The Madison of the East.

The Lehigh River's rebirth as a trout fishery has not gone unnoticed over the years. Many local anglers who have fished extensively in the West, have stated that the Lehigh River is the Madison of the East. Quite a bold statement, considering the Madison is one of the premier trout fisheries in the world. All it takes is to get out wading in the river, and you can picture yourself in the middle of Montana. However, the fishing is still no where near the quality of the Madison. With 10-20 more years of protection, fingerling stocking, and cold water the Lehigh could very well live up to it's great expectations.

A Look Downstream.

Mountain Biking The Gorge.

Prolific Insect Life.

Stones Are Everywhere.

Mayflies.

Caddis.

The river is pretty wild, especially above Jim Thorpe. Here it snakes its way through the Lehigh gorge that provides some of the best white-water opportunities in eastern Pennsylvania. Along with this perfect pocket water, long deep runs and pools below Jim Thorpe produce ideal habitat for fish. The only problem is, a consistent supply of cold water. This past summer has been extremely wet, with long periods of rain that have kept flows much higher than normal. This led to the temperatures of the Lehigh to really never reach a level that would result in massive fish kills. The browns and rainbows have had a good summer and many of them will be surviving until next year to prowl the deep pools and prey on a vast amount of aquatic life.

Double Fisting.

This Little Guy Fought Hard In The Fast Current.

Nice Female Brown After Losing A Huge One.

A Slab Rainbow on the Woolly Bugger.

A recent outing to the Lehigh produced some quality fish, insects, and scenery. Browns & bows upwards of 16 inches were caught on dries, nymphs, and streamers. This was accomplished by wading a small stretch of river. These are great signs for it's future. Hopefully, it will one day truly rival the Madison.

Another Quality Bow.

Released To Fight Another Day.

One of the Prettiest Lehigh Brown's I've Caught.

Mini Hook Jawed Male.

Propulsion.

Lunch: Pierogies, Bacons, Onions &...

Kielbasa.

Small Stream Love.

On another outing from labor day weekend, I hit up some of my favorite waters near my hometown. These waters are very small and contain numerous wild browns and the occasional brook trout. In the latter part of summer they can be difficult to fish because of low flows, spooky trout, and the overgrowth of the flora and fauna that seems to takeover the stream. Nevertheless, I love this challenge and look forward to it every year.

Whatever You Do Frodo, Stay Off The Road.

Summer Tunnels On The Chutes.

The Toughest Hole To Fish, Also Holds The Biggest Fish.

Huge Undercut Under Massive Evergreen.

Brown From Undercut.

One of the first sizable holes I fished almost always contains a nice sized fish or two. But I was shocked when on my first cast, a large brook trout took my butch caddis at the head of the riffle. The size of the fish was unexpected and a weak hook-set resulted in a lost fish after one head shake. In these waters, strong hook sets are a no no, due to the overhanging branches and bushes. One missed set and your rig more than likely will be the start of a new bird nest. After this near miss, I took a break and waited for another shot at the big brook trout.

Darker Brown.

The Butch Caddis Scores Big.

Almost Stole My Chance At The Brookie.

After a little while, I took another cast and along the same seam, a nice sized brown took my caddis imitation. I quickly steered him in and landed the brown who blended perfectly with the bottom of the stream. I now realized that my chances of taking the brook trout were growing slim since I had pricked him & caught a fish right on top of him. I waited again, and tied on a small club sandwich, hoping for a different look. Nothing happened. I swallowed my pride and tied on a dropper. The fish was mine on the first drift.

Black Mouth.

The Brookie In All His Glory.

After Swallowing My Pride, The Dropper Scored.

Further upstream, lies a meadow with some of the wariest trout I have ever fished for. They spook easily and disappear under grass-lined undercut banks on both sides of the thin corridor. I rarely even have a chance to see them before I spook them. Up to this point I had never caught one of these fish out of the meadow. I decided to give them another shot. I kept the club sandwich on, but lost the dropper. I false casted away from the water over the tall grass and arched a long one way upstream. The 12 foot leader unrolled and the club landed with a plop along a deep undercut. The brown exploded on the sandwich and I had to stand on my tip toes to get my 7ft rod over the grass and lead him down the 4ft wide section of stream to my feet. It was one of the prettiest browns I had seen in a long time.

