Tag Archives: nature

Striper report: If you want to catch big bass on a consistent basis, do this

Anyone can luck into a big fish. Way back when, when I was just starting out, I wanted no part of that. I wanted to be able to consistently catch big stripers.

If you want to catch big bass — and make it repeatable — you don’t need a casting lesson. You don’t need to be able to reach 90 feet. You don’t need the latest in intermediate line technology. You don’t need a huge monstrosity that looks more like a plug than a fly.

You need to study. And ask questions. Why would there be a big striped bass where I’m fishing? Is there current, cover, and food? Is it pre-spawn? Is it migration time? Is the bait spawning (and therefore gathering in large numbers)? Is it dark, so the fish feels comfortable coming in close? What’s the barometer doing? Which way is the wind blowing? What’s the tide, and how is it moving? These are all part of the equation.

Then, you need the right fly. Something that looks like the bait, or what the bait should be at this time and place. Does the fly look alive and like something good to eat, even when at rest?

Don’t forget presentation. You need to learn that, too. Big fish are lazy, and frequently unwilling to chase. How can you present the fly in a way that makes it easy for the striper to eat?

Last but not least, you need to put in your time. There is no substitute for time on the water. You can do all of the above, check all the boxes, and still blank. (Ask me how I know.) Nevermind, I’ll just tell you. Last year, I fished the mark I fished last week six times and had only two tiny bass nibbles and no bass to hand for my efforts. But every year is different, and this is what I found on a greased line swing with an 11″ Bombardier flatwing in March of 2024:

Miss Piggy went 25 pounds and taped 39 inches. This was one of the best fights I’ve ever had with a bass, and I hope to write about it sometime soon. I am humbled and grateful for the chance to hook, land, and release this fish. I’ve been doing this for years, folks, and I was so pumped with adrenaline that my hand was shaking as I took this photo.

Small Stream Report 2/27/24: The kids are all right

I didn’t really have the time yesterday, but since my default setting is when in doubt, go fishing, I did. The venue was a small woodland stream, and the time frame was 3:45pm-5:30pm. It was mostly cloudy and very warm for February, with a water temp of 48 degrees. The stream was running medium-low and clear. No hatch activity, although I did see one lonesome sz 600 midge flitting about.

I’ve written before that I’m a massive creature of habit, but on this outing I decided to explore about 100 yards of new water. I was glad I did, as that turned out to be my most productive stretch. I fished mostly subsurface with the Squirmy Worm Jiggy Thingy, but I did get a hysterical swing and miss on a bushy dry for the 5 minutes I fished it. All told, I pricked about 18 and brought probably a third of them to hand. I did catch the same beautifully spotted hen I took in January at the same hole. She really clobbered the fly.

A few of my favorite things: a cigar, a glass rod, and a small stream, and if I can get them all at once that’s even better. What a glorious day to play hooky for a few hours and lose myself in a babbling brook.

Small Stream Report, or: I finally go fishing!

We all know the scientific certainty that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. But add a bout with Covid, a never-ending string of home improvement projects, change Jack’s name to Steve, and holy cow, the dullness is magnified when there’s no fishing in January.

So, I snuck out during the last few hours of the month to visit a small stream. It was chilly and overcast, but the water was a good medium height, running clear with an occasional bit of decaying vegetation detritus tumbling by, and a surprisingly warm 42 degrees. Here are some details.

I pricked four and landed three, all on a swung/dangled/stripped Squirmy Worm jig. They had no interest in the dry nor tiny nymph dropper.

I interested, but did not hook, two behemoths (for this size stream) in separate locations. Both fish came out from their holes to inspect the fly, follow it, and then ultimately reject it. In both cases, I tied on, then offered, a larger micro Woolly Bugger in black, but neither fish reappeared. Round 1 to them. (Be advised, fishies, that I know where you live.)

Most of the fish came in water moving at a moderate pace, and all of those locations offered both depth and some form of cover, be it logjams, cutbacks, boulders, etc. Another smaller guy repeatedly whacked the fly as it dangled near his hideout beneath a cutbank.

The last fish was a spawned out female, 8″-9″. Please take care not to wade in gravel beds until mid spring s that the next generation can get a healthy start.

On the board for 2024, and my first fish was a beauty. Please consider taking the Wild Trout One Photo Challenge. It’s better for the fish, the resource, and you’ll feel good about it, too.

Small Stream Report: First foot instead of last blast

As a creature of habit, I lovingly cling to my routines. So I was as surprised as anyone when I decided to not go small stream fishing on New Year’s Eve. Logic trumped tradition; by delaying a few days, the water would be a little warmer and hopefully any residual ice would be long gone. On the drive up, we did see some sheltered woodland streams where mini-glaciers abounded. But when we (myself and surfcaster extraordinaire Toby Lapinski) arrived at the stream we were relieved to see that frozen water was almost non-existent.

