The Godfather

The old man parked his minivan streamside and approached the bridge to inspect a pool he may have fished over a 1,000 times. Although Ryan and I were zeroed in on one particular fish, he had several questions for us.

"It's been pretty slow out here huh? said the old man. 

I replied, "It's been alright," even though the fishing had been quite good the previous day and a half...

Cape Town Trout

We've been living in Tanzania for three years, and have saved a long break for a trip to Cape Town that we finally cashed in a few weeks ago. Last summer on our road trip through southern Africa, we met some Capetonians in Zambia and hit it off over mutual interests, including fly fishing. They crashed with us for a few days in Dar es Salaam towards the end of their journey, and they repaid the favor by generously hosting us in the city for an entire week.

Stopgap

I've been jonesing to go to the Great Lakes tributaries to swing for some lake run fish for the past few weeks. Thankfully, I was able to resist going up for some salmon and my bank account officially thanked me for it. However, there was an empty hole inside of me that needed to be filled with something, anything to stave off the yearning for my first steelhead of the year...

Summer Sojourns

Delaware's Finest

There once was a time when Matt, Adam, and I ate fire cooked spam off a stick for an entire week. Fast forward a few years and Matt is attempting to relive that experience in the woods of western Maryland. I warn him not to do it, but he insists that its tradition. One bite is all thats needed before the entire block of spam is thrown into the embers where it turns black after an hour. Apparently, spam doesn't taste as good if its not your only option on a week long bone fishing trip. Matt settles for hot dogs and chili, before packing it in for the night. Another day of trout await him in the morning...

Returning

Can your homewater be nowhere near your actual home? Can it be a place you've only fished a handful of times? What matters more: how a river has influenced your evolution or how many times you've fish it and how well you know it's character?

No Hatch, No Cry

The last weekend of April saw my buddy Ryan and I heading north to New York. A fabled trout stream awaited us that is home to beautiful wild browns, large holdovers, and some freshly stocked fish. We eagerly anticipated the first onslaught of Spring hatches: black caddis, quill gordons, and hendricksons. When we arrived just before sunset, our hopes were dimmed a bit. The temperature read 33 degrees and the day called for 25-35 mph gusts. Needless to say, but we didn't see any fish rising over the course of our day and a half of fishing. Despite mis-timing the bug activity, we still made the best of our situation and had a great little trip up north...

The Fish of 2013

2013 was another great year for my friends, family, and I. As 2014 begins, enjoy this photo montage of the best moments we had on the water catching a wide variety of freshwater fish...

A Coliseum of Fall

It's mid-October in Delaware and the temperatures are still approaching the eighties on a daily basis. For the most part, the leaves are still green. As I entered my truck for the drive home, everything felt like summer and there wasn't a hint of Fall in the air. Two hours north, in the heart of Pennsylvania, the Fall season is nearing its peak. Leaves are yellow, orange, red, and every shade in between. When I exited my vehicle in Pennsylvania, my senses immediately registered everything there is to love about Fall, my favorite being the smell. Try as I might, it is hard to put into words how much I love the smell of dead leaves rustling through the wind. It ranks a close second to the smell of an old growth forest after a brief thunderstorm. There is also a slight chill in the air, something that is noticeably absent in Delaware. Fall is definitely here and the signs are everywhere.

A Little Slice of Heaven

We headed off the water well after dark and headed back to our campsite to make a fire and cook up some grub. Wood was scarce, so I got to work splitting the timber we had with my Gerber survival knife. Not to make excuses but I was on about 40 hours of no sleep and just fished from sun up to sun down. While setting the blade on another piece of wood, I missed and plunged the six inch fixed blade about a third of the way into and then across my pointer finger. It didn't hurt initially, but as the blood began to gush, the pain set in. Pat and Austin were quick to get to work as I slowly got lightheaded. I obviously needed stitches but when your without cell phone reception, in unfamiliar territory, and it being close to midnight you make do with the first aid materials on hand. Thankfully, I packed a kit and got cleaned up pretty well. Soon, we were cooking some dogs and bacon over the fire like nothing happened. The next morning we were going to work a little slice of heaven.

