Christopher Camuto -- A Fly Fisher's Blue Ridge

A Fly Fisherman's Blue Ridge by Christopher Camuto

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It's a very pleasing read, and not only because much of the book takes place on what I'm starting to think of as my home trout water. Camuto does a great job of mixing the scientific research with wilderness and historical narrative. Some of the research specifics might seem a little dated, given its focus on acid rain, but it's still a relevant topic and message (though I use that word a little hesitantly, as there's little of the polemic here).


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Harry Murray -- Virginia Blue-Ribbon Streams

Virginia Blue-Ribbon Streams: A Fly-Fishing Guide by Harry Murray

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is good for one it is, a relatively detailed overview of some of the major streams in Virginia. It's got useful details and good artwork, but the problem is simply that there are several of these sorts of books, and at least one that's far more comprehensive. If you can pick this one up cheaply, it's probably worth it to fill out your research, but it's probably inessential.


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How to Salvage a Trip

We were about an hour outside Charlottesville when I realized I'd forgotten all my fishing equipment except for my wading pants and an old t-shirt. I had been anticipating this outing quite a bit. Pennsylvania's fish-for-free day was falling on my birthday, and we happened to be heading home that weekend anyway. I planned to fly fish my home river for a reasonably lengthy stretch, something I hadn't done in close to a decade.

I was utterly dismayed. The river was never a great stretch, but it held fish and I was more interested in feeling nostalgic and in examining the changes to the waters I used to know inside and out. I tried to come up with an alternate plan, knowing I still had odds and ends of gear at my mom's house, and thinking I could buy cheap versions of the rest from Wal-Mart or borrow from my dad.

That plan fell apart quickly. I uncovered the reels with 15-year-old fly line and dug up the spools of monofilament I could use for a leader (the bass and bluegills wouldn't be shy). The problem was with the rods. I had three there (instead of the two I was expecting). One was cracked and taped together as I remembered. The second was worse. The third one -- my dad's original fly rod with non-functioning automatic reel still attached -- was the one I hoped to use. It was cracking at a joint, too, and I wasn't willing to risk either the rod or the outing on its durability.

So I had to drop the fly fishing idea, but I could spinning gear from my dad, and a nearby vending machine could sell me bait regardless of the hour I got around. Now I was set.

Except I got up that morning and immediately learned that we were under a tornado watch. I considered my options, really hoping not to miss out on fishing (and we had plans for the afternoon and evening, so there was no chance of trying to wait out the watch). The mile-long wade/hike was out, but I could park near the river and keep within running distance. It would have to do.

I wasn't that optimistic, and when I realized I'd forgotten to grab split shot and had only my dad's oversized equipment, I realized I just had to adapt. The grey sky mildly worrying, I snagged bottom my second cast, freed it and kept moving.

But the day would change. On cast number six or so, I hooked something with some bulk, and when it flashed silver, I was stunned. Moments later I landed a fat, foot-long rainbow trout. I'd just been thinking that the second biggest trout I'd ever caught had come from that pool but that that pool was completely different. It still holds fish.

I worked my way as far downstream as I could and the sky turned black and I worked my way back toward the car. I was working a little slack spot I thought would produce some panfish. The line pulled tight and I brought in a brown a little smaller than his predecessor. I've caught trout in this river this late in the year, but not often. It must be my birthday.

I moved upstream to a spot that used to be good for rock bass (I've come to feel a special pleasure in this fish -- once regarded as forgettable "puners", they've taken on a sort homecoming significance since I rarely catch them in VA). Making miraculous casts between brances to exactly the spots I needed, I landed 2 or 3.

After that, I pushed through some brush to where I hoped I could catch a smallie. I did. He was only about 6 inches, but I wasn't greedy. I'd fished through the sporadic light rain, the storms had circled by us, and I'd had very pleasing grand slam for my birthday.

It was exactly what I would have asked for, but I'd have never had that day if I'd brought my fly gear. I planned on throwing bass and bluegill bugs, so the trout would have been extremely unlikely (unless I'd changed to something like a woolly bugger or soft-hackle by that point). I might have caught more fish or bigger bass in the stretch I didn't get to fish, but things wouldn't have been as interesting. And that's how to salvage a trip and have a happy birthday.

