The North Country Slam

The 7wt and 10wt ready for action.

In my late teenage years my grandfather passed away from cancer.  He was someone I looked up to and his pride and work ethic was contagious.  He taught me to be tough, work hard, be proud, and walk my own walk.  When he was sick, and under the care of my family,  he instructed my then-together parents to, after he passes, receive money he'd saved up and take a vacation... some place nice.  And, when that time came and our grieving process wound down we scheduled a trip to Key West for some fishing--as requested by grandpa.  

The trip helped take our minds off things and it became an exciting time for me... getting to talk to top guides in the lower Keys such as the late Jose Wejebe, Bill Oliver, the Delphs, Jeffrey Cardinas and a slew of others.  These guys would become my fishing role models in the years to come and I dreamed of their lifestyle.  I was hooked.  Soon, I was chasing the ever elusive "Grand Slam" on the flats:  tarpon, permit and bonefish on fly all in the same day.  But, despite sight casting relentlessly to tarpon over 100 pounds I never did land one on fly (I did manage to catch a tagged 40 pounder late in the trip on bait in the Key West Harbor).  The permit, well they narrowly eluded me... as two giant permit rushed my tarpon fly on the edge of a flat they butted heads over the presentation; but, they never took.  The way they both tipped on the fly haunts me to this day, "How could they not have eaten it?".  And, the bonefish... they were shadows of fish moving across the flat laughing at my untrained eye.  In the end, I never did get the "Grand Slam" other than the one that was on my Guy Harvey t-shirt.  But, the experience was amazing and will stick with me forever.

Returning to the North Country, the land of my late grandfather, we too have a "slam".  Depending on the lake it will be a different mix of fish.  And, the lake I chose for Memorial Day weekend was the lake my grandfather lived on.  I got to know it well over the years.  The "slam" pursuit on this trip would consist of pike, smallmouth bass, and walleyes.  

The day started blind casting to post-spawn northern pike holding on shallow flats located in the back of mucky bays.  Using the 10 wt., I fired out a large white and red streamer I concocted many years ago.  The pattern was tied on a 2/0 Tiemco tarpon hook.  It didn't take long before there was action... within an hour and half I would catch, photo, and release pike of the following sizes:   38", 36", 38", and 40".

First fish of the day... 38 inches.

Second fish... 36 inches.

Third fish... 38 inches.

Last pike of the day... 40 inches. I could feel this fish actually had a turtle in it's gut!  

40-incher going home... you can see the turtle shape in its belly.

Content with pike fishing, I neatly reeled in my line so that it would lay on the reel in even rows.  I put the 10 wt down and pointed the boat toward smallie-ville.  We headed out of the weedy back bays and motored toward some large shallow flats made up of broken rock.  The water temperatures were a bit cool yet (52-55 degrees F.) but our bet was that prespawn smallies were starting to move shallow.  And, once we arrived it didn't take more than a few casts with the 7 wt to confirm our hunch.  We enjoyed some quick action on 17-19 inch smallies.  At this time of year it is extremely important, for the future of the smallmouth population, to fight the fish quickly and not have the fish out of the water for more than 30 seconds.  The fish pictured below were out of the water just seconds... with the camera already out and ready while they were being landed.       

Dad in on the action...  with one pushing 5 pounds.

    

After just a few hours, two of the three "North Country Slam" candidates had been boated and released.  And, fine specimens of fish they were.  We decided to float off the spot, eat our lunches, and reflect on the fishing a bit.  As we chomped on deli sandwiches the wind shifted strong out of the east-southeast.  The clouds blew out and the sun became intense.  A good chop was developing.  A walleye chop.  With lunches down we headed for a shallow flat where we had observed walleyes chasing flies in the past.  This spot also contains smallies so it was a win-win decision.  We fan-casted as we drifted over the flat.  Concern began to grow onboard.  Nothing was biting.  We made a couple passes.  Nothing.  Then, reaping the reward of fisherman's patience and persistence a fish stopped the fly half way in on its retrieve.  The fish stayed deep and had some weight.  But, it didn't fight like a bass... nor a pike.  It stayed deep and bent the 7 wt nicely.  In time, I saw color and the tell tale white spot on the caudal fin identifying it as a walleye.  The "North Country Slam" had been completed.

A nice 20 inch walleye on fly.

