Tag Archives: indicator nymphing

Farmington River Report 5/21/15: The Awesome Power of a Single BB Split Shot

I was indicator nymphing a favorite pool this morning that I knew held trout. But despite my best efforts to fish it systematically and cover water, I was blanking. Thirty minutes in and not a single strike. I knew I was fishing deep enough — there had been several false positives provided by the bottom. The water wasn’t particularly fast or deep. Maybe add another BB shot to the one at the terminal end of my drop-shot rig to slow things down a tad? Yessiree Bob. That simple change quickly had me into fish.

A someteen-inch wild Farmington brown that hammered my size 12 black beadhead Squirrel and Ginger nymph. These fish can be quite aggressive in their takes, even when you’re tracking your fly along at the speed of the current. You can immediately sense that you’ve got a good fish on. DCIM100GOPROG0020505.

I fished for a little over four hours today, mostly committed to the nymphing cause, bouncing around to six spots outside the permanent TMA. Water was on the low side of medium (270cfs in the permanent TMA) and 51 degrees. No significant hatch activity, (nor surface activity) although there were caddis just about everywhere. Once I made that adjustment to slow my drift, the fishing was quite good. I found multiple trout willing to jump on nearly every place I fished. They really liked the size 12 black beadhead Squirrel and Ginger nymph; only one trout, an acrobatic rainbow, chose the top dropper, a size 16 soft-hackled pheasant tail. Conditions look good for the weekend. Get out if you can and enjoy this wonderful resource.

Mister brown buck with the big fins, endeavoring for gator brown status (maybe next year?), close to freedom. DCIM100GOPROG0020591.

Farmington River Report 5/17/15: Subsurface Fun

Part One: The Guide Trip

I had the pleasure of guiding the father and son team of Bob and Tim today. They booked this trip a month ago, and they won the weather lottery. Wotta day! We started off outside the permanent TMA and found trout and solitude (and a girl in a bikini). Not a bad way to spend a few hours. Tim had never indicator nymphed before, so I set him up, gave him a quick lesson, then went to go check on Bob. A few minutes later, I turned and saw Tim’s rod doubled over. Way to go, Tim!

Happy nympher. The first of two fish for Tim under the the yarn. His second was a brown. Both fish came on a black bead head Dark Hendrickson soft-hackle.  IMG_3091

Off to Spot B where old pro Bob connected with a feisty rainbow on a wet fly swing. Spot C was in the permanent TMA, and despite a few random rises, we were unable to persuade any trout to jump on. Spot D was on total lockdown (I’ve never seen so many anglers in such a small run), so we headed for Spot E where we had the pool mostly to ourselves. One more trout on a wet and we called it a day. Thanks again so much, Bob and Tim, for such an easy, relaxing day on the river. Water was 280cfs in the permanent TMA, cold, and clear. Midges, caddis, and a few random mayflies.

Part Two: The Quickie

I thought it would be too early for Light Cahills, but I had to see for myself. Besides, the lower TMA was conveniently on the way home, it was evening, and I might find some risers to present to. There were indeed a few trout shattering the surface with splashy takes. No Cahills, but there were size 12-14 tan caddis, sz 20 caddis, and midges everywhere. I fished some snotty pocket water for 30 minutes and took five trout. A plug for the team of three wets: I caught fish on every fly, one on the size 12 Squirrel and Ginger (top dropper), three on the size 12 Dark Hendrickson  (middle dropper) and one on the size 12 Light Cahill (point). Browns and rainbows with one wild brown in the mix. Regrettably, I had to call it (there was a grilled flank steak and a spicy zin awaiting me at home). How exhilarating to see the fish rise to feed, boil on the surface, then feel the tug moments later. I love fishing under the hatch with wets.

Halo, beautiful. Dark Hendrickson winged wet. IMG_3093

Farmington River Report 10/14/14: Beware the leaf hatch

From my perch twenty-five feet above the river bank, I could tell I was going to be up against it. Hundreds and hundreds of orange and yellow swimmers. And that was just one run. Still, I was all in for swinging wets on this overcast, humid, decidedly August-in-October morning.

