Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Carp fishing
I'll never get used to it. You talk to almost any group of fisher folk and mention Carp. Somebody invariably insults the Carp as a "trash fish", worthy only of tossing back into the water or worse, thrown alive onto the bank to suffocate. NO fish should be treated that way. If you're going to kill it, then do so. If not, then put it back in the water. It's only humane.
Admittedly Carp do overpopulate many waters due to their incredible propagative ability. Then they need to be thinned out, but still humanely. The thing that irritates me about the complete lack of respect shown these fish is that they are tremendous fun to catch!
Hooking up with a ten pound Carp, which is likely almost anywhere they can be found, is hooking up with a ten pound fish! They fight like your big brother whoopin' on you for taking the last cookie, and pound for pound their stamina is a match for any other freshwater fish.
You can't always just throw bait at them either, especially as they grow older. Carp are totally aware of their environment and that usually includes you. The best Carp anglers in the world, generally speaking, can be found in Great Britain. These folks have honed their skills fishing along some of the world's most crowded banks, refining and refining again their approach to a fish which can pick up and drop a bait without you even knowing they've seen it.
Some anglers call the Carp the "Golden Bonefish" because in their feeding habits, skittishness and near invulnerability to the hook in clear water. The name fits. I am certain that you've seen more wakes suddenly headed away from you than you've seen the actual Carp in the your area, and in clear water, you may not have seen them at all.
My 2 favorite Carp memories both took place on, believe it or not, trout streams! Yup, Carp make a way.
The first one was on one of the best trout streams in the northeast. I was fly fishing at a dam on the stream, drifting a small nymph through the pockets in the dam formed by rocks splitting the overflow as it tumbled over it's 3 foot drop in front of me. It was a comfortable spring day and I'd been catching fish pretty regularly. I was drifting it deep after seeing a few large shadows which I took to be smallmouth, when my line tightened slowly. I set the hook, and within 20 seconds I got that cold feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells you something bad is about to happen.
My line had followed the plunge pool of the waterfall from one side to the other, without slowing in the least. The cold feeling set in. Then, when my line turned East and started downstream toward the rapids area, my gut started to quake a little. I'm gonna be real honest here, more honest than a fisherman should. I had two thoughts making me nervous. Thought number one: "Oh shoot, I'm gonna lose this fish!" Thought number two, the...ugly thought...was: "Oh shoot, I'm gonna lose this fish...and everybody's gonna see it happen!" I hate when that happens. It's not as bad when you lose a fish and are the only one who knows it, but when everybody knows...ugh.
My mind got off that real quick when I looked down and saw that this fish had stripped my fly line off the reel and was down into the backing and still hadn't so much as paused in it's mad dash to be free of that hook. Since I couldn't run across the stream and the near side was bounded by high weeds, I had one choice: follow the fish through the rapids. Scared? You bet. I was running out of line though, and determined to find out what was making me sweat.
It took some serious scrambling on my part and some furious reeling to finally get my fly line back on the reel, and by this point I was down near the fly shop which sits on the bank of the Neshannock Creek. This was a Saturday and there were plenty of other guys fishing. They quickly realized that I was fighting something big, and everybody stopped to look. Bob Shuey, the owner of Neshannock Creek Fly Shop, came out and gave me a little heck. "What's this commotion you're causing out here?" he asked. To be honest, I was so wound up fighting this fish that I don't even remember what I said in response!
I had been fighting this fish for about 20 minutes at this point and all eyes were on me. (Nervous? Bah!) Finally, after all this running, climbing and fighting, the fish showed itself at the surface. It was simply the biggest carp I've ever hooked! I mean when this baby rolled up top it was like a golden side of beef! So when the angler down from me (the fish was still over 20 yards away) offered to net it for me, I quickly accepted.
*Ominous music starts*
Then it all came crashing down. As carp will, this fish reacted badly to the approach of this guy with his net. One huge flip and it threw the hook and took off back upstream.
On the bright side, everybody saw my big fish. On the dark side, I SO wanted a picture with that beast.
Next time I'll tell you about the 4 pound line, Crappie jig, crystal clear water and 6 pound carp. 'Til then...
Admittedly Carp do overpopulate many waters due to their incredible propagative ability. Then they need to be thinned out, but still humanely. The thing that irritates me about the complete lack of respect shown these fish is that they are tremendous fun to catch!
Hooking up with a ten pound Carp, which is likely almost anywhere they can be found, is hooking up with a ten pound fish! They fight like your big brother whoopin' on you for taking the last cookie, and pound for pound their stamina is a match for any other freshwater fish.
