A Family Affair

It was 12:45am as the truck rumbled to life, the bed laden with warm clothes, waders and rod tubes, the cab containing myself, my father and my brother at the wheel. We had a 6-hour drive ahead of us with the goal of arriving streamside as the sun rose, already having stopped at an early-rising fly shop for New York licenses.

We headed north on the turnpike and it stayed very dark. The myriad lights of a town in a valley below us glowed strangely, illuminating the jigsaw streets of sprawling developments.

The road turned twisty a few hours later as I dozed in and out of consciousness in the back seat. I registered that we were off the highway and I’d probably been asleep for a while.

We stopped for licenses in front of a darkened bait and tackle shop. The sign on the door claimed to be open for business at 6:00am. We waited in the abandoned parking lot. It was 6:09am.

The lights flickered on and we wandered inside, stretching our legs. Licenses purchased and water conditions discussed, we reloaded into the truck and headed to the water.

Low and clear was the word, with it getting lower and clearer as the weekend went on. Rigging up via headlamp in the parking lot of packed snow turned to ice, I imagined seeing this place at the height of the king salmon run, overflowing with cars and interesting characters. Thankfully, we were one of three cars there. Ultra cold conditions would make for sluggish fish, but its not like we had many weekends to chose from.

We walked down the slippery bank and headed downstream from the spillway, hoping to find some nice holes unoccupied. We did, and stepped into the water.

As the three of us spread out over a nice stretch, the zen experience of dead drifting in silence, with only the pull of the current on your legs and the zinging of sharkskin line registering in your mind.

As the day wore on, our feet got cold and we hooked a few fish. Each of us brought one into the net. Mostly, they were haggard fish that had been in the stream for a while, bearing the scars of run-ins with other’s hooks.

As the sun sank we fished a deep tailout and wrestled one or two more steelhead towards shore. We hiked back to the vehicle in darkness and peeled off the layers of clothes that kept the frostbite more or less at bay during the day. We rehydrated in the glow of our headlamps and drove off into the night looking for a place to stay.

This was a day I was looking forward to for quite some time. Seeing the fish my family and friends were pulling from the Great Lake tributaries while I lived far away was always something I enjoyed and I couldn’t wait to wade back into the water for a try at it myself. It was great to be on the water with my father, who is coming in to his own as a fly fishermen, and it was great, as always, to watch my brother do what he does best.

We slept like logs and awoke early the next morning for day two on the water…

-Matt

Grandpa's Stretch.

The story was often told on a car ride as we passed by. Like every family story it is told numerous times throughout your life until it gets to the point where one day, you will end up telling the story too; despite all the times you complained upon hearing it again and again. 

When I was a young boy, every time my family drove a long a particular road, my father would tell us that it was his Dad's favorite road to drive on. The road descends into a hollow along a small stream, where it is flanked by woods and small cottages overlooking the pavement. The few miles that the road encompasses are beautiful, especially during the fall when the leaves turn hues of yellow, orange, and red. My grandfather's favorite time of year. The road parallels our home water, a small stream containing a small population of wild brown trout before ending abruptly by joining a small highway. 

Whenever we passed the two sizable ponds down in the woods beyond the stream, my father would tell us that when his father was a young boy, he would walk the few miles from the nearby town where he lived, so he could fish this stretch of stream as well as the two ponds. In my youth, I always envisioned my grandfather walking to the stream in the dead heat of summer and finding solitude, shade, and cool water along its banks. I imagined him catching trout and sunfish all day long before walking back to town as the sun crept behind the hills. I also imagined that one day, I too would replicate this feat.

A decade later, I fished that stretch for the very first time. I found solitude and several willing brown trout to put a bend in my first fly rod. Since then, it has become one of my favorite stretches of water to fish and I routinely do so whenever I am in town. Often, I will walk its length, in the shadow of my grandfather stopping in the very same pools he probably stopped and fished in his youth. Maybe one day, the story will be passed on, and a future generation will find the very same thing awaiting them at the end of the road.  

