Luyen’s Reel-Time FLog

Low 80’s after an unexpected downpour. 4PM. Low water conditions. Berry’s Bridge section.

Yom Kippur weekend was supposed to be picture perfect, but we awoke Saturday morning to rain and grey skies. Thankfully, the skies cleared by mid afteroon, although a brief rain passed through again around 2PM. I decided to hit the Berry’s Bridge section of the Mo. The water was running very low and clear, despite the morning rain. I waded beneath the first pool. As expected, I spied the regular rises of the pool’s local denizens. They were subtle dimples, with the occasional fin breaking the water’s plane. I had tied on a large black ant, and quickly, I hooked a wild brownie on the downstream side of the drop off along the right hand bank. I caught another brownie along the bank soon after the first – this one greyhounding right to left in pursuit of the big ant. But the trout in the middle of the current ignored my offering repeatedly until I tied on an emerger. This resulted in two good hits, but I failed to set the hook. I replaced the emerger with a bead head hare’s ear nymph. In quick succession, I hooked four fish, and landed a big, feisty rainbow who dunked the indicator ant almost as soon as the nymph hit the water. Lesson learned: the trout along the bank were opportunistically keying on terrestrials, but the fish in the middle of the current were showing their dorsal fins as they feasted on bugs in the middle of the water column.

Next, I hit the second pool. Again, I could see the subtle dimpling of fish taking emergers. I caught two fish in quick succession on the nymph. Wading further into the pool I was startled by an explosive splash. A monster trout? A wayward pike? Nope: a giant fruit from an overhanging tree unloading its payload against an unwitting angler. As I moved up into the middle of the pool to cast to upstream fish, I noticed a pack of suckers holding near my feet. A trout darted out from the rocks along the right bank and back under the rocks, startled by my proximity to his hideout. I watched as a sucker swam into the trout’s lair, and laughed aloud as the trout chased it away three times while desperately avoiding my wader-clad legs. Splosh… SPLOSH! Two more explosions, each closer to my unprotected head. I called it an afternoon having hooked a dozen trout and landed two beauts.

Mid-80’s air temps.  Full moon.

For the first time in five years, I didn’t book a trip with a guide out of Punta Rassa during spring break.  Instead, the week was divided in half between Disney World and Sanibel, so I made the painful decision to limit my fishing to trash fishing on the beach outside the in-laws’ condo and car-bound forays into the Ding Darling wildlife sanctuary. To make matters worse, the fishing reports from Sanibel seemed to follow a grim trend: irrigation runoff from farmlands near Lake Okeechobee continued to have a significant impact on the ecology of Pine Island Sound.  This year, instead of the red tide that had caused such devastation along the Gulf Coast two years ago, it was a tide of vibrant green algae that was killing fish along the mangrove banks and freshwater estuaries of the sound.

A notable casualty of the “green tide” was the turtle grass – and hence, the snapping shrimp that constituted the essential base of Sanibel’s aquatic food pyramid.  I bought an aerator for our shrimp bucket only to find that the usual shrimp suppliers (Bailey’s, Tarpon Bay) had nothing to offer.  Only the Bait Box had shrimp, and, as I learned the hard way, they were out of shrimp well before noon.

On the bright side, consistent warm weather had enlivened the local snook and other predatory piscatorial species.  On my first trip into the sanctuary, I nailed two snook and a small jack at the third culvert casting a Clouser around the uptide side of the road.  Back at the condo, the few shrimp we were able to horde were fastened to bait hooks and quickly devoured by trout and whiting.  Poppie caught a couple of nice fish and Alaina reeled in a big trout – so mission accomplished as far as keeping the family’s interest level at a high level.

On the last full day of our vacation (Sunday), I took my last lick tour through the sanctuary armed with two fly rods, a spinning rod, and a bucket of shrimp.  I fished the first culvert with the spinning rod and a shrimp, hoping to get the proverbial monkey off my back.  Despite the persistent sounds of snook busting bait under the road, my shrimp was untouched as it made drift after drift through the culvert. 

