Hopping Ponds and Loosing Giants

Early spring is an exciting time in the Northeast for fisherman who enjoy variety. Winter holds very little of that... if you want something different from December through mid March in the northeast you are probably going to have to drive a while for it. But as waters warm in April everything starts to eat and any given day there are too many choices... one can't be 10 places at once. But Noah and I sometimes try. Pond hopping is one of those joys of the early season that just doesn't get old. On April 15th (yes, I am just about exactly two months behind), the weather was perfect for hopping spot to spot and we went out seeking panfish to kill and bass and pickerel to release. Our target area was a vicinity I'd spent quite a bit of time in a few years back but hadn't fished that much since. A couple of the ponds aren't that out of the ordinary that I've been missing much but a few are very special.
The first has a miraculous tendency to produce bluegills on dry flies any day it isn't frozen over. I even got a couple on top one day when there was still some ice on the shaded southeast corner.

bluegill x pumpkinseed hybrid

It wasn't in finest form this day but it knocked the skunk of quickly and thoroughly. A morale boost, if you will, though we didn't really need one. The next pond is the one that interests me most as I'd seen and hooked  number of truly large bass in it. Pickerel had also always been abundant there, though of diminutive size. And unlike the first pond it wasn't restricted to catch and release so we'd be assured to leave with some meat.

As we walked the trail around the pond to one of the open areas, I hear Noah exclaim "snake!" from behind me. I dropped my rod and ran back. It was a common species, the most common species frankly, but it was a lovely Eastern garter and posed wonderfully for me, allowing me to get one of my favorite photos I've ever taken of the species.

Garter photographed and sent on his way, we began plying the waters. Bluegills and small pickerel were, predictably, the first fish we caught. They're the predominant species in this pond, closely followed by the ubiquitous and popular Micropterus salmoides. 

It wasn't long before the old green meanie decided to make an appearance. This was not the big one that I was casting at at the time though, she was at least three pounds. But I'd have to be satisfied with the little one though.

Noah, down the bank a ways, managed a near trophy caliber fish. I had never caught or seen a crappie in this pond and here was this beautiful foot long specimen with wonderful iridescent colors.

We decided to eat that fish.

We decided to head back to the van, fill a cooler with water, and then head out on kayaks to try to fill that cooler a little more thoroughly. One crappie does not a meal make. 

It ended up being a small pickerel slam fest, though I was catching bluegills consistently enough to start filling that cooler. I'd started the day with a white woolly bugger, and wasn't feeling any need to change that fly. It was catching fish. 

With the sheer number of pickerel I was catching, I started to wonder if my 6lb tippet would become a potential liability. I didn't expect to lose any large pickerel because of it because I didn't expect to find any large pickerel in this pond, but I didn't want to loose a fly to one of these little hammer handle sized fish.

After I got the release photo above and put my camera away, I picked up my rod to far more weight than should have been there. Thinking I may have forgotten to unhook that fish I'd just released I lifted the rod and looked down into the clear water... and saw a giant. Things suddenly got frantic. My white woolly bugger, dangling in the water while the kayak was drifting and I was busy dealing with a small pickerel, had been eaten by a 25-26 inch monster chain pickerel, a fish the likes of which Id not hooked in years, and I was now virtually guaranteed disappointment. There was no way that 6lb tippet would hold. The fish was fighting hard but staying close enough that I could see it, and eventually I could tell it was hooked in such away that the tippet wasn't in its teeth. Maybe I was in with a shot? No. That pickerel broke my tippet so damn easily on one long hard run. Had I had a net I'd have gotten her. She was up top and close to the kayak for a while. I was gutted. A pickerel of that size is equivalent to a 45 inch pike in my book. They are hard to come by, especially on the fly.

We made a few more drifts there with nothing special happening before moving to another area. We found very little life in a good crappie spot I'd fished before but managed to find some action at a pond I'd seen but never fished. There was a bit of flow coming down from the next pond up the system and some bass and panfish were gathered near that. I rounded out our take with another crappie, this one very dark and spawn-ready.