Few Fish, Much Fun

My good friend John and I had lost touch after high school in the typical way you do without any reason. A year or so ago, after two of our parents ran into each other, we discovered we're now only living about two hours apart. We emailed a few times and saw each other at a reunion, but it wasn't until John wrote to ask me if I fly fished that we managed to get some firm plans down.

He described his skill level as being that of the guy with the coffee can of worms in A River Runs Through It. I wasn't sure what to expect, and didn't really care (but, for the record, he acquitted himself admirably).

We elected to hit a trout stream I'm somewhat familiar with for our first outing (although I planned to get into a new stretch of it). We rigged up, and on my second cast, I had a hit. Just as I realized there were a number of stockers in the pool, a spinfisher came around the bend. We got to chatting, and as I missed a series of strikes, I offered to share the pool with him. He declined, instead offering a suggestion on my angle of approach.

A few casts later and he was netting a nice brown for me (and I was discovering my camera was next to the front door at home -- I'd wish for it later). We looked up as I released it and saw John releasing one of his own. I thanked the man and left the hole to him so John and I could keep moving. We probably spent more of the morning hiking and talking than we did fishing.

The fishing wasn't stellar -- the only other fish being a native brookie that I dropped back into the stream before being able to show off its bright orange -- but we kept finding interesting things around us.

We got an close look at a garter snake, saw two salamanders (one a subdued brown and the other that neon blue sort of color that you'd swear fishing manufacturers had made up if you hadn't ever seen these things), and took a break at a waterfall.

On the way out, though was the real treat. John stopped me, and as I was just thinking how it sounded like cicadas, we saw the rattler moving from his sunny spot on the trail up into the brush. He didn't go far, and we had to cautiously make our way out around him. It was the first rattlesnake either of us had encountered, and later we laughed at how we made sure to bring it up in almost every conversation we had.

After that we had to get home. We didn't catch many fish, but I'll trade a high-fish day for the sort of day we did have.

The Early Season

It's a 70-degree day on mid-March, and I'm frustrated. It couldn't be nicer outside, but I'm too sick to go fishing, so I might as well use that as an excuse to catch up on this year so far.

Which hasn't been much. I've been out four times and managed just one fish. I'll give myself credit for some tough conditions, particularly since this winter has been extremely snowy (making much of the water around here either inaccessible or blown out). The first time I hit a local lake with fly rod looking for some early season 'gills. The lake was still partially iced over, and I wasn't expecting much -- I just wanted to get out on a nice day.

A week or so later I hit the George Washington Forest for some brookie action. It was sub-freezing when I started. I was missing one glove and discovered a leak in my waders. It was cold enough that when I climbed out of the river and walked to a new spot, the line on my reel froze up, locking up everything. I pushed through, rewarded with one native brookie four or five inches long. That was an "eh" day. I didn't know whether to expect anything at all.

I hit a nearby DH a few weeks ago. Thinking it had been stocked, I got there early (and was wise to do so -- when I left around lunchtime, there were 4 anglers fishing a 100-yard stretch of water) and dealt with the cold, the iced-up guides, etc. Nothing. The upstream portion had changed enough that I wasn't even able to find the weird fish I've only ever caught in this stream. I later found out an entirely different stretched had been stocked, which meant I'd spent the day fishing high, cold, heavily poached water. I'm not too disconcerted.

Last weekend was bad, but I couldn't resist going out to the lake. I was hoping crappie might be in a little, but it was cold and raining, and the water was considerably off-color. I would like to have been in a boat -- retreiving into deeper water and away from the already problematic vegetation -- but I made do. No strikes at all, aside from one little chub in the outflow.

I found a protected cove and kept twitching a minnow lure over the grass. Finally I had a big bass hit. And come off within seconds. A few casts later, something big swirled at it and missed. That was the only excitement of the day (unless you count losing a lure in the brush).

I'm pretty sure that's more skunkings already this year than I had all last year (and maybe as many as the last two years combined). Normally I wouldn't mind too much -- conditions have been bad and everyone can have a bad streak -- but I know it's unlikely I'll get out anytime in the next few weeks. So for now, it's blogging, shopping for equipment online, and -- if the Vitamin C kicks in -- learning to tie my own poppers.

Wish me sanity.

Ed Shenk -- Ed Shenk's Fly Rod Trouting

Wow, two months? Really? I'll try to get back to more blogging...