The second culvert was closed, and the freshwater side was filled with muck and algae.  I headed quickly for the nearby third culvert and traded the live shrimp for a Cousin It at the end of my 8-wt fly rig.  It was here that I had snagged a couple of fish the last time I had visited the park, and I worked the waters outside the culvert methodically – with a sense of quiet expectation.  After a few casts had yielded no interest, I casually drifted the fly back under the culvert.  The fly made it no farther than the first stanchion before it was devoured by a snook.  Unprepared, I set the hook as best I could, but the big fish stayed tethered for only a few seconds before pulling the tippet from the shock leader. Angler error: I hadn’t checked the terminal connections before tying on the fly, and the snook made me pay for this oversight.

The brief tussle caused a stir among the other anglers at the culvert, but after a few more drifts with a tan and white Clouser (Murphy had made damn sure that the Cousin It now firmly lodged in the snook’s jaw was the only one I had had in my fly box) I decided to make my way to the next culvert.

It took only two more drifts under the fourth culvert before I was tied fast to a big snook – this time, the fish hit the fly as I stripped it back towards the culvert’s mouth.  This time, the knots held tight and the shock leader did its job.  It wasn’t terminal tackle this time that conspired against the angler – it was the culvert itself, and the snook’s fighting instincts.  As soon as he was hooked, the fish made a blistering run towards the far side of the culvert.  Discovering that the gates were closed, he made a quick U-turn and headed in the other direction, wrapping himself around the stanchion at my side of the culvert.  I let the line go slack just long enough for the fish to unwrap himself, then reared back on the rod to force him through the nearside opening of the culvert.  A few minutes later, I lipped the snook and weighed him with a scale that had been handed to me by another angler.  Surprisingly, the fish weigh in at only five pounds – but at 24 inches, the fish seemed far beefier.

80’s air temps, dry.

River running low and clear.

Hit the LL at 8:40 on Labor Day weekend. Crossed the bridge to avoid congestion, though there were fewer anglers than I expected on a beautiful Labor Day Sunday. The trikes were already on the water, and I hopped past the first meadow stationing myself at the first pool along the lower trail. There were fish everywhere leisurely sipping trikes from the surface. I caught and released three fish before anyone around me had hooked up – all on a
Griffith’s Gnat. Most of my success came on downstream drifts. I hooked a large brown, but tethered to 8X monofilament, the trout broke off after a valiant fight. After the hatch slowed, I headed upstream to the Kiddie Pool where I switched up to a black ant, and then a parachute Adams trailing a midge pupa pattern. After several swings at misses and missed strikes on the dropper, I switched back to trico patterns, and hooked several more fish. Rache and the kids joined me for a picnic lunch at 12:30. My ninth and final trout of the day was caught on a trike pattern from the picnic blanket, as Beili and Alaina watched with delight. What a fun day!

80-90 air temps.

Water temps ranging from 77-66.7.

3-5 knots increasing to 5-7.

Despite four-dollar-per-gallon gas at the fuel dock, Josh, Ralph and I decided to head out and see what we could find in the local waters.  There had been reports of pelagics patrolling the shores east of
Jamaica
Bay, but this was before Katrina had cut her destructive path through Louisiana and
Mississippi.  While the effects felt in the New York area barely hinted at the devastation in
New Orleans, we were fishing on the back side of several days of stormy and sultry weather, and we wondered whether it had been enough to scatter the fish.

We found busting fish under terns as we approached Breezy Point.  The radio chattered with reports of greenbacks mixed in with the chompers.  We caught a few cocktail blues, but failed to spot any tunoids.  Banging a left out of the bay, we soon came upon more blitzing fish.  This time, I spotted a fish jump clear of a wave spraying peanut bunker in every direction before nosediving back into the brine – a hard-tail for sure, but separating the wheat from the chaff looked to be a difficult proposition.  After landing a few more bluefish, losing several flies, and having very few legitimate shots at the up-and-down pelagics, we headed farther east. 