People Say Carp Are Ugly?

Pucker Up.

Thats More Like It.

A Lunker.

Gin Clear & Cold.

Deep Bend Pools & Undercuts.

Still Low From the Summer Drought.

This Used To Be A Nice Hole.

Pretty Browns.

A Future Lunker.

Home Sweet Home.

Pulling on the layers of warm clothing beneath waders was a feeling that I hadn't realized I had missed. Stepping into the chilly waters and feeling the pull of the current on my legs brought a smile to my face. The 3wt I carried felt like it was made of air compared to the 10wts I usually wield. The 6x tippet was much thinner and more fragile than I'd remembered it to be. The winter in the northeast is beautiful, a different kind of beautiful than the caribbean, but beautiful nonetheless. I looked around and soaked in every detail; the crunch of the ice and leaves as we walked to the water, the scrape of branches against my wading jacket as we bushwhacked through the undergrowth, the strangely shaped ice formations and the dead leaves trapped against the rocks, wavering in the current. I was home.

Traveling home for the holidays was something I was looking forward to for many reasons, friends and family chief among them. After not experiencing a winter for two years, I was pumped to feel the cold air and see some snow.

I was also looking forward to some small stream fishing for wild browns.

Mark and I have fished these small tributaries on the last two Christmas Eve's that I was home for and it would be great to hit them up again. They flow in to a lake near our parent's house and are full of small, wild fish. Sometimes, larger fish will swim up from the lake to spawn, but that is exceedingly rare.

Wearing drab-colored wading jackets and tip-toeing our way into positions for proper drifts in the tiny pocket water, we were able to entice a few beautiful, perfectly formed gems from their lairs.

Brilliant.

The 3wt became comfortable after a few practice casts.

About 14 more articles of clothing than I am now used to wearing while fishing...

Spots.

Thanks, little guy.

First Carp of 2011.

Early November, and I deemed thee a time of late season carping. With descending water temperatures, cyprinus carpio is out of the shallows and prowling somewhere in the deep preparing itself for the long haul. Late November, and a change of plans had us back on the chase. Carp were nowhere to be found until one made a grand appearance and Adam made his chance count. I dubbed thee the last carp of 2010 and the end of our season. I remarked that I may or may not be eating those words but I suspected that maybe in the days following that last catch, I too would have one last chance before the end of the year. With the end approaching and anchor ice creeping out onto the lake, I figured my carp flies would be taking an extended break until early spring. I was wrong.

With the third and final day of a warm front on the east coast, temperatures approached the mid fifties. Ice had all but disappeared from several lakes in the area. It was my last day of my winter vacation and the first time in several weeks Adam and I would be hitting the water together. We decided at the last minute with only a few hours of light left in the day, to hit up the lake to see if carp were even a possibility. Even in terrible conditions we have settled into the idea that carp are worth more than the potential of slaying some nice trout. We arrived to find low light conditions, a steady wind, and several hundred geese on the water for the winter. To top it off, a few dozen people were enjoying the weather, including a group of young boys. They had a large stick tied to a rope with the intent of clubbing a geese on a wayward toss. The geese were freaking out. A lot of commotion for prime carp fishing in the spring let alone for January 2nd. Our line of visibility stretched a mere twenty feet into the lake and the water was cloudy from melting ice and snow. We decided to give it a go before packing it in. We were glad we did.

Been Awhile Since the Heart Sank & the Adrenaline From Carp Coursed Through Our Veins. 

First Bent Rod of 2011.

The Eruption.

As our eyes adjusted to the new water the same way a spelunker's does as he/she enters a cave, we discovered the tell tale outline of a decent carp in the murk. I took a shot with a damsel and laid my sixteen foot leader out onto the water. The damsel in distress descended two feet to the carp's left. She was interested and made a move in the flies general direction. I had lost sight of the fly moments after it hit the water due to the water clarity and instead relied on my sixth carping sense. I was rusty and she spooked. Adam and I had 5-6 more shots at lone ranger carp who were willing to investigate the shallows. Their orange outlines barely visible, I decided to switch to a sucker spawn imitation to increase my chances of seeing the take.