The Meadow.

Meadow Brown, Really Red Spots.

The Undercut.

Golden Ghosts.

This River Is Wild has been doing a lot of carping this summer and carping isn't exactly easy. We were lucky  enough to catch a lot of bones and when we could, we tried to document with our digital cameras. I put together the following short that brings a lot of our posts alive in video with a kick ass song to boot. I hope all those carp addicts out there enjoy it. Let me know what you think. We have come a long way since the original golden bones video that you might have seen floating around the internet. This blows it out of the water. 

The Glory Hole.

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Everybody Was Kung Fu Carping...

Those casts were fast as lightning, in fact it was a little bit frightening, but they fought with perfect timing...

In the battle against well-educated carp who have seen arsenals of flies, the angler must resort to a stealthy approach by land, sea, and air. Only then, can he even consider having a shot at the elusive golden ghost. Yes, some carp are relatively easy to catch (the uneducated) but I am talking about the ones that have been caught multiple times by a fly angler and who flee the scene after sensing your footsteps 50 yards away. The ones who seem to hear you whispering to your buddy through several feet of water and over the various sounds associated with and surrounding carp water. Yes, these fish are a true test of skill, and extremely difficult to coax into eating a fly. But once you do, and that fish takes off like a bat out hell straight into your backing, you will be reminded of why the difficulty level is so worth it. Simply put, carping rules.

Get Low.

Lower.

Victory.

Rip Lips.

Carp Face.

Propelling Away.

My Turn.

I Love Their Wings.

The Mini-Sub Departs.

Adam Quote: "Why would I go catch 10 inch trout when I can catch 10 lb. carp?"

Connected.

In memory of my brother's futile attempts to catch a monster permit the other day, I suggest watching another great short. This one by Will Benson and World Angling. Consider it your labor day fix.

Connected by WorldANGLING from WorldANGLING on Vimeo.

Hopefully, it inspires him to get some sweet revenge.

"...a perpetual series of occasions of hope."

I was seconds away from calling it a day and heading home this afternoon when I spotted the fins, waving at me like two little flags. I was at a beach for the 2nd day in a row hoping to exact revenge on a 20"+ bonefish that had kicked my ass the day before.

Yesterday, there had been about a dozen bones cruising around on the flat, surprisingly large and aggressively feeding. Stacy had spotted them; her wildlife eyes are becoming more and more acute each time we head out. I casted to one fish tailing near a baby mangrove with his dorsal fins and tail waving at me. The two fins spun instantly and aligned themselves with my tiny shrimp as I stripped it once and let it sink. The fish zoomed over and paused right on my fly. I lifted the rod and offered a weak-ass strip set and she took off straight towards me. One, maybe two seconds later and it was all over.

My heart was hammering and I was not too pissed. It was progress, and a lot more action than we had been seeing the past few weeks. A massive storm front was rolling across the ocean towards us and a flash of lightning chased us off the flats a few minutes later.

Needless to say, we were pumped to get back out to the flats today and land a few of these fish.

We arrived at about 8:45am and didn't see a single fish, save one slammer barracuda that gave chase to a streamer, by lunch time. I dropped Stacy off at the school to get some work done and I went back to Brandywine. The flat is about as large as a football field and I alternately sat on the edge of it scanning the surface and making a slow lap around the edges of it in search of bonefish. After three hours of absolutely nothing, I headed back to the car.

Steps from the beach I happened to catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw the two fins waving in the air. They were different than a bonefish's fins...much too long. I realized a second later that I was about 20ft away from a tailing Permit. The water was knee deep and her back was sticking out of the water. She was massive. I stood, frozen in place as she slowly made her way towards me. She got within 10ft and I could make out a nasty scar above her right eye. This fish's head was about 6inches wide and the diameter of her circular body was longer than the height of my knees. She was feeding in the grassy bottom every 5ft or so and her dorsal and tail fins would thrash the surface each time she went down.

