Father's Day Bass

There's nothing I would like more than take my son fishing for Father's Day, but we have at least a few years until that's going to happen. At seven months, he's mostly into steady naps- between brief periods of mayhem. I do hope to strap him into the baby bjorn and fish a safe, non-wading stream for a little while one of these days, just to see if it can be done. In the meantime, this Father's Day I settled for some solo fishing before joining the little guy and mom at home for the afternoon. I first had to make the difficult decision of where to go. I've had precious little time on the Croton streams so far, just one evening session that was short but sweet. I haven't even been to the Amawalk yet this season. I love it there, but I don't always catch fish.  And catching fish was definitely the goal this time. A sunny morning on a pressured stream isn't exactly a sure thing. In the end, I went for the closest thing to guaranteed action there is and took the boat out on Kensico to hunt for smallmouth bass. I've had a lot success this time of year drifting the shorelines and throwing poppers and streamers. It's tough to pass up a sure thing. And being able have a cooler of  beer within reach while fishing on a hot sunny day doesn't hurt either.

I set the alarm for 5:30 and was surprised to see the sun well on its way up already. I moved quickly and by 6:00 I was on the water and rowing to my favorite spot. I usually troll a streamer as I row, and right after I spotted something on the fish finder the rod bowed deeply- just like I hoped it would. This fish was putting up a strong trout-like fight- especially considering this was a 10 weight trolling rod. The ultimate goal on Kenisco, which I have yet to do, is to catch a big reservoir brown on the fly and I thought this might be the day. I was completely shocked when I saw the bright colors of a lowly yellow perch. A big one, actually, but not a brown. Oh well.

I made it to the shoreline where I usually find bass and started casting a big deer hair popper. I had a couple missed strikes, but the bass were mostly pretty elusive for the first hour or so. Finally I tried a streamer dropper, using the popper like an indicator and suddenly smallies started coming out of the woodwork. I didn't see them just cruising around like I have this time of year, they were tucked way into the overhanging branches and waiting to pounce. They went nuts for the black wooly bugger, completely ignoring the popper.  I didn't bother counting, I must have landed well over 20 fish throughout the morning. They were mostly little guys, but there were four bruisers that were a blast to tussle with, complete with jumps and deep runs at the boat. I had the security of 15lb fluoro tippet and an 8 weight rod that gave me the bullying power to get them to the net quickly. As I was fighting the largest one of the day, another big one swam over and followed it so closely I thought for a second I had hooked them both. After I let the first one go, I made another drift past the same tree and that second one came back to take a swipe at my streamer that promptly landed him in the net as well.  By now, I was feeling pretty good about my decision to fish Kenisco, I've never seen that happen on a trout stream. Eventually wind kicked up, like it always does on the reservoir, and the drifts got shorter and harder to manage. It was an easy decision to call it a day- the whole morning had been perfect and beyond satisfying. I don't know how long to wait to take my son fishing, but when he's ready I know we'll have a day just like this one.

The Magic Hour

You wouldn't know it from looking at this blog lately, but I have actually done some fishing this season. It's been an amazing springtime that has been jam packed with quality time with family, friends, and the rewarding new job of being a father- but fishing is still ever present in the back of my mind. It's just so much harder to find the time for it these days. I've managed a couple great fishing trips that were meaningful because one was with my brother, who I don't get to see often enough, and the other on the Delaware with a good friend who is slowly succumbing to the addiction that is fly fishing. Seeing him catch his first brown on the fly was better than catching one myself. My brother and I both had a fishless day, but we visited a gorgeous stretch of the Roundout that felt like being in Montana. The only fish we saw were a pod of tightly stacked up carp, who wouldn't touch the flies we put in front of them. I don't think I recruited another addict that day, but he did say "I can see why you like this so much".

This being mid-June, it's about time for the long awaited sulphur arrival. It's the hatch we wait for all year around here and the word is out. I saw a window of opportunity for a quick session on Friday evening and made a beeline to the stream that's a sure thing right about now. When I got there I was pleasantly shocked to discover an empty pull off. This place is no secret. It's been a long time since I could string up a rod on the roadside knowing exactly what fly to tie on and feeling certain I was about to hook at least one trout. I had it force myself not to sprint down to the spot I had been daydreaming about for months. I took my time, sort of, and walked up on rising trout and the sounds of birds settling into the evening. And the sulphurs were there too, some being chased by the swallows. It was like a waking dream, everything was exactly as I had thought it would be. In photography, the time when the sun begins to set is called the "magic hour" because of the beautiful and fleeting quality of the light. The same is true for this time on a stream. Not only is the fading light magical, but you can see and hear all of the creatures stirring and emerging from their hiding spots, including the fish. And of course the bugs come out... the trout had already gotten into the action and were rising up and down the stream, sipping on fluttering sulphurs and caddis. My second cast met with a small trout. It look little time to land and release it. I paused to tie on a fresh fly and wait for the water to settle until the fish would rise again. It didn't take long. As it got darker, and I caught more trout, they rose constantly and carelessly as the insects multiplied. It seemed like everything on the stream was taking advantage of this narrow window of time. I had a headlamp, but it was becoming too dark to see my fly among the rises. Instead of "one more cast" it was "one more fish" and it didn't take long to meet that goal. I walked back through the dark woods, taking my time now, just listening to splashing fish and the birds.