Shenandoah Shin-dig

With a week to go before the wedding, a group of guys convened in Shenandoah National Park for the bachelor party. This place is an absolute gem and never disappoints, even if the weather is something less than cooperative.

On the first night, we hiked down a well worn trail in search of a few brook trout. We found them, and took turns fishing the pools. Two friends received quick lessons and each was rewarded with an eager and beautiful fish on a dry. No matter where you are, the mood at a bachelor party is always thick with camaraderie and laughter. In the woods, this was no different.

We may have stayed down in the valley slightly longer than we should have, for the light was leaving the sky by the time we turned uphill. Half a mile from the trailhead, and it was full dark under the canopy of the trees. The forest floor was thick with bear-shaped shadows that kept us on high alert. Then, there was the scraping sound of claws on bark and one of those bear-shaped shadows began to lurch towards us.

A yearling scrambled up a tree not 20ft from us, while the mother bear at the base made her presence known, ears forward, neck outstretched, alert. With her cub in the tree, Skyline drive on her left and us on her right, her options were limited and we knew it.

Spot the brookies?

We ran back down the trail but kept the bear in our sight. It was too dark to take your eyes off of her, or you'd lose her. She walked towards the road, cutting off our planned escape, but began to circle back behind us. This forced us up towards the trailhead and out of her way.

It was too close for comfort, and the shot of adrenaline peppered the mood for the remainder of the night. We made for camp, started a fire, seasoned some juicy NY strip steaks, soaked some corn in their husks for the embers, and started in on the drinks.

Just as the steaks approached medium-rare, it began to rain. I tried to shield the steaks using a rain jacket, but was soon overwhelmed. We took shelter under the rain fly of my brother's hammock, thoroughly buzzed and soaking wet, in the dark.

It began to rain harder than I have ever seen it rain in this part of the states. It was like a tropical storm. Our downhill campsite was quickly overrun with ankle-deep water, and our tents were inundated with muddy runoff. Someone ran out for a steak and came back drenched, passing the steak between hands like a hot potato. We passed one steak around at a time, taking a bite passing it on. It was the best steak I'd ever had.

We took turns going on steak runs until we put all four of them down, still huddled under the rain fly. After 2 hours of keying in on the frequency of the raindrops, hoping for a decrease and not hearing it, we surveyed our utterly ruined campsite and decided to abandon hope. We made for the truck, uphill through shin deep runoff. Flipflops were torn off in the torrent never to be seen again. Foolishly untied Chuck Taylors were swept away into the darkness. It was unbelievable. By the time we reached the truck, we'd been swimming and not been as wet.

Two of us slept in the cab, while two huddled in the covered bed of the truck. We had no dry clothing left, and it was cold. Condensation dripped from the dashboard knobs and puddled in the window seams. The night passed fitfully, and when we awoke in the morning, it was still raining.

We resolved to tough it out, only because the campsite had working laundry facilities. A dry change of clothes changed everything.

The high water wouldn't last, so we waited a day for it to drop to fishable levels and went in search of some bigger fish that might come out to play in the higher flows. We found a few, but no slammers.

A day later, more people arrived for the climb of Old Rag. At about 9 miles, it's an uphill slog ending with an impressive rock scramble before you summit to 360 degree views of the Virginian Appalachians.

On the last day, we realized we were close to some fabled waters; The Rapidan. We scouted a trail and decided to hike down to the presidential retreat at the headwaters from Skyline Drive.

It was pretty interesting to see the information on display about the history of the place. The river was not very accessible below the retreat, but we bushwhacked our way to the stream.

We've heard the Rapidan receives quite a bit of pressure, so we employed stealth and longer, lighter leaders of 7x. We landed a few gorgeous fish and fished a lot of nice looking holes without success before turning uphill and returning to the truck.

This was not the Rapidan I had envisioned in my mind. I was expecting a larger stream, and maybe it becomes one further downstream, but we didn't have the time to explore more than a mile down from the headwaters.

We split the fish caught between dries and droppers pretty evenly.

