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Date: May 29, 2022 Body of Water: Casco Bay - Falmouth, Maine Moon Phase: New Moon minus one day; waning crescent moon Boat: amybaby22 - after an early shore-fishing session from Landing float With: Alone Target: Striped Bass Time: 4:15 AM - 1:30 PM Conditions: Low tide at 5:22 AM; Quadrants II and III from the float, and then using the boat for mobility. High tide at 11:33 AM. Very clear skies and 50 -70 degrees; SW wind calm to over 10 mph after about Noon. and 55. Water was clear but green; water temperatures 55 - 60 depending on location and tide. I got a little antsy after my first cast; my blood-worm had been ignored! I was relieved to have a confident pull-down on the next drift, and I broke the day's ice with a teenager bass. By dead low tide, I had landed a couple more, including a 26-incher. The bites disappeared as the tide reversed, but resumed in a short spurt at about 6 AM, one-half hour or so after the turn. I landed number four for the session and fished until about 7 AM before deciding to board amybaby22. With no real sign of bait or groups of bass, I decided to slowly cover water with the tube-and-worm. After a pass along my familiar stretch of Falmouth shoreline (I got absolutely hammered right in front of the landing but failed to hook up), I mostly covered new water, especially in the vicinity of Sturdivant Island. I didn't generate any further action here. Still, I'll have to return because a deeper channel sweeps from my mackerel grounds right along the north side of this island, on its way into Broad Cove. With nothing going on, I decided to catch the last 1.5 hours of incoming tide at the mouth of the Presumpscot. After the 15-minute run, I did several passes along the channel behind Mackworth Island, under the Route 1 Bridge and a bit further upstream. Several other boats were working this broad area, but I didn't see anybody with any action. My single bite consisted of another explosive hit immediately upstream of the bridge, which somehow (again!) failed to result in a hook-up. I then ran to Mussel Cove, arriving at slack high tide. I worked my way up as far as possible, exploring and casting a tan/white Clouser Minnow on my 9-weight fly rod. I found a single bass in a deep pocket way upstream and landed the first fly-rod bass aboard amybaby22! I couldn't replicate that fish, and with the tide now starting to fall, turned to the tube-and-worm as I exited the upper portion of Mussel Cove. With just about 25 feet of line out, I hooked up with a surprisingly strong fish near the old mill dam ruins. That fish pulled some serious drag as it fought in the shallow water, but the hook pulled and I never saw it. I continued my tube-and-worm troll back to the landing. With about 50 or 55 feet of line out and going as slowly as possible in about 13 feet of water, my tube got hammered one last time. I finally converted a bite into a solid hookup and landed a fat 26-incher. Given the high skies and bright conditions, this was a beautiful, mid-day bonus fish. What to I have to say about this? This was quite the effort for half a dozen stripers. But it included several nice fish, my first on the fly, and I covered some new, intriguing water. Plus, with the holiday weekend, I could look forward to doing it again the next day! Before I forget to mention; my time on the water is sprinkled with plenty of wildlife. I am sharing the water with seals (sparse so far, but they will return), bald eagles, ospreys and loons... not to mention eider ducks, herons, terns, etc. I am fortunate to have this restorative time and place at my convenience now. I have to periodically remind myself that I do, indeed, live here and I am not simply visiting. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways
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Date: May 15-17, 2022 Body of Water: Merced River drainage, Yosemite National Park, California Moon Phase: Full Moon on First Day; waning gibbous moon Tides: NA Boat: None; shore fishing without waders With: Alone Target: Trout - rainbows or browns Time: Early every morning, and then various Conditions: Absolutely beautiful weather and scenery. Water was high, clear and cold which made fishing very difficult. Wow! Yosemite is stunning and worthy of anybody's time. I don't even care that I didn't catch a fish; I was constantly reminded that other things are more important! It took me too long to get there. That said, fishing was tough! I had also handicapped myself with my preparations and gear. I did have a prolonged interaction with what would have been my stream trout of a lifetime, and that was enough success for me! This trip was a mere suffix to the meaningful family events of the week. The entire trip was a bonus and the ordinary metrics of success don't really matter. What does matter, is that we did it! My focus and energy were elsewhere; my preparations were less intense than usual. I expected tough fishing conditions (check!), and to seek small trout in small environments with small, natural flies. Once again, I was reminded of the value of planning as opposed to specific plans. We arrived