I don't think my post yesterday really did justice to the feeling I have left over from yesterday, so I decided to make a real post about the day - not shortened and cheapened by "I'll let the photos do the talking". If you want to see the photos, see
this post.
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After what turned into a hectic and emotionally draining week I was excited at the prospect of doing a little exploring, spending some time outside, and most of all fishing a spot I hadn't fished since the winter with someone I had never fished with before. It was promising to be a fun day - if not a successful one, fishing wise. I did have a backup plan, but it was a little mundane and safe.
Foulhooked showed up at our secret meeting spot (my house) right on time - about 9am - and we did the obligatory hand shake and first time meeting stuff. As I prepared to get going, he loaded the bed of my truck with his gear and we were off, heading slightly north toward some private property owned by my family. I had some slight nervousness about this trip as I was dragging someone I had never met in person, let alone fished with, on a trip that could prove to be completely fishless. Afterall, I'd never caught fish where we were going but had only tried in the winter.
We stopped at a few bridge crossings where I had been denied on many occasions by "dumb" stocked trout to see if any had survived the heat, water, and locals that come and fish for dinner (nothing wrong with that, just means that you have to hit the spots early in the season). Nothing was rising and instead of spending time fishing from a bridge where there might not be fish we decided to just move on to where we had access to more water that also may not have fish.
Once we got there, we were both quickly out of the truck and getting ready. He put on his wading boots and I decided to hold off, hoping that there was a little bit of shore that wasn't completely inundated with brush so that I didn't have to don the leaky waders and potentially go for a swim.
I dunno about FH, but I was really excited at the prospect of
Brookus Bassa and potentially discovering a hidden treasure and a "secret" spot (Ok, its not so secret, others have fished it, but not fly rodders) to share with good friends who've shared their spots with me. As we hiked down into where I had decided we should start, we talked about city fishing and I gave him the general layout of the land, and some history behind it. The whole time I'm planning my attack, trying to remember every rock, fallen tree, undercut bank, and grassy structure from 6 months prior - the last time I had been there.
We got to the bottom, crawled through the brush to get to a rocky spot with easy access. I was first to wet my line, anxiously dropping whatever I had on at the time (I think it was an olive green rubber legged woolly bugger) into the water and jigging it. I quickly realized that the color and clarity of the water wasn't even as good as it had been over the winter. Milky tea seemed to be what I'd describe it as, though some may say chocolate milk. Visibility was low, and my hopes began to dwindle...
Somewhere in his first few casts, FH hooked up with a nice fish and I quickly reeled in and ran over to take a photo
I was surprised at the fight it put up, really using the current to its advantage. We were both surprised at the size - I think both of us expected fish in the 4 to 6" range, maybe a few sunfish, but not a nice, 10" smallmouth. This was starting off well.
I kept fishing there, but eventually got curious and walked a hundred feet downstream through god-knows-what (no rashes, so far) only to slip and almost go for a swim. Mean while, I hear splashing and FH has another fish, about the same size. I couldn't scramble over fast enough to get a photo of that. I guess he got one more fish - a baby around 4" (really what we expected out of this spot) but I totally missed that one.
We walked further down stream, only to find no real shore access and no fish. We didn't waste a lot of time - just wanted to test the water. It wasn't productive, so we headed back to put a few more casts in the first hole we went to.
After a few fly changes, I gave up and put on a clouser - Dove Grey and White - and threw it out there. I had a hunch I needed to dredge the bottom and what I had been using wasn't heavy enough.