The water was barely into the high side of medium, which is just about right for winter fishing, and the brook was running clear and cold. Overcast skies didn’t hurt, nor did temperatures in the low 40s. Toby started out bottom bouncing and jigging, while I went the dry/dropper route. The action far exceeded our expectations. As you can imagine, going deep won the day, but I had enough action on both the dry and dropper that I kept them on for hours. (If reading this is getting you fired up for small streams, I have a presentation tonight in Danbury, The Eastern Brook Trout; later this month, you can see me present Finding Small Stream Nirvana at the Marlborough Fly Fishing Show, and a week later in Edison.)

The first fish of any year is noteworthy, even more so when it’s a stunning display of nature’s paint box. Taken on a size 14 Improved Sofa Pillow.
When I was a kid, I ruefully wondered why tropical fish had all the cool colors. Cut to 55 years later when I now know better. Since fish like this aren’t ever getting replaced by the stocking truck, it bears repeating: barbless hooks only; keep photos to a minimum (I landed dozens and took shots of only three); make sure your hands are wet; keep fish in the water in your net until ready to shoot; never expose fish to air for more than a few seconds; and never lay a fish down on rocks/gravel/leaves/grass. Thank you. (Photo by Toby Lapinski)
Small stream fly fishing for native trout may be fly fishing in its purest form. (Photo by Toby Lapinski)
Halo, I love you (again). Besides pulchritude, this fish is noteworthy because its thinness indicates a spawned out fish — and therefore a redd may be nearby. It’s a good idea to limit walking within the stream bed from mid fall to mid spring; the last thing anyone wants to do is tread on a redd and make all those future brookies dead. (Yes, I know it.) (Photo by Toby Lapinski)

Small stream anglers, take care: the spawn has begun

The spawn is taking place on some northeastern wild brook trout streams. I recently fished a brook on consecutive Thursdays, and the changes over the course of a week were dramatic. Seven days ago, there were only a few leaves in the water and no visible signs of spawning activity. A week later, the brook was congested with foliage and several redds were apparent. I spotted a large hen on one, and a few active fish on another.

In case you don’t know, a redd is a spawning bed. The fish select an area with enough water and current and the right size gravel, then clear the area of debris and other sediment before depositing eggs and spreading milt. (This is why spawning and post-spawn fish often present with scraped bellies and frayed fins.) Redds are fairly easy to spot; they look like light colored patches contrasting against much darker substrate. On a small stream, redds may be anywhere from a couple of square feet in area to significantly larger. A distinct light colored patch with fish darting about on the bottom nearby is a sure sign that you’ve discovered a redd.

Every small stream angler should know how to identify a redd, or spawning bed. Here’s a classic, can’t-miss-it redd: A dramatically lighter patch of gravelly stream bottom surrounded by darker substrate. There were a few fish milling about, but they scattered when I stood up to take this photo.

Maintaining the integrity of redds and protecting spawning fish is vital to the future of any wild trout stream. The stocking truck is not coming to replenish what humans destroy! Here’s what to do if you see a redd: First, leave it and the fish that are near it alone. Don’t try to catch spawning fish. Let nature take its course. Next, make a mental note of the location. Chances are that the fish have been using the general area to spawn for dozens or hundreds or thousands of generations. Finally, stay out of the water near the redd for the remainder of the fall, winter, and early spring. If you crush the eggs or the developing fry, that would be bad.

Besides, it’s pretty cool to simply sit on a rock and watch the beginnings of the next generation of Salvelinus fontinalis.

Small Stream Report: Nature finds a way, Part MMXXII

This is a very late report from last week. After a hot, dry, droughty summer like the one we experienced in 2022, I like to head to a few small streams to get a handle on how the natives fared. This trip was last Friday, well before this week’s much-needed soaking. As I suspected, the water level on this brook was on the low side of low. Much of it was unfishable. But there was plenty of good news.

The water temperature was bracing and cold, certainly colder than it ever was this summer, but this brook has many places for the char to go to escape the summer heat, even in low water. I saw dozens and dozens of fish, many of which looked to be young of year. I also found a few pods of bigger brook trout — nothing really huge, but in the 7-8″+ class. On an outing like this, I do get to do some fishing, but a lot of it is more inspection-oriented, with the intent of spooking fish. Often, with the water so low, the natives want nothing to do with the sight of you or your rod waving around. I got no interest of the dry fly, and pricked two with a weighted jig-type fly.

