New Looks at an Old Site

There's a park in town I've fished a few times, and I haven't made up my mind what I think of it. I've never been skunked, and I did have one of the best outings of my life there last summer. Other than that day, though, I've never really done great. I usually manage a handful of fish, none too big.

But I go there because it's accessible and fits my schedule, and because I know that great outings are possible. The only downside is that the hike on the trail is like walking on the beach, which is a little annoying.

I was there a few weeks ago with pretty good luck, catching a few bass, losing a decent one, and getting into some big 'gills. The highlight of the trip was seeing a bald eagle, something I've only done once or twice before. The big bird even landed on a tree branch for a few seconds so I could get a good look.

More recently, I headed back when I had a short window. I took a chub and a little smallie on 2 of my first 5 casts with a floating minnow lure, so I thought the day would be a busy one. Then it cooled. I watched a 2-foot longnose gar twice look at and refuse my bait, and then I spooked a largemouth.

Heading out of the water was the key, though. I decided to try to find a way through the woods to a paved trail, which would save me plenty of time fishing this spot. I saw some people who'd been picking plants heading through the trees, so I chased after them, and discovered they were using a trail. I went up the trail and discovered...a cricket game? I've seen some strange things in the wild, but people playing cricket might be the oddest.

I backtracked, followed an alternate path, and came out at a parking lot. Even better than just coming out at the trail. I took the paved road back to where I'd parked and decided to try downstream. To my great joy, there was a path I'd never seen (more like a clearing, really) that led to a nice pool downstream. I fished that pool, and the calm water just downstream from it and took maybe a dozen or so fish, including largemouths, bluegill, and even a crappie. I didn't have time to explore further downstream, but it looks like there's some good water that way, too.

There was even one moment of excitement in there, when something huge struck my minnow. I never got a good hookset, but I saw a flash of fish, seemingly too long to be smallie, but to thick to be a musky or a gar. With the visible vertical markings, I suspect it was an unusually big smallmouth. Which means I'll be back.

Sometimes fishing is about getting away from it, but sometimes you just don't have time for that, and I'm happy to find a place that's manageable with only a couple hours free.

A Bully Saves the Day

I've been slacking with the posts lately, but I should have some more writing time freed up, so let's get back to it.

About a month or so ago, I took the fly rod out after some bass. Working my way far downstream, I passed four other anglers. None of them admitted to catching a fish, which was a little troubling, and my day started off slowly. I was looking for a big bass and was sticking mostly to the bottom. I didn't have a single hit.

Finally, I figured it was time to just catch some 'gills, and hope the bass might show up. I tied on a small popper with a new fly I'd been meaning to try out, Bully's Bluegill Spider. I don't know if if was the fly switch of the sun suddenly coming out, but the hits started. I took a number of fair-sized panfish, mostly on the spider.

Finally, a bass hit. He wasn't a monster, but he was 12 or 13 inches. I hung on through three jumps, and then he burrowed deep. I saw him angle for a boulder and I tried to lead him past it. No luck. I felt the line stick, but could feel a slight throb. The line was snagged on the boulder, but the fish was still on. I've caught fish like this before. I plucked the line, and when that didn't work, I waded out to him. I saw him come loose just before I reached him.

That was my only bass encounter of the day, but I did see a pretty large smallie take a swipe at bluegill I was bringing in. That happened at least once last summer, only a hundred yards or so from this spot. I've got to start throwing some of those bluegill patterns...

Anyway, I couldn't complain. The fishing died completely after maybe an hour, but I had kept plenty busy on a day when no one else seemed to be doing anything. I was optimistic about tying into some bass over 15 inches on that outing, but changing expectations and plans made for a fun day even without the big ones.

If you're interested in the Bully's Bluegill Spider pattern, I recommend (again) Bluegill Fly Fishing and Flies by the Wilsons. You'll get a good pattern, pics, and the story behind the fly, as well as tons of great info on bluegill fly fishing in general.

Even the Stupid Days Are Fine

I had a few hours to get out on Sunday, so I thought I'd take my newish 5wt to a local park (more on this place in a future post) and spend the time catching some bluegill. The park isn't very productive, but there are a few holes that are reliable for panfish, with the occasional smallmouth thrown in, too. The real benefit to the place is that it's a very short drive, and there's a paved trail that runs next to the river for over a mile.

I got into the spot that I expected to be most productive -- actually the only spot on the river I'm truly optimistic about. I make a few casts, and the sky darkens, the wind picks up, and I hear thunder. "It's trucks on the highway," I tell myself. I try to convince myself, but I'm not buying it. The problem is that I'm heading off on a wade that has little in the way of extrication options, and if a storm's coming, I don't want to get caught in waist-high water far from an access point.

I climb out, and check out the sky one last time to convince myself, it's really, truly, a storm coming. I start walking back to the car. After about half a mile. The sun comes out, the wind dies down, and the thunder stops.

At this point, I have to choose between re-tracing my steps or just jumping in the river at the next good spot. Given that I'm only out for a relaxing day, I don't bother re-tracing my steps. Which means, of course, that I only manage to catch one bluegill all day. And fall directly onto my knees on some rocks.

I also manage to somehow foul up my dropper rig, leading me just to nip off one fly and stick with Bully's Bluegill Spider (more on this in a later post, too). At one point, I can't lift my line off the water to cast. Puzzled, I discover I've hooked a long length of monofilament. In my effort to pull it in, I discovered one end is tied to a beer bottle. I leave it. I usually pack out other people's trash, but I'm not sure what I can do with 30 feet of mono and a beer bottle, and I'm also not entirely convinced it isn't some sort of bait trap or something (and I have no idea how far the line extends in the other direction.