Ed Shenk's Fly Rod Trouting by Elisabeth Sheldon

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This one comes close. Shenk is clearly a talented angler and writer, and I'm sure anyone who's spent a day on the water with him had an enjoyable time. Unfortunately, the book's just boiled down too much. The early stories are almost journalistic in their I-used-a-hopper-and-caught-18-fish approach. The techniques are useful, and his writing on his love for the shorter rods is enlightening.

The real highlight here, and what makes the book worth the shelfspace, is the epic chase after Old George, easily one of the best fishing stories I've ever heard.

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Of all days to forget the camera...

You can probably tell by the big gaps in post that I haven't any outings ridiculously good, ridiculously bad, or just ridiculous lately (though I do have a few more reports to get up this year). Today, though, was a very strange one, and of course I managed to forget my camera when I could have used it a few times.

They stocked the "lakes" (and I use this term rather than "ponds" because that's technically the name) in an area park this week. I'd rather be somewhere more exciting, but you take what you can get, so I figured I'd head out for a couple hours in the rain this morning, and just throw some nightcrawlers to see if I can get into bass, panfish, or catfish, if the trout weren't biting.

I walked past the three people already fishing who probably had the energy to set their alarms last night (presumably not Red Sox or Angels fans). No luck, so I took the trail around the lake through a bit of woods. I came to a snake on the trail, who seemed to have no interest in moving for me. I thought at first that it was a black snake, but it had these bands around it, and a troublingly triangular head. Still, it was in my way, so I did what any thinking person would do: I poked it with my rod.

It didn't flinch. Was it dead. I tried to roll it over, at which point it raised its head and gave me a really dirty look. Given the slitty eyes and the white underbelly, this thing was looking like a cottonmouth, and despite all scientific evidence that they don't live in Albemarle County, it looked like one, so I left.* With no photo.

On my way back around the lake, I saw something stirring on the surface of the lake. I got closer and saw it was a turtle taking bites out of a chunk of fishing floating there. No camera (though I'm not sure I needed that shot).

I took a little bluegill and was trying to figure out what to do about the bum fishing, when it suddenly turned on. I took 4 bass up to about 11 inches and one decent 'gill over the next 30-40 minutes, and I lost a monster bluegill near the bank. Suddenly it stopped.

I don't think it was related, but a group of six, mostly kids, had showed up and marked their spots all along the bank. One did catch a bluegill, which they called a "perch".** It was a nice group, but I needed some space. I was ready for new tactics, so I tied on my floating minnow and headed for the lower lake.

Shortly after, I heard a big commotion in the woods behind me. I turned and saw a huge buck running between the trees. I couldn't count, but I'm sure he had at least 8 points, and I'd believe 10 or 12, on a wonderfully symmetrical rack. No camera.

Then back to the upper lake, where I quickly snagged someone's fishing line. I could feel a light throb as I reeled in, so once I got my lure to the bank, I grabbed the other line by hand and pulled it -- and the 13-inch rainbow trout attached -- to shore. The fish had been hooked deep with a bait hook and was bleeding, and he had apparently broken off an angler's line, but not at the hook or the swivel -- the line must have somehow broken near the reel, because there was a long distance out. I gave the trout to the family, and after a few casts with my Pcola spoon went home.

So it was an odd day, with lots to report on considering I only caught six of my own fish. Despite the fun, I remembered why that's not my preferred fishing. I listened to other people talk about where the stocking truck had dumped the fish (coincidentally right next to where nearly all the trout I saw had been caught), about following the trucks around and then catching a limit, about snagging carp with big lures. Not really my scene.

Still, I wish I'd had my camera.


*If anyone can convince me that this was something else, I'd love to hear it. I hate to be someone wildly reporting a dangerous animal where it's not supposed to live, but I really can't find anything else that had that combination of viper head and eyes, black-on-black banding, and white belly.

**This is apparently a regional thing, as it's not the first time I've encountered it. Before I realized this usage, I was looked at like I was an idiot when I once expressed surprise that there were "perch" in a pond.

...Except When It Isn't (pt 2)

A few weeks after the outing described in my last post, I headed back to the same stream. I had had a very hard hit in a pool the farthest upstream I had ever traveled. My plan was to hike up to that pool, start there and work upstream, covering entirely new water.