This was a pretty typical April day, the sort of fishing that was fly fishing for me for a long time. These are my roots, these freshwater ponds in the Northeast, and I won't ever outgrow them because I clearly still haven't figured everything out. I learned so much this one day. If I can't apply what I learned in the future, that's a failure on my part. That's what separates a fisherman from somebody that fishes sometimes. I don't ever want to fall into the latter. Always learn, always grow.
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, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

Virginia Backwaters

There are some places I've ended up fishing that, years ago, I'd never have thought I would. Inland southeast Virginia is one of those places. But ask me six or seven years ago if I'd want to go all the way to Virginia to try to catch some small endemic sunfishes, I'd probably have said no. For about a year though the area had been high on my list. Noah and I were keen on fishing it on our way home. So we high tailed it out of South Carolina, slept in North Carolina, and ended up in the home waters of fellow fishhead Bobby Emory by mid morning. Though we wouldn't get to fish together on this trip, he and I share very similar fishing perspectives and were fast friends. He was kind enough to give me some ideas of where to go. So Noah and I were going to bounce from spot to spot, free-style a bit, and explore this area that was very unlike anything either of us had fished, with a suite of species we'd never seen.

We were looking for Roanoke bass in the first spot. Very close in relation and appearance to rock bass, Roanoke bass inhabit a very small range through parts of Virginia and North Carolina in only a handful of watersheds. They're a cool fish and I knew Bobby had caught one here just the day before... but all Noah or I managed this morning was one small largemouth on a beetle spin. We decided we'd try again later and see if warming water throughout the day would lead to a bump in activity. 

The next spot was different, a little more familiar even, in that it wasn't unlike some mid sized lower gradient rivers I'd fished in the Northeast. It was cold though, impressively so given how hot the air temperature was becoming.

A large chub mound. A good sign.

Walking the banks hundreds of tiny frogs revealed their presence, bouncing like popcorn away from our steps. These were eastern cricket frogs, a common species but one I'd never seen before. On the bridge were a couple of five-lined skinks that I was unable to capture. In a small debris pile, I found a  juvenile brown water snake basking. The herps were out in force.

There were fish there too, notably schools of small shiners, some darters, and sunfish. I could not for the life of me convince the shiners to take well enough to hook, which was frustrating as they were likely a Notropis species I'd not caught. I managed one of the sunfish, a redear, and one of the darters, a at-present time tessellated, but some reclassification work is being done and though it is less likely to happen than some other areas, I could get lucky and have the species in this drainage turn out to be something else. Armchair lifers are nice.... 

Thinking again that the water was just too cold, we again headed to the next spot. It was an oxbow, a good looking piece of water I'd spotted on the map, not one of the places Bobby had suggested. And it sucked, at least at that moment. Considering it was on the same road as the next spot he'd sent me, he'd likely have mentioned it if it were worthwhile. Maybe at times it is, but it wasn't then. Excited though for the next couple places, we pushed onward. The next spot was awesome. Small, inviting, and and with flowing water... it felt right. And indeed it was right. 

After missing a number of takes, I hooked up and a small sunfish came to hand. It was clearly nothing I'd ever caught before, and the round tail was a dead give away. Still unsure though, I sent a photo to Bobby, who confirmed my suspecions: "female obesus my dude". Finally, finally I had caught my banded sunfish. She wasn't much to look at, but she was the right kind. I've you've followed along for... years, frankly; banded sunfish have been a long standing nemesis of mine. To finally have held and photographed one, caught on a small nymph, was a feeling of elation only a life lister knows. Sometimes we put literally years into finding a species before it eventually is found. That's been banded sunfish for me. I've left CT seeking that species and gone home without ever seeing one more than once.

Banded sunfish, Enneacanthus obesus. Life List Fish #163, rank: species.

(Note: I've messed up in my numbering somewhere along these posts and I'm not sure where yet or how to fix it. So bothg tarpon and banded sunfish are under #163... my list stands at 164, not 165, so I know I did mess up but I have no idea where.)

 Short time later, another new species came to hand. The flier is a widespread sunfish throughout the American south but is, to me, perhaps one of the most beautiful. They don't look quite like any other species, more like they were cobbled together with parts from bluegills, crappies, spotted sunfish, and redears.