Surfing the tide, and stopping periodically to fish, the run east seemed like a quick jaunt. Sure enough, no sooner did we arrive than we spotted birds in tight packs over balled up bait.  It didn’t take long to see the telltale sign of porpoising fish.  These fish looked like skipjack tuna.  Our hearts racing, our improv act quickly became a comedy of errors – skippies greyhounded right by the boat, and Josh and I managed to hook our flies together in mid-air.  Magical knots that defied all efforts to untie them mysteriously appeared in the running line. We had a few shots, but nothing close to a hookup.

Deciding to run further east, we cruised several miles without seeing a single fish.  However, the thermometer quickly revealed the reason for the concentration of pelagics around
our first stop: the water temperature dipped to a low of 66.5 just five miles east of the tower; the fish we had first encountered were sitting on a high-contrast temperature seam.  We turned around and headed back west.  The fish were still hard to approach – the pods were sparse, and the bait moved so fast that it was virtually impossible to set up a good drift.  I had one good shot when fish suddenly appeared around the boat.  I shot my fly into the middle of the mayhem and felt a bump.  Ralph and Josh shouted as they saw a big swirl, but as I struck with my line hand, there was no tension.  Man, these fish can be frustrating. 

We headed home into the tide and wind, fighting the light chop that had built steadily during the course of the day.  Near Breezy, we came across a huge school of blues busting bait – the scene was a harbinger of better fishing in the fall; but for a few minutes, we enjoyed the easy-going rhythms of the summer blues before heading to port.

‘Muda ‘Cuda

Originally uploaded by djbeatbot.

Challenger Bank, Bermuda
August 3, 2005

There were fish behind the boat alomst as soon as the first handful of fry went over the transom. First it was the robins. Then the rainbow runners. Within minutes the wahoo moved in, as did the ‘cuda. We had a blackfin tuna in the slick as well, and numerous mackerel. The wahoo were spectacular — they moved slowly through the mayhem, their vertical stripes darkening as they took stock of the situation. We hooked up several times on bait, but failed to land a single wahoo. I had two hookups on the "gummy fly" but couldn’t get the hook to stick. What were they? The blackfin? Macks? It’s miserable being left to guess.

We landed a big ‘cuda on a live-lined robin, an amaco jack (new species!) on a chunk of bonito, a couple of macks on the fly, and a rainbow runner. No tuna, alas, but a fun day of "catch as catch can."

Trolling Baits

Originally uploaded by djbeatbot.

Bermuda, August 1, 2005.

James and Steve rigged ballyhoo for trolling on the way out to the bank. Two baits off the outriggers, and two off the downriggers on the stern. It was a beautiful and very still morning. We saw a few tuna swirl as we headed out, but nothing ate our baits as we arrived at the deeper water and switched to marlin baits. This time, three baits followed the boat, each riding the near side of successive crests from our trailing wake. These too went unmolested much to our disappointment. But there was no time to morn — the main event was upon us, and James wasted no time setting up a nice, oily chum slick behind the boat.

Hot but dry—temps in the 90’s.

Low water.  

8 fish – some monsters.

We made a day trip back out to see Rachel’s dad, who is recovering from triple bypass surgery.  This after my own father had a complicated bypass surgery only three months earlier.  These are life-altering events – certainly for those who go under the knife, but also for those who stand on the sidelines.  I arrived at the Heritage section of the Little Lehigh with a renewed sense of appreciation for the opportunity I had been afforded.

With little time to make a go of this outing, I headed straight across the bridge to the Kiddie Pool (or whatever it’s called).  There were very few fishermen on the stream – a welcome relief after the July Fourth madhouse.  Along the way, I stopped to fish a scum sucker working a small notch in the bank.  How is it that after having caught thousands of trout, my arms still turn to jelly tying a leader or a fly to a tippet when I know that a fish awaits?  It must have taken me twenty minutes to tie a respectable blood knot and hitch a thorax dun sulfur imitation to my #8 tippet.  For all of that, I managed to leave the fly in the trout’s mouth without wetting my net….