The Beach and Grasp.

Pumpkin Orange.

With only an hour left of light, I had one last chance and it all came together. I set the hook and felt the weight before the eruption occurred with the carp's realization of his folly. He made a run to a nearby branch in the water but I increased the drag pressure slightly to prevent the 4x from breaking. Soon, I beached him at my feet and posed with the first golden ghost of 2011. In a matter of hours I went from having to wait until early spring to catch a carp and instead found warming conditions and curious carp to ring in the first fish of the new year.

Hopefully Another Comes Sooner, Rather Than Later.

The Blogger Issue.

Awhile back, I was contacted by Blood Knot Magazine to write a piece for their upcoming issue showcasing fly fishing blogs. I was ecstatic that TRIW was chosen out of the hundreds, possibly thousands of fishing blogs on the internet to participate in such a grand idea. I wrote up my article, chose all my pictures carefully, and submitted them by the deadline. Feedback was great and I patiently awaited the release of the latest issue. I couldn't wait to see what all the other bloggers were up to. Today was the day and the issue lived up to my expectations. Although I didn't make the cut, some of my favorite blogs did, and their articles are outstanding. Check out the latest from Blood Knot Magazine at the link below. You'll be glad you did.

Blood Knot Magazine: The Blogger Issue

New Year, New Licenses.

Across the world, fly fishermen are ringing in the new year by dropping some hard earned cash. Our money is not spent on a new fly rod with the latest nano-resins or a spiffy new reel with a completely sealed carbon fiber drag but on something else entirely. We will be dropping some dough in order to have the right to fish and also to support our fish and game departments. Some of us will be buying a singular license for our respective home states, while others will need more to satiate their hunger for open water and fish. In my case, living in the mid-atlantic region, I will be forking over a few hundred dollars on a fresh round of licenses from several states. Throughout the year, I am sure my list and expenses will grow as I seek new water in new states. Licenses are a necessary evil that I have no problem buying despite the dent it puts in my pocket. Here is to a new year, new water, and new fish.

Happy new year everyone!

Vote! Fish of the Year 2010.

Happy Holidays everyone!

This is our second annual, fish of the year contest. This year each of us chose three fish for you to vote on as our fish of the year. These fish were chosen because they are the ones that we will always remember. The ones that we can recall from the spot and stalk to the hook and land.

This will be our last post of 2010. It was a crazy year filled with a ton of fishing and several new species caught. The blog has also taken off quite a bit since a year ago and thank you for following along with us.


Matt's Entries. 

1. Slump-killing and Slam-sealing Bonefish.
Post: Teamwork

Watching two people who are very good at catching fish catch fish is something I enjoy very much.  So, I didn’t mind deferring to Mark and Adam prime wading lanes or first water during our Caribbean fish fest.  After about two weeks of getting personally skunked, I nonetheless started to become slightly frustrated. So, it was in the midst of an 9 month long bonefish slump that I found myself wading a flat behind Mark and Adam after blowing numerous chances at fish with poorly tied knots, poor casts and nicked or frayed leaders. 

Hooking, chasing and landing this very respectable bonefish pictured below not only ended my personal slump, but because catching a tarpon under the lights at night was a given, it sealed the grand slam we teamed up for on that August day.

2. Albacore from kayak:
Post: Pound for Pound

Powering my kayak towards flocks of birds feasting on a baitball driven to the surface by marauding false albacore was my answer to the embarrassing failure of me trying to cast into the fray from the heaving and curling bow of a small powerboat. Casting into the fracas was fraught with the possibility of hooking large, pissed-off birds, but more often than not I couldn’t get close enough before the giant yellow ‘yak put the fish down.  Invariably, they would pop up 200 meters away in a few seconds, prompting me to give chase yet again. So, I was pretty surprised when I actually got a cast into the fray, hooked and landed one of those absolute bulldogs.  The next time I tried that, the albie snapped my borrowed 10wt at the cork.