Flier, Centrarchus macropterus. Life List Fish #164. Rank: species

Not long after, another found my nymph to its liking.

That spot then produced a little golden shiner before going quiet. We moved on again, this time a little further even off the beaten path. Small paved roads gave way to gravel, and there were no longer fields and old barns along the sides, just woods. Virginia was turning out to be an exceptionally pleasant surprise. I found this are beautiful in an almost nostalgic way. This area, unlike many parts of the Carolina Piedmont which features similar topography and fisheries, had evaded expansive development. It still felt real. And I don't mean natural, because this was still much changed from what it had been before Homo sapiens found it, but here the farms were spread out a bit more, the towns were small, and there weren't any new developments full of hideous un-unique houses. There might not be a whole lot going on here, there may not be much money moving through, and there's little to attract most people there. But to me that made it more appealing. It's places like this that would economically benefit from fishing tourism, but unfortunately nobody is traveling to inland parts of Virginia to fish for mud sunfish or Roanoke bass. Well, not nobody, we were there, but not enough to make some economic difference.

The next spot felt almost like brook trout water to me. A small blackwater stream with a dark, deep culvert hole? Well, there weren't brook trout here and hadn't been for many thousands of years, but in their place were redfin pickerel, mud sunfish, banded sunfish, bluespotted sunfish, and pirate perch. These were more interesting fish than brook trout to me at the moment. Unfortunately they also didn't seem to be too inclined to bite at the moment.
We decided we'd bounce back through the earlier spots again now that the day had warmed and come back through here again around sunset and hopefully things would have changed.

Atlantic Coast slimy salamander

Most of the earlier spots hadn't improved much. But it was worth going back through, especially the first, which produced a pickerel and a nice warmouth on the second pass.

Driving around we saw snakes, including a large redbelly watersnake which I jumped out and chased but failed to catch. We also saw eastern box turtles that had been hit, which is always a gut punch. It was now quite hot out, almost oppressively so. By the time we got back around to the small waterways we hoped would be our chance at mud sunfish, the sun was setting but we were feeling the effects of heat and exposure. This was our last chance. We'd fish the two last spots Bobby gave me, then go back to the best looking one after sunset to attempt spotlighting something.

Noah managed to squeak out his life banded sunfish, flier, and a few species we'd caught previously before sunset, including a brown bullhead.

After dinner and after dark, we set about spot lighting. The first fish I saw was an unwilling male banded sunfish. The second a redfin pickerel. Then a mud sunfish that spooked. The first fish I actually got to eat was a very handsome male banded that I missed. I was coming up short here, I'd hoped the spotlighting would be easy. It isn't always. But then I spotted the holy grail. A fish unlike any other I'd ever set my eyes on. The holy grail of these waters: the pirate perch.

It took.

I missed it.

It was certainly too good to be true, pirate perch are one of those holy grail type fish that one could spend a lifetime searching for. They re hard to find and catch but worth the effort despite being small. They make up for what they lack in size by being incredibly unusual, but I will save the details for the day I finally do catch one. And it will happen, I'm sure of it.

As we made our way back to the highway to head home, the heat that had festered all day gave way to some of the heaviest rain I've ever seen. We had to slow down drastically to have any prayer of seeing the road. I couldn't help but wonder what the fishing would be like the next day, but it would likely not be good. This rain was associated with a cold front. We weren't headed home at a bad time.

We'd been on the road for what felt like a whole month. We'd seen new places, new animals, and new fish. We'd learned a lot. We'd had some ups and some downs. It was an incredible trip. I'm so thankful I get to occasionally do things like this. It's all I really live for. There's a lot out there, and I'd like to see and catch as much as I can.
Don't ignore these places like Southeast Virginia that aren't famous fishing destinations. They hold some incredible things. That is perhaps the biggest thing I've learned in my time fishing.

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, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

South Carolina Redfish: Running Away

Noah and I had heard quite a bit about the incredible fishing for redfish and speckled trout in South Carolina and had decided to try fishing the area around Hilton Head Island for a couple days. Getting there late in the evening the same day we'd cast at our last tarpon of the Florida trip we drove around scoping spots in an area neither of us had ever been, getting an idea of what we might be in for.