Those few days in Shenandoah will be unforgettable. From the deluge that ruined our campsite, to the incredible campfire food and drinks, to the rivers and the wild trout that reside in them and the great friends and my brother that spent those days there with me, it was one hell of a time.

Go For the Trout, Stay For the Carp

I met my buddy Dan a few hours north at the Hale Eddy put in on the West Branch of the Delaware River early one morning. He was already fishing, tossing a dry dropper into one of the more pressured riffles on the entire system. I watched from atop the bridge before my eyes noticed the show unfolding downstream. A thick morning fog enveloped the river, a product of 48 degree water combining with the warmer summer air. As the morning progressed and the sun began to rise in the sky, it slowly broke the fog's grip making for an awesome sequence. I was able to capture the moment in several shots, even through the dew dripped view of a spider's web. As the sky brightened, our true purpose revealed itself. We were there to float and hopefully pick up a few trout on dry flies. The notoriously moody fish and insects of the Delaware failed to rise with any consistency during our sunny floats. This prompted me to change my strategy a little bit.

As Dan and I drifted towards an island and a side channel, my Diablo Chupacabra drifted over a calm flat with a bottom of sediment. I was startled to see a vertically feeding carp that promptly spooked from my presence. After fishing the side channel for an extended time, I paddled up river and anchored over  the flat. There were more than one carp to be seen. I waited for a break in the wind and cloud cover to get my shot. I tied on a brown carp crab and struggled to get a good presentation without any rock snot or drifting algae ruining my fly. I finally got a good one on the bottom two yards in front of a prowling common and gave a short strip. The carp broke from his original line just as the clouds came into view. No longer able to see my fly, I read the carp's body language, saw him pause, and could barely make out the protrusion of his more lightly covered vacuum as it sucked in my fly. Game on.

My six weight Cross S1 switch rod was perfectly matched to subdue the weight of a carp in the mid to high teens. The Multi reel did the rest, subduing two long runs towards structure. The 3x held, I unanchored my SUP, and drifted toward the island. My intention was to beach the fish but a surprise was in store for me. I was backing up to force the carp into shallow water when I backed up too far. I fell off one of those notoriously high meadow Delaware banks into the river. I emerged laughing my ass off to find the humped-backed carp beached in a few inches of water. I took a few shots and sent her on her way.

Later on down river, I cruised by a nice pool and discovered some trout hanging out by those grassy banks. I paddled back upriver and tried anchoring in position. After a few tries, I successfully anchored in position and was able to spot a large trout chilling on the bottom. I threw everything I had at him for about half an hour. He moved for a size 22 flashback pheasant tail but didn't take. I eventually tied on a wiggle ISO nymph and got a strong initial reaction. The next cast, I put a huge mend in the line and swung the fly up as it crossed in front of him. Fish on. It was a chunky brown about 18 inches. Looked like a stocked holdover, but I was pleased. Later, Dan and I got a few fish on top and a some below.

After Dan left, I was actually driving home before I pulled a U-turn. I found carp and they were green. Too hard to pass up. I re-launched my kayak solo, and caught two carp in rapid succession, both on the carp crab while performing mudding headstands. I anchored and went to shore to do some stalking. That's when another fly fishermen took notice. He asked me about the 12 lb. rainbow trout I just caught. I told him it was actually a carp. He replied, that his goal of the year was to catch a carp on fly. We talked tactics, situations, and flies for about 20 minutes. I gave him a damsel and my best producing egg for a pond by his house. We then talked about fishing for river carp when a good one meandered into view. I gave him a play by play of my every move. I casted the crab out, did a drag and drop. Gave a good strip and watched the carp's body language change. He took it.

College Kid- "that was the coolest thing I have ever seen"

Me- "yea...that was awesome"

I offered to let him fight the fish, but he refused like a normal fishermen would. I talked him through the fight as I absolutely horsed a good carp on the Cross S1 5 weight. We talked about how much stress I could put on 3, 4, and 5x and for certain situations. He helped me land it and even took a picture. We talked some more before I headed home. Another carp convert successfully in the bag. I traveled to the Upper Delaware for its amazing trout fishery but ended up turning back for its small carp fishing.