Sunday evening, and as quickly as possible, I was rigging up alongside the Merced River, in the Happy Isles section above the campgrounds. The value of my plans was already questionable; the tributary streams I had in mind were not accessible by car, but rather only by hiking in! And, this water was high, very clear, and faster than I preferred. I hadn't targeted stream trout with a fly in almost 14 years (see numenon.blogspot.com/2012/10/out-west.html , and especially the last few paragraphs), but strangely, I still had some confidence that I might catch a small native trout or two. At first I tried a two-nymph rig, but my rate of attrition on flies was way too high! Abundant wood in the river was especially sticky, and I lost a few flies to back-casts in the tight quarters, too. The current was raging, and I thought I might be able to both conserve flies and maintain depth control to a greater degree with a drop-shot rig. Perhaps so, but I still spent the night fishless. I did, however, see a couple of small (tiny) trout tucked behind a boulder, and a very few large, dark mayflies were evident. I executed a few good casts, too. Mostly, this had been scouting and I decided to try elsewhere in the morning. I confidently crossed the meadow, only to find the bank of the Merced "closed" to preserve bank vegetation and control erosion. Thus began 17 miles of searching for the day. There would be more walking than actual fishing. Finding the proper combination of access, castability and depth (especially without waders and while fly fishing) kept me on the hoof. Most spots got 10 casts or less before I moved on. The river here was more quiet, and my rig consisted of a simple soft-hackle fly above a bead-headed caddis nymph, both suspended under an indicator. In the still morning, I saw neither bug nor fish activity. I had headed downstream, and as I approached Yosemite Village, my time for the morning was running out. I crossed the river to pick up the road/sidewalk on my way back to camp. I tried another couple of spots on my return, with more of the same results. I was pondering my approach for the rest of the trip. Luckily, however, I struck a conversation with a gentleman walking about, and he excitedly pulled out his camera to show me some pictures he'd taken of various other fisherman and their recent catches in this area. Most had been captured by wading spin fisherman, but all had been captured in slower sections. I could certainly picture this; what really surprised me was the fish he showed were mostly brown trout, and larger than I had anticipated, up to 3.5 pounds or so. I'd further handicapped myself by not having included sinking tips and streamers in my travel kit. Still, this was good information, and this provided a new horizon for me to explore in my remaining time. After breakfast, we hiked along Tenaya Creek to the head of Mirror Lake. I spotted a rising trout at the tail of the lake. Life! As I rigged a dropper/dry presentation, an ill-informed youngster chucked some rocks at the rise forms. That trout was now down, but I still got in some nice casts and drifts. Parts of Tenaya Creek beckoned, but for the most part, I kept moving, looking ahead for some slower water. We found that later in the afternoon, when we drove to the section of the Merced below Yosemite Village. I accessed the river at Swinging Bridge. The water here was smooth, clear, and in some areas, very deep. Still, I was able to spy a pair of nice rainbows on a gravel flat upstream. These were well out of reach to me, so I watched them with some satisfaction. But when I turned my gaze downstream, I found three dandy trout in a perfect position. The river's main current crashed into the (protected and off-limits) bank, creating an eddy. These fish were in the soft water just downstream of the "U" in the eddy. One of them rose steadily and predictably to unseen food; probably to emerging midges. I spent the next hour or more trying to figure these fish out. I was able to get to within 30 feet or so of their position, but surrounded by bank vegetation. Every time I tried to reach them with a cast, I would catch this on the back-cast. I resorted to establishing a short cast and then stripping line to extend my drift as my flies (Parachute Adams dry with a generic soft-hackle trailer) floated downstream. I concentrated my efforts on the single rising fish, which also was positioned closest to me. This fish fed confidently and right on schedule. Every three minutes or so, its posture would change, it would drift a bit to the side, and after a beat or two, pluck something off the surface. I began to time my casts and drifts to this fish's rhythm. I flubbed or aborted most casts base on length, drift or drag, but still fully executed multiple casts and drifts without putting this fish down. But it didn't seem interested in these flies, and so I repeated with trailing caddis and midge emerges. With still no interest, I decided to rest this fish and look for another in my remaining time. I worked all the way down to Sentinel Beach. I worked some nice water and spotted another nice rainbow trout. This one was tucked under an