At first it seemed like I’d made a poor decision. Nearly every cast produced a hook-to-foliage connection. Finally, a bump that was readily distinguishable from the benign pressure of ex-flora. A recently stocked rainbow on the soft-hackled BHPT. Moving on, I was having a rather uncoordinated wading day. Even though the river was down, it seemed like it was my destiny to stumble. After recovering from one near swim, I discovered my rig was hung up on a submerged rock. I gave the line a roll cast to try and free it, but no. With a temper just short of rage, I gave the rod an upward set. The rock thrummed with energy. Now, surprised glee. Another rainbow, this one broad of shoulder and cantankerous, on the Hackled March Brown. One more trout a hundred feet down, then back to the truck to rig for depth charge.

They sure look pretty on the trees. But oh, what a pain-in-the-ass once they’re in the river.

Farmington Foliage

There was another angler in the run I wanted to nymph, so I watched him throw his streamer for a few minutes. As he moved a polite distance downstream, I entered the run where a disorganized series of riffles formed the head of the pool. First cast, the indicator stalled, I set, and an acrobatic rainbow cleared the water like a proper steelhead. Sadly, his leap was sans hook. I gave him a few minutes to rest, then went at him again. This time, hook set. Off he went, peeling line. I didn’t think he was fish-on-the-reel big. Turns out he wasn’t. Foul hooked just below a pectoral.

I was going to visit another spot in the TMA that I hadn’t fished all year, but you can’t lie to yourself. I wanted to go to that other place. So I hurried to a favorite deep, mysterious hole where, as the poet said, stone is dark under froth. Only a juvenile Salmon seemed willing to eat. Three more casts, I said. And on the second, the indicator dipped.  A wild Farmington River brown, some-teen inches long, on the size 16 soft-hackled Pheasant Tail dropper.

I valued that fish above all others today. But the rainbows reminded me that Pulaski and November are coming soon.

A credible summary of today’s conditions.

October Brown 2014

Farmington River Mini-Report 9/10/14: Getting there

The DEEP did their broodstock gathering/census on Tuesday, and this morning the flows were nearly back to normal. I fished four spots from 9am-1pm with varying degrees of success: a) one JV Atlantic Salmon, b) a nice assortment of wild browns in the 12″-14″ class, c) blank, d) a brown trout LDR. I stuck with the indicator nymphing thing, and I learned after my fifth (I was a little slow today) weight tag break off that one BB shot played nicer than two. The water was lower than it has been, albeit cool for early September, and it had a light stain. A bit of a funky pond smell in the air. All the takes today were nearly imperceptible; a subtle stall or shudder of the indicator, rather than its wholesale disappearance. Lift your rod, hook point finds insertion, and the dance begins. They liked the size 12 BH Squirrel and Ginger. Forgot my camera, so no photos. Sorry, Ansel.

I hope I enjoyed it, because tomorrow I shall be chained to a desk.

Farmington River Report 9/4/14: Delusions of Chrome

I don’t care how good an angler you are: sooner or later, you are going to make a mistake on the water. Sometimes you pay. Others, you still inherit the forune. On this morning, I got a little lucky.

It was another session dedicated to the nymphing cause. I hadn’t been doing any serious nymphing since there was ice along the river’s edge, and it felt good to be returning to my fly fishing roots. The first spot I visited was a blank. I fished it hard for 45 minutes, then decided to head upriver.

Another ten minutes without a take. Then down went the indicator. And this is where I messed up. I had been repeatedly reminding myself, “set downstream.” So what’d I do? I set upstream, as Eric M so eloquently expressed it, “instinctively doing the wrong thing.” Almost immediately, I corrected with a hard downstream set. Thus begineth the battle. I could see I had something good after his first impressive clear-the-water-by-a-few-body-lengths aerial, followed by one desperately ugly surface somersault. All worthy of fresh chrome. Eyeballing aside, I can always tell I have a good fish when I have an “I think I may be snagged on the bottom” moment. Then I feel that dampened head shake sensation as the fish yields to the pressure. This cantankerous creature did not want to come to net. After several runs and a short walk downstream, he was in.