I was in awe of this fish and watched it do its thing for a full minute before I realized that the weight in my left hand was a 10wt fly rod and that I actually had a chance at this beast. It was then that I became nervous.

I stripped about 15ft of line and in one movement laid the tiny shrimp pattern 3ft in front of her face. I don't know how I did it.

To my absolute astonishment, she moved toward the fly...slowly, but with a purpose.

When she reached the very spot where my fly had settled she went down and her tail went up.

Remembering yesterday's embarrassment, I ferociously strip-set the fly to bury the hook point in the fish's mouth and felt life on the other end of my line.

My jaw dropped as the water exploded. There is no other way to describe the fury and adrenaline this fish unleashed. It streaked for the edge of the flat and the deep water beyond.

But something was wrong. My reel was not screaming in response. I stripped in some line and hoisted a 4 inch long yellow snapper from the water. I wish I could have seen my own face at the moment I realized I was not connected to the fish of a lifetime, but some bullshit sunny of the ocean.

I laughed out loud and tracked the wake the permit made as she powered out of sight.

We've been out on the water more than 12 times in the past three weeks, probably around 20 hours in all, and the missed bonefish yesterday, a few missed 'cuda strikes and that little yellow snapper today is all the action we've seen. However, it's things like today and the permit that keep me coming back.

The charm of fishing is that it's the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable. A perpetual series of occasions of hope. -Sir John Buchan

Hard Times.

With the move down south to Delaware, I find myself having to adjust to an entirely different watershed. For someone used to fly fishing in Pennsylvania, this adjustment has been a little harsh. I left PA, addicted to carp and have spent the majority of my free time in DE searching for the golden ghost. My efforts have been futile. I found one waterway that is ideal to sight fish for carp on the fly. The 20 other waterways I drove to (long distances) yielded unsuitable conditions and a host of other problems...

No Trespassing

Private Property

Private Club

Private Water: Residents Only

No Fishing.

Found Everywhere I've Gone.

Usually A Good Sign For Carp.

Looking for waters, I have been using google earth, which is probably not the best way to go about finding areas open to fishing. The best spot I found, looked ideal from several thousand feet. There were parking lots, expansive lakes, small ponds, and to top it off they looked relatively shallow. When I drove over an hour to reach this destination, I was extremely excited. Arriving, I discovered that it was the headquarters for the Delaware Fish & Game. I thought I scored big time. However, I soon found out that all the water I was looking at was closed to fishing. Educational Purposes Only. I scouted out some other water before returning home dejected. 

My latest excursion had me heading north into Philadelphia. I googled places to feed ducks, hoping to find some old park pond where carp grew large off of scraps from little kids feeding ducks. My journey brought me to Roosevelt Park next to Lincoln Financial Field. Once again, from a thousand feet on google maps, the water looked pristine. When I arrived, it was anything but. I should have known because had read a review online detailing the park: 

Actual Review: Stinks. Literally, it stinks. Bleh! Dirty, ugly. Scary people. Stay away. You've been warned.

The Birds Practice Across The Street.

The Fans Use The Park Before & After Games.

When I arrived, I found another fisherman wading in what can only be described as a cesspool. He was throwing a top-water lure onto a layer of filth. As he retrieved it, the lure bounced off a variety of debri. Instead of lily pads, he dodged beer bottles; Yuengling, Coors, Heineken, Miller, etc. Not to mention, beach balls, shoes, styrofoam, diapers, and the works. I decided to rig up and scan the shoreline but I could never see passed that top layer of filth. I walked around the park before heading back home. It was well worth the hour drive. 

Pinball Fishing.

The Fans Treat The Park Well.

Park Museum, I Wonder If They Have Loop Gear?

The only carp I've caught since I started teaching was the largest I've caught in Delaware. He was only around 6-8 pounds though. I caught him after school one day. It took my mind off things for awhile and I was finally satisfied. 

Weeds Add Pounds.

Failing, Going For The Scoop.

Bringing Him In.

Satisfaction At Last.