3. Meteor Tarpon

The green streaks slicing across the sky held my attention more than the probability of fish in the dark waters I was up to my knees in.  The fragmenting meteors glowed like a hot wire of tungsten in an old light bulb as they seared a purplish shadow onto my retinas that lingered for a few seconds, long enough for another to take its place.  The Geminids were peaking tonight, and I was tarpon hunting. Turning my attention to the water, the brief searchlight of my headlamp revealed a glowing red coal, burning below the surface.  The reflection of a meteor?  No, the iridescent retina of a Megalops atlanticus, unwittingly revealing her vector. A short cast, one strip and the fish was on.  I struggled mightily to land it amidst the swell and the boulder-strewn beach, but I did manage to lip her, revive her using the tides and send her back into the dark depths.  Before I walked home, I reflected on this and past experiences while watching the meteors pour out over the sky.

Mark's Entries

4. Birthday Permit
I can't believe this happened. Easily the most memorable experience during my fly fishing career. Every time I think about it, a smile spreads across my face and I shake my head in disbelief. Some people spend a lifetime pursuing a Permit on a fly rod and I did it all by my lonesome wading a flat. The stalk, cast, set, fight, and land all came together for the best birthday present I ever gave myself.

Post: Permit, Baby!

5. Hog Johnson of the Canal
After snapping a six weight in half, I upgraded on my next outing with an 8 wt. I was glad I did because I needed the extra butt strength to land this guy. I spotted him under a bush, his vast scales visibly seen moving between the foliage like an anaconda in the Amazon. I moved ahead and positioned my fly at the end of the bush awaiting his arrival. He fought like a pissed off railroad tie and it was easily the longest I have ever played a fish. I found myself alone on the canal, waist deep in muck positioning a camera amongst poison ivy and marauding mosquitos for a self portrait of a creature from the deep. Quite possibly the largest carp in the canal. No arm extension required.

Post: Breaking Down The Wall

6. Fully Scaled Mirror Carp
Moldy Chum called this, "one of the sexiest brownlining's ever," and I would have to agree with that statement. This one is special not because of its size, or how sexy it may or may not be, but because I celebrated this fish with my father. After setting the hook, I could only utter, "Dad, I've got a big fish," before jumping into the water to give chase. After two long runs into the backing and becoming entangled in several branches, I finally beached this pig of a carp for a few victory shots before sending her on her way. 


Post: Dad, I've Got a Big Fish

Adam's Entries

7. King of Lago X
Legend has it that Adam hooked up with a carp one time and it snapped his helios like a twig. Legend also has it, that it happened more than once. One of those fish was landed despite the broken rod. Almost a year later, Adam exacted revenge on probably the same fish using his switch rod. This is indeed the hog johnson of our stomping grounds, a good 14-16 pound carp.

8. First Cast Tarpon:
Post: A Shot in the Dark
Adam's first night in the Caribbean and Matt and I had him out on the rocks guiding him to his first tarpon. I spouted out directions and seconds after his fly hit the water, a tarpon exploded on his puglisi baitfish. A trout set ensued but Adam recovered with three great strip strikes and the battle was on. Adam couldn't believe what was taking place and marveled at the power of his first silver king. Moments later, I lipped his tarpon in the surf, and Adam was all smiles. He successfully hooked, fought, and landed the first tarpon he ever casted to.

9. First Cast Bonefish:

Post: Infection

A few days after his first tarpon, Adam repeated the same scenario but with an entirely different species. Going our separate ways on a large flat, Adam was the first and only one of us to hook and land a bonefish. It happened to be the first bone he ever casted to. His custom merkin crab landed abruptly in front of a street gang of bones, with one quickly charging and consuming the morsel. Adam let out a primal yell, several laughs, and the words, "this is better than sex," before cradling  his first ever bonefish.