Another fish that clearly has been in the river for some time: wide pink banding, perfectly formed paddle tail, and just look at those fins. Fat, healthy, and powerful — he’s been eating well. A measurement placed it just a bit shy of the 20″ mark. No complaints here.

Big Rainbow 9-14

A few minutes later, I landed his younger brother. Then a wild brown. Spot C, another classic nymphing hole, delivered a few more wild browns. As the sun edged past its noon zenith, I fished Spot D, a collection of current seams (oh, that phrase), pockets, plunges and runs. Another brown, and then what I believe to be a brown/Atlantic salmon hybrid*. I am not exaggerating when I tell you this guy made head high aerials. (That is correct. Plural.) I figured rainbow, because of its color and acrobatics, but when I got it to hand it looked — well, different. Damn me, I didn’t think to get a picture. 

Here’s what was most fascinating to me today: I fished a two fly nymph rig with a size 12 bead head Squirrel and Ginger on point and a size 14 soft-hackle Pheasant Tail top dropper. The fish took both flies — but with one exception, all the wild browns took the soft-hackle. Again, some very subtle takes on the soft-hackle — almost like the indicator stalls for a microsecond. Set, and I was on.

The rainbows found the size 12 bead head Squirrel and Ginger to their liking.

BHS&G Nymph

*In conversations with DEEP Fisheries biologists, they’ve revealed that they think some of the more precocious Atlantics canoodle with browns. I believe this is the second such offspring I’ve caught.

 

 

 

2/4/14 Farmington River Report: Sunny with a chance of trout

Today was going to be the warmest day of the week. I had to go to UpCountry to pick up my new vise. Chance of a couple hours of fishing, 100%.

Of course, I wasn’t the only person who thought it would be a fine afternoon to fish the Upper TMA. Spots A and B were on lockdown, so I settled for C. And C it was on the old grade point scale, with the guy in spot A bailing trout, the guy in spot B catching a few less, and me coming in with a rock-solid average. Still, hard to complain about fishing on a weekday when the sun is out and there’s only a little ice in your guides. Especially after I lengthened my leader and added another BB shot to adjust for the depth of the water. I indicator nymphed with a size 18 (2x short) soft-hackle BHPT on point and a size 16 (2x short) BH Squirrel and Ginger as top dropper. They liked the S&G. Best fish of the day was a some-teen inch Survivor Strain brown with riveting black spots and fins the size of a barn door.

Didn’t see any bugs. Water temp was 35 degrees. Air temp just under freezing. Flows about 350-400.

A failed attempt at an art shot. But I like the effect of the water, the sunlight, and the spotting in the upper left. This was the Survivor Strain brown. I couldn’t distinguish an elastomer, but the adipose fin was clearly clipped.

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After getting locked out of my first two chosen spots, I headed to a third. Crapass. This guy was fishing right where I would have been swinging streamers. So I figured I might as well get a good photo out of it.

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Farmington River report 1/17/14

Today was a pretty darn nice day for January, and there was no shortage of anglers taking advantage of the last of the thaw. Plenty of vehicles in Greenwoods, Woodshop, along Church Pool, and in the lot. The upper TMA was running about 550cfs, clear, and in the low thirties. High air temp was low forties (no ice on the guides — huzzah!), abundant sunshine, and a good southerly breeze that kept most of the dry fly anglers away. Not much to write about in the way of hatch activity. I nymphed from 11:30am to 1:00pm under an indicator, and the trout preferred the smaller of my two flies, a size 22 (really an 18, 2x short) soft-hackled BHPT. Always a happy moment, landing your first Farmington River brown of the year — or for that matter, landing a trout in January. An angler below me  also did well on small nymphs. Switched over to streamers and ventured to some different water, but could find no takers, though I did speak to another angler (Colin — pleased to meet you) who told me he had gotten into two trout on streamers. The cold is coming, so get out while you can.

Remnants from the last ice age — about two weeks ago.

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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.