Category Archives: Fishing Reports

Farmington River Report 6/9/14: Patience is a virtue

I guided John and his son Mike on the Farmington River for a full day of wet fly fishing. If you live in Connecticut, I don’t need to tell you that it was a dank, rather gloomy day. We had lots of fog and about two hours of a cold rain. Water in the upper end of the river was running at 360cfs and was 51 degrees. There was just a hint of stain to the water.

John materializes out of the mists. No, really. If you look closely you can see him in the center of the river.

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To the fishing: well, it was one of those days where you had to work hard for every trout. We drew a blank at the first spot. The second was a little kinder; we rigged for a deep, short line wet presentation and both father and son hooked up. Downstream a ways, Mike lost a nice fish that hit on the swing. Spot C was unresponsive to our offerings. By now it was early afternoon, and we started to see a few size 16 BWOs (for the most of the morning it was a caddis and midges, though not in any great numbers). Off to the last spot of the day, and that’s when things got interesting. John and Mike had been fighting the good fight for hours with little to show. A little help from Mother Nature, please? Yes. A few more caddis, a building olive hatch, and then some creamy mayflies, about a size 12-14. For the first time all day, we had consistent risers.

John netted this stunning brown on a size 16 Partridge and Olive. Well done, sir.

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Just when the going got good, I had to get going. So much for my brilliant plan to stay after the gig and fish. Not to worry, Father and son carried on quite nicely for a few more hours. Great job today, guys, in some very tough conditions.

Mike presenting up and across to a couple fish that were taking emergers along a seam. Sadly, they weren’t taking Mike’s flies. No worries. He knows where they live.

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Farmington River report 6/4/14: The return of the hat

Since yesterday’s outing was cut short by cloudburstus interruptus, I returned to the river today to finish the job. A quick in-and-out session before I had to go pick up the kids. Oh. And I had the hat this time. Much better. Life is beautiful. All is as it should be. Spot A was a 100-yard snotty pocketed run that proved to be a treacherous wade (the river came up slightly from last night’s rain, but was running clear). I managed two rainbows and two browns as I swung wets along its length. The size 16 black caddis were massed again, but there were no risers that I could see. Plenty of midges in the air, and a few stray small tan caddis. If you’ve ever taken my classes, or heard my “Wet Flies 101” presentation, you know I preach that absent any hatch activity or actively feeding fish, move, cover water, and present your flies in the most likely holding water. If you want to catch more trout on wets, I cannot emphasize this enough. All four fish came in different sections; all came because I was willing to wade and cover water. Another commonality was that all four took the point fly, a tungsten bead head soft-hackle Pheasant Tail, on the mended swing.

I made one more stop. It’s 50-yard section of river that I haven’t fished in at least five years. Once I remembered where the cafeteria line is, I came tight to a rainbow who thought he was a steelhead. One sky-high aerial, a bit of deep sulking, then another aerial before he spit the hook.

Not a bad way to spend 90 minutes in the mid-day June sun.

Where were you yesterday when I needed you?

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Farmington River Mini Report 6/3/14: All for the lack of a hat

Fished the Farmington from 3pm to about 7:30pm. Today’s mission was to hit a bunch of spots I haven’t fished in a long time, swing some wets, anticipate a strong evening hatch, and hope the trout were looking up. Things started poorly when I forgot my fishing hat. I mean, I need my fishing hat. My head felt naked. Exposed. It just wasn’t right. Serves me right for wearing it to Sunday’s soccer games, then taking it into the house (the hat stays in the truck when not in use. Idiot.) Spot A was a run that dumps into a deep pool. Swarms of mating black caddis (size 16) everywhere. No hits. I was surprised. Moved down to a second run where I scored Rainbowzilla. He took a size 10 soft-hackled bead head Pheasant Tail on a dead drift. This guy went straight to the reel and peeled off twenty feet of line. Just as I was netting him, he popped off. My rig flew into a tree. Lost it trying to retrieve it. I blame the lack of a hat. Motored off to a tricky wade where I was sure I’d get into trout. Nope. Just juvenile salmon. Two of them. A hundred yards down, hard against a bank, is a deeper-than-you-think little run. Same drill: dead drift, second mend, and I’m on with Son of Rainbowzilla, another some-teen inch brute. Unlike the first rainbow, this one had been in the river for a year. Deep pink lateral band, fatter than Mama Cass, and flawless paddle fins. Netted him, then lost him when he leapt from the net as I readied the camera, snapping off the bottom two flies on my team of wets. This bad mojo is clearly what comes to those who are foolish enough to leave their hat at home. The next two runs involved a lot of walking for absolutely no catching (have I mentioned that I forgot my hat?). Ended up at a place where I was sure the late afternoon transition into evening would bring a substantial hatch of Light Cahills or Sulfurs. Instead, I got a picking-up-breeze and ominous clouds …but nonetheless, some trout willing to jump on. I took two more rainbows in a half hour. Then the heavens opened up. Just when I was saying, “OK, time to go” out loud, bam! A nice wild brown. All three fish again took the point fly, a simple bead head, plain rabbit fur fuzzy nymph — only every take was on the swing. I got totally soaked on the way back to the car.

