, so we'd fish small and lightly weighted nymphs. I was exited. Though these were merely hatchery raised trout, one of my favorite sorts of fishing is fishing small nymphs or wet flies to salmonids in nearly still water. It s a game of long leaders, careful stalking, and diligent observation. There's no room for carelessness, lest the angler want to spook fish and cast to dead water all day. It is best played by sight, whether tag teaming as Garth and I were or independently when conditions allow, or with intimate knowledge of the water you're fishing. Whether its a lake, pond, or big flat on a river, there are places the trout will be and places they won't. This style of fishing grew on me first when fishing the East Branch of the Delaware, where brown trout dwelling in long flats feed on tiny mayfly nymphs blend in so well in the cobbled, multi-colored bottom that I would lose track of them even if they didn't move just by glancing away for a second. It progressed to Maine, where I approached weed edges and spring holes in a pond where trophy wild brook roamed in search of damselfly nymphs and could be caught with long, delicate casts and traditional wetflies. Then at home in Connecticut, when I found that trout rising in the slowest pools on misty summer mornings could be deceived better with minuscule pheasant tail nymphs than with any dry fly in my boxes. These scenarios all require similar presentations, and we'd be employing them on these brook trout in Vermont. 

Of course these char would be quite a bit more forgiving than a lot of those mentioned in the scenarios. We'd use a slightly shorter leader than I often would, somewhat larger flies, and they'd likely give us more opportunities. Whereas pulling one large wild brown out might spook and entire tightly packed pod sometimes, we could almost certainly get quite a few of these stocker brookies before the school got too nervous.  

We set about the process. I got up on the bridge while Garth got into position. I called out the location of fish, Garth made the most accurate cast he could, then I announced what the fish did, suggested presentation changes, and called out when a fish ate. Then we switched. This fish were indeed pretty easy. It didn't take all that much to draw them and it took much more to put the school down. We periodically rested them, remained delicate in our approaches, and Picked off fish after fish. There weren't any particularly big takeaways from fly selection, presentation, or anything else like that for you all to learn from. Those stocker brookies just weren't picky enough for that. What I took away and want to impart on you fellow anglers regards to setting the hook. Regardless of what the guy on the bridge said about the fish taking, the angler casting had to be patient with the hook set. The set itself was nothing special, a pointed but gentle lift. It was all about timing. I noted that no matter what Garth  said, If I waited a moment after he said I had a take, oftentimes until I felt the fish, I got a good hook set. If I set the moment he said I had a take I usually missed. This isn't really a surprise but it is a clear-cut example. Trout don't always spit a fly in an instant, I'd even go so far as to say they don't often do so, and giving the fish time to turn results in more fish to net. 

There were a few really big males mixed in with this school and obviously we wanted to catch one of those. I like to say, if I'm going to fish for fake trout that were raised in a concrete tank, they may as well at least be big. It came to a point of intentionally missing and pulling away from smaller fish, which were consistently getting to the fly first. One of the fatter males did make it to net, though it was still dwarfed by a couple of the fish in the school. 

Garth and I each ended up having goes at one of the largest fish. He missed a take from one of the giants. I ended up loosing one. It was frankly one of the heftier brook trout I've ever hooked, taking off on an exceptional run of the bat and putting a deep bend in the 5wt. The size 18 pheasant tail while rolling on the surface well downstream of where it had taken the fly. 

One of the things this trip was doing, quite unintentionally, was reminding me that I enjoy warm season daytime trout fishing. In recent years, I've been reserving it for the late fall, winter, and spring. In the warmer months I've pretty much just fished at night in recent years. CT's summer fisheries, with the exception of the Farmington (which I just don't enjoy anymore) and some small stream (which I don't like putting pressure on with frequent summer visits). There are also just plenty of other things to do close to home, things I often like more. For the last couple years, it's been carp. It can be hard for those of us who like to fly fish for any and every fish in all kinds of water to pick what to do. Here in the northeast there are an awful lot of options. Perhaps next season trout will be on the agenda for me a little bit more often. Though I tend to shirk the way many fly anglers hold salmonids up as the supreme fish to target, I devoted quite a few years to hard focused trout fishing for a reason. I know a lot more than I did then, and I'd like to improve my game a bit more. 

We shall see; come next summer the pull of double digit bowfin might be a impossible to resist. 

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.

The Value of Walking

 On a sweltering late summer day, I trod carefully along the banks of a heavily impacted New England river. This was a river I'd fished before, but a stretch I was unfamiliar with. I was on the hunt for carp. In rivers, I've often found that carp are not sparsely and evenly distributed. There'll be extremely long stretches with none at all, the short stretches occupied by substantial schools. I'd say I'm slowly piecing together together the factors that make a stretch of river appealing to carp, or at least appropriate for spotting them, but after a number of years of experience I've come to learn that at least on some rivers, the carp aren't necessarily in the same stretches year to year. 