I headed up to the Kiddie Pool only to find a mullet-clad angler working a veritable trout convention assembled in the narrowed flows of a water-deprived pool.  I stood for a few minutes just taking in the beauty of the scenery – a number of big fish laid up like u-boats in klieg lights as the morning sun spread its long fingers across the gentle flows.  Finally, as my patience wore thin, I asked permission to work the fish at the head of the pool.  One cast. And I was fast to a fish on the sulfur.  Theory supported if not definitively proven.  Unfortunately, poor angling greatly impinged on the final results: I left half my fly box in the local denizens.  I spent an hour trying to catch the brownie that had made off with my first fly to no avail.  

My next strategy was to tie a small midge pupa (literally a #24 black and gold speck of thread) behind the dun.  Sure enough, this aroused considerable interest, though I failed miserably to discern the takes from the refusals.  Highlight of the day: I managed to hook a monster brownie (at least 18, but probably 20 inches) who battled me for a few minutes before breaking off my #8 tippet.  I never had a chance, and I knew it.  But just having hooked him emboldened me.  It was by far the largest fish I had hooked on the LL in quite some time (I vaguely remember accidentally hooking an enormous fish on a beadhead nymph during one of my first LL outings).  After that, I continued to have some success (despite losing several more flies) on thorax flies and droppers – Brassies, Al’s Rats, various other midgy-looking things – before packing it in.  I netted a big native ‘bow and a big native brown.  These fish seemed very healthy and feisty – uncharacteristic for this stream and this pool!  I bumped into an angler on the way back to the lot who had caught fish on a beetle.  Same idea as my unlikely hero, the thorax sulfur.  I fished a beetle to a couple more fish before packing it in, but it was consistently refused.

80’s, average flows despite recent rains.

2 fish, despite some hard fishing.

I haven’t been very good about keeping my journal entries up-to-date.  May was
Andros and some legendary bonefishing.  I really haven’t had a chance to wet a line since then – the spring season came and went in about a week here in the Big Apple.  So it wasn’t until Independence Day weekend that I was able to fish – in
Bethlehem on the Little Lehigh. 

I went out early on Sunday, July 3 to see if the tricos were around.  I arrived at the Heritage section around 9:00AM.  The lot was filled, and it took two turns through before I found two cars I could squeeze between.

The stream was in typical summer form.  Trout were laid up in the usual spots.  The flow was average and the water a bit stained from the heavy rains during the previous two days.  I crossed the bridge and scanned the shrub line for bugs.  A cloud of small flies cavorted in midair, but nary a one took a plunge in the spring-fed waters below.  I reluctantly headed towards the Kiddie Pool determined to find a fishto fool (actually, I now suspect this is the pool just downstream of what the locals call the Kiddie Pool).  As usual, there were lots of fish.  A father was fishing with his son, who looked to be between Beili’s and Alaina’s age.  I hopped past them and fished the head of the pool.  It was tough fishing – I’m not sure if it was from not having fished the LL for some time, or some other confluence of factors, but I had a devil of a time fooling and hooking the fish. 

Soon afterwards, a salty old sport ambled into the spot vacated by the father and son team, and we started chatting.  I mused about the bugs I had seen earlier in the morning, and the lack of interest from the trout below them – he called them “false tricos,” a term I had never heard.  Evidently, these are some species of mayfly that come off just before the real trikes.  They are characterized by a vertical, almost caddis-like flight path, as opposed to the distinctively horizontal behavior of the real deal.  To prove his point, Salty had pumped the tummies of a few trout he had bagged, and he proceeded to show me some formless black specs.  Whatever – I’ll take his word for it.  In any event, the trout weren’t interested in any of my trike imitations.  We talked flies for awhile – I, extolling the virtues of the
Griffith’s Gnat; Salty singing the praises of Al’s Rat.  Salty handed me a Rat to try.  It’s hard to imagine anything simpler than this fly – can it really matter what materials you use when you’re tying a #24 midge pupa?  But I dutifully tied it behind a #18 sulfur thorax dun (as an indicator) and gave it a go.  Wouldn’t you know it?  I hooked two fish almost immediately on the indicator.  The Rat also attracted some interest, but something about the big bushy mayfly was too much to resist when it came to the “scum suckers” working the backwards current of the eddies along the bank.

