It had been about 10 days since my last run to the water and I was in need of a chance to wet a line. I spent a long day working in NY knowing that my evening would be spent knee deep in a productive pool of cool water. As I reminded myself that I did not need to set a land speed record to get back home, I pulled into the worn dirt patch and was surprised to see no other cars. Changing out of a suit on the side of the road while trying not to get said suit dirty is no easy task. Having accomplished this, I geared up, grabbed my 5wt and headed to the water. It was HOT! I was casting in some faster water with only beads of perspiration rolling down my face to show for my efforts. I decided to wander the stream side woods for a bit in hopes of cooling down in the shade. I'm always humored by the randomness of the items that I see as I hike along.
I understand that storm runoff and high water level lends to debris being strewn about the river and I could start a show store with the number of sandals and sneakers I have run across - even the occasional car bumper. However, the ladder in the photo above was perplexing. I looked up into the tree and there was nothing above the would suggest someone was climbing this tree. Who knows...
I wandered for a solid hour, observing the flows, checking out new spots and cooling off. I headed toward my final destination for the evening and again, nobody around. I was beginning to think I missed the memo that the River was closed for the day.
Over the last couple of years, in part due to my individual learning curve and also from fishing with some folks who have amazing skills, I have learned to look at all sorts of water and not neglect areas that I assume would not hold fish. As I crossed the river, I took a moment to blindly cast to an area near the far bank. Landing my fly just into a tiny foam line, the 3rd cast was taken. Strangely, this fish immediately made an upstream run, right in front of me and my hook became dislodged before I had a chance to reset. No worries though as this continued to reinforce the need to fish all waters.
As I carefully waded upstream, there were a few sporadic rises and, appearing on the opposite bank, a spin fisherman set up virtually across from me. Given that there was no one else around, I moved jsut downstream of him and settled in for a bit. Again, as the rises were sporadic, I felt like a sniper, attempting to pick off single targets as they appeared. I figured that this would be a difficult endeavor as the fish might be a bit more discriminating as they fed. Two false casts and a release to target...short drift...bam!
Reload and acquire next target...a couple false casts, oh no...the dreaded belly...hold on just another couple feet...bam!
|the pipe dream|
It's grown darker and the rises have begun to increase in numbers however, I cannot key in to what the fish are taking. I went big, I went small, Attractors, Emergers, Spinners...nothing. I had fallen into my basketball philosophy...I never leave the court having missed my last shot. So here I was, total darkness, casting to picky fish. I tied on a sz 14 Adams Parachute and continued to cast away. Luckily some of the rises were close enough that I could still see my fly and after a number of passes, a solid take occurred.
This fish was a bully. I was not expecting to see what I ended up bringing to net as this was yet another surprise offered up by the Farmington.
|one of my larger Farmy brookies|
|my last shot|