Emergency Landing

December 30, I caught the biggest trout of my 29 years of fly fishing, rounding out 2013 to be a great year on the fly for this guy. I may have hooked trout this size, but I've never landed them. The story of landing this trout is the best part of this fish tale, and it was only possible with a little help from my friends (cue Joe Cocker and the Wonder Years).

I had taken two high school guys up to the Davidson River with hopes of putting them on some big fish. Atticus is an experienced fly fisherman who is passionate about the sport. Hayden is a little newer to fly fishing, and was breaking in his new rod, reel, and chest pack he had just received for Christmas.  The biggest hope was to get Hayden on a good fish. After about an hour and a half with no strikes, I was ready to move to a different piece of river.  As I was trying to convince the fellas to move down stream, we noticed a few takes on top, and thought a little hatch of midges was emerging. Two cast later I set the hook on a huge brown. I immediately asked Atticus to grab my net saying "this will be the biggest fish of my life!"

I was fishing three flies on a four weight, all on 6x tippet. My subconsious told me there was no way I was going to land this seemingly 24+ inch trout.  She ran me down into the deep hole below the run I hooked her in, then proceeded to look for every rock and log she could wrap my leader around. I was confident she would stay in the safety of the deep pool, but after about 5 minutes, she made a run down stream towards a long set of shallow rapids full or rocks, limbs, and debris.  I had to duck a fallen tree and run my rod tip under a submerged limb to keep from getting wrapped up. The big hen settled in a little piece of pocket water just above a log jam, 60 yards downstream from where I hooked her. Atticus suggested we spook it back up towards the big pool to narrow the variables of landing She-Brown the Wonder Trout.  Super idea. We got behind her, spooked her, commenced dodging logs and limbs like a fly rod clad ninja back upstream, and sighed in relief when she entered the tail out of the big hole.

The trout proceeded to dive 10 to 12 feet deep multiple times, without seeming to tire,  causing all kinds of strain on the 6x tippet, and creating a massive tight belly in the fly line bending under the weight of fish and current. She nearly had me down to my backing a couple of times. As I thought the trout was finally beginning to tire, it headed towards a couple of small fallen trees at the far side of the pool which  I had managed to move the fish away from early.  Maybe I was overconfident at this point, because i didn't worry, but the fish slowly moved in amongst the many limbs of the submerged trees as I applied pressure trying to coax it in the opposite direction. It slowly writhed in amongst the labyrinth of limbs, like a Katherine Zeta through the laser field in Entrapment, then the pressure I applied grew static and I realized my line was wrapped in the limbs. I knew my fish was certainly gone.

Atticus had been scrambling across the tail out trying to get to the far side of the deep hole to spook the fish away from the tree fall.  He crawled on top of the trees laying across the river, but my line staid tight around a limb.  I was certain the fish had broken the 6x tippet at this point, and returned to the safety of the deep water. "Do you see anything," I asked Atticus with low expectation. "No. I stirred up mud walking over here and can't see anything," he replied. I was dejected as he hovered above the cold waters lying on a few waterlogged branches.

Then it happen. Atticus communicated with focus and determination, "I see it! I'm going for it." He plunged his right arm in amongst the tangle of limbs, shoulder deep in the frigid water, and lifted the thick brown trout up into the 36 degree air by the tail, gripping it like a steelhead. Victory.

Hayden, Atticus, and I all celebrated with hoots, hollers, and jigs.  Hayden and I tromped across the river to examine all 25 inches of the healthy trout. After a few hero shots, the fish vigorously swam out of my hand and back into the hole it had fought me in minutes earlier. It was the biggest trout I'd ever landed; a fish of a lifetime.

Maybe it was worn out from the fight, and holed up under the safety of the branches, to tired to leave when Atticus approached the fallen trees and climbed on top of them, but for some reason we landed the beast. We shouldn't have, but we did. One good head shake would have easily snapped the 6x tippet with my line wrapped around a tree. This was definitely the fish that should have got away.  Without Atticus as super net boy and landing coach, it would have been just another fish story about the one that got away.

Fall Freeze Out

Whats cooler than cool? Ice cold.