First couple of drifts and I had my first fish on... a baby 4"'er. OK, skunk is off, and that's a good thing. A couple of casts later, while I was dead drifting my fly through a seam, it stopped and my line kept going. I thought it was a rock, but when I lifted my rod to either break off or dislodge it, it moved... violently running out into faster current and running a good distance down stream. FH had moved up stream toward the base of the falls to look for pools but I must have yelled loud enough because he turned around and watched while I fought the fish. It was big - too big for me to strip in and big enough that I was worried about the 6lb test leader I had on. This was a moment, for me. It was a big fish, it was bulldogging, and I had no idea what it was. It made long runs and never jumped - not like any smallmouth I've dealt with before, plus it pulled like a freight train. I fought it for what seemed like an eternity and after its 6th or 7th run, taking line each time, it began to roll around near the surface. I quickly reeled it in and although it tried to run again, I managed to get it under control.
There it was, one of the biggest bass I'd ever caught, out of a small stream in very dirty water in a place I'd only been skunked at. I finally did something that I hadn't ever done before - gone into a spot on a small river where I hadn't talked to anyone about fishing it and caught fish. Not only fish, but a healthy, firm, 14+ inch smallmouth that really put up an incredible fight. I'll never forget it.
I also almost dropped my camera in the water twice and slipped on the rocks as I fumbled around to lip the fish so I could safely control it.
The next time I had my composure and was ready. These bass weren't the hard hitting big river bass I was used to - they were small stream bass that acted more like brown trout. I dead drifted the fly a few more times and eventually had another hook up. This fish was smaller, but still fought well and had several runs.
I managed that artsy shot between the 1st and 2nd run, I think. This fish went off with less drama but no less excitement. I had figured the hole out - and it was exciting. FH had figured it out before me, and thats ok. I still consider it myself figuring it out because I didn't have someone over my shoulder giving me technical instructions. I was left to my own devices with a few hints from where FH had caught fish and managed to work it out.
Shortly after FH worked his way back down, reporting he had caught two babies in pools just off the bottom of the falls and dropped his line in our honey spot one more time. To both of our surprises (I didn't realize it until he told me later), a Walleye decided it liked his fly and he caught his first Walleye in many years.
Shortly after, we continued on to my normal spot. Ironic as it was, I couldn't catch a fish - or put him on fish - in the spot I have thoroughly explored and considered to have figured out. He caught one - smaller than what we had been catching in that small stream. The lightning rolled in and in order to avoid ending the day with a trip to the ER (or morgue) we headed in. It had been a good day, we had discovered "new" water, and hopefully we'll be able to fish it and other places again some time.
Here's to small stream warm water fishing. My new passion, and something that reinvigorated my fly fishing life. Find a small stream, throw a small streamer at them, and see what you can scare up. You might be surprised.
I was disappointed at their lack of local brewers choices (we have several very local brewerys, none of which were on their list) but still happy to see quite a few semi-local and other Microbrews listed. I ended up going with a traditional Irish Ale to match my Fish and Crisps dinner (correct for Ireland, by the way. Its fish and chips in England.) Since I'm Irish by marriage I typically like to eat like it when I'm out. Pronounce the beer name correctly. Its not Smith-wicks. Its Smitticks. Say it after me. Smitt-icks. Now that you know, NEVER mispronounce it.
We started with Irish Quesadilla's, a folded tortilla filled with Goat Cheese, Cheddar, Chicken, and Onions. Whatever they did to it - it was fantastic. Enough that instead of eating it all there, we saved half of it so we could have it the next day for lunch. My Fish and Crisps were pretty real. You had a choice of French Fries, Potato Chips (Traditional), or Cottage Cheese. I went with the Potato Chips and was pretty happy to find that they were made on premise. The Fish was 3/4 of a pound of Haddock Fillet Battered in a Bass Ale based batter. To top it off, they serve it with Malt Vinegar and Tar Tar Sauce that is mixed on site. Really, its a simple meal but my god, they actually did it right. No frozen, pre-battered fish substance, no packaged french fries, just real, good, food.
My wife got the Vermonter Sandwich and unfortunately, I can't remember everything that was on it. I think it was Grilled Chicken topped with Vermont Cheddar Cheese, Granny Smith Apple Slices, and sautéed onions. Hers was served with Sweet Potato fries and their in-house made Melba (raspberry) sauce.
