Ode to the Savage.

In light of recent events surrounding the repairs of the dam on the Savage River and the subsequent substrate that flowed downstream, this post is for the trout of the Savage and the outfitters and people that rely on this magnificent piece of water. Lets hope that the river makes a speedy and complete recovery and that some of the thousands of wild & beautiful trout that reside there have survived.

Information on the Savage via Wade Rivers Wild Tramps here and here.

Via Maryland DNR

Additional Savage River Content here, here, and here.

Harsh Caribbean Winters...

I haven't landed a fish in a month. I've hooked, jumped and lost a few tarpon. Couldn't seal the deal with a few needlefish, and cast to too many bonefish without a look. However, I am ankle deep in sand and not waist deep in snow, so there is an upside.

The front yard holds tarpon and permit...

That darkness is a billion baitfish.

..and each of those bald spots is a cruising tarpon.

Cabin Fever.

This winter has been particularly harsh across much of the United States. I can't remember a year when it has been colder than this year, especially in the mid-atlantic region. Normally, I am able to fish whenever I want. This year, it has been a different story. I find myself in a slump. I haven't had a chance to catch some fish since my trip to the Caribbean over the holiday. Combine this with my first year on the job and the weekends are my only chance to really get out there. Unfortunately, it seems to only snow on the weekends and these past few snow storms have put a damper on my weekend warrior status. Cabin fever is sinking in.

Instant Freeze.

Last Sunday, I spent my Saturday indoors and out of the snow preparing myself for a full day of fishing the next day. I was pumped to get out on the water and try my hand at some White Clay trout. I woke up early, put the truck in 4x4 and drove through the snow to my destination. I paid no attention to the temperature or the weather forecast. I was going fishing. I stepped outside into the early morning sun and froze my ass off while rigging up and putting my waders on. I made my way to the stream and broke through several feet of anchor ice into a small run that was free from the ice. Two casts later, my line became a catapult. My long leader, tippet, and fly became coated in ice. I never had this happen before. They wouldn't even unfreeze in the water after a minute. I literally could not fish. I decided to go for a long walk and take some photos before heading to the local fly shop.

The Morning Sun.

Anchor Ice Can Be Sharp.

Snow, Sun, & Ice.

That is Slush in a Fast Ripple.

I Wasn't The Only One Out Though.

This weekend, a monster Nor'easter snow storm has put a damper on my fishing hopes. I have bunkered down and have been tying flies, watching fishing dvds, and staring out the window daydreaming of fish. I'll be trapped here for another day or two with two feet of snow outside. It seems i'll be tying a lot of flies. I tied my first ever tube flies, several intruders, and a ton of sculpin patterns. I also watched Hustle & Fish for the tenth time. I bought Ed Ward's Skagit Master and am glad I did. It is a great instructional video. The day's work below.

Momma & Poppa Pigeon Taking Shelter From the Storm.

Thank You Ed Ward.

Multitasking.

Nothing But Big Nasties.

"You tie on a size 16 BWO, you tie up the fly & throw it in your box, and you look at it the next time you go fishing. You tie up a double bunny or a Conehead the barbarian, you got this little critter thats got eyes. You can talk to it. You can pet it."

-Scott Sanchez Feeding Time

Light Sculpin.

Woolhead, Raccoon Finn, & Magnum Zonker Strip.

Acceptable For My First Ever Tube Flies.

Purple Sculpin.

Raccoon Finn & Magnum Zonker. Simple.

A Gunpowder Sculpin.

My Attempt at Replicating.

Several Brown/Olive Sculpins.

Stingers.

Rabbit Zonkers & Flash Hackle.

Patriot Intruder Going For a Test Run.

Black Stinger w/ Deer Hair Head.

Black & Purple.

Tan & Gray.

Wool, Raccoon Finn, & Zonker.

Gray Sculpin.

Micro Tube Polar Minnows.