I really wouldn’t have gotten so wet if I’d had my fishing hat on.

A bronze totem from the wild tribe. He’s the reason I took such a good soaking. Thanks, friend.

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These simple white flowers are all over the river. They have dark and light blue cousins, too.

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Hiking through the hills carrying a stick

I picked a cool, grey day last week to visit a stream in another state nearly three hours from my house. The water appeared to be on the low side of medium, and the brookies were looking up. While the subsurface downstream wet was effective — particularly in deeper pools and runs — the dry was eagerly and wantonly attacked by the local natives. I started off with a size 16 Improved Sofa Pillow, then switched over to a size 14 Ginger Elk Hair Caddis. On the way down, I used a black mini bugger and an ICU Sculpin. The cigar of the day was a Sancho Panza Belicoso. Delicious! Here are a few mementos from my adventure.

Contrary to popular belief, sometimes it is easy being green.

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This was a highly productive set of pools. I am always intrigued by the number of fish that can occupy any given area. Population density here was impressive.

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I often get to the point where I wonder,”how many photos of wild brook trout do I really need to take?” So I’ll try to ruthlessly edit my potential subject material. It needs to be a fish that stands out from the crowd in some way, whether its size, color, spirit, etc. What caught my eye on this particular fish was the clarity of its lateral line.

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More of those “nature finds a way” plants that insist on proving that a boulder is a fine place to work and live.

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The point of release. Playing around here with a slower shutter speed. I like the static distortion of the water near head and tail. Big pectoral fins for a char that size.

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Farmington River report 5/30/14: Persistence pays off

Despite two strong caddis hatches, yesterday was a slow day on the Farmington River for swinging wets. I guided Jerry and Steve, and both of them did a great job presenting their wares over likely holding water. We fished hard and long, but in the end, the trout just weren’t in the mood to play. On a positive note, both guys got into trout, and the weatherman totally kicked the forecast (“numerous rain showers/thunderstorms, heavy at times” — it was sunny most of the day, and we had only one five minute-long sprinkle). Water was running cold (about 50 degrees) and 482cfs in the upper TMA. In addition to the caddis, we saw some size 16 BWOs, charcoal and cream midges, and one big honkin’ stonefly.

Stream-side meadow wildflowers, 11:30am

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Late afternoon, we saw a trout rise in about two feet of water. Steve put some casts over him, and a few minutes later he was playing tug-of-war.

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Steve’s co-conspirator, a halo-spotted wild brown. He took a size 10 soft-hackled bead head Pheasant Tail.

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Walking through the woods carrying a stick

A bit of a late start this morning. At 10:15am I was making haste into the woods through a phalanx of poison ivy. It was already sweltering, even below the canopy. Midges swarmed me. But I only had one cigar, a short robusto, and it would have to wait. The game plan was upstream dry, then downstream wet. In addition to the aforementioned midges, there were little black stones, some creamy mayflies, and (always) regrettably, mosquitos. Summer can’t be far off, for the sulphus had also made an appearance; I saw two spinners captured in spider webs. While the air was steamy, the brook was cool 61 degrees and running at an ideal height.

Never eat anything bigger than your head. This little guy made seven attempts at the fly before succeeding on the eighth.

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Today’s dry was a size 16 Improved Sofa Pillow, and after a slow start, the brookies began to show themselves in earnest. Pricked far more than I landed, but that was just fine with me. Mostly smaller fish in the mix, although I did land a titan of a wild brown. As usual, there were a few runs were I had no takes on the dry that left me scratching my head. I made note of those pools for the return trip. Halfway up the stream, I decided my patience with the nuisance gnats was at an end. Wonderful thing, a cigar. You introduce its tip to flame, and the entire universe of winged insects ignores you.

Why a small piece of fluorescent green chenille tied to a hook works so well on a small stream. Dozens of these dangling from trees everywhere.

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On the way back downstream, I didn’t do as well subsurface as I thought I would. But I still managed to get into plenty of char. Three hours was about all I had in my tank (today’s word should have been “hydration”) so I called it at 1:15pm. A shower beckoned. Besides, I needed to try out that poison ivy soap my wife put in my stocking last Christmas.

This breathtaking wild brown absolutely hammered the dry. She was so powerful she momentarily put herself on the reel, peeling off a foot of line into the bargain. 

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The sulphur hatch has started. This spinner was still squirming in the web when I walked by.

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I spent a good chunk of time yesterday planting hydrangeas, amending the soil, taking out all manner of rocks and pebbles so my shrubs would have a nice home. What a kick in the groin to find plants growing green and strong on top of boulders. This gives new meaning to the phrase “rock garden.” Once again, nature finds a way.

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“We can’t catch a break.”

