Tag Archives: Farmington River report

Farmington River Report 6/11/14: The evening rise is on

Speaking of seasons, ’tis the time to break out ye olde bamboo dry fly rod and cast to trout feeding on sulphurs.

I started out swinging wets on the lower river at 4:30pm. Several hatches were underway, including sulphurs and March Browns. Not a riser to be seen, which may explain why, to my astonishment, I blanked. I am always surprised when I don’t catch anything on wets during a hatch. This was mighty humbling.

Although I love the wet fly, and am an avid practitioner of the ancient art, I do have a soft spot for the dry. After giving the lower river a  half hour, I headed for dry fly water in the upper TMA. At 5:30pm, there were already two anglers in position. I moved to the head of the pool, not an ideal location due to several murderous current seams, eddies, and water that sped along in one place while languishing in another. This would require a series of complex tactical mends to get a good drift. That was fine with me. We like a challenge at Currentseams.

Dense fog blanketed the water (353cfs, and a chilly 52 degrees). A decent rise during the first emergence (sulphurs, March Browns) from 5:30pm-7pm. I was rusty. I dropped the first six trout I hooked. The action waned from 7pm-7:30pm, then picked up again (sulphurs, March Browns, grey caddis, BWOs). I finally got my mojo back, and landed every trout I hooked until 9pm when I called it.

Moonrise through the fog over the Farmington. When I took this shot a little after 9pm, I was the only one in the pool — besides a bazillion bugs and scores of hungry trout.

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I fished three patterns tonight, and caught trout on all of them: size 16 Pale Watery Wingless Wet (treated with Frog’s Fanny and fished on the surface), size 14-16 cream Usual, and a size 10 Light Cahill Catskill once it got dark. I am always amazed that people will leave a pool around 8pm. This time of year, the slot from 8pm-9pm is double-bonus action time. I lost count of the number of trout I landed in that hour. The last two I caught, I couldn’t even see the fly, and the last, not even the rise ring. I just lifted my rod tip and there he was.

My original leader length was 12 feet (6x tapered leader). Once I added three more feet of 6x, I found it a lot easier to get truer drifts.

You haven’t eaten in hours, and now you’re standing by the counter at Five Guys, desperately wanting your burger and fries. Whoever decided to put a big box o’ peanuts (note scoop, encouraging large portions) to  ease the torture of anticipation is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

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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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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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The hatch awards

I had the pleasure of guiding Don and Dave on Monday. Like a lot of people I take out, they were interested in my Wet Flies 101 course. As with last Friday, the day claimed two-out-of-three positive ingredients: lovely weather (blazing, brilliant sunshine), significant hatch activity (caddis, midges, stones, mayflies) — but sadly, not much going on feeding-wise. The guys made the best of it with good spirits and an enthusiasm for learning. Don focused mainly on near-surface presentations like the mended swing, and Dave plumbed the depths with short-line dead drifts. Both methods were right today, as both caught trout. Well done, gentlemen. You are both well on your way to having some terrific days. Water temperature was 44 degrees in the upper TMA. That’s cold for this late in April. We had to get out and warm up every so often.

Man working: Don making some upstream mends, watching his drift like a hawk. Rats! I forgot to get a picture of Dave. My bad.

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They’ll stone you when you’re trying to be so good.

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After we wrapped up, I ventured downstream to see if the H-word was out. Yes, in decent numbers. But due to high, cold water, predators were few and far between. Still managed my first trout of the year on Hendrickson wet, dapping it over a feeding fish. Ker-pow!

Hello, my three-tailed friend. I missed you.

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Farmington River report 3/21/14: It didn’t feel like spring

A sunny day  in late March can be misleading. On Friday, any warmth generated by the sun was fleeting, captured and quickly dispatched by a chilly, gusting wind. The water was only 34 degrees, well below normal for this time of year, lightly stained, and running at 450cfs in the upper TMA. There’s still plenty of snow on the ground that has to melt and become part of the ocean; until that happens, expect cold water.

So, to the fishing. Well, it was what we in the trade call a slow day. Even the guys I spoke to who were fishing shiners were having a tough go of it. I jumped around the river, dedicated to the streamer cause, and the only trout I managed came by accident. I was messing around with the streamer, an articulated white and chartreuse bunny/bugger thing, to see how it looked in the water. Right in front of me, about ten feet away, and this brown rose from the depths and stomped it. Rather lucky than good, but we’ll take it.

Cased caddis everywhere in the last spot I fished. I’m still amazed that a little wormy thing can build a house out of sticks. Please appreciate this photo. My hands and forearms were still cold about a half hour after I took it.

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An occupant. Sorry, little guy, for putting you out on the street. 

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Farmington River Mini Report 9/27/13: Like going into Wisconsin

I had just over two hours on Friday afternoon to scout some locations for Sunday’s gig. So I zipped in and zipped right out again. Speed fishing, if you like. Four different spots, all of which held fish that were eager to jump on the wet fly.