So, lesson learned: the opportunists lined up contra-current along the banks are probably more interested in terrestrials and the stray caddisflies that fall into the soft current along the bank than they are in the midges and other microbugs that inhabit the main flows.  I think they simply mistook my thorax fly as some hapless, buggy critter who had the misfortune of having strayed too far from the branch.  Some fish wouldn’t even glance at the big bug — certainly those in the main flows — but those that did tended to be less selective about the offering than they were when I presented them with a midge or trico imitation.

 

We’ll be back. We may have to make this trip an annual celebration of piscatorial pleasure. We’ll have to see how that goes over with my lovely, incredibly understanding wife (hear that Rache?)

Well, don’t ask about the trip home. All I can say is, don’t fly LeAir back to Nassau. Much better to take reliable Western Air, or the Air Taxi. We waited nearly two hours for our charter, and of course we missed our flight home. At least there was stewfish for breakfast!

OK, I was up big for the first half of the night. How the heck did I end up owing the bank $75? That Harber, he’s a shark. I bet he’s still got my pair of aces up his sleeve. Argh!

Day three brought little relief from the wind. The blow had shifted from NE to SSE, but continued to maintain its steady 20 knot pace. Duane was excited to hit some big fish spots. Alas, Kyle and I had one of those days when everything that could go wrong did. I broke off two fish — one snapped the mid-section of my leader in half (apparently due to fraying from the previous day’s adventures on the coral flat at the end of the day). Kyle bonked a ten pounder on the head with his fly. But the day’s crowning moment came when Kyle hooked a twelve pounder right by the boat. The beast felt the hook and took off, but Kyle stepped on his fly line, and the battle was over before it had begun. All three of us needed several minutes to recover from the unfortunate episode. "That was the biggest fish I’ve put anyone on in a month," confided Duane despondently as he sulked on the platform.

Well… not much more. But I would be remiss if I didn’t document some of the "off the water" activities at Tranquility Hill. There was an unlimited supply of Kaliks at the lodge’s honor bar. And Isabelle was always happy to make a "Hilltop" for anyone who stopped to chat.

Kyle and Jonathan fished with Frankie. Jonathan boated his first bonefish ever, and Kyle landed another seven pounder.
 

Unlike the first morning, we found fish on the very first flat we hit. Schools of smaller fish mingled with larger singles and doubles. Sumin broke two fish off before landing his first of the day. I landed a couple as well. The fish were happy, and so were we.

 

   
Sumin and I headed out on day two with Duane, Ivan Neymour’s son. The skies had brightened signficantly, and we enjoyed good visibility throughout the day, but the wind continued to blow a steady 20.

Almost everyone caught fish the first day out on the water, despite the wind and spotty visibility. Kyle and Sumin caught their first bonefish ever.

We hosed ‘em down when everyone returned to the lodge, and then it was time for some ‘tinis and dinner. A good first day of fishing for sure!

"Big flies boys" Joe said, scoffing at our Keys-style #4’s and #6’s, and pointing at the largest of our Gotchas — big furry size 2’s with bead chain eyes.  Joe struggled to put us on fish for the better part of the day.  There were few bonefish on the flats we hit, despite our guide’s persistence.  By mid morning, the winds picked up, and we worked hard just trying to find some relief from Mother Nature.  As the afternoon sun began to settle on the horizon, Joe parked the skiff and had us wade the edges of a large sandbar.  We finally began to find some fish in good numbers.  As I worked a small pod of fish, Joe headed to the skiff to pick Thorne up.  Suddenly he shouted back to me "Lu!" and gestured for me to join him.  As I approached, I saw what Joe was so excited about: a huge school of bones was finning on the surface in four feet of water.  Within seconds, I was tied fast to my first Andros bonedog.  I caught six before it was time to leave, and lost two more, thanks to a wind knot that wrapped around the barb of my hook, pulling the fly backwards.