exposed tree root, and also ignored my presentations (from positions above and below its lie.) I started hiking again, this time going upstream of the bridge and on the other side of the river. I saw no fish, and finding suitable casting conditions to appropriate water was uncommon. I was almost back to Yosemite Village when I decided to head back. Returning to my feeding fish and with time for the day running out, I had just gotten myself into position when I was joined by two young boys. Their presence made casting impossible, but the oldest was interested in fishing and so we chatted for a bit while I pointed the fish out to him and got him accustomed to its habits. When he finally "saw" the fish, he was fairly astounded, and he stayed behind, watching the feeder, as I left to join A and M. I took A on a reconnaissance tour of the nearby fish, and truly appreciated her reaction to my problem fish; "That's a big-a$$ trout!" So, despite my best efforts, I'd been skunked for the day. But it was really the best possible skunk. That night I dreamt of these trout; I hoped to return for another shot. First thing in the morning, I tried the slower water above Yosemite Village again, but this time with a simple weighted black marabou streamer with a generic wet, soft hackle above. I re-fished the previous day's water with some confidence, and even found a few other spots worth drifting through. Still, this was difficult and my ability to reach the best-looking water was limited. But it was still a good session, as my single streamer boosted my confidence for a good fish. But mostly I was looking ahead. I felt that the root-hugging rainbow might be vulnerable to the streamer from an upstream position. Plus, who could not look forward to another crack at my large, active feeder? Arriving in the late morning with M, she was the first to notice the higher water conditions. I confirmed the location of the various "bridge" trout before heading downstream to that rainbow of interest. Unfortunately, this fish had apparently changed positions with the higher flow, and I could neither see nor catch the attention of any fish in my section of most interest. Returning to the bridge, I found that my three eddy trout were slightly re-positioned, too. Two were hugging the bank and totally inaccessible. The third (largest and still feeding) had just slightly shifted position and was now out of reach; my casting position had been slightly compromised by the higher water and I just could not get enough line in the water to execute a proper drift. I left the park defeated by the fish, but somehow still exhilarated. What do I have to say about this? Have I mentioned how large that big-a$$ trout was? At least 22 inches and possibly more. While it wouldn't have been my biggest stream trout, it certainly was the most technically difficult one, perfectly positioned in the most beautiful setting. It would have been a fish of my lifetime, but I guess that honor will go to some future fish. Walking around a national park with fly-rod in hand is apparently my natural setting. I was approached and smiled at by more strangers in my short stay than I will be in the next several months in my regular life. While all expressed interest, I only saw two other people actually fishing during my stay. One was doing so oblivious to law or fish, the other was fly-fishing from an inflatable raft. I wonder if they saw, stalked and captured "my" fish? This time, especially on the heels of some special shared events with my family, also gave me an encouraging glimpse of what retirement might be like. I hope to make the most of it. Walking around a national park, fly-rod in hand, is a pretty good gig, even if the fishing is tough! Finally, just as I was wrapping this up, I came across this article - www.hatchmag.com/articles/12-keys-becoming-great-fly-angler/7715490. I am by no means a "great" fly angler, but I really can't argue with the 12 elements listed here to become one, should on so choose. Many of these elements apply, regardless of the pursuit, and so it's worth reading and thinking about, regardless of your fly-fishing ambitions. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Date: October 9, 2021 Body of Water: Casco Bay, Falmouth, Maine Moon Phase: New Moon plus three days; waxing crescent moon Tides: Low Tide at 7:29 AM; High Tide at 1:42 PM Boat: amybaby22 With: Alone Target: Striped Bass Time: 7:30 AM - 2:30 PM Conditions: Generally overcast, but trying to clear later in the day; about 55 - 60 degrees F; persistent southeasterly wind > 10 mph; water temperatures 58 +/- degrees I wasn't sure what to expect. The week's weather had been pretty mild, with no real change in water temperature. I didn't want to leave any striped bass chances on the table, though, so I gave it a shot. Bait was spotty east of Clapboard, but with a half dozen in the well, I tried Clapboard's eastern point. Two passes revealed absolutely nothing, so I headed to Hussey Sound and College Island. I stopped a bit short of College Island, along Long Island, to set up. A single striper revealed itself pretty quickly with a surface chase of my mackerel, but after