This just in from Farmington River Anglers Association president Drew Butler: “Sorry guys, but I just received word they are bumping the release from the dam back up to 500 from the current 330 cfs level. Combined with the slowly dropping Still River the total flows through the upper TMA will be back over 800 again. We can’t catch a break lately. I was kayaking on Hogsback Reservoir on Sat and you would not believe the amount of water coming directly into the reservoir from the surrounding hills.”

(This is where we join in a rather large collective sigh.)

Swing shift

As the Farmington rages (again) at a million cfs, we fondly recall Thursday, when the flows in the upper TMA were a very wadeable 460, the water temperature was 50, and the anglers swinging wets were two.

I had the pleasure of instructing two old friends, Gary and Joe, in Wet Flies 101. I don’t use the “p” word as a throw-away adjective; both were strong casters and anglers and they made my job about as easy as it gets. We began the day under a gloomy overcast and dense fog banks. Hatch activity was nil. The fishing was only slightly better; Gary had the hot hand early, and since Joe was fishing well I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t having more action other than being, as they say in soccer, unlucky.

Gary hooks up on the swing.

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Hello, my little yellow friend.

 

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After a steady late morning rain, we agreed we had beaten the water to pieces, and decided to head upriver. Run A proved unproductive. I hemmed and hawed about where to go next; every once in a while I get lucky, and off we went to Run B. Ding-ding-ding! That was the dinner bell ringing for a good 2:30pm showing of BWOs. Once the hatch started, so did the bite. Gary got into some active feeders, then suddenly Joe was on fire, hooking up multiple times.

We often wish each other well with, “tight lines.” Joe turns our fondest hopes into reality.

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The fish, a beautiful Survivor Strain brown, bathed in reflected light and liquid elements.

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After Gary and Joe’s session ended, I decided I deserved a little wet fly time. The run I wanted to fish was occupied, so I made a few unproductive casts at its head before venturing a few hundred yards upriver. WHACK! on the dangle below me, a substantial rainbow that strenuously objected to being brought to net. A few more customers, then one last brown on the mended swing, netted as the smoke from my El Rey del Mundo curled upward into the windless sky.

A good way to end the day. Some intriguing marking on this fish, from haloed orange dots to married black splotches.

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Avoiding crowds, finding fish

You would have thought it was the weekend on the Farmington River Upper TMA. Mobs of anglers everywhere, eager to get their Hendrickson hatch on. Fortunately, Carl and his son Joel wanted to brush up on their wet fly technique today, so we were able to play keep-away from most of the crowd.  We found two spots that were not only productive, but also without another angler in sight. Both Carl and Joel are experienced fly anglers who took to the wet fly like they’ve been doing it for years.

Carl with a good bend in the rod. He worked hard for that fish — well done, sir.

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Things got a little weird from the get-go. How about Hendrickson egg layers swarming at 9:30am, and a spinnerfall at 11am? Never seen that before. We found dozens of active risers that proved a challenge to hook. Both Carl and Joel solved the puzzle, though, and we were off to a strong start.

A handful of spinners. Scads of them in the film this morning.

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We buzzed around the Upper TMA before ending the day on a section of river that rarely gets fished. Another good Hendrickson hatch, but this time precious little feeding on it. We still managed to get into fish.

Here’s Joel, net at the ready, about to savor another trout he put some serious time into fooling. Some fish don’t come easy, but when they do come, how sweet it is.

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Today’s runaway favorite fly was a size 10 bead head soft-hackle Pheasant Tail. River was medium high at 575cfs, noon water temperature of 53 degrees. Glorious sunshine, solitude, and two fly fishermen that are now officially dangerous wet fly swinging machines. Thanks again, guys. You made my job an easy one.

Partake in this madness? Fuggedaboutit. We found our pleasures in water no one was fishing.

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Farmington River conditions: down she comes

This in from FRAA President (and dry fly angler extraordinaire) Drew Butler:  “Just received notice that they are reducing flows to 300cfs from the dam, dropping it from the 880cfs that it has been for the last few days. Total flows through the upper TMA will be below 500cfs for the first time in a while. Yesterday brought a fair BWO hatch along with a few Hendricksons and Quill Gordons. The water temp had dropped from 52oF down to 48oF so the fish were not as active on the surface. Still managed a half dozen or so on top, all on some form of Hendrickson emerger before it quit around 5 or so. There was a decent spinner fall on Wed. and I expect that the spinners will just get better as the temps warm up early next week. Time to break out the size 12 rusty egg-sac spinners!!”

In case you’ve never heard of Drew, he holds the current (and still growing) record for consecutive months catching a trout on a dry fly. I’m not sure where he’s at, but it’s well over 100. You do the math.

I would also expect the Mahogany Duns to begin making an appearance. For those of us who love swinging wets, this can be a productive afternoon hatch. Try a February Red, size 16-18.

The February Red. This is a size 12, so shrink it down for the paralepts.

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