        

    

Frog Water Pike and Legends

A late spring in the Northland means frog water pike.  This time of year pike will be in the shallow swamp water at the back of shallow, weedy, bays.  Throw in some emergent vegetation and a slow moving river or two meandering into the lake through alders and sedge grass and you have the perfect combination--a springtime pike haven.

Growing up I heard legends of giant spring pike.  My late grandfather, as a boy, went down to a well known creek feeding into the lake to check the spring sucker run.  As the hoards of suckers made their way up the creek and into the flooded swamp and sedge above, something waited at the river mouth to feast on this seasonal spring delicacy.  Something very big.  Giant pike.  My grandfather sighted these beasts swimming around with 2-4 pound suckers crossways in their mouths.  Occasionally a big pike would swim up the creek a short distance in water far too skinny for such a fish.  It didn't take long and my grandfather had one captured.  Proud as a boy could be with such a catch, he put his hand in the fish's gill, draped it over his shoulder, and began walking home to show his parents and siblings.  The tail of the fish drug on the ground.  

On another occasion, a group of my father's childhood friends were in a small wooden boat near one of the major river mouths during this same magical spring period.  One of the teenagers noticed a large dark shape discoloring the water near the boat.  And, it was slowly and deliberately moving toward them.  With all eyes fixed on the shape the local teenagers collectively dropped their jaws as they realized it was a huge pike.  Clenching the gunnels of the boat, they silently watched the fish swim under, observing the head emerging on one side of the boat while the tail was still visible on the other side.  My great aunt has a similar monster pike story... a sighting which also indicated a pike longer than a small wooden rowboat was wide.

It's stories like these that get you thinking.  Yes, we live in a different time where pike like these are rare.  And, the legendary stories always seem to be told by individuals 1-2 generations older.  So, I wondered if pike like this still exist... or, should we grow apathetic and accept those days are over with nothing more to catch than hammer handles?  Armed with a 10 weight fly rod and some big pike flies I sought to find out.  And, a late spring would set the stage nicely.

Top to Bottom:  Enrico Puglisi Minnows, Reynold's Pike Flies, Foam Diver, and a very chewed up red & white deer hair/rabbit strip diver.

We launched the boat on a calm and overcast day with rain in the forecast.  The light wind we had came from the south, which in my experience has always been a good esox wind.  With the boat in the water, the 10wt. threaded up, and the bow pointed in the right direction, we hammered the four stroke and headed for the frog water.  Water temperatures were in the low 50 degree F. range and things looked good.

Once in the bay we slowly came off plane and eased into the back of the bay.  The depth finder read

three feet deep.   The bottom was soft.  Muck.  Occasional broadleaf cabbage stalks.  Emergent vegetation on the shoreline.  We cut the engine and deployed the bow-mount trolling motor into the lake.  Then, under electric power, further eased into frog water.  The depth finder fluctuated between 2-3 feet.  Soon, we were within a good cast of shoreline veggies.  Mallards and goldeneyes swam the shoreline.  Red-winged blackbirds chattered in the marsh.     

I stripped the line off the reel and stretched it.  It lay coiled on the deck.  The stretching procedure takes out any unwanted memory in the cold fly line allowing for rocket casts without tangles.  I flicked the fly into the water and let it soak.  Then, worked three false casts and fired the diver into the shallows.  On the third cast I was hooked up.  After some defiant fighting the fish came boat-side and was carefully landed and released.

First pike of the day.  A tad under 30 inches.

This ritual would repeat itself for the next 1-2 hours.  Roughly ten pike were boated and released.  Of the ten boated, three made it into the 30-inch club.

A skinny 30-incher.

31-incher.

30-incher.

I still hadn't sighted any pike of legendary status.  Yes, there were the 32-36 inch pike that would follow the fly to the rod tip, only to turn and spook back to their lair when the retrieve ran out of room.  And, I can't tell you how frustrating it is to witness that (at least a musky might swing on a figure 8).  But, really, no pike of true legendary status were seen.

The rain started to fall steadily now and the nice south wind we had earlier had switched around to an east wind.  And, it started to blow harder.  The pike bight began to slow down.  Knowing there are a couple of similar bays on the lake we pulled the trolling motor up, fired up the big motor, and charged through the rain to the next spot.  This would be the setting where two of the three previously told stories of monster pike had occurred.

