Two Down, Ten To Go…

Last year we set a goal to catch at least one carp per month, January through December. This came about spur of the moment after Mark landed his first of the year in January. Neither of us got it done. I failed in January and had to wait eleven long months to try again…

JANUARY:

Eagle Claw Featherlight 5/6…FTW!

Since I did well throughout December I was lulled into a false sense of security regarding January. Midway through January I all but threw in the towel and was prepping myself for yet another failure. I fished for three weeks without seeing a single glimpse of gold. With one week remaining I decided to put in some overtime and continue my pursuit into the night. I abandoned my favorite haunts and returned home to the birthplace of my addiction. I arrived to discover that 9/10ths of the tiny retention pond was covered in ice. Taking a few casts, I slowly worked the edge of the ice treating it like an undercut bank. I connected on the third cast and brought my first of 2012 to hand.

The next morning I headed to my favorite spot to see if I had any shit luck left over from the night before. The morning started out fast and furious, landing two fish in a matter of minutes. What a relief it was after three weeks without seeing a single fish. I spent the next five hours not seeing a thing until a familiar sight caught my eye. It was the orange koi. This fish has provided us with excellent casting practice over the past three years, rejecting each and every fly thrown his way. It’s become routine for me to make a cast to him and feel completely confident that he’ll refuse the fly, without question.

So as usual I make my cast and watch him follow my fly all the way to the bottom before veering away as usual. Now normally I would continue my search elsewhere, but after not seeing much of anything else I figured I would amuse him one more time. I switched flies and looked up to see if he was still there, but instead of forty feet away he was fifteen. I made my cast and waited for the usual to commence, but it didn’t…

PWND!

FEBRUARY:

It was a chilly start to February but temperatures steadily rose into the mid 30’s by the second week. I was seeing carp in good numbers but getting my fly to them was a different story. They were concentrated far out in the middle of the lake in its deepest section. They were slowly moving around but showing no signs of feeding. I needed to be persuasive…

Eagle Claw Featherlight DOUBLE HANDER!?!

Same Fish…

I sealed the deal for the month of February by overcoming some serious adversity. Conditions that day were so horrendous I ended up driving back home to get some heavy artillery. Winds were sustained at 30 mph which made long distance casting a joke. At home I grabbed a new arsenal of rods and lines and headed back to employ some unorthodox methodology.

That afternoon, the technique “Skagit Carpin” was born. I rigged up my Eagle Claw Featherlight (which is really a 7/8) that I since modified into a double handed boomstick. I chose to build a custom tip by looping my Beulah 425 grain Tonic Switch Head to a 10’ (tapered) floating tip from RIO’s Scandi Short VersiTip opposed to a floating MOW tip to soften the landing. I couldn’t have been more pleased with the results. I was able to get my fly to the fish with ease. I opted for a fly I call quick-sight jumbo spawn. It’s a #4-6 (SL45 Bonefish hook) basic egg yarn sucker spawn with a bright yellow bead in the center giving it excellent visibility. If it doesn’t scare the fish shitless I like using it at distances of 50+ feet because it stands out like a sore thumb. It makes the question of when to set the hook a lot easier. I only caught one fish that day, but a one fish day is a good day. I caught another fish the next day under completely opposite conditions reverting back to normal tactics.

New Toy

"Quick-Sight Jumbo Spawn"

First of the Year

On the first day, I left work with the intention of catching my first carp of the year and simultaneously notching one on my belt for the month of January. I arrived with only an hour left of light and rapidly dropping temperatures from the high of 45. I immediately saw what I wanted to see. A mud plume ascended from a deep section of water. Down below, a carp was actively rooting around the substrate gorging on detritus and aquatic invertebrates. However, I couldn't see him. No shadow or tail could hint at  the movement of a take. I tied on a small indicator above my fly hoping that a soft winter take would register. After that initial excitement, I only saw a few hints of activity. An occasional mud plume would surface in the middle of the lake and out of reach. In the low light, bubbles would break the surface. I left empty handed.

On the second day, I left work a little earlier giving myself two hours on the water. The temperature was now in the upper 50's and we had a bright sunny sky. I decided to change locations. Never leave fish to find fish. At my new location, I didn't see a single sign of activity despite having the advantage of an elevated position and clear water. I squandered my last day in January. All hope of catching a carp every month of 2012 was thrown out the window.