You can't always just throw bait at them either, especially as they grow older. Carp are totally aware of their environment and that usually includes you. The best Carp anglers in the world, generally speaking, can be found in Great Britain. These folks have honed their skills fishing along some of the world's most crowded banks, refining and refining again their approach to a fish which can pick up and drop a bait without you even knowing they've seen it.
Some anglers call the Carp the "Golden Bonefish" because in their feeding habits, skittishness and near invulnerability to the hook in clear water. The name fits. I am certain that you've seen more wakes suddenly headed away from you than you've seen the actual Carp in the your area, and in clear water, you may not have seen them at all.
My 2 favorite Carp memories both took place on, believe it or not, trout streams! Yup, Carp make a way.
The first one was on one of the best trout streams in the northeast. I was fly fishing at a dam on the stream, drifting a small nymph through the pockets in the dam formed by rocks splitting the overflow as it tumbled over it's 3 foot drop in front of me. It was a comfortable spring day and I'd been catching fish pretty regularly. I was drifting it deep after seeing a few large shadows which I took to be smallmouth, when my line tightened slowly. I set the hook, and within 20 seconds I got that cold feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells you something bad is about to happen.
My line had followed the plunge pool of the waterfall from one side to the other, without slowing in the least. The cold feeling set in. Then, when my line turned East and started downstream toward the rapids area, my gut started to quake a little. I'm gonna be real honest here, more honest than a fisherman should. I had two thoughts making me nervous. Thought number one: "Oh shoot, I'm gonna lose this fish!" Thought number two, the...ugly thought...was: "Oh shoot, I'm gonna lose this fish...and everybody's gonna see it happen!" I hate when that happens. It's not as bad when you lose a fish and are the only one who knows it, but when everybody knows...ugh.
My mind got off that real quick when I looked down and saw that this fish had stripped my fly line off the reel and was down into the backing and still hadn't so much as paused in it's mad dash to be free of that hook. Since I couldn't run across the stream and the near side was bounded by high weeds, I had one choice: follow the fish through the rapids. Scared? You bet. I was running out of line though, and determined to find out what was making me sweat.
It took some serious scrambling on my part and some furious reeling to finally get my fly line back on the reel, and by this point I was down near the fly shop which sits on the bank of the Neshannock Creek. This was a Saturday and there were plenty of other guys fishing. They quickly realized that I was fighting something big, and everybody stopped to look. Bob Shuey, the owner of Neshannock Creek Fly Shop, came out and gave me a little heck. "What's this commotion you're causing out here?" he asked. To be honest, I was so wound up fighting this fish that I don't even remember what I said in response!
I had been fighting this fish for about 20 minutes at this point and all eyes were on me. (Nervous? Bah!) Finally, after all this running, climbing and fighting, the fish showed itself at the surface. It was simply the biggest carp I've ever hooked! I mean when this baby rolled up top it was like a golden side of beef! So when the angler down from me (the fish was still over 20 yards away) offered to net it for me, I quickly accepted.
*Ominous music starts*
Then it all came crashing down. As carp will, this fish reacted badly to the approach of this guy with his net. One huge flip and it threw the hook and took off back upstream.
On the bright side, everybody saw my big fish. On the dark side, I SO wanted a picture with that beast.
Next time I'll tell you about the 4 pound line, Crappie jig, crystal clear water and 6 pound carp. 'Til then...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Ever been scared by something out there? -conclusion
At that moment, a large (12-15pound) black object rose slowly from the water in front of me, and then after a moment of shock I realized what it was; I was staring at a huge Cormorant! I had no idea they'd come this far south from the place where I'd last heard they were becoming a nuisance, Lake Erie. There is a chance that it could have been a large black Loon, although I didn't see the tell-tale white or grey band around it's neck which most Loons I see have.
It looked at me and quickly took flight (why does everything run from me?) across the river, flapping hard to ascend more than a few inches above the water until it had traveled quite a few yards, when it finally attained full flight. At this point you're probably asking yourself why this would have scared me. Remember: it had been very quiet and I had not heard that bird enter that water. All I knew was that suddenly, less than eight feet away from me, a large black living thing was rising from the water before me.
Yeah, Blair Witch Project scared me, too.
Anyway, after the big bird flew out of sight and I picked up my lower jaw, I got out of the water to wait and see if this bird had any companions following. It didn't, so I got back to fishing, but the bites were done.
No problem. It was time to go to work anyway.