It's been a pretty cold November here in North Carolina.  This morning when I stepped in the river around 8:30, it was 22 balmy degrees of guide icing cold. It helped concoct what would be a perplexing morning for me. I hoped the chill would keep the throngs off the Dirty D, but the wader clad army was full tilt on this Thanksgiving weekend.  I bypassed the crowds of the usual honey holes upstream of the bridge and near the parking lot, and walked a bit down stream to one of my favorite, and typically less visited, runs.

The water was flowing just over 100 cfs and had been as high as 1000 cfs a few days before after the rain and snow.  The "log hole" i was headed for needs at least 100 cfs to fish well, and seems to be getting shallower over the years as more water gets diverted to the other channel of the river. Upon arrival, I was pleased to see fish actively moving about and even rising regularly to sipp midges. I fished a three fly rig with a stone fly as my lead fly, then an egg, then a midge larvae.  I cycled through the normal midges, and changed eggs once.  I managed to get only one strike from a naive dink in two hours of persistent nymphing. I could smell a skunk. I hadn't been skunked trout fishing in … I can't remember the last time I was skunked.  At least 9 years. Hashtag humble.

I decided to move back to the crowded section near the parking lot and see what was crackin.  I had about on hour left to fish before I had to lay down my trout wrangling (or lack there of) for toddler wrangling. I slipped into to a familiar run, a piece of transition water at the head of a long slick.  The fish were visible, and not as seemingly active as the fish I had left. I still had my version of a Morris Stone as my lead fly, a carolina egg, and the trusty red midge on my 6x SA flouro tippet (buy one get one free at Davidson River Outfitters right now). In less than five minutes, I was into my first fish of the day. Red midge. Soon after I had my biggest fish of the day, a football of a rainbow that ate the stone fly.

A couple near me seemed excited, disappointed, and perplexed after I landed two fish rather quickly, so I struck up a nice conversation with the lady about the finicky Davidson River and my fly choices and tactics. I walked over to her,  showed her my flies, gave her my productive pieces of water, then proceeding to quickly pull 4 fish out of the piece of water she had been previously fishing with no success. I'd been lieing if I told you I didn't enjoy hearing her shout out "He caught another one!" a few times in a fashion uncouth of proper fly fishers. My ego is grateful for her uncouthness.

The 45 minutes of fishing near the couple from Atlanta/my-biggest-fishing-fan, was fantastic. Just before leaving I had that inner dialogue and self-pact that anglers often construct in their minds; "I'll leave as soon as I catch one more."  After I caught the next fish, I deemed him to small to count, so I caught another in about four cast, and then climbed the bank of rhododendron with a goofy smirk on my face. I felt like Babe Ruth calling his shot, except my accomplishment was way lamer and not as significant, and nothing at all like Babe calling his shot. Nonetheless, I left the river feeling like the Great Bambino, having called my own shot.  Thank you Asian Atlanta lady for adding to my delusions of grandeur.  If only I could leave the river like that every time.

As the kidz say on twitter, I left the river smh (shaking my head). Though grateful for the stellar 45 minutes of fishing bliss, why couldn't I get those fish in the log hole to play ball with me? The fish who did impale themselves on my hooks took the Morris Stone and red midge at almost an equal rate.  I stuck one on the carolina egg.  The fish in the first hole snubbed the myriad of my offerings. There were hardly any risers in the section I caught fish in, and plenty of rises in the stretch that kicked my glutes.  I suppose the risers down stream that heartlessly shunned me were dialed in on some emerging midge. The stone fly I was using as a lead fly must have been getting my midge trailer lower than the film trapped midges the fish must have been keying on. STILL… you think in my buffet offering of midge larvae, a few troots would have eaten my midge even if it was lower in the water column. The water was pretty shallow, so it wasn't as if my flies were floating under the fish. A buddy suggested a greased leader, size 26 fly, and hook sets on any visible rise near the area I suspected my fly to be in could have cracked the case of selective sippers.  I'm not sure I'm compelled to fish in that technical of manner yet. I'll just move and find some more willing fishes to fall prey to my current arsenal of tactics… and an excitably city lady with more fly savvy than her hubz to cheer me on.  Until then, see y'all in the funny pages.

Trout Wanted...Only large Browns Need Apply

I don't like eggs.  Unless, said eggs are in a quiche, my special recipe chorizo breakfast burrito's, or brownie batter.  Today was all about eggs in brownies on the Davidson. The Dirty D and it was done dirt cheap.

