A Return and a New Year

Well, it's been a while. As planned, the past couple months have been both a blissful blur and a thoroughly exhausting time caring for our new son Oscar. He's perfect in every way and we are so grateful to have a healthy and (mostly) happy little guy. And his timing was impeccable- what better time to hole up and nest than the dead of winter. But, a little fishing on the side sure wouldn't hurt. When I manage to sneak in some sleep,  I still dream of casting to willing trout. And this is a fishing blog, after all. So with much needed extra help for the wife at hand yesterday, I got the green light to get out in the world. With temperatures just over my comfort baseline of 40 degrees, there was no way I'd pass up a day of sanctioned fishing. But where to go? From what I'm hearing, the East Branch is far from productive these days. The water is colder than most winters, which seems to have slowed things to a crawl. So, I swallowed my pride and headed to the Mianus.

I've written about it in the past, but the Mianus is essentially a dog park with a trout stream running through it. It would be easy to write it off entirely if it wasn't a great trout stream. And in late winter, when cabin fever is peaking, it becomes dry fly heaven with an impressive early stonefly hatch. This being mid winter, however, I really didn't know what to expect. When I arrived I was relieved to see a nearly empty parking lot. I geared up and started hiking upstream, where I eagerly fished the first pool I came across. I had already rigged up a tiny WD40 nymph dropper from a size 14 black stonefly (to cover the bases) and commenced to drifting. I was enjoying being reacquainted with the lulling pace of dragging an indicator rig up and down when suddenly the yellow thingamabobber dipped. I lifted the line, probably not as sharply as I should have, and felt the tug of a trout. The excitement of having hooked up so quickly faded as the trout came unbuttoned after a brief tussle. I caught a glimpse of it- it was a fairly thick brown that I would have loved to gotten to the net. Disappointing. I was also dying to know which of the nymphs it had honed in on, but I took this as a sign of the good day to come.  And not for nothing, a reminder to man up on those hook sets. I pushed on and worked my way through the other runs I'd fished last year.  Without all the people around, this place really is a gem of a stream. The water was gin clear and I could see all of the places where a trout could lurk. Though there are a few sections of solid nymphing water, I realized that this is really more of a dry fly stream. The frequent stretches of slow water are ideal for long drifts. I tried a dry dropper rig for a while, just on the off chance I could induce a rise or a take on the nymph, but ultimately that first missed brown was the only sign of life in the stream I saw all day. Not a single strike. I was a little surprised, and disappointed, but just barely. This is winter fishing after all. Being out there in solitude and shaking off the rust was well worth the trip. Even with the cold. Maybe the Mianus isn't so bad.


As it got dark and my thermos ran dry, I made the hike through the barren woods back to the warmth of the truck. That early lost fish was still nagging at me, so I made one final stop at the first pool where I had started. Maybe the lone wolf brown was still hungry. I was on my third drift when suddenly a big stick landed in the water about two feet from my indicator. Then I saw the yellow lab that was furiously paddling towards the belly of my line, making a beeline for the stick. The owner apologized profusely as I reeled in. "So sorry, I didn't see you there. I didn't even know you could fish here!"

Back to the Mianus

Now that the season is officially open, all options are on the table. I thought about going to the West Branch today, one of my favorite streams, but the memory of that last stonefly hatch at Mianus drew me back there again. I didn't see any rises or signs of a hatch when I got there, so I spent the morning nymphing. The water was much lower this time so I hiked further upstream and found some deeper holes in the pocket water. I caught this nice little brown in a deep run along a boulder- exactly where he was supposed to be. He hit a soft hackle pheasant tail on the swing as it shot out through the deep cut along the large rock. Not a monster fish by any means, but it was satisfying to find a trout where I expected one to be and to catch it on a fly I tied myself.

Around 1:00, just like clockwork, the stoneflies started dropping. The trout came out of the woodwork and reacted just quickly as they had last week. I had spent some time tying this week and I couldn't wait to try out the dries I had tied to mimic the stonefly I brought home. But just like last time, the pack of trout stacked up in front of me passed on every drift. I tried a flying ant pattern again, but this time even that pattern got the cold shoulder too. I sat back and watched the trout feast for a while and looked through my box of dries for the millionth time. Nothing really seemed like it was any closer to the insects that were now crawling all over me. Feeling a little desperate, I settled on a stimulator I had tied with a black body- the general size and shape seemed like it might do the job. Sure enough, the next drift got some attention. Why didn't I try this last time? I hooked a few more small browns and a pretty little brook trout, which I didn't get to take a photo of unfortunately. I also noticed a massive brown that would dart out of a brush pile every once in a while, steal away a stonefly, and slip back into the branches in one motion. I gave it a shot, but wasn't able to coax it out to take my fly. I doubt my 6x tippet would have kept him from retreating back to his lair anyway. I sure would have liked to have found that out the hard way though. I still managed to leave feeling like I had done what I set out to do today. Even though none of my own stonefly dries did the job and a seemingly random fly ended up saving the day.

I chatted briefly with a guy in the parking lot about the fishing on my way out. He had just arrived and asked if they were still hatching, and how I had done. I told him about the browns I had just caught. "What did you get them on? Black stimulator?"

Mianus Stonefly Hatch

This weekend I had the opportunity to witness a full on stonefly hatch at the d̶o̶g̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶k̶ Mianus and it was really something. The hatches were sporadic throughout the afternoon, but the reactions from the trout were swift and furious. A stream that seemed completely barren moments ago would suddenly erupt with dozens of trout rising all around me. They were just going nuts for these stoneflies that seemed to appear out of nowhere, falling from the sky. It was a real rush to finally see rising trout in the flesh after a long winter of only seeing this kind of thing happen in a fly fishing video. But what really amazed me was how selective these fish were. I mean- we're talking fresh off the truck, dumb as rocks stockies and they were inspecting actual insects like wine snobs. They would either pass on some of them or smack at them with gusto after checking them out. I have no idea what went into making that decision. A few weeks ago they were perfectly happy to eat pellets of fish food and now they're entomologists?

Needless to say, things quickly went from "oh my god this is going to be awesome" to "what does it take to get them to take my fly?!". I tried every dry in the box that looked close, even a blue sedge that I was convinced would do the job. Those flattened wings just looked like a perfect match. Nope. I could see two browns holding in the current, and they would look up and closely inspect each increasingly desperate presentation. And then politely decline. Sometimes they wouldn't even bother looking. I went down to 6X tippet. Nope. I really focused on the drift, mending and getting it just right. Nope. I picked up one of the many stoneflies that were crawling into my jacket and gave it a second look, imagining what it would look like from below. Forget about the wings, they want the bodies. The closest thing I had was a flying ant pattern. A long skinny black body and little white wings. A couple casts later there was a feisty rainbow on the end of my line and a smile on my face. There were still some refusals after that, but I had some takes too. It felt great, like I had solved a meaningful puzzle. But I knew I still didn't have the right pattern to fish this hatch. Something to take to the bench.