Worth the trip

Despite a long lapse in posting, I have managed to get in some fishing this fall. Some, not a lot- and no single outing has really been worth writing about. That's typical of fall fishing in general for me and this year my parental duties have kept me even closer to home and off the water. Not a complaint- honestly, no fish I've ever caught can compare to the endless wonder that my son provides. I've still been reading about fishing a lot though, it's ever present in my mind. The new Nick Lyons book "Fishing Stories" has been especially resonant for me. The theme of balancing the demands of being both a parent and a fishing addict runs through almost every short story in the book. I can relate.  And his self deprecating take on the subject has made me laugh and nod to myself enough times to draw looks on the Metro North. One short story in particular is about a quick (and disastrous) stop at the East Branch of the Croton while on a rainy family road trip- one of the funniest things I've read in a long time. The fact that this anecdote took place in the 1960s is also fascinating to me. Lyons writes a lot in the book about fishing the East Branch in his youth, riding up from Brooklyn on the train for every opening day. It's made me even more enthralled by this place that is so dear to my heart. It's amazing to think about how many people have fished there, for so long, and how it's served as such a training ground for anglers over the years. I'm also thankful that the stream remains in such good shape, though I doubt the fishing is as good as it used to be. And I'm now particularly interested in the section of the stream he refers to as "Big Bend", a spot that pops up again and again in the book. I can't tell if he's referring to what's known now as Phoebe Hole or Brady's Bend downstream. If anyone knows, post a comment…

Yesterday I had a very Lyons kind of fishing session. After sweating through an afternoon social commitment, with the wife's promise of an early exit to fish, I got on the road to this same stream just after 3PM. That wasn't exactly the deal I had brokered so carefully, but I still took it. A desperate man has no leverage. Factoring in these short winter days and a bit of a drive to the East Branch,  I'd maybe get in an hour of fishing at the most. The fact that this was less than my total drive time seemed irrelevant. It was already getting dark when I got on the water, but thankfully I'd had the addict's mind foresight to rig up a streamer before I left the house. I had three precise spots in mind to fish. A quick strike mission. Fittingly, one spot was right below Big Bend. I think so, anyway. The first spot came up empty and the second was taken, so I ended up at the third destination pretty quickly. After a few casts upstream I landed a rainbow with a gorgeous magenta streak (see above) on the swing. My expectations had been even lower than usual, so this was a very welcome development. Still trying to cover some ground in the fleeting light, I moved on downstream and the streamer produced a chunky brown that hit surprisingly hard. By now it was almost completely dark and getting colder by the minute. I made my way back upstream, feeling very glad I had made the drive with such limited time. I couldn't help but think about the stream itself while I walked and how many other anglers have walked this path back to the road in the dark, also feeling the trip had been worthwhile.

On a Mission: Part 2

Had the bass been biting more on the previous day, I might have rallied the energy to get back out there for more at the crack of dawn. Instead, I decided to get some needed sleep and catch up on the yard work that was about a week overdue. I figured if I got on a stream by 2:00 I'd still get in a pretty full day if I fished until dark. So, after some work around the house and a quick lunch, I was on my way to the East Branch. I thought of revisiting Stream X, but I also wanted to cover more ground during this 48 hour binge. And this is the time of year when fishing options start to fade… only a few streams can really handle the summer heat. The EB is one of the most consistently cool ones around and I figured I'd have it all to myself on a Monday afternoon.