We arrived to the marshy inlet bay.  Again the depth finder read 2-3 feet.  Muck.  Emergent vegetation all around the river mouth.  We started in an inside bend with the intent that the east wind would push us across the back of the bay giving us ample casts in the right spot.  A large Tamarac stood lonely on the swampy shoreline.  I fired my cast toward it.  The large deer hair diver landed softly near the shoreline in front of the Tamarac.  I stripped the fly back.  The deer hair diver with its rabbit strip tail worked like an undulating jerk bait on the sink tip line... an action reminiscent of the old suick jerk bait that might have been cast in this same spot with a steel rod some 70 years ago.  The fly neared the boat on retrieve.  Then, I noticed the water alongside the boat was changing color.  The color was moving.  Moving toward the fly...  My jaw dropped and my knees began to shake.  The pike of lore had shown itself and its nose was just inches from the diver on the other end of my line.  It came as close as it could to nudging the fly without touching it.   Then.... the retrieve ran out of room.  I had stripped in all my line.  The retrieve was over.  The pike turned its massive body.  Its tail spread broadly fanned to make the maneuver away from me.  The fanned tail had to be the size of a dinner plate.  The girth of the fish gave me no doubt it could have eaten one of the previous members of the 30-inch club.  I desperately swung my rod into an L-turn and started a figure eight with the fly.  The fish slowly and unamused sunk to the mucky bottom and slowly disappeared into the stained water as if it were a ghost.

Silence fell upon the boat.  I sat down.  My knees were weak and quivered.  I looked into the dark water.  I looked to the marsh.  I looked back out to the main lake... and at my fly, then back to the Tamarac on shore.  A steady rain fell onto my head.

I recovered and threw some more casts back into the same spot.  Nothing showed.  I continued to drift down the marshy shoreline casting.  Nothing showed.  I reeled in and called it a day.

I left this spot knowing the legendary pike of the Northland still exist.  And, with one follow to the boat-side this magnificent fish of lore had shown itself to a new generation of legend tellers.  
     

Yellow spots on a 30-inch club member.

A future legendary pike in the making?

Back to the marsh!

   

The Brown Trout Dream

Last night I dreamt about fly fishing for brown trout.  Not one of those fluffy romantic dreams... like a scene from "River Runs Though It" compleat with violin music.  But instead, one of those weird ones... which included blue ribbon fly fishing for browns in a flooded creek in the back yard (which doesn't even exist... but it did in my dream; and, the 12-20" browns that were running the creek were a pleasant surprise).  After such a bizarre dream, I woke up this morning and it was clear what my day was going to be... despite previous plans.  So I slammed a few espressos, tied some flies with shaky hands, threaded up the 5 wt., rebuilt my leader chopped down from previous streamer fishing, grabbed the trout box, some tippet material, a snack, and headed out the door to one of my favorite small driftless area trout streams.

As I neared the destination I was astonished to see new snowbanks... and how high they were!  The fields and meadows were blanketed under significant snowfall.  And then I remembered, a few days ago the area received a good foot of new snow.  My thoughts quickly turned to concern for stream and road conditions.  I wondered if the back roads would be accessible; and, would I arrive to a flood and unfishable conditions.  But, I drove on in disbelieve of the new snow which had fallen in May... it looked like I was driving to a stream during the special winter season and the whole sight seemed rather ridiculous.  Did I mention it's May?

Then,  I arrived at the stream.  And it was perfect.  High but within the banks.  Clear, but with some color.  Not muddy.  Good visibility for flies; but, just enough color to help conceal me from the fish.

I assembled the fly rod.  Then, moved the strike indicator to the proper location on the leader.  Today, I would fish with a gold-bead prince nymph with a small caddis pupa dropped below it.  Unweighted, other than the bead-head on the prince.  5X to the prince.  6X to the caddis pupa.  It looked good.  I had the place to myself.  Wonderful.