Twas on the third day that rain descended upon the area. I didn't pack up my fishing clothing, camera, or spare material before work. I had no intention of carping. With the steady rain came even higher temperatures, into the 60s. Towards the end of my classes, the clouds rolled out of the area revealing bright blue skies. Despite not being prepared, I had a rod rigged in the car and a spare pair of waders. I went for it. Shirt, tie, and all.

I found what I so desperately sought. Mudding carp that could be seen. A shadow here and there, roaming the shallow mud flats. No indicator required, I had my visual cue. Despite the shallow water, I couldn't see my fly settle upon the bottom. However I could watch the slightest hint of shadow move into the vicinity of my fly. My sixth carping sense kicked into high gear as I patiently waited. As it usually does, I feeling enveloped my rod hand and I just knew I had to set the hook.

The weight of my first golden ghost of 2012 bent my five weight in half as line peeled into the middle of the lake. I brought her in quick and a freshwater bonefish tossed and turned on the bottom of a Brodin Coho Ghost net. I released her and she gave me a goodbye by powering off the flat sending cold water all over my face and work clothes.

Snow

The first and really only snow of the winter in Delaware arrived towards the end of January. It came down heavy and had a fresh coating of ice and freezing rain. Last year, we already had two weeks off from school and several feet. In this year's absence of snow, periods of warm weather have provided ample fishing opportunities. However, I long for more snow. My favorite times to fish are the lonely mornings after a snow, when every inch of earth has a fresh coat of precipitation and appears untouched by the hand of man.

Early one Saturday, I anticipated snow and made my way out and about as Delaware awoke to clean the streets. Word of a fresh winter stocking left me with high hopes of finding several fish and I was not disappointed. Despite a few weeks of intense pressure, the fish were willing to hit several patterns slightly different than normal offerings. I settled on the reliability of a green caddis pupa followed by a minuscule midge. The vast majority of fish fell for the midge. The takes were soft and I missed several fish with my slow reaction time courtesy of the very low temperatures.

The fish were typical stocked fish. Most were missing fins or had something resembling a fin. They had outlandish colors or lacked any color at all. Crafted and nurtured by the hand of man, they contrasted sharply with my white surroundings. As a product of a state without any wild trout water, they are all I have nearby and for that I am thankful, no matter how ugly they can be.

The First of Many

I just turned thirteen years old and a packaged arrived in the mail. It was Christmas morning in August, and a byproduct of old Orvis catalogs given to me by a family friend. Unsheathed from cardboard and plastic emerged an 865 Mid-flex Orvis Clearwater. My life was forever changed. I tied seven feet of straight tippet to the fly line and connected a beadhead prince nymph on the end of that. My father and I drove down the street to the local creek. I picked a inside seam along the fast water feeding the main hole. I casted upstream, controlled my slack, and eyed the tip of my fly line that suddenly stopped and lurched forward. I tied into my first trout on fly, a ten inch rainbow. I released the fish and shared the moment with my father, something I'll carry for a lifetime.

Fast forward almost thirteen years and I am standing in the creek alongside one of my best friends. We are finally fishing again and I am giving him his first lesson on fly fishing. We talk line management, high sticking, mending, and where to fish before I hand him the keys. As he progressively improves his cast and inches closer to the ideal zone, I discuss the fine line between drag and a dead drift and what will cause both. He jumps a wild brown after a few minutes and even finds his first tree. We work our way out further in the creek to a more ideal seam. I demonstrate a roll cast and a mend to get the flies to drift into the seam without any drag connected to the eddy and reverse current. Immediately after the mend, I catch a sixteen inch bow before giving the rod to him to test and feel the tension needed to keep on a fish.

Later on, he is entirely on his own having missed a few more fish. I correct when needed but he is getting it, faster than most. From behind, I show him how to extend the drift downstream by mending line out of the rod tip. On the next cast, he follows directions and ties into his first ever trout. The first of many to come. It's a rainbow, about ten inches in length and a mirror image of my first fish on fly. My mind flashes back thirteen years and I recollect many other firsts. My brother's first brown, my sister's brook trout on a dry fly, and my father's first steelhead. All vividly depicted in my mind, they are my own personal vault of firsts.