The water we'd be fishing looked incredible. The famous Lowcountry grass flats extended for miles and I imagined paddling slowly down them looking for tailing reds. We fell asleep in a rest stop with, as it would turn out, far more confidence in ourselves than we deserved to have.
We rose early and drove to a launch and were on the water as the sun rose.

There was a problem evident though as we fished. There wasn't much evidence of predatory fish. The was some very small bait, and we spooked some croakers out of the shallows, but we saw no evidence of trout, reds, black drum, or bluefish. We chalked it up to the spot and the tide and moved. 

Our move proved no more fruitful. With the tide bottoming out, we cruised back different sloughs hoping to see some reds. There was more life, but still not as much as we'd hoped to see. Mostly, there were stingrays... tons and tons of stingrays. More stingrays than I'd ever seen. Back one slough we did see redfish, or, more precisely, I saw two redfish. One was tailing briefly against the bank, the other one, a big bull, spooked. And that was it actually; those were the only two redfish we saw in South Carolina. I ended up catching a stingray up that slough, only my third ever but definitely the same species. But that was all that staved off the skunk.

With the sun now very high and the tide low but rising, we opted to bide our time and wait for the flood tide. We went to a park and wandered around a bit to see what sort of interesting things we could find in this unfamiliar territory. It was quite hot and the sun was harsh, so not much was out and active. After a bit Noah went back to the van to do some research, while I stayed out to try to find some snakes. I didn't, but I did find myself a new frog species, a Cope's gray treefrog.

Hyla chrysoscelis

When I got back Noah relayed what he'd learned. Basically, we were completely wrong about where fish would be and when, and with the tools at our disposal it was highly unlikely that we'd catch even one redfish. It as too early for flood tide tailers in the grass. There weren't good trout reports either. We had totally dropped the ball on researching what we were getting ourselves into and it looked very likely that we'd not be catching any of the species we'd wanted.
So we ran.
We ran away from South Carolina with our tails between our legs.
Our sights now were set on very different fish in Virginia.
But, South Carolina... we'll be back. Don't think you've beaten us just yet.

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, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

The Value of the Hand-twist & Figure Eight

There are a lot of ways to retrieve a fly and every retrieve has it place: a fast and erratic two-hand, a slow strip with pauses, full arm swing strips, the jerk-strip,  rod-tip lead... the list goes on and on. But one retrieve I use a lot and don't see as utilized as much by fly fishers in the northeast is the figure eight retrieve. It did not take me long after I started fishing still waters to figure out that a lot of fish were more likely to eat a fly retrieved at a continues pace with no substantial pauses, and though this can be achieved by lifting the rod at a steady pace when a short cast is made and by doing a slow rolling two hand retrieve on a long cast, but my choice retrieve when fish want a fly that never stops completely is the figure eight or hand twist. I rarely ever do a proper figure eight though, I just make a loop. With the line through a loose loop made by the pointer and thumb of my rod hand, I hold my hands close together, then pinch the line between the thumb and pointer finder, wrapping it around my pointer, then pull a loop into my palm with my other three digits. I then drop that loop while repeating the motion to make another. And over and over and over.... if that's hard to visualize, just try to do it anyway. If you can't figure it out, just keep trying... I did. I did until I found what worked for me and sometimes I did it for so long my hand would cramp severely from so much repetition. But I'm glad I figured it out because I've stood right next to other fly fisherman doing a different retrieve and caught fish consistently while they struggled to get any.

One scenario in which I'd be pretty much lost without this retrieve is early spring walleyes. The slow steady retrieve not only produces strikes but the constant contact with the fly makes it difficult to miss the extremely subtle bites. Often, all I feel is a vague sense of tension. I'll accelerate the retrieve then lift the rod and only then get a true sense of the fish's weight. These big predators eat tiny streamers with a subtlety akin to a brown trout eating an emerger.

To the point that these takes are subtle... walleye fights are all too frequently regarded as boring. That isn't typically my experience. The take does not match what follows. Do they hold up pound for pound compared to many other species? I have to say, some species, no, but you can't just skate them in on the surface either. They're big sweeping headshakes and short dogging runs never fail to get my heart pounding. So don't take what people who have only ever trolled walleyes say as gospel, they can indeed pull pretty hard.