I approached the first bend pool and noticed a large rock midstream breaking the current.  Just upstream of it was a nice feature... wood.  A small tree had fallen into the stream and lay across the bend a few feet below the surface.  A good riffle dumped into the pool.  I approached carefully, measured my cast, and stripped line from the Abel.  I carefully placed the first few casts upstream from the tree--with the thought I would drift over it and by the time I passed it the flies would be at depth when they drifted along the midstream rock.  It worked.  The indicator darted between the wood and the rock; and, the first fish of the day was on.  A beautiful, wild, driftless area brown trout.  Then some more casts, same as before; and another fine trout of similar size--about 10 inches.  But, as I made more casts there were no longer more trout.  I headed upstream.

I picked up a couple more browns in each of the next two spots.  The stream improvements looked great and the fish were using them.  TU really got this stream right.  As I approached one of the improved riffles, a large fish moved out from the shoreline rocks and into the riffle.  It pushed a wake from the eddy it was holding in all the way through the riffle until it finally sunk into the head of the pool.  Only a very large trout could do that.  And my imagination ran wild with the thought of a 25 inch  plus trout in the area.  But since I spooked it I wasn't hopeful of catching it--trout that big don't get that size by being stupid.  And surely the spooked beast knew exactly what I was up to.  So, I eyed a nice, long, spring-creek-ooze-of-a-run upstream.  It was the kind of monolithic current that looks stagnant if it weren't for the random boils that would appear, indicating its flow. A great blue heron was hunting along its shoreline.  But soon, he conceded his fishing spot to the catch-and-release angler.  

I couldn't do wrong in this run.  About every 3 casts yielded a take... for the next hour and a half.  The fish ranged in size up to 13 inches; but, averaged a respectable 10-11 inches.  A perfect spot.  Mostly midges were coming off the water; however, the trout weren't too into them.  A few rises now and then; but, most of the action was happening below the surface.  All the takes were on the small green caddis pupa.  I imagine the flies were fishing about half way down or somewhere in the intermediate depths.  The trout were really locked into this presentation.

All told I must have hooked 30-40 trout in the two and a half hours I was on the stream.  I landed at least two dozen, though I wasn't really counting.  An hour into it my temperament soon synced with the pace of the stream.  The slow, laid back ooze of the spring creek.  The twitch of the indicator.  The sound of the great blue heron flying over.  The chattering pair of osprey perched above the stream.  The newly arrived warblers busy on the ground turning over leaves in search of food.  The swirl of midges above the stream.  The occasional mayfly.  The swoosh of a swallow. The riffle bubbling downstream.  A lone gunshot in the distance indicating a successful spring turkey hunt.  And a whole lotta trout.  I'm reminded why trout fishing is such a healthy addiction.

Ahhhh, dreams every now and then do come true... and the reality can only be made possible by putting in the effort.  

Single Handed Spey Carp? You Betcha!

Another day in carp paradise... Air temperatures today got above 80 degrees F. for the first time this year.  The carp were scattered about nicely on the shallow flats rooting around and soaking up the rays. Sight-casting large sparrow nymphs proved to be an effective method.  But, a strong downstream wind made casting difficult.  Forget about roll casting. Double-haul... maybe, but the fish were close in, there was brush all around, and not enough head of fly-line would be out to generate proper line speed (I may be the only person who carp fishes with a steelhead taper).  This meant one thing... single handed spey casting for carp.  The technique proved perfect for obtaining the line speed needed for firing out large nymphs into a 25 mph cross wind, all the while hitting the target... laid up carp on the flats (those dark shapes milling about under wavelets).

The single handed spey cast went something like this:  roll cast the fly to a right hand dangle, double spey, splash and go.  The nymph shot through the wind with ease and landed across the stream like it was fired out of a cannon.  But at times, the gusts were so strong even the spey cast would need a little extra oomph to cut it... in these cases a turbo spey cast came in handy (basically haul as you splash and go on the spey cast).  The line speed generated by the single handed turbo spey was nuts and a misplaced cast had knock-out potential.

The pod of carp I was casting to was happy and after a couple casts the first fish was on.  Not a monster but a nice one to start the day.  It's always fun to see the nymph in the mouth and not attached elsewhere... only then can you say "He ate it!"

Then, just a few casts later a little fella decided to join in.  The smaller carp don't have the gold coloring the big boys do.  Instead, in their own striking way, they are pale... almost silver; and, have colorful fin tips (usually orange or red).  They fight different to... much more like conventional gamefish with all the flash, speed, and comotion you would expect from a bass. At this size, they are only starting to get that "big diesel" stamina of their larger brethren.  