Illustrative of this is a different, narrower, impacted New England river, one I fish and guide on regularly. There's a series of separated deep pools, each with fish. Year to year thought the abundance changes in each pool, and it is clear that though there are at points hundreds of yards of extremely shallow water in between the fish move pool to pool. Last year, a small orange koi started his year in what I call Pool 1. A few months later he dropped down into Pool 2. This year Pool 2 is the only place I've seen him. Additionally, Pool 1 and Pool 2 both have more fish showing than they did last year, whereas Pool 3, the longtime over-performer, seems to have about half as many fish.

Perhaps even more illustrative is a medium sized tributary stream. Last year it was full of carp. I found schools in four different sections. Some were huge. In fact, a client of mine hooked and subsequently broke off a fish that was easily 30 pounds. This season, there simply weren't carp in that stream. They'd all apparently dropped back for the winter and decided not to return. 

So that leaves some mystery in rivers like the one I was walking. Even if I found good looking water, there may not be fish. Indeed I carefully observed multiple pools- even going so far as climbing trees and watching for extended time periods from perfect vantage points -that clearly had no carp. They had the features of pools I'd found carp in on other rivers, so I can't rule them out for future seasons. the fish just aren't there now. Not to be deterred, I kept covering ground. I knew I'd find them eventually. I moved slowly and methodically, stop[ping and watching. I wasn't pausing and making casts, unless I saw a good sized smallmouth or a pod of rising fallfish, I was just looking. 

Eventually I did find what I was looking for, a substantial school of carp in a short stretch of river that really didn't look extremely special. It featured a couple deadfalls, mud bottom, slow and even current, and a steep far bank shaded by trees. It certainly looked good, but so had many other areas I'd already walked by. Perhaps it was the sum total of those aspects and perhaps a couple I didn't list that made this the carp's preferred stretch. Or maybe next year they will be somewhere else in the river. Regardless, they were there now. These fish were sizable for the area, most looking to be in the high teens in weight. All were mirrors. Their behavior didn't lend itself to feeding, however. They moved about in groups of three to six, moving much too quickly. I'd need to return at a more appropriate feeding time.

A week or so later, I got another opportunity to visit the river under better conditions. I carefully made my way to the spot, keeping my eyes out for fish that may have moved into any of the spots in the mile and a half between where I parked and where I'd found the carp on the previous trip. I didn't locate any new fish, but with near-ideal conditions, the fish at "the spot" seemed much more numerous and were clearly in a feeding mode. I tied on one of my black body squirmy hybrids and crept into position. The  first fish I presented to took. I had my work cut out for me on six pound but eventually got the fish to hand. 

I'd made one cast and caught one fish. Such events underscore the value of walking. If you sight fish, whether its to rising trout, carp, striped bass, bonefish, or whatever else it may be, there is immense benefit in simply covering ground slowly and methodically. Not casting, just observing. It allows you to see the lay of the land and grow your understanding of the location as well as the structures within it that the fish like or don't like. It also highlights the value of getting distance under your feet. This school of carp was residing at least a mile from anywhere I could park.I learned long ago that the way to fish fish was to search. I was relentless, and still am. Covering ground, covering water... there is huge value in walking. 

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

Big Fish Strategies: The Importance of "The Fall" for Carp on the Fly

Big Fish Strategies is a new series covering simple tactics that help catch large fish on the fly. This series covers a broad range of species and water types, but focuses on larger species and larger specimens of a species. Enjoy!

In certain parts of the country, angler seem to have quite good success retrieving flies in front of carp. At Beaver Island and other parts of the Great Lakes, Midwestern rivers, even just other parts of the Northeast, carp seem to be fairly receptive to a moved fly. In my waters, however, a retrieved fly is almost always rejected. I'm not quite sure why this is, but it is proven over and over any time I try to strip or twitch a fly in front of a carp. 9 times out of 10 it either ignores it, or even spooks. Since the fly invariably needs to stand out to the fish visibly, that leaves pretty much one option. The fish needs to see the fly while it is actively falling through the water column. 

There are three important considerations to make when you want a fish to see the fly on the fly: How quickly the fly sinks, where you are showing it to the fish, and what that fish is doing. Let's break each of those down one at a time.