Then, yesterday after the rains, I visited a different stream. What a bounty! But you’ll have to wait a couple days for that report…

At a normal level, the flow should be covering the rocks you see center photo. This pool is usually good for a couple of hungry swipes; on this day it was a barren brookie wastleland. A reminder as we get near spawning time: be on the lookout for redds. Consider not wading into brooks at all. Redds are pretty easy to spot; usually a lighter area a foot or two in diameter against a darker gravel bed.

Weird scenes inside the white fly hatch

Just a couple of photos from the recent White Fly action to entertain you on a Friday. Enjoy the weekend and please do a rain dance!

Ugh! Why do I smell so bad? Turns out it’s not me, but rather the hundreds of dead White Fly spinner carcasses stuck in my net from the previous night’s expedition. White fly spinners have a knack for finding their way into/onto your clothing, gear, glasses, and, very regrettably, into your nose, mouth and ears. This bears repeating: White flies taste really, really bad.
Not the shot I was hoping for, but it’s interesting enough to share. This stacked image has some nice scribbly abstracts of the moon over the trees and its reflection on the water, and the white fly tracks are reminiscent of jet contrails.

First Roses = Light Cahills on the Farmington

This happened Monday, so I’m a little late with the post, but my first rose blooms always mean there are Light Cahills on the lower end of the Farmington. The hatch is already progressing upstream. Call them what you want (Vitreus, sulphurs, etc.) — I see these first signs of summer as simple creamy mayflies, and I go with the generic term of Light Cahill, which suits me just fine.

Remember, you are matching size, color, and profile. These first invaders are usually a size 14-16 — sometimes you get a big 12. For dry flies I like the classic Catskills Light Cahill, the Pale Watery Wingless AKA The Magic Fly, and the Usual. For wets, the Light Cahill winged, the Pale Watery Wingless, and the Partridge and Light Cahill. Any of the creamy Leisenring or North Country patterns will also serve you well.

Old reliable “Grenada,” a hybrid tea rose, is always the first to pop. If I weren’t so busy with yard work, I’d be all over this hatch. Catch a few for me, will ya?

Last night, while you were sleeping…the bass were popping…

First, I’d like to apologize for the lack of recents posts. Busy, busy, busy is the word. I’m hoping to clear my plate by early June so I can get on the water and tell you about it. But I did manage to venture forth last night with #2 son Cameron for a grass shrimping expedition. We fished a secluded tidal marsh. Conditions weren’t ideal — I’d like it a little warmer — and I was concerned at the start by the lack of visual and audible feeding tells. I needn’t have worried. Once the feeding began, it grew exponentially, and we were surrounded by the cacophony of pops, splashes, swirls, and sharp reports.

Nonetheless, the fishing was tough. We dropped a few, landed a few, but the number of hits was not commensurate with the number of stripers present. So it goes when you have thousands of bait targets in the water. We fished a three-fly team consisting of a deer-hair head shrimp on top, a Black GP in the middle, and a micro gurgler on point. Droppers are the fastest way to find out what the fish want, and last night they wanted the deer hair head fly. We spent as much time sitting and watching and listening as we did fishing, and that seemed right. When I think of all the places in southern New England where the same thing will be happening tonight, I can’t help but smile and relish the sensory treat we experienced.

I don’t usually double-dip between here and Instagram, but this is the best shot from last night (credit to Cam) and I think it is worthy of inclusion. What looks like an impressionistic oil painting is actually a time-lapse photo taken in the black of midnight. Being surrounded by feeding fish is something every striper angler should experience. There were grass shrimp, mumies, and even a few random worms. Good stuff.

How planting by the moon can help you catch bigger bass

Some of you may know that I am avid gardener. Right now, I am planting by the moon. What’s that, you say? The basic idea is that just as the moon’s gravitational cycle causes tides to rise and fall, it also affects soil moisture. So you want to plant seeds and transplant during periods when more moisture is being drawn to the surface.

Okay, Steve. But what the heck has this got to do with fishing?

I’m a firm believer in paying attention to natural rhythms.Using stripers as an example, I also believe that the angler who wants to catch more bass, and especially bigger bass, will not be one who places a premium on leader construction or casting distance — but rather one who focuses on things like tides, moon phase, wind direction, bait patterns, water type, structure, location, water temperature, frontal systems, and barometric pressure. What’s more, that angler should pay attention to common natural markers, like hearing the first spring peepers or when flowering trees bloom.

It’s all part of one magnificent puzzle. Every year is different, but nature is always right on time. It doesn’t hurt to be able to cast a plug or a fly line very far. But if you really want to crack the big bass code, pay attention to Mother Earth’s natural rhythms.

Yesterday was herb day. Today it’s peppers. I have it on good authority that this weekend is a great time to plant cukes and squash.