And, speaking of larger brethren... the next fish was an absolute hog--nearly as big around as it was long.  I didn't measure it but it seemed a good foot wide across the back and roughly 30 inches long.  It took an eternity to bring this one in as it maxed out the 8 wt.  and stayed deep the entire fight.  At times I wondered if I had a 20-30 pound flathead on.  All I could do was use smart rod angles and let the rod wear down the fish.  An utter tank this one... and I think it would have kicked a 10 wt.'s arse just the same.

"Big Diesel"

I was really made up over that fish.  I couldn't imagine a repeat performance... and then it happened.  I went from an eternal fight with "Big Diesel" to having "The Rudder" eat the fly.  Now I'm hooked up with a fish every bit as long; and, streamlined as hell... plus it had a massive tail thrusting it in every direction showing no respect for the 8 wt.  Rod angles shmod angles... this fella made his own rules.  The power from this fish was immense.  Throw in some river current and carp stamina and you have a genuine carp stand-off.  This was the first time fighting a fish I actually wondered about splintering a graphite fly rod... no joke.   Explain to your fishing buddies you blew up an $800 dollar steelhead rod on a carp!  The pull was relentless, strong as hell, and never ending.  But, the key to fighting a big carp is patience, smart rod angles, and using the rod to wear them down.  Eventually, there will be a survivor and "The Rudder" came to shore after what seemed again to be an eternity.          

"The Rudder" - Serious tail on this fish.

 Hard to top those fish.  So, I moved downstream to a couple new spots and flailed away.  The current was nothing more than a slow ooze and the water was rather turbid.  Bigmouth buffalo were everywhere but not in the mood to munch flies.  They are getting closer to the spawn and had love on their minds.  But, the carp were feeding.  In fact some were even rising like trout.  So, I worked the couple foam lines that existed in the slow moving current.  The fish were right up against the far bank.  This was good enough frog water for casting the single handed spey version of the "Perry Poke" cast.  It worked nicely here so long as it was done gently and without a major white mouse slurping across the tranquil pool.  The fly dropped in the current line along the far bank.  A couple sharp, short, strips and I was into it.  A nice little carp had eaten the fly and surfaced immediately.  It was as close to a carp jump one could have had.  A thing of beauty.  The little fella then went on causing all kinds of turmoil in the pool... zig zagging every which way before coming to shore.  A nice change of pace after dueling a couple goliaths.    

Buffalo, Carp, and Antlers

Today was really the first nice weather day of spring... when I hiked back to the "fish mobile" after  buff and carp fishing on fly the temperature read 77 degrees F.  I'll take it.

The three consecutive April snowstorms have finished melting, area lakes are starting to ice out, the recent rains have infiltrated or run off, and water levels on the river rose nicely... without even coming close to flood stage.  The sunshine today proved to warm up the water and get fish actively feeding.

The bigmouth buffalo were spread out in the faster water.  So, that's were I started the day.  Fish were near the head of the run, in the middle, and near the tail-outs.  Fish were also laid up on the inside seams.  Basically, buffs where everywhere.  So, I tied on my trusty size 6 gold bead sparrow nymph to a 1X tippet (the fish didn't seem to be leader shy).     

It took a few casts to learn the current and set up.  But, after figuring out the drifts it wasn't long before  Buff No. 1 snarfed up the tantalizingly undulating sparrow nymph.  Fish on!  The 8 wt bent to its familiar arc right down to the cork.  The head shakes and not-so-neurotic behavior told me it wasn't foul hooked.  I played the fish upstream into the head of the pool to keep the fish from saying "sayonara" to the pool and high-tailing it down into a logjam.  The dogged fight lasted some time and included plenty of down and dirty rod angles picked up from tarpon fishing.  These things just don't quit.

Buff No. 1

After a pic or two, I carefully released the bigmouth and watched it swim forcefully back to the center of the run to sulk and reflect.  Not long after Buff No. 2 joined the party... and it was a nice one.  This fish went straight to the head of the pool on its own, swam around the pool countless times, and frequently rose to the surface to show its size.  Needless to say I was impressed.  The fight on the long rod took time and constant, thoughtful, rod angles to wrangle this fella in.  Finally, it came to shore and I was able to finish the task... get a catch and release photo.

Buff No. 2... a 30-incher?