It looked at me and quickly took flight (why does everything run from me?) across the river, flapping hard to ascend more than a few inches above the water until it had traveled quite a few yards, when it finally attained full flight. At this point you're probably asking yourself why this would have scared me. Remember: it had been very quiet and I had not heard that bird enter that water. All I knew was that suddenly, less than eight feet away from me, a large black living thing was rising from the water before me.
Yeah, Blair Witch Project scared me, too.
Anyway, after the big bird flew out of sight and I picked up my lower jaw, I got out of the water to wait and see if this bird had any companions following. It didn't, so I got back to fishing, but the bites were done.
No problem. It was time to go to work anyway.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Ever been scared by something out there?
It was a cold, grey day. I decided to spend some of my afternoon fishing the beautiful Allegheny River in Pennsylvania. I was bundled against the cold, dressed in layers. In fact, many layers. Four sweatshirts and a denim jacket over my neoprene waders. The end result is that I look like "Ralphie's" little brother in "A Christmas Story", my arms stiffly out to my sides. I'm in so much trouble if I ever fall down in winter. (I must invest in some decent winter fishing fashion!)
I parked at the top of a hill overlooking the spot I was planning to fish. A trail leads down the 30 or so yards to the waters' edge and I waddled it with no real agility. (Though I didn't fall!) The area has a clear dirt beach maybe 10 feet from treeline to shore, and leading to the mouth of what I think it a runoff drain, though it's well disguised with overhanging vegetation and boulders around the mouth to the point where it would fool you into thinking it's natural until you look closely under the weeds and see the bricks used to form the opening.
I settled in and started casting a 1/4 oz Roostertail spinner, white body with a silver blade and white tuft on the hook. The Smallmouth were very friendly that day, and within an hour and a half I'd caught about 13. At this point with an icy breeze scraping my cheek I decided to take up position leaned against a large boulder which blocked some of the wind. I was balancing myself carefully between a number of basketball sized boulders, in ankle deep water. About 4-6 feet in front of me the bottom dropped off quickly to 5 feet, then after a foot or two more horizontally, over 9 feet.
The bass were hitting as the spinner skirted the edge of the first, more shallow drop. They were anyway, until suddenly there was nothing. No more bites, no chases, nothing. Ordinarily I discount this to the appearance of a predator near the school I'm fishing. A pike, or musky maybe. Oh, it was a predator all right, but not the fish I'd expected. In fact, it wasn't a fish at all.
As I mindlessly fan cast the area waiting and hoping for the bite to begin again, a small dark circle formed in the water only slightly more than a rod length in front of me, slightly off to the left. This circle got bigger, and bigger, when I suddenly realized that something large was rising up from the bottom of the river!
The next thing that happened is what really freaked me out: a black head, atop a long black neck (like those grainy pictures of the Loch Ness Monster), then broke through the surface and that neck kept getting longer. Finally, a large body broke the surface and I found myself face to face with...
...to be continued.
I parked at the top of a hill overlooking the spot I was planning to fish. A trail leads down the 30 or so yards to the waters' edge and I waddled it with no real agility. (Though I didn't fall!) The area has a clear dirt beach maybe 10 feet from treeline to shore, and leading to the mouth of what I think it a runoff drain, though it's well disguised with overhanging vegetation and boulders around the mouth to the point where it would fool you into thinking it's natural until you look closely under the weeds and see the bricks used to form the opening.
I settled in and started casting a 1/4 oz Roostertail spinner, white body with a silver blade and white tuft on the hook. The Smallmouth were very friendly that day, and within an hour and a half I'd caught about 13. At this point with an icy breeze scraping my cheek I decided to take up position leaned against a large boulder which blocked some of the wind. I was balancing myself carefully between a number of basketball sized boulders, in ankle deep water. About 4-6 feet in front of me the bottom dropped off quickly to 5 feet, then after a foot or two more horizontally, over 9 feet.
The bass were hitting as the spinner skirted the edge of the first, more shallow drop. They were anyway, until suddenly there was nothing. No more bites, no chases, nothing. Ordinarily I discount this to the appearance of a predator near the school I'm fishing. A pike, or musky maybe. Oh, it was a predator all right, but not the fish I'd expected. In fact, it wasn't a fish at all.
As I mindlessly fan cast the area waiting and hoping for the bite to begin again, a small dark circle formed in the water only slightly more than a rod length in front of me, slightly off to the left. This circle got bigger, and bigger, when I suddenly realized that something large was rising up from the bottom of the river!
The next thing that happened is what really freaked me out: a black head, atop a long black neck (like those grainy pictures of the Loch Ness Monster), then broke through the surface and that neck kept getting longer. Finally, a large body broke the surface and I found myself face to face with...
...to be continued.
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