Given their genetic closeness to walleye it shouldn't be surprising that yellow perch are duped by the hand-twist retrieve too. Actually, though in a different family entirely, it was white perch on which I perfected this methodology. And today, for my money, it remains the way to catch them. But I would be so lost without it fishing for trout in stillwaters, stripers feeding on small shrimp, crappies, bluegills, smallmouth... the list goes on for a while. This is a necessary tool in my arsenal and I infrequently see it utilized by other fly fishers in this part of the world. I never understood why.

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, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

Goodbye, Florida

As the sun set on our last evening in Florida and the mosquitoes chased us away from the still rolling tarpon, we prepared for yet another night of driving slowly down dirt roads for hours looking for snakes.

I had a sense of urgency to see something fantastic before we had to leave. So far we'd seen very common species. The first snake we saw wasn't uncommon, it was another moccasin, but a huge one. It was stalk still when the van came to a halt but not when we approached it on foot. The snake was already on the edge of the road so it didn't have far to go to get away. I quickly made a desperate bid to keep it from getting away, grabbing the fat, powerful pit viper by the tail, letting go when it turned, then grabbing again when it continued its getaway. By then it was deep in the tangle of vines and grass and there was no way I was pulling it out without getting bit so I dropped it again. That was a minor disappointment; though being the same species I'd already photographed a bunch of times in the prior two nights, it was the most impressive and intimidating one we'd seen and I adore big intimidating snakes as much as I adore little, colorful, completely charming ones.

That is what the next snake I saw in the road was... so small it was barely noticeable. It's lack of size had me excited as I also knew right away it wasn't a corn snake, so it must be something we'd not yet seen. I could hardly contain my excitement when I saw that it was a scarlet snake, a species I'd wanted to see for years. Then I could hardly contain my horror when I saw that it was dying, presumably from a run in with a previous car. Still alive but just barely, my first ever scarlet snake was just a reminder of the damage humans have done to this place. Such a perfect beautiful living thing, destroyed by humans simply having been present.

I decided we should carry it with us to see if its condition would improve at all. I hoped it would but doubted it.

Down the road, we saw an SUV pulled over and two girls our age shining a flashlight into one of the many pools of deeper water along the road. We stopped and I asked what they were were looking for. "Oh we're just checking shit out." one of the two replied. I laughed and replied "That's basically what we're doing too but mostly looking for snakes". They then asked if we knew how to find Burmese pythons, and said no... I gave my best answer which boiled down basically to no, not really, I wish we did.... I told them about the snakes we'd been finding and about the scarlet snake, and they wanted to see it. I went and grabbed it. Unfortunately it was in far worse condition so after showing them and explaining the difference between it and a scarlet kingsnake I gently placed it under a bush. I told the girls if they cruised slowly and stayed on the lookout they'd likely at least get to see a moccasin or two. We left them and could still see their headlights behind us when we found our next moc. We heard tight and made sure the snake didn't go anywhere while we waited for them to get to us. The snake was a good boy and didn't bite me while we waited for them to reach us. They were very excited to see it, and I was more than happy to share the experience with people who enjoyed it as much as I did.

That was our last everglades snake. It was a fitting end, and the reminder I needed after finding that dying scarlet snake that not all people are destructive and careless. Dinner was... well... I guess the next photo is at least somewhat self explanatory, maybe not the bolt cutters. But you get the idea.
Any food is good food on the side of a dirt road in the woods.

The next morning we rose before the sun to try and catch one last tarpon. The sun rose over Florida behind me as a 20 pound tarpon erupted on my gurgler, did a cartwheel, then tail walked 15 feet. I don't even know if I bowed, I was too busy watching the chaos unfolding in front of me, completely awe struck. The fish broke off. I wasn't even mad. 

An hour later, we turned the van off the Tamiami and pointed north. This time we wouldn't be turning around. We crossed my favorite river in Florida on a long bridge and I eyed the mangrove islands below. We crossed the sweltering spine of the peninsula and got on I-95. Then we drove to South Carolina. We'd said goodbye to Florida but the adventure was not yet over.
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, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.