Buff No. 2 went back into the river in less than polite fashion...  despite my care it doused me head to toe with tail-thrusted river water in a more than enthusiastic departure. But, the buff fishing wasn't over.  Hardly.  A brief lull ensued which may be attributed to fishing pressure (a couple fish caught) or simply just the end of a feeding window.  But, with persistence I was able to observe the fish set back up and turn back on.  Buff No. 3 struck the fly with the most aggressive will of the bunch.  Shooting up from a mid-run lie he dashed about the pool like a fish possessed.  I knew I had something special. The fight was flashier than the others but still had the unrelenting pull associated with buffs.  When Buff No. 3 came to shore I was treated with maybe the most beautiful fish I've caught on fly in a long time.  

Buff No. 3 - A Real Beaut 

Pure gold.  That fish was worth the day right there and I contemplated ending on it.  But, the day was still young and the weather absolutely lovely.  So. I casted on.  And, another Buff came to shore... a real "sucker" for the sparrow nymph.  This fish without doubt took the longest to land today... a proper fighting machine.

Buff No. 4 - Power and Endurance

I should note that the nice weather also brought out the snakes.  Lots of them.  In fact, I had to watch where I was walking to avoid stepping on them along the stream bank.  There were many close calls and some near strikes. But, nonetheless, I like reptiles and was nicely serenaded by their slithering thru leaf litter all day.  It was quite a treat.  And, as the day got hotter, one even decided to go for a swim.  All told, I may have spotted two dozen garter snakes of various sizes today.  This really drove home the fact that the Chinese calendar marks 2013 as the year of the snake.  I'm a believer and I switched to carp fishing.

The carp were holding in much different water than the buffs today.  Last week, they shared their homes with each other... but today there was a definite split.  The carp were laid up across a shallow flat soaking up the sun.  On occasion I would see them turn in the current so they were definitely feeding as well.  This became a sight fishing treat akin to flats fishing for redfish or bonefish.  

With a couple double hauls (actually a few... the line was so gritty from mud it took an extra false cast to get it going) I dropped the sparrow nymph into the unsuspecting pod of fish.  It wasn't long and Carp No. 1 was on.  A thin common carp of about 25 inches; but, a decent unforgiving fighter nonetheless.

Carp No. 1 - Got em right in the kisser.

Carp No. 2 came shortly thereafter... like the next cast.  He completely bum-rushed the fly.  The fight was dogged to the max.  The fish fought mostly in front of me out to midstream. It stayed deep nearly the whole time and showed itself rarely.  This went on for an eternity it seemed.  My patience was finally being tested by the carp.  When the fish came to my feet I reached down to handle it.   And, it started fighting all over again.  This became a ritual repeated a few times.  Then, I had it finally... I thought.  I grabbed the tippet and guided the fish in.  As I reached down for the fish with one hand on the leader it decided it wasn't done yet (how?!).  And, with a solid head shake the tippet snapped and Carp No. 2 and my sparrow nymph went bye-bye.  Dang.

So, on went a Marabou Crazy Charlie.  This fly has been sitting patiently in my fly box for over a decade.  Last fished in Key West for bonefish and baby barracuda.  But, it made sense.  The carp were still podded up on the flat... just like bones and creating nervous water from time to time.  The bead chain eyes weren't too heavy.  The fly dropped gently along the edge of the pod.  A few strips into it and the line went tight... mega tight.  I strip-striked.  It tugged back and shot across the flat in the stream. I lifted the rod and the fight was on.  The carp of the day, Carp No. 3, went psy on the bonefish fly.  The fight basically went all over the place and I was reminded how strong a substantial carp is.  Time ensued.  My arm at this point was beginning to quiver under the weight.  And, finally after a very impressive fight Carp No. 3 came to shore.

Carp No. 3 - Beast mode.

Content with the catch, I decided to scout some new water and do a little exploring.  A couple more pools became filed away as mental notes.  Ducks of various species were paired and swimming about on the stream.  A kayaker steamed ahead upstream on the main river.  A wonderful day.  And, on the hike out a nice 5 point antler shed poked out thru the leaf litter putting a nice cap on the day.

