A wild brook trout and striped bass doubleheader

Oct1

It’s been like forever since I’ve played a doubleheader. And it really wasn’t looking good to start. I’ve been suffering through a series of random back spasms over the last few weeks, and the morning — Tuesday — I was planning on going, one snuck up on me and blasted my lower back. But I decided that movement was probably a good thing, bending over and uneven terrain be damned, so I loaded my ice packs and heating pad in the truck and headed for the Litchfield hills.

I’ve hadn’t been to this stream in about a year, and in a situation like that, on the drive I’m generally obsessed with questions like, what has changed? Will it be better, or worse? What will the flows be like? Well, not much had changed. There were, as usual, some randomly-placed-by-Mother Nature branches in the water that completely cocked up a pool or run. Despite last weekend’s rain — it didn’t deluge everywhere — the water was on the low side of medium, just barely what I would call decent. But there was cloud cover, and there were fish on the hunt, along with some active hatches. I fished a dry (ARF Humpulator size 14) with a size 18 2x short BHPT dropped off the bend by a foot of 5x. They mostly wanted the dry, including the one rising fish I targeted, but I pricked several on the dropper. I would have liked more water in the system, but you take what nature gives you and do your best. Cigar? Rocky Patel 55 Robusto. It was delicious.

You can see the full video of the release if you follow me on Instagram @stevecultonflyfishing.com. I put all kinds of unique content on Instagram, from fishing experiences to instruction to tips, so following me is a worthy addition to your social media experience.

Since no backs were harmed in the making of the wild trout expedition, I got reckless and decided to go striper fishing. Surfcaster extraordinaire Toby Lapinski and I travelled to a top-secret location on LIS, and although we had favorable wind and surf — the water had cleaned up nicely from the storm — the bass didn’t get the memo. Toby took the only hit of the night, but even that was momentary. I wish I could tell you that we were bailing 20-pounders, but I don’t get to make that call. I’ll end here: in what universe can it be late September, and I have yet to catch a striper this year?!? Eight trips. Eight blanks. Not even a courtesy tap. Yeesh.

And now, I gotta go use the heating pad.

Striper report 10/6/21: Daytime bliss, nighttime suffering

Oct8

On Wednesday Alex took a striper lesson with me. He did a fantastic job. The point of these short (2 hours) lessons is to give students feel for how to approach multiple situations involving current — and especially for them to discover the expansive fly fishing life beyond cast-and-strip. We do it in the daytime (the better to eyeball things) and while the immediate goal isn’t to catch — that will come later — I have the highest amount of respect for those who want to invest in upping their game. Alex did a tremendous job; he has an intuitive feel for current and presentation. Now all he needs is some bass to play with.

As it turns out, so do I. I drove to Rhode Island that night to fish two different marks and, once again, I was disappointed by the paucity of striped things that swim. The first mark was one of my “guaranteed” spots. You know — a place you go to save a night when you desperately need a fish. No longer. I’ve fished it three times this year, blanked all three times, and it’s the first year in decades that I have not caught a bass there. Fooey. Not to be outdone, the second mark had plenty of bait, and not a single striper. So I casted, mended, and tried to pretend that maybe a bass would show up. Instead, I stayed out way too late. I won’t be going back this year (he said bitterly).

**Alex really nailed the greased line swing. What a lovely day to be out fishing.**

Beware of the Casting Police

Feb18

The Casting Police are as vigilant as ever. You’ll find them in breachway parking lots, along beaches, and especially internet forums.

They flash their badges at the first suggestion that you cast differently from the rest of the pack.

It does not matter if you like to cast that way.

It does not matter if you catch hundreds of stripers a year.

What matters is that there is The Way. The way of the double haul. Practice it not, and you shall be — if you’ll pardon the expression — cast out. Banished forever from their imaginary kingdom.

Fortunately, the Casting Police have no real power over you, me, or anyone. You may cast and fish as you like. There are many, many ways, and you are free to explore the wonders of all of them as you see fit.

Ray Bergman wrote, “You may gather from this that I am not particularly interested in perfect form casting, and that is very true…it is best to concentrate on the other points rather than on form, and the casting will usually take care of itself.”

I think I’ll use that Get Out Of Jail Free Card now.

He even looks like a heathen! Fortunately, all casters are equal in the eyes of striped bass.

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2015: A Striper Oddity

Apr27

I never thought I’d be so excited about catching four school bass. But after this crazy spring, yowzah, woo-hoo, awwwright, yessiree Bob, good golly Miss Molly, I am all fired up.

Ahem.

Now that cooler heads have prevailed, I want to tell you about my funny faux pas today at Ye Olde Striper Spot. The wind was gusting out of the NNW, 10-20 easy, and the cloud structure was breathtaking. When I waded in, I was the fifth guy at the end of the line. We were all pretty evenly (and courteously) spaced. After an hour or so, our ranks had swollen to nearly ten. Some people were catching, others were not. I turned to look behind me and I noticed that the angler above me had closed the gap to about 30 feet. He hailed me. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” I thought I was going to get a question about the two hander, or the floating line, or what color fly I was using. No. “Can you stand back a bit? You’ve moved quite a ways toward me.”

Well, to clean up Jack Nicholson’s line from “A Few Good Men,” didn’t I feel like a freakin’ butt hole.

Sincere apologies were offered, as was a fly. I appreciated his politeness and understanding. We talked about fishing for a few minutes. Then, fences mended, we returned to our precious avocation on this strange grey-green-blue windy day.

Monday’s implements of destruction, drying for the next session. Water temp was 50 degrees.