A Tail of Two Fishies (or, Best-Titled Story Ever)

So a while back I mentioned the big brookie and the carp I caught by hand. They're connected by similar mysterious behavior.

The brookie was more dramatic. I was fishing my favorite trout stream, and trying to work some pocket water that I was always sure held trout but could never find any in. Something big hit my nymph and took off. I set myself for a tough fight, especially given the tricky footing and quick water. Very soon after the hookset, though, I saw my line angle toward a small boulder and then go tight under it. I could still feel the fish throbbing on my line, so I kept slack out and waded to the boulder.

I've caught fish before (usually bass) where I've had to free the line from tangles or wait for the fish to back out of weeds (sometimes you can induce this, at least on spinning gear, by plucking your line like a guitar string). This fish, though, had just cannonballed right under a boulder and stopped. When I reached it, I reached down and grabbed it near the tail and pulled it out. To my surprise, it was a gorgeous brookie about 15 inches long. Somehow it had wedged its head under the boulder and seemed unsure how to get out. I turned it loose and it seemed fine. I'm not sure how bright it was (especially given that it managed to get itself caught by me), but I'm not sure why else it would end up in such a predicament.

The carp was a little stranger, and I feel like I probably did something wrong. I was smallmouth fishing in my home county, working a stretch of water with Dad that, while productive, was more notable for the climb involved in exiting the river. I was upstream from him a ways when I caught site of a carp with its head in some weeds. I couldn't figure out how to make a cast, given that it's head was in the weeds.

I crept closer, and it didn't move. It was wiggling a little bit, or I'd have thought it was dead. I got close enough to poke it with my rod tip, but it didn't respond. I clambered up on a rock next to it and couldn't figure it out. It looked stuck. As far as I could tell, it wasn't spawning or anything. It just had managed to get its head (and gills, if I remember right) stuck on some weeds. I grabbed it by the tail and under the belly and lifted it up and back out of the weeds. I helped it revive, and watched it swim off. Then it struck me that I had perhaps intervened in some natural event I shouldn't have, but I'm not sure what that could have been (other than imminent death).

I'd be happy to hear any thoughts on this situation.

There it is. Two fish that managed to get their heads stuck. One a big brook trout in a cold, fast stream while hooked; the other an average-sized carp in a slow, warm river, apparently on its own. I still think both were a little weird.

Carp

I've caught very few carp in my life (although here's photographic evidence to prove it's happened at least once):



There was a point, though, where I was obsessed with trying. On my home river, the fish would gather annually for unknown reasons in massive schools. They rarely contained the largest carp I'd ever seen, but the sheer numbers made me think I could catch one. I tried all kinds of bait, even cooking up doughballs from a special recipe, but with no luck. I even had a friend claim at a local lake that one bit him on the finger, but we still couldn't get them to hit worms, corn, or anything else.

Still, I managed to go from no luck to bad luck. I hooked a nice one out on the lake with my dad. As I fought it, Dad frantically hoisted anchor. The carp, of course, still managed to wrap itself around the anchor line and come off.

On another occasion, one took my bait in a different stretch of the river. At the last minute, he wrapped himself around a submerged tree and snapped the line.

I felt cursed. What I didn't feel -- and should have -- was that I simply didn't know how to catch carp. [I still don't, and one of my plans for the winter is frantic reading and video-watching on this subject.] I plugged away, sitting motionless on the bank watching fish motionless below me.

Eventually I had my moment. We were smallmouth fishing, having a decent day, when I caught sight of a monstrous carp in the shallows. Unlike most of the ones I fished for by sight, this one was actively feeding, and I knew I had a chance. I crept as close as I dared, and cast my nightcrawler just upstream of him. I couldn't see the bait, but I focused on where I knew it must be. I never felt the take, but when the carp opened and closed his mouth in just the right spot, I set the hook.

Never before nor since had I felt such power at the end of my line. I had 6-lb test on my Ugly Stik lite, and I had never been happier to have a properly set drag. The fish took off across the river, angling downstream. While the drag gave it line, I ran down the bank, trying not to lose the fish. He took me up and down the river a few times and I was wearing out.

Then we spot the main hazard. A large tree limb complete with a full set of branches and twigs, was in the river, and the carp was angling past it. Dad rushed out into the river and moved it, dodging my line. I finally turned the fatigued fish to shore and brought him in.

I couldn't even guess his weight, but he went about 33 inches, as measured to a mark on my rod. I put my gear down and revived him, and he swam off. I was thrilled, tired, and shaking.

Oddly, that afternoon, the situation almost replayed itself a few miles away, as I just missed another (not quite as big) feeding carp. Not too long later, I'd repay the carp world when I found one that had wedged itself into some vegetation. I'm not sure how or why it had happened, but I actually had to help the struggling carp back out of crevice between two rocks in the weeds. I hesitated to intervene, in case there was a reason it was behaving that way, but it seemed concerned, so I did.

I haven't caught a carp in a number of years, although I tried just last weekend (and every time bass or bluegill took the lure, I tensed, hoping to set the hook on a carp, or even one of the big cats I saw every few minutes). Hopefully the next one will be as exciting -- although not as long in coming -- as the first one.

