Big Drum

 Some years back I caught my lifer freshwater drum off of a bridge abutment while targeting white crappie in Lake Champlain. It was Noah an my second trip there. He'd caught his lifer on the previous trip, and that was a really nice one. Mine was tiny, frankly pitiful. Ever since I've wanted to catch a real corker of a freshwater drum. 

Aplodinotus grunniens are often considered a trash fish throughout their native range, which is quite a shame.  Often known as "Sheepshead", freshwater drum are abundant throughout the Great Lakes and much of the Midwest. In many cases, they're massively beneficial as they consume huge amounts of invasive zebra mussels. That said, every native fish has its place regardless of our prescriptions of usefulness, and it's a bit absurd to me that a big, brutish, and interesting looking species isn't a popular game species. They really ought to be.  Of course, they aren't always pushovers. And funny enough, that seems to be a criteria. Bass and trout are downright simple and easy fish compared to suckers, catfish, carp, buffalo and other often considered "lesser" species. Doubly so on artificial presentations. I love it, these species are always extremely interesting. 

When I went up to fish with Drew again recently and he was on some big drum jigging, I made it known that I really wanted some of those and ideally on the fly. We went out the first morning and perused a few spots looking for big schools of drum. We found them in the second spot Drew motored too. Dozens upon dozens of drum ranging from about a pound to maybe 18 or more were plainly visible, some cruising and some actively feeding. A big drum turning on its side to pluck mussels off the rocks about 10 feet down looks about like a garbage can lid. Watching them was a learning opportunity on its own, as I'd never gotten to really see freshwater drum do much of anything. They were being quite difficult, but with loads of stationary and calorically dense food available that's pretty much what you'd expect. I caught a number of smallmouth without trying and loudly said "I HATE SMALLMOUTH" so that the nearby bass fisherman might hear it. I didn't really mean it but it was funny to me. I also missed a couple drum, as did Drew, but he won out with two eventually. We moved again as the action slowed and again had fish in front of us. This time we had good lake current and fish in the column. I decided to run an indicator with one of Drew's flies that he had fair confidence in for these fish. It was sort of peachy in color and not all that big. The first fish to eat was another smallmouth, this time a reasonably big one. 

Photo Courtesy Drew Price

At the time, Drew was carp crazy. He'd found some nice fish for Champlain and was locked into them. Having had plenty of carp where they are easier and bigger back at home. I was all about the drum. Eventually, one what ended up being an almost centerpinner esq super long drift, the indicator stuttered then dropped. I struck and came tight to a solid fish. A wow was it ever solid! The fight was a lot of dogging and a few good runs, very authoritative. It didn't come to net easy. 

Not too many casts excessively long drifts later the indicator dropped again. I set into yet another slob of a drum. 

There's nothing quite like finessing a bite from a species I've got more book knowledge on than real fishing experience, especially one that doesn't have loads of literature about fly tackle strategies. And trophy one at that. Drew had put me exactly where we needed to be and he had the right flies as well. I chose a tactic and rigging that I felt fit the situation and behavior of the fish, and I'll was a method I have a lot of experience utilizing in non typical contexts. It worked very well and the reward wasn't just the target secies but two massive specimens. That's just so, so satisfying. It felt really good to finally get my hands on my first big drum. May they not be the last!

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

Flashback: My First Albie

 It's worth looking back from time to time.

In 2016, a fresh-faced and wide-eyed former version of myself was early into the saltwater fly fishing rabbit hole. Now 8 years into that journey (or fall?) I can look back on it with very new perspectives and a more refined sensibility. So, though I've told this story on this blog before, I think it could be worth telling again. 

One of my enablers in those early days was my friend Mark Alpert. I met Mark at a small pond just a short walk from my house, a very secluded and hard to access spot that neither of us had ever expected to see another angler in. We talked carp. Mark was just getting into targeting the species- quite obsessively, in fact. We exchanged numbers and started fishing together fairly regularly- at first for carp, then saltwater. Mark has a beautiful and very well kept Amesbury dory, a classic New England boat. The original was built by C. H. Lancaster in Amesbury, Massachusetts. Similar to the Chamberlain dory, the Amesbury trades some row-ability for somewhat better stability. Mark's Amesbury is a 16ft version, very seaworthy and an extremely fishy boat, and the platform on which many memorable experiences I've had occurred; not least of which was catching my first ever little tunny. 