Footnote: I also incidentally hooked and quickly landed two northern pike of about 10 and 7 pounds respectively.  Both fish were prespawn females loaded with eggs.  These fish are out of season and off-limits.  I didn't remove either fish from the water, quickly removed the fly, and turned them back instantly without snapping a photo.  They were fantastic fish and great specimens; but, at this time of year MUST be immediately landed and released.  The time for even a photo would simply be wrong. 

Buffalo Soldier

The recent 8 inches of snow is melting rapidly... and there was a brief period today to get out and beta test some new flies before the spring rains arrive later today.  I didn't know what to expect on today's outing and had no expectation other than conducting a carp recon mission.  However, when I arrived at my spot after a squishy hike in I noticed the stream in good condition.  I didn't spot any fish and started out blind casting.  Confidence was low and the depression of a late spring had me down.  Then, mid-drift, my line jumped and I strip-striked.... bottom.  I thought.  When the snag released my fly came back with a quarter sized scale on it.  Yes!!! The fish are here!  The recon-, cabin fever-, whatever-you-want-to-call-it- mission just got serious.  Then, I started to see the fish.  The snowmelt and light rain was bringing them in good.  The stream had as many anadromous roughfish in it as the Alaskan streams I used to fish had humpies and chums.  Winter is officially over.

Some truly monsterous buffalo were finning midstream.  The run was loaded with them.  And as the day went on the carp began to supplement them... then, outnumber them.  Pike where stacked up in the margins.  The stream set-up was a beautiful sight.

I cast with renewed hope and expectation.  My technical casting and line management kicked in now there was something to play for.  Each cast landing on the seams.  And then, the first fish took the beta "peacock carp comet" I whipped up last weekend.  Fish on!   After a bulldog fight the first fish came to the stream bank.  A beautiful, native, bigmouth buffalo.

The new "peacock carp comet" has been validated.  But, as any roughfisher knows these are the smartest fish that swim.  Do you think I'd get another on the same fly?  Hell no!  After casting fruitlessly after that I got nothing; and, the biggest of buffalo and carp would simply fin away.  So, I cut off the "peacock carp comet" and switched to my other prototype fly... the "black death carp comet".

Two casts into it this beauty rose off the bottom and smacked the fly moments after it landed on the water.  The take was insanely aggressive.

Again, understanding that these truly are the smartest fish that swim (if you don't believe me take a look at that carp's eye... pure intelligence there in that pupil) do you think I would catch another on the same fly?  Well, I hooked one but it was a small carp that came off streamside... the whole experience of that was rather lame since I was watching some ducks zooming up the stream and happened to notice my fly stopped.  After the spit hook, I continued to cast the "black death carp comet" to no avail.  So, I cut it off and put on a "gold-bead sparrow nymph".  Time to get real.

First cast with that one and wham-o!  Another nice broad shouldered fella for the 8wt.  Damn, these fish are so smart and cool on the fly!

I've caught a fair amount of carp with the hook stuck just outside the mouth.  I 'm convinced this happens when setting the hook right as the fish ejects the fly.

First thought after this last fish would be to change flies.  But, the "sparrow" looked too dang good in the water and the last take was sooo dang aggressive to abandon.  Plus, this carp took the first cast!  Can't give up on it now, I thought.  And, a few casts later Mr. Buffalo decided to join in....

I have to say the buffalo is high up on the coolness scale.  These things look like permit when they're hooked and finning.  Their fin structure when you're fighting them is so cool.  And then, when you get them ashore... you see their light colored bodies with black fins (tails reminiscent of those on a fresh run Alaskan coho!) combined with the demonic look of black eyes.  Dang.  I am completely sold on buffalo.

The significant rains started to come down at this point and the rain gear was getting its workout.  The more the rain fell the more fish trickled into the run I was fishing.  The fish were starting to lose that "hotness" they had earlier.  But, I stuck with the sparrow.  Nothing was swinging on retrieves anymore.  So, I decided to dead drift the nymph pattern through the fish and deal with the frequent snags.  Shortly after, this guy rooted up the sparrow nymph on its drift and offered yet another fantastic fight in the current.

What a wonderful fish to end the day on, I thought.  These broad shouldered native beauties offered respectable fight and used their shoulders and shape perfectly in the current.  Even this smaller buffalo was every bit worthy of the 8 wt.

Roughfish on the fly got off to a great start today.  The prototypes have been fish-proven; and, I have some tying to do.