I couldn't resist a quick stop at the place where I had missed the two stockers on the previous outing. Almost immediately I saw my line hesitate, so I set the hook and landed a...rosyside dace. Well, at least the skunk was off.

I headed up to the pool I wanted to start at, holding myself to only a few casts here and there. I couldn't get anything to hit in that pool, although it looks good. I worked my way up to the next spot, and still nothing. I couldn't see anything that looked good, so I made my way back to the trail to make an easier way.

I hadn't gone 50 yards when I came to an SNP trail marker, letting me know that there were falls just ahead. I was unsure which way the main trail went, but I took a few steps and saw some pretty magnificent falls.

There's not point sidestepping something like that, so I took the little footpath and crawled my way up toward the top of the falls (and here's how you can tell I've matured -- I actually planned my exit strategy on the way in, which wasn't easy with a rod in hand; in the old days that would have been a potential disaster). About halfway up I stopped, ate a protein bar and drank some water, and admired the view.

I made it to the top, more or less, and got over to the water. It was a beautiful sight, but I did want to get back to fishing. I slid my way back to the main trail, crossed the stream and continued on. I didn't see any obvious fishing, figured I'd probably used up about as much time as I wanted to, and turned around.

On my way out, I ran into a pair of anglers on their way in, who asked if I'd fished upstream from the falls, explaining that it was much better than downstream, which is the only water I'd fished (and which I had already decided not to hit again too often because I was suspicious of its quality, despite taking three native brookies my first time through there).

I was feeling a little silly about things, but I was pleased to have learned a little about the water. I went down to the parking lot and headed for a nearby pool. Some hikers were going by, which meant the odds of me hooking my own ear or something were doubled. Instead, I saw the end of the fly line move a little oddly downsream and I set the hook, eventually bringing a nice stocker of about 9 inches to hand.

I worked my way on down. I snagged my nymph, retrieved it and then came the closest I've ever come to stepping on a snake, which was making its way downstream barely visible just in the water. I yelled, splashed, and did a general snake-avoidance dance before getting out of its way. I was so surprised that it had neither spooked nor bit me over all this that I went back to make sure it wasn't a stick. It was a snake, just going about its business.

Needless to say, that pool wasn't so fishable anymore.

I went home, and it wasn't until the next day that I realized how stupidly I had failed to execute my plan, which, I had learned, would have put me into better fishing water. I was frustrated for a second, and then realized I didn't care. I'd had a great day: a wonderful hike to a cool waterfall, learned something about a river, had a funny snake experience, and, incidentally, caught a trout.

So while I haven't reached that point (and kinda hope I never do) where catching fish never matters, there are definitely great ways to enjoy fishing without fish. Hopefully I'll get around soon to some further explanation on why I think this is.

It's All About the Fish... (pt 1)

It's taken me a while to get to this post because I've been trying to figure out how to get the pics up from an old camera. Anyway:

A month or so ago, I headed out to an SNP stream that's stocked below and has native brookies up above. I planned to fish both sections, and of course was more optimistic than was reasonable.

Just a few casts into my outing, I hooked into a trout. I thought it was a small one, and even though I got it on the reel, I worked it in like it was a minnow. When I got him to my feet, I was shocked at how big he was (not huge, maybe 9 inches) and he was shocked that some human was reaching his hand in the water to pick him up. I'd left my net at home -- not a necessity in this area -- and it possibly cost me a fish, because once he saw he was in real danger, he took off downstream, over a little piece of rapids (if you can call it that) and the hook popped free.

I fished hard the rest of the day, with only a little luck, a tiny native brookie that I dropped before I could get a pic (and I have a friend who would say the camera was my whole problem -- I was certainly thinking about snapping on of that first fish while I was bringing him in).

I also fished this pool pretty thoroughly (and if you know the stream, you know where this is):



It's tricky to fish, because it's on a stream crossing, and unless you're the first person there, it's likely someone's fished it, splashed in it, or is currently swimming in it. I'm sure there are fish there, so I always take a few casts. This morning, like others, nothing happened. Then I had a perfect drift on my final cast and started bringing in my line. Suddenly a monster brookie rose up and hit a ... stick.

Really? My perfect cast and drift and proper fly and nothing. But a stick?