Some Plain Intruder Tubes.

Chartreuse Intruder.

Following Ed Ward's Instruction.

Test Run.

Boo Ya.

The Truck Has Seen Better Days.

Let the Digging Commence.

A Weird One.

This is a trunkfish. They tail like bones on the flats and would be mistaken for them except for a few reasons. They franticly flap their fins while feeding unlike the mellow bones. They also have a reddish tint to their fins unlike the silver triangles of a bonefish. It's body is shaped like a pitched tent and is as hard as a rock.

A Winter Outing.

It a typical winter morning in Pennsylvania. Cold, brisk air meets you as you step out of your car. The frost and ice crunches under your boots as you make your way to the destination. You pass under evergreens with patches of untouched earth beneath their enormous spreads and down to the stream. Low, clear, and frigid, the water meanders over rocks, gravel, and slate gradually descending in elevation before reaching it's confluence. The larger tailwater, heavily pressured, presents a stark contrast to its much smaller neighbor.

First Fish of the Day.

Up the Chutes, Along the Thorn Bushes, & Around the Boulder.

Gotcha.

I am here with the goal of walking upstream to fish new water, that I never quite reached before. As I begin making my way to the particular stretch in mind, I decide to fish along the way. A few trout later, and I am walking up the creek instead of on the much faster path. I am unable to escape the lure of familiar water and eager trout.

Sandy Bottom = Sandy Looking Brown.

Small Rainbow, Out of his Place.

Made His Way From the Tailwater.

Long & Skinny.

But Beautiful.

One of the larger holes presents a few surprises. Usually I can guarantee an instantaneous hook up but I am shut out on my first several cast. Rather than stay the course, I change positions and add some distance to the attempt. A long side arm cast up stream and the soft hackle hares ear lands along a swift current. I mend my slack line out of the torrent and into the eddy slowing my drift considerably. I wait a few moments before on cue, just when the fly reaches the sweet spot, the indicator jolts, and a the nicest brown of the day comes to hand.

Little Guy Getting in On Some Action.

Watch Your Step or Take a Spill.

Way Upstream.

At this moment in time, I am well behind schedule, rather than fishing the new water, I find myself power fishing a way too familiar haunt and time is running out. The sun is disappearing behind the trees, casting a cold shadow on the small stream. The temperature drops and I find my guides accumulating ice and my reel freezing solid on much quicker intervals. My poor toes, already numb, are an afterthought compared to my pointer finger. I day spent constantly being rewetted by a fly line and dipped into water is beginning to take its toll. I am beginning to worry about it.

Pure.

Home Sweet Home.

Back on His Way.

I press on and finally reach the unblemished plateau of new water and new fish. I have little more than an hour of visible light to work with, so I choose carefully. I find a short deep trough perfectly protected by a massive downed maple, thorn bushes, and overhanging branches at eye level. It looks promising, and despite its bodyguards it beckons me to give it a go. I crouch low and sling shot a cast into an area the size of a shopping cart before lifting and mending line over some debris. After a few feet of drift, the indicator takes a plunge and I tie into a nice brown. A few head shakes and my de-barbed hares ear sky rockets into the overhanging branches creating a new nesting area for the local wildlife.

Back on My Way.

I curse the temptation of the hole and the premeditated result of my foolishness. I carefully work my line up, under, and around branches before, CHING, the size 14 hook lashes on for good. Well, there goes that fly. Freshly tied and promptly broken in by a days fishing, I get antsy and break it off. It tumbles into about a foot of cold water, clearly visible and peeking at me from in between gravel. I contemplate long an hard my next move. Reach my already frozen and soaked arm into the cold and grab it, or say goodbye and pack it in for good?Retie a fresh rig of 6x in twenty degrees with no feeling in hands, feet, or face or reel in and take a nature walk back to the truck? I swallow my pride, perfectly content with my experience, and my fingers before walking the long lonely trail back to the parking lot.