As I arrived, the only other guy there was just pulling out. Sweet. I rigged up two rods this time- a 5 weight for indicator nymphing and my 3 weight for dry flies. I'm still on the fence about a two rod attack. It's a bit of a limitation toting them both- you can't just wade as you please and absently worrying about leaving one stashed on the bank is a bit of a distraction. However, the ease of switching up tactics makes it well worth it. Many times I've spotted a rising fish and been able to cast to it with the other rod right away. I started this afternoon nymphing and worked down through the familiar runs to a spot that I realize I've only grown to love because it just looks nice. Sure, I've caught fish there. And one of them was huge. But mostly I get skunked there, just admiring the view and the scent of the pines that seem concentrated in that one area. I did connect with a trout there this time, but it got unbuttoned pretty quickly. I decided to move on to another favorite spot that actually holds fish. Or at least ones I'm capable of catching. This spot is a very non-descript section of water, but it consistently holds trout that will almost always take a dry fly year round. And no, that's not it in the above photo. I didn't see anything rising when I got there- but a couple blind casts with a trusty elk hair caddis and dropper rig provoked a take that I missed. I started making longer casts to the opposite bank and immediately connected with a fish that revealed its power right away. I gave it a second little tug to set the hook (a new habit that seems to be paying off) and gingerly fought a thick brown all the way to the net. I scooped him up with a sigh of relief. Admittedly, I haven't caught a ton of trout this year- but being over sixteen inches this was definitely the biggest of the season so far. So where's the photo? Well, there's a story. I wanted to keep it healthy and alive, so I left the fish inside my net in the shallows as I fumbled for my iPhone… turns out this fish could swim quite well in about  two inches of water. Of course. But then I got a second chance… somehow it got hooked on the dropper fly. I got it unhooked right away. And then it slipped from my hands into the water. I was cursing until I looked down and saw it calmly finning at my feet, the way large fish sometimes do after being released. A third chance. I tried to gently corral it into my net with my arm, but it swam away in a flash. Of course, again. All this bumbling just for a damn photo. I had just caught and landed a beautiful brown trout, on a dry fly even, yet it almost seemed like it didn't "count" because I had missed a chance to document it. Remind me again why I fish…

Pictures or not, it was another excellent afternoon and I had to decide whether to stay or go as it started getting dark. Unable to let go of somewhat of a fantasy, I left and returned to the West Branch. I still had high hopes for some evening dry fly fishing. Unfortunately, the conditions had degraded even further in twenty four hours. The water is officially warm. I did catch some fish- sunnies and a tiny smallmouth. Clearly, warm water residents have moved in now and the trout are in search of cooler water. I hope they find it. As it began to get dark, heavy clouds starting rolling in and thunder boomed over the hills. Time to move on.

East Branch Croton

This has been an unusual season for me- I have somehow managed to spend more time fishing the East Branch Delaware than the nearby East Branch Croton. Not a bad thing by any means, but I was thankful today that I was able to fish the one that I can consider my home stream. Maybe because it's the place that I learned to fly fish years ago, but I really do think it's an outstanding stream. The variety of pocket water and the size of the fish that you'll find there make it a real gem. If it sounds like I'm setting the stage for some sort of epic day, I'm not. In fact, it was kind of an unlucky one.

My morning of unproductive nymphing was cut short when I walked to a spot that is a somewhat reliable place to find rising fish this time of year. And they were there, rising as I'd hoped. Better yet, I could clearly see a very large rainbow feeding from the surface every minute or so. I tried to get a sense of its rhythm and then watched it swim right up to the elkhair caddis I drifted through its lane. It took a good look and rolled away in refusal. I tied on a small blue wing olive and tried again. I made the same cast and held my breath as the fly got closer and closer. Sure enough, it took another look, but this time it casually inhaled it and I felt its bulk as I quickly lifted my line. Right away it made a lightning quick run across the stream and the slack line flew through my fingers. It was now on the reel, which was a relief. It took another run downstream a bit, taking drag, and when it stopped I put a little pressure on it to coax it upstream. I felt it shake its head violently. And that's when it got off. That's also when the swearing started. Sure, it happens and I don't know what I could have done differently that would have landed this fish. But this would have easily been a personal best on a dry fly, so it stung. And I have lost so many big fish this year that it's getting to be a pattern. I'll try not to whine about it any more, I won't even get into last week's EB Delaware heartbreaker, but it's becoming a theme that I'm not too thrilled with. They're not breaking off, so the only remedy I can think of is getting a hook sharpener. And maybe working on a firmer hook set. Otherwise, I think I need some good luck.

So that happened. I was so rattled that as I pulled out my box to get a fresh fly I somehow spilled the entire contents into the stream. I quickly grabbed most of the dries, but about two dozen nymphs sank and drifted into the depths. Ouch. I had a feeling keeping them loose in a box was a bad idea and this confirmed it. I guess it could have been worse- that big rainbow might have appeared and gobbled up the stray dries that were making their way downstream. Ok, that's a stretch, but it felt like the kind of day where that kind of thing could actually happen. It wasn't a total wash- small consolation, but I did get a decent stockie brown shortly afterwards. And I got reacquainted with my home stream. More importantly, I also saw a real slab of a brown there behind a rock that I plan to return for. And I sure as hell hope to land it.