Eventually I went back to the stocked section where I had hooked the first trout, and this guy was in my way:



Even though it's just a garter snake (I'm relatively sure), I gave him some room and fished downstream a little. I quickly had a hit, set the hook and turned the fish, a typical-sized brookie. I got a look at him, but he immediately came loose. I was amazed at how this fish just materialized.

All in all, not a wasted day: I'd hooked three trout and landed one, and I'd seen a snake, and, at the very least, I'd spent a nice day outdoors, doing something I love in place that looks like this:




So why was I so bummed?

Well, sometimes it's all about the fish. I'd wanted to catch something that day, and felt like I hadn't. Any fishing writer worth his salt talks about how it isn't really about catching fish, but, for me, some days it is. Not all days, but sometimes the other stuff just isn't completely fulfilling.

Of course, in my defense, the other days can be pretty nice to... (to be continued)

First Trout!

About a week and a half ago, we got the kids back out fishing, this time with my mom and stepdad. I brought along some circle hooks (more on that in my next post), as much for an experiment as for anything else. In the length of time it took Ava to get to the potty and back, I was convinced they'd help her catch fish, so I tied one on for her (the idea being that she wouldn't have to set the hook).

A short time later, she's reeling frantically, and I catch just a flash of silver, enough to tell that it's something elongated. She reels it in, and it's this:



Ava's first trout! And a brookie no, less (significant only for being my favorite kind). A fish is a fish to Ava, of course, but I'm pretty excited by it. The whole event was overshadowed by worms and a picnic and some playground activity, but that's probably as it should be.

Iced

The morning started in a bad way (as future stories usually do). I had to scrape the ice of my car in the dark in order to drive to the river. I'd never done that before. I should have known.

But the night before was when I might have taken events as signs. I was just clumsy all night, from tying ugly flies to having a hard time tying the knots for my dropper rigs. I capped it all off my dropping my once-used Super Days Worth fly box on the cement basement floor and breaking part of it.

But I was off.

My fingers were in pain before I had finished rigging up, even with the neoprene gloves on. After getting set up, I had to take a break and put my hands inside my waders. I wasn't sure how I was going to fish.

As soon as my hands were marginally okay, I started casting. After only 6 casts or so, I saw the indicator pause and set the hook. A flash of silver told me I had a decent rainbow on and, after steering him clear of some brush, I landed an 11-incher. So already I had broken the two-outing skunk streak, and I was in a good mood.

I quickly moved into some riffles and started catching chubs. I worked my way upstream, and continued to catch fish almost constantly, but no trout. Instead, I got into tons of a fish I'd never seen before, and neither friends, family, nor members of two fly fishing forums could identify it from my description (this is when a camera would be really nice).

It was a little fish, typically about 5 inches or so. It was silver, with three dark vertical markings on its side. The tips of the tail and fins were all bright red. Someone suggested it might be a river redhorse, but it didn't have that kind of mouth. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know. I suggest it's a regional variant of something.

The big challenge of the day was keeping my guides ice-free. I'd never encountered this problem, and the first time I tried to cast and shot the line out the middle of the line was a strange experience. By lunchtime, the air had warmed up enough that the freezing water in my guides wasn't a problem, but it was an odd way to spend a Virginia morning.

Anyhow, I caught quite a few fish that day (beyond counting, which always equals good, regardless of species). I hiked back to where I started and talked to some other anglers, at which point at felt foolish. They told me the Delayed Harvest area extends downstream from where I started, but I'd been fishing upstream. I suspect they're right, as the water is certainly better that direction (which I proved by fishing for a while without a bite), but I've checked several guidebooks, all of which list it upstream.

Oh, well, I had a good day, took fish in some painful conditions, and don't really care if I fished the "right" stretch or not.

Dave Hughes -- Trout Rigs and Methods

Trout Rigs & Methods: What You Need to Know to Construct Rigs that Work for All Types of Trout Flies & the Most Effective Fishing Methods for Catching More & Larger Trout by Dave Hughes

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars

It's not exactly the kind of book you read straight through (though I did), but it's an amazing resource. Hughes provides tactics to cover pretty much every trout fishing situation you could come across, and explains it from rig to presentation.

Throw in the quick overviews on knots, gear, casting, etc., and you could just about use this book to guide your entire fishing. It's the kind of book that makes me wish I had this much knowledge about anything. I'm sure I'll be referencing it repeatedly.

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