This first bruiser was the second fish to take the veiled apricot egg in the first 5 minutes, but was the first to hand.

These fellows followed.

This was my first outing in over three months, and I was all smiles.  A nice rainbow similar in size to the fish above was the other big fish of the day, and a half dozen or so others made for a great 5 hours on the water. The river was flowing at 100 cfs and it was overcast and in the 30's.  My buddy heath sweetened the deal by tuning up my reel while on the water.

I noted 2 distinct changes in my fishing after my second child was born.  One, my high sticking fitness level has plummeted.  I left with a fiercely burning right shoulder. Two, I don't always sing on the water, but when I do, it's a great tune from the likes of some super cool band (stay thirsty my friends).  Today however, the words that softly spilled from my mouth were the lyrics from "Go, Diego Go!" Lame.  Maybe its so lame, I could convince someone I'm uber hipster for singing it.  Doubtful.  I found myself singing it at least twice.  I love my kids like crazy, but not the Diego theme song. Here are a couple of other pics.

The Promised Land

Recently, two friends were kind enough to invite me to fish a private stream with them.  They were so kind, that they even paid my rod fee for the stream.  They wanted me to enjoy a pre-baby fishing excursion (My wife is due in two weeks with our first).  Well, I was MUCH obliged!  The night before I was like I kid before Christmas.  Dreams of catching 100 fish,  some of those being world records, wondering what to do when I out fished my generous friends so not to crush their kind spirits.  We hit the water at 8 am, and behold! A 24 inch behemoth from the bowels of the Davidson River's private section!

Look at it when compared to those arms!  It's a massive beast!    Before we went, I had NEVER caught a fish that size. The girth on the thing was ridiculous! The fish pulled 100 yards down stream, over a couple of slippery ledges and into a deep run up to my chest.  Let me tell ya, I was tired after finally bringing this lady to the net..It was proabably a 20 minute fight....for Mason, by buddy. I netted HIS big fish. And another 20 incher HE caught... and an 18 incher my BUDDY Alan caught.  THEY caught about 12 fish between them.  Josh 'the fish whisperer" Jones only manged two fish to hand.  One massive 5 inch native rainbow, and another hawg of a 7 inch horny head sucker.  PS.  If you havn't figured it out yet, I still havn't caught a fish the size of the one pictured above.

Ain't she a beaut!  Thats what I produced on about 8 hours of private water fishing. Wounded pride.  Last night I noticed there was a fly fishing show on the dvr.  It lead off saying that this particular show was going to be designated for beginner, and even an intermediate fly fisherman wouldn't learn anything.  I watched it all.  Intensely.

Net Boy, signing out till next time!

Notice.  That's not me.  If Alan sends me his picture, I'll give him some face time too.

Back in Action

After acl surgery in early December, the doctor banned me from the river for 3 months. This past Saturday, I got back in the water for the first time. It was about 27 degrees on the Davidson river at 7:30 Saturday morning. After fishing for about 20 minutes, listening to what I thought was sand and grit grinding through the guides on my fly rod, I looked up to find those guides covered in ice. The guide at the tip was completely full of ice. Ice on guides equal awesome.

I knocked the ice out of my guides, and was rewarded shortly after with a 17 inch rainbow. And another one 5 minutes later. I then handed my buddy Brandon one of the blue micro eggs that I landed the two bows on (I enjoyed that too) and let him back in the honey hole.

(micro egg I tie)

We moved upstream, the day warming nicely after the sun crested the ridge, and we fished the "TU Hole" and "Humble Hole." The water was up, but clear, from the recent rains we have had. It was running 300 cfs instead of the more typical 150 cfs. The fish where really stacked up in some of the oxygenated water, actively feeding on midges. Brandon and I picked up 5 or 6 more fish over the course of the morning, but I was broke off at least 5 times on big fish. Some I didn't finesse, some were just beasts, and I lost one to a bad knot.

(size 22 red midge)

I only managed one pretty crummy picture of a brown I caught. I know I need to step my photo game up if I'm going to blog!

It was good to be back.  I tried out some knew waders I will review on the blog soon. Peace.