The importance of fall rate should be fairly obvious: if you want a fish to see a fly while its falling, that fly should fall for a good little while. I always try to get away with the slowest fall rate I can. The deeper the water, the faster the fall rate of the fly I'm using. In 1-1/1.5' of water I fish unweighted flies or flies with light bead chain eyes. In 2-3 feet of water I fish flies with bead or small cone-heads and smaller lead eyes. In 3-5 feet of water I fish flies with heavy cone-heads and large lead eyes. The material and profile of the fly does matter as well. Slim profiles sink faster, broad profiles sink slower. Things like deer hair or bushy, thick hackle collars can also slow a sink rate. Generally though, look at how the carp flies in your box sink and familiarize yourself with their sink rates, then stick to the slower ones in shallower water and the faster ones in deeper water. 

This common fell to a slowly sinking unweighted mop in 16" of water.

Where you are showing the fish the fly is often overlooked by the average angler, it's something I don't think gets remotely enough focus. Carp don't just see everything in their surrounding area, so a fly falling in a certain area may go unnoticed. One spot that is a little bit blind to them, and the place I was so inclined to cats at when i first started as well as a place I routinely have clients cast at, is right on their nose. Now, in deep enough water, they'll see the fly initially before it falls into a blind spot. At that point they may want it but have a hard time finding it. In very shallow water they may not see it at all. I think of the zones I want the fly to fall through as being roughly dinner plate sized circles around either eye. In clear water that window does expand out, occasionally as much as two feet. Put simply, put your fly either to the right or left of the carp. Also consider which side is closer to you and try not to cross the fish and show the fly to its far side: that can result in lining the fish and spooking it. 

Last but certainly not least, you've got to pay attention to what the fish is doing when you make your cast. It may not see your fly because of its own behavior. If the fish is kicking up a heavy mud cloud, it will likely have a difficult time seeing a fly falling through the water column more than a couple inches from its face. Sometimes, in heavy mats of life litter on the bottom, the carp will even have there head burring in the bottom while the feed. In these cases, watch for the fish to pick up and move from one spot to the next. While it is doing so is the time to present your fly to the fish. At times, the fish may also favor one side, so regardless of its feeding strategy, if you don't get a positive or negative reaction on one side of the fish try presenting it to the other if it is possible to do so without crossing the fish with your leader.

Mastering the intricacies of the fall is transferable to other species as well, from brook trout to bonito. If you'd like to learn more about strategies, book a trip with me or join Patreon, where I'll be delving into technical aspects of fly fishing on a regular basis. 

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.

No Rhyme or Reason- Bowfin Sight Fishing

 Bowfin are characters. Their behavior is plenty distinguishable from other fish species but also different enough individual to individual to keep me guessing. That's a big part of what has made me infatuated with these fish. Each one presents me with a slightly different experience, and since I can generally see everything play out in extreme detail. It all happens at rod length, or at least close to. Close combat is so engaging. My heart rate increases, my excitement becomes palpable. But sometimes a fish doesn't give me any sign at all. Sometimes a bowfin seems like it won't even eat and then suddenly it does. 

I was putting in some scouting time on a new bank, simply a little further from a launch than I've looked for bowfin in a system I fish a lot. It had a lot of key features, though the vegetated area was less constricted to a channel than the other areas within that system that have good numbers of bowfin so I wasn't sure how it would fish. Essentially, they were there in good number but less condensed on the low tide. There were bowfin spread out through a whole flat. It actually made it a bit more interesting than the tight concentrations that occur in other parts of the same system.

I picked off one small fish and blew a shot at another before I found one layed up on clean sand. I sort of spooked it though, at least I pushed it off station and it headed off. I pursued, slowly but trying to keep up. I was hoping it would settle down and stop moving, but just kept going. I paused to make a cast, just in case. Well, she ate. There wasn't any leadup, she didn't even falter, pause, slow down, or divert her course. She just sucked in the Mr. Bow-Regard from the side mid-swim. I've cast at a lot of travelling bowfin. In my experience it's a 50/50 chance of them eating, and there's no way to tell before I make the shot. Some of the ones I really haven't expected to convince ate like crazy, others that I thought were going to take spooked abruptly. It seems like there's no rhyme or reason. 

There may actually be a way for me to know, though it currently doesn't feel like it. It would be so much easier to be able to rule out some cruising bowfin as viable targets and not waste the energy trying to present to them. There are definable ways to tell when other fish won't eat. A carp that's cruising at a fast steady pace hardly ever takes a fly. A trout sitting on the bottom with a curve to it's body is a fish primed to spook, and I never bother to cast at a fish sitting that way anymore. But with cruising bowfin I haven't yet found out the secret. That's part of the magic of sight fishing- you have to learn each fish's body language. Every species is a little different. It's so engaging. 

I've got opening for sight fishing bowfin and carp over the next few weeks. While everything else in freshwater becomes tricky during the day, these fish remain targetable. The prime windows are morning and evening. Contact me to book. There are opportunities for record class fish, particularly carp. 

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.