It was October 3rd. 2016 year that featured excellent false albacore fishing to the anglers plying the waters East of the Connecticut River close to shore. At the time I could probably fit everything I knew about the species and catching them on one side of a notecard. I'd never even fished with them around. There were a few slots in one of my fly boxes dedicated to albie flies... at the time, very crude and poorly tied attempts at imitating flies I'd seen online. Mark was going to put me on the fish though, and when we launched that morning my anticipation was high. It was a place I'd never been, though I now know it well. We were towards the eastern end of what had formerly been called by some local fly anglers "bonito alley". It had been some years since large numbers of bonito had frequented the area, but little tunny had filled their place quite nicely. Before the dory was even in the water I was looking for targets. Standing on a wood bulkhead, I watched a 30-something inch striped bass cruise by. This sort of thing became a staple of launching with Mark. I'd either see or catch a fish at the launch before the boat was in the water. My eagerness to get fishing was largely to blame. I couldn't stand to be near that water without casting into it. Though that need eventually faded, for a little while boat launch fish were sort of a hallmark of incoming good luck. October 3rd was one of the days that cemented that trend. 

We motored out through a no-wake zone toward blitzes that were already visible. Small flocks of gulls franticly called and swirled over equally small pods of little tunny slashing through small silversides. These sparse schools presented a few mediocre shots for a giddy angler without fully developed casting accuracy and distance. Eventually the fish dispersed a bit and Mark moved us further east. Soon we had some bigger pods here and there. It's hard for me to recall every detail of the moments right before my first albie, but here's what I do recall: I had one an extremely grungy fly, a no-name creation that was sort of like a backward Clouser. It had brass dumbbell eyes tied on the bend side of the shank rather than the top, so it didn't ride hook point up, and it had while bucktail for the belly and olive for the back with a little bit of flash in between. I still have that fly actually, and it is darned ugly. Very little thought or knowledge went into its design, but it was about to get eaten by a little tunny. The cast was a blind one, they hadn't broken in a little while. I came tight very close to the end of the cast, maybe only four or five feet into the retrieve. The fish then thrashed violently at the surface, making both Mark and I think it was a bluefish. I've never seen an albie behave like this since, it was completely uncharacteristic of the species. After a few moments, it remembered who it was and treated me to the classic long, hard and fast little tunny run. I was floored. The energy in that moment is still palpable years later. Your first albie on a fly isn't something you forget easily. It wasn't done with surprises though, as it soon charged the boat. Perhaps more memorable than that initial run, I vividly remember looking down in that clear Eastern Long Island Sound water and seeing my orange running line maybe ten to twelve feet down. The fish had already gone beneath us and kept going. I swept the rod around the bow, cleared the line, and came tight for the fish to scream into the backing yet again. The final challenge was a backing overlap that I had to clear by hand while Mark motored to keep the fish from running too hard while I had the line fouled. There were plenty of moments where that fish could have come off, but it didn't. Landing the fish was even more of a blur than the moments leading up to the hookup, but my first look at the fish was another standout. Those vibrant greens and blues and wild pattern rival the beauty of many of our prettiest fish. I had caught my first albie.

In the time since, Mark and I have had many a phenomenal day chasing hardtails on that boat and a few on foot as well. Of course, that one will always stand out, and I'll forever owe Mark for breaking me into the world of flash fishing for New England's miniature tuna. 

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.

Photo Essay: Lavender Tidal Marsh Fish

 

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- Bartram's Bass

 Southern Appalachia holds a gritty charm different from the northern end of the range. These old hills have a lived-in feel; from the quiet but tough people eking out a subsistence living to the fish species unique to each drainage and the wildlife around the creeks themselves. A young five lined skink, tail bluer than should occur in nature, skittered away as I hopped barefoot down the rocks at a quiet shoal. I was in South Carolina, the other side of the river was Georgia. The fish I was after was a relic in its own right: Bartram's bass, one of the redeye bass complex, was the original native of these waters in terms of predatory fish. Oft given the description "trout bass" for their fluvial nature, vibrant coloration, and relatively diminutive size, redeye species persist throughout southern Appalachia despite being under constant threat from invasive species, hybridization, and even gold panning. Much in the way I bristled seeing the ugly huge homes and golf courses turning parts of this once less-than quaint land into an accessible, trendy, and genuinely less interesting version of its former self, I bristle at the idea of these unique bass being displaced. 

In the moment that was out of mind. The gentle water lapped at my feet as I tried not to step on snails to reach a mid-river exposure. Southern hogsucker, various darter species and warpaint shiners made way for me as I waded out. Upon climbing onto the bare rock I fired a cast into the deep slack area behind it. The fly, an Ausable Ugly, got just seconds of sink time before a bass took it in a flash. I set the hook and was promptly impressed by the fortitude of this little fish. It put even the notoriously powerful smallmouth to shame, digging hard and forcing me to pull it from multiple crevices. At hand, it's beautifully patterned green flanks seemed a fitting match for the surrounding landscape. 

This wasn't the first I'd caught this day, nor would it be the last, but it sure was the nicest. A true specimen of the species. I can't tell you how happy I was to encounter these rather than some hatchery raised trout, or even a wild nonnative trout or bass- land, river and fish as they were meant to be. 

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

Goliath

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

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

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

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

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

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