I’ve been seeing some creamy mayflies on the river the last couple weeks. A good size, about a 12, late afternoon. Apparently this fellow has been seeing them, too. 

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As usual, I was fishing a three-fly team of wets. Today’s selection consisted of a size 10 Catskill on top dropper; a size 12 Pale Watery wingless wet in the middle; and a size 12 Hackled March Brown on point. I took trout on every fly. With the most recent stocking just weeks old, I was expecting to find plenty of newly released wards of the state. But no. It was all wild and holdover browns along with a few juvenile salmon sprinkled in.

I did have a curious catch, a silvery brown that looked unlike anything I’ve ever caught in the Farmington. At first its color suggested a juvenile salmon, but when I got it to net I saw that it had a flat tail and the eye/jaw placement of a trout. Few spots, but large and haloed like a brown. Could this be a sea-run trout? The sensible side of my brain said probably not. But the side that likes to dream swirled the notion around and tasted the possibility that it could be.

Notes: cloudy skies, air temps near 70. Water temp 60. A strong Isonychia showing. A few caddis, a few of those creamy mayflies, lots of midges. Little to no surface activity. The water levels are lower than normal; they’re drawing down the dam to complete an every-decade inspection of the pipes.

It’s getting to be peak color time on the Farmington.

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8/14/13 Farmington River Mini-Report

It was a slow day on the river for most of the anglers I spoke to. We were likely done in by the sudden shift in weather and the noon spike of the dam flow (the Upper TMA jumped from 370 to 480cfs; water was lightly stained and 65 degrees). Still, my friend Pete and his brother got into some very nice larger browns in the Upper TMA. As for your humble scribe, I had to be content with a mob of juvenile Atlantic salmon and one lonely rainbow trout. I was committed to the wet fly cause today — I just got an article assignment from American Angler on wets and was hoping to get some good fly-in-trout-mouth shots. Instead, you’ll have to settle for this simple flora-at-dusk portrait:

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Farmington River Report 8/7/13: Foul language and rank stupidity. Plus some trout.

“Hey, you gotta move your @#$%ing truck!”

Clearly, this fishing trip was not starting well.

I had just turned into one of the many dirt pulloffs that border the Farmington River. This particular one holds at least three vehicles. There already was a car in it, facing south. I had been heading north, so the fronts of our respective vehicles were pointing at each other. To leave, we’d each have to back out the way we came in. You know, like you’d do at any gas station.  Rudimentary Driver’s Ed stuff.

I got out and started gearing up. The occupant of the other car was on his cell phone, and from what I could overhear, he wasn’t having a happy conversation. He ended his call, and that’s when he shouted out his unpleasant greeting.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Move your @#$%ing truck!”

“Really? Are you telling me you can’t back out of here?”

More wrathful profanity, and that’s when I realized: disengage. Now. What if he has a gun? What if he comes back with some friends? What if he vandalizes my truck? Sad to say, but that’s the world we live in. I could back out of the pulloff — and potentially, an even uglier scene — simply by acquiescing. Politely. And keep my dignity in the bargain. So I did.

Still, once I got in the water, I couldn’t enjoy it. I kept looking up at the road, waiting to see if my new friend was coming back to look for trouble. Every sound of an approaching car elevated my heart rate. Thankfully, he never returned.

So, what about the fishing? A slow day for swinging wets. Very little hatch activity, but the water was a perfect height at 321cfs and a delightful 64 degrees, ten out of ten for August. I was fishing a Squirrel and Ginger on point, a Drowned Ant in the middle, and a clumsy deer hair wing/head soft-hackle that suggested a drowned hopper or a big stone fly on top. I had several swirls at the big fly, but no takes.

Finally, on the dead drift, the line stalled, I came tight to the fly, and I had a good fish on. I was hoping for something approaching 20 inches, not only from the size of the fly, but from the fact that the fish immediately went deep and sulked on the bottom. A powerful surge up a whitewater channel, and he went on the reel. In the end, it was a mid-teens rainbow. It was the only trout I took in the 90 minutes I walked the run.

My best trout of the day took this monstrosity, still wet and fresh from the fish’s mouth.

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I decided on the spur of the moment to rig for indicator nymphing. The section I fished is a deep run below some riffles. I gave it 15 minutes, and the only trout I took came on the second cast.

A nice little brown who liked the look of Yerger’s Miracle Nymph, size 16.

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The day ended far downstream, where I took my largest juvenile Atlantic salmon of the year, about nine inches long. Bright silvery flanks, and fat. No wonder. When I was taking the hook out, I peered down his throat. It was loaded invertebrates to the point of overflowing. It reminded me of a bluefish spitting up bait. Off he went. Then off I went.

I had to get @#$%ing home.