Sight Fishing For The Soul

The stream is small, low, and clear as gin. It's home to resident wild browns and the occasional large stocker leftover from the spring. In narrow shoots they are easily visible along a bed of gravel. They weave side to side and up and down picking off minuscule midges all year round thanks to the rich limestone bedrock. All efforts are shunned except for those offered by sight and left free of weight & indicator. My preferred game to play.

The air is crisp & bitingly cold. Temperatures are in the teens and a fog emanates from the water in the early gloom. We wait for the sun to peak over the tree line and shed light into the water column illuminating our quarry. We hide behind trees on our knees to obscure our silhouettes. The flies are offered downstream, drag free, just the way they like it. Even so, most our eye balled, nudged, and brutally refused. With each inspection and dismissal the adrenaline warms our bodies and feeds are souls to keep trying.

With each change of the fly, the joints in our fingers get stiffer to the point of pain. Down the road we will pay the consequences but for now we are living in the moment and there are fish to catch. After a dozen reties, the body language of a ten inch brown changes drastically and he likes what he sees. The white lined mouth opens and closes upon my fly, a smile stretches across my face, and I lift into the first fish of the day.

My hands pay the price for dipping them into the water so I stick them in my armpits to dry. From there, they settle on hand warmers in my pockets. As the adrenaline wears away, I am cold again as I wait for the stream to settle down. Ten minutes later, the game is resumed and the process repeats itself until I can't bear the cold any longer. 

A December To Remember

Christmas was only a few days away and up to this point I had spent the majority of the holiday season away from home pursuing steelhead. Feeling a bit guilty, I decided to spend what was left of the holiday season at home with my loved ones…

The thermometer read 14 degrees. I just smirked and put on an additional layer. This addict was three months clean and desperate for a golden fix. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, winter carping remained a mystery to me. Since I've used the words “It isn’t over until it ices over” to describe carp season in the past. It was about time to back up those words.

Rigging took forever as it was mandatory to stop every few moments to clutch my hand warmers. I wondered if what I was doing was even plausible? My question was soon answered. As I approached the pond I noticed a carp slowly making its way along the shoreline. Already in position I just knelt down and waited, it was too good to be true. I took a deep breath and placed my fly. The fish slowly changed course as my fly reached the bottom. When the time came I set the hook but there was zero resistance. Shocked, I watched as the fish continued to search for my fly even though it was somewhere in the grass ten feet behind me. It spooked moments later and disappeared into the gloom.

Two identical scenarios later I picked up on the winter learning curve. At first it seemed as if their depth perception was off. Inaccurately mouthing at the bottom numerous times before the fly was engulfed. The more I thought about it, this behavior was most likely a result of a reduced metabolic rate. I noticed they were using less energy to obtain their food. They inhaled significantly smaller volumes of water while feeding, each fish making multiple attempts before successfully obtaining my fly. During the summer months only one attempt was ever needed.

Once I got the hang of things I did quite well. So well that I spent all of Christmas day on the water too, only to be carp blocked by a feisty rainbow.

So far 2012 has been…for lack of a better word, hellacious. I’ve spent 60+ agonizing hours on the water without seeing a single carp, and loved every minute of it.

January carpin’ is for the birds

The Omen

Back in the day, Adam and I frequented the Little Lehigh Creek in Allentown, PA several times a month. It was our proving ground as teenagers learning the nuances of casting, presentation, and matching the hatch. Every now and then, we head back to check in. On probably the coldest day of the the winter, we awoke around 7 a.m. and made our way to our familiar haunt. The goal was to catch a few fish and make it back to our warm houses to watch some playoff football. When Adam picked me up, I nearly fell over laughing. He was decked out in his Green Bay colors. Adam isn't afraid to let everyone know that  he is a diehard Packers fan. As a prelude to their eventual defeat, Adam didn't catch anything despite using variations of the same flies as I did. Meanwhile, I pulled out stocker browns and rainbows mixed in with the occasional wild fish. Adam's decision to rock the green, yellow, and white with no shame proved to be a bad omen for the Packers.