I'm about to head to the car, and I decide to take a few casts right by the parking lot. It looks like a bit of a dud, but sometimes you catch fish that other people pass up because they're too obvious. Nothing at all.

The high point of the day: some swimmers just down from this final spot call to me and point out some deer crossing the river upstream from me. They're both big, and the one in front is a buck with an impressive rack, probably 8 or 10 points (it's just a little too far to count).

I head back to the car. I run into a guy with a canoe, and it turns out he's a fly angler, too, and I enjoy our conversation. He recommends a new spot for me to try (actually, parking for a spot I'd been meaning to try), and I figure I'll hit it soon.

So, all in all, a pretty stupid day, but I still had fun.

Gear Review: L.L. Bean Ultralight Combo

It's been a slow few weeks as far as fishing is concerned, but I'll still get some new stories up soon (and eventually return to the original idea of this blog, which was to write up some of the old stories, rather than just provide outing reports).

Anyway, thanks to dumping a canoe, I've now managed to own two of L.L. Bean's Angler Spin Series Outfit, 5' Two-Piece Ultralight. The obvious review is that I re-bought it the day I sunk the first version, so it must be great. Well, yes and no.

I originally set out to simply replace my current ultralight reel, part of a combo I stole from my dad years ago. My biggest complaint was that it didn't have infinite anti-reverse.

It turns out that that's not as standard a feature as you would think on ultralight reels. Yet it's absolutely essential -- the first thing I look for in a reel (I'm not a gearhead by any means, so retriever ratio, ball bearing counts, etc. take me some more time to parse). Reels were getting more expensive than I thought, and I was beginning to see that a combo might be a smart way to go.

Then I found L.L. Bean's offering for about $35. Bean isn't known for underpricing, but they aren't known for making junk either. I ordered one. Not surprisingly, it was backordered for over a month. When I finally got it, I was pleased, but I need to offer a few caveats.

The rod is great -- no issues there at all. I've got fish ranging from half a foot to 23 inches and the rod's proven to be very sensitive and capable of protecting the line.

I was waiting to review the combo until the reel had a workout. The big catfish should have been that, but it never took line from the drag (even though I felt like I had it set light). I'm not sure what to make of that, so no news here on how smooth or loud the drag is.

The reel is truly infinite anti-reverse. So big plus there. Unfortunately, both reels I got came with too much line spooled on, and I wasn't a big fan of the curly line in general (I think it's Sufix, which should be a good choice). With both reels, I had a few snarls until I got down into it a ways. I'm not sure if this is from overspooling, improper spooling, line choice, or reel design, but my suspicion is it's some combination of the first three.

The other, more serious problem, involves the drag knob. Three times in one outing, I found the line catching on the drag knob, and winding on top of the reel instead of on the spool (leading to obvious problems). Even factoring in for user error as I was "guiding" and not fully attentive, it's still not an issue you should have to deal with. High-memory line, however, could contribute to the problem.

So, my conclusion: better than you might think. At $35, this combo is an absolute steal (unless the reel gives me further problems, which I doubt, considering I gave the first one a pretty good workout without this issue). It's an entry-level price for a better quality combo. If you're a hardcore ultralight enthusiast, it's probably not the combo for you. However, if, like me, you like an ultralight for occasional forays, or if you're a newcomer to the style looking for some inexpensive-but-quality equipment, it's a good place to go.

Drama! Excitement!

About a week ago my wife and I had a day to get our canoe out on a local lake we'd never been on before. It's the first time we've had it out this year (and one of the few times we've ever had it out), and it would be the first time Nicole had ever fished from a canoe.

We were pretty excited, and got it launched without too much trouble. The reservoir had some other people out, but not too much pressure, and we headed for a secluded cove. We hadn't been fishing long when something big took my bait. I was using the ultralight, and I knew immediately that I was in for a real battle.

I slowly gained ground on the fish, and when I saw it flash, the sight confirmed it was bigger than anything I've caught in years. Nicole was cheering me on, and when I got it near the canoe, I was sure I was going to lose it when it surged under the boat. My rod tip was yanked under, but the line held.

I pulled the fish to the surface, and with only a little difficult, netted the beast. It turned out to be a 23-inch channel catfish, the biggest cat I've ever caught, and probably the second heaviest fish of any species I've ever taken, all on an ultralight rod in a canoe. When I brought him into the boat, he twisted his head and the knot gave way. Incredible.

Nicole was right in describing him as both "beautiful" an "majestic". I quickly slid him back into the water.

Nicole was getting bites, but no fish, and I took one more bluegill. We paddled to a new location (just out of curiosity). We had some issues with snags here, including me launching a cast two feet too far into a fallen tree. We finally got squared away, and the canoe sloooowly starting tilting to the left. And it kept tipping.

When we hit the water, I pushed back on the canoe to keep it from turning over, and I grabbed a rod. We were dunked, but we saved everything except my ultralight combo and one pack of hooks (notable only in showing how little we lost and how blessed we were). We dragged everything to shore and turned the canoe upside down.

A couple guys in a bass boat came by and held the canoe steady while we got back in. An older couple paddled by in their canoe and gave us snotty looks. Yes, I was properly embarrassed -- you don't need to remind me.

We fished a little longer, but some of the fun of it (for me at least) was gone. So we loaded up and went home. Content with having had a proper adventure.


Sidenote: in the continuing circle hook study, I took both fish on circle hooks. The cat was hooked securely in the upper lip, but the 'gill was gut-hooked, and, I suspect, didn't make it. Nicole didn't get any hook-ups on baitholder hooks with fluorocarbon leaders, but this may have more to do with hook-setting technique than with hook choice.

...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)