Temptation

You'll forgive me if I have the heebee jeebies. I spent the morning fishing in a place where humans weren't meant to go, and I'm sure of this because Nature has erected the proper defense. Primarily, according to my scientific study, the defenses stem from the fact that the area as more spiders per square mile than any other temperate location on earth. The spiders are also bigger, and there's at least one large black one that will crawl on your arm and make you realize that you're unable to identify black widows, and that you don't even care so much about necrosis, you just want it off you.

The trek's worth it, of course, even if I doubt it when I stumble off the path yet again, dodging brush or webs. At the end of the trail -- or at least as far as I take it -- is some good smallmouth water, and that's why I'm scraping through with a fly rod in hand. I've only hit this spot twice before, but I'm aware that I could possibly catch the biggest bass I've ever taken on a fly today.

When I reach my spot I realize two things I'm going to have to compensate for: the water is much lower and it's much slower than I had expected. This means longer casts and stealthier wading, neither of which is my forte. My strength in fishing, as you might guess, is my willingness to go into ridiculous places to catch fish; my strength isn't actually being skilled.But I've still got a plan today. I'm fishing a smallish popper trailed by a soft hackle hare's ear. It's not a perfect bass set-up, but it's ideal for catching something, and I'll be happy with that today.

Before I tie on, though, I realize this day could be turning into a struggle. My leader has somehow snuck through the side of my reel (while sitting unused), and I've developed such a backlash that I've got to pop the spool out to fix it. No real problem, and I'm rigged up quickly enough.

My first cast provokes a strike, and my second takes a bluegill on the popper. The first hour or maybe 90 minutes continues like this. I'm wondering now if I should have left the 7wt at home and brought the 4wt, but I remind myself that I'm going to be throwing bigger streamers in a little while and should remain optimistic about big bass. Then, as I pull in a small bluegill, a giant smallmouth takes a swipe at it. My faces does all the cliched googling and dropping, and I bring in the very lucky panfish. [Note: soon I'll put up a story about the bass I once actually hooked like this, leading to the question: are there flies that look like sunnies?] A few minutes later, I do take a fair-sized bass on the surface, and he gives me one good jump and plenty of fight.

After that the day quickly fizzles, trying to cast next to a stump, I bounce the popper off it into the water, which would be perfect if the hare's ear hadn't snagged the wood. Too deep to wade, I eventually break my line, unfortunately at the leader/tippet knot rather than at one of the flies. I'm mad at myself, because I'd forgotten extra leaders and because I couldn't get the new 5X tippet unfurled, so I had 4X both to the popper and to the dropper, meaning I couldn't break off just one fly.

I switch to a variety of streamers after that and flail around a while without getting a single strike. I fish some riffles for a while and then clip off and head out. I'm cutting it close to being on time for work, so I hurry.

Then I'm stopped.

Below me a school of carp fins in some shallow water. Not only do I see carp going an easy 20-24 inches, I see some nice bass following them, looking for easy prey that carp might root up (as the Bob Clouser book I'm currently reading repeatedly mentions) as well as bluegill and suckers. I'm late for work, but I'm tempted.I've got three challenges (let's not dwell on my considering going home without casting -- that'd be nuts). First, I'm not sure how to get to the water, but that's always manageable. Second, I need a good approach. The only options I see are from straight downstream, or to come in from far upstream, cross the river and work from a ledge that reaches about halfway across. That path would test my casting range and accuracy. Finally, in the midst of the carp is a big brush pile that I'd have to turn any fish away from quickly. I'll just have to chance that one.

I head downstream, find a drop-down to the streamside and take out my fly box. I'm stumped. Nothing looks good, and I couldn't figure out what they were feeding on. I should, perhaps, tie on something bass-y and focus on one of the foot-plus smallies I saw. Instead, I'm an idiot. I tie on a glo-ball, which I've never caught a fish on. I've heard about a vaguely similar pattern taking carp, but it's not smart. It's not a terrible choice, but I'm in an utterly new situation using a fly I don't trust (and that I probably selected because somewhere deep down my subconscious was thinking carp like orange), which isn't good.

I wade upstream carefully, away from the bank, and realize two more problems. First, I'm in over the bottom pockets of my vest, soaking my streamers and pliers. Oh, well. Second, I'm so close to the water level that I can no longer see the fish. I marked their range with some objects on shore, but I wanted to sight fish, since a carp's mouth opening can be a key signal. I cast blindly.

A few casts and absolutely nothing. I'm just about to leave (now thoroughly late for work) and take the typical "one more" cast. I watch the drift, twitch it a little, and the fly just halts. I set the hook. It doesn't even move.

Because, of course, it's not a fish, but a snag. Again I break off, again at the tippet connection. I've tight the double surgeon's knot differently this time, based on the Orvis guide rather than my old learning. I can do without the glo-ball but it irritates me. I head up into the woods again, ready for the spiders.

I pause when I reach the fish again, and this time I nearly lose it. The carp king has now come in. He's the type of fish that just looks like a different species. I take five steps and see a drop-down to the river right there. I won't be able to backcast, but I might be able to roll cast, or at least shoot some line out bow-and-arrow style...

No, I go home, shower, and start my workday. I have this sort of relationship with carp, but I'll talk about that another day.