one "pop", it disappeared. I continued towards College Island and the saddle connecting it to Long. Almost there but with nothing to show for my efforts, I decided to circle around to the spot revealed by the single active striper. Off the edge of a grassy flat, the depth dropped from about 10 to about 20 feet of water pretty quickly. As I deployed a bait, I felt it get smacked; I tightened up, and landed a nice 26-incher! I circled around again, and repeated my good luck; this time, it was only a 23-incher, but from the same type of water; near the grassy shallows, off the edge, but not too deep. I tried the College Island saddle area with no luck. The mid-tide current was picking up and I was down to my last bait; The deep, west end of College Island provided a dozen mackerel in short order. I ran out of Hussey with the intent of fishing Vaill Island; but the wind and swell made things uncomfortable, and I really didn't want any problems on this lonely day; there weren't too many folks out to provide assistance if need be. So I turned back and went to Crow; I found nothing there, but had a double run off a rocky point on nearby Little Diamond Island. One bait got dropped, and the other got plucked off the hook as I came tight. And that was it; I spent another hour or more searching Little Diamond and then Clapboard for any active bass. Approaching slack high tide, I ran up Mill Creek and Mussel Cove. I casted my new 9-weight fly rod with a homemade Clouser for another hour without a sign of a fish. Just to keep them honest, I made a dozen or more casts with a swim-bait, and I finished by swimming a live mackerel in this skinny water. Nothing moved. This was the end of the line for my 2021 Striper Season (at least here in Maine, on my boat). I'd squeezed out what I could, but other it was clear to me, I should be investing my time in other pursuits. What do I have to say about this? I knew this was coming, but it still hurts a bit; I didn't want this fine season to end (at least without an exclamation point of some sort.) Still, there are worse things than ending a season with a trouble-free session, a couple of fish and a new wand in hand. I was decently pleased with my casting, and I've got plenty to look forward to, in both short- (trout!) and longer terms. P.S. amybaby22 and the dinghy were pulled from the water on Monday, October 11. This really was the last hoorah for my local boat/striper season. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Date: September 7, 2021 Body of Water: Plymouth Bay - Duxbury, Massachusetts Moon Phase: New Moon Tides: Just about Low at first (6:34 AM), flooding throughout Boat: Captain Dave's Carolina Skiff With: Baymen Guide Service Target: Striped Bass Time: 6:15 AM - 11:30 AM Conditions: Beautiful, bright and clear; about 65-75 degrees with a mild westerly wind. Water temperatures falling to 67 degrees. Tons of birds and bait! So, this was different. On New Year's Day, I noticed a post on this guide's web page; he had an opening on September 7 due to a rescheduled customer. I'd been following Baymen Guide Service ( www.baymenlife.com ) since I'd moved to Massachusetts in late 2019, and I emailed my interest in joining Captain Dave for the day. A few hours later, the trip was confirmed. A lot has changed since the booking. My move from suburban Boston to Maine somewhat erased the trip's purpose (to learn new, local water), complicated the logistics a bit (I spent the night in a local dive), and I entered the day thinking it would be a one-off. But at day's end, I knew I wanted more of this port! Captain Dave proved himself to be a true, rugged individualist, but also a generous, affable boat-mate. He was well-prepared and smart enough to launch before the New Moon low tide that left a few boats high and dry for a few hours. He kept me on fish for the entire morning and seemed to really appreciate his time on the water. Our allotted time zipped by. Here's the Captain's report: www.baymenlife.com/27-fish-on-fly-lt-2/ I concur, although I think he's overly kind with his assessment of my fly-fishing! Here's my account; it's something of a blur because it was all new water for me. And, since I wasn't running the boat, I was reacting to different cues. We ran almost directly to Bug Light just outside of Plymouth Harbor. From this vantage point, Captain Dave surveyed the scene and options; and moving further into Plymouth Harbor rose to the top based on bird activity. As we moved in, I could finally see what he had glassed; several groups of terns and gulls working in super shallow water adjacent to sandbars. Throughout the day, Captain Dave was the first to see/notice signs of bird, bait, and bass activity. When Captain Dave showed me his swim-bait retrieve/technique, I was mildly shocked. In my experience, low-and-slow wins; the fast and aggressive "Baymen Bounce" was like using a jerk-bait while on a cocktail of coke and steroids. But I quickly proved to myself that it works! Eel grass in less than a foot of water does not mix with swim-baits; and when I switched to a bone Spook, I quickly put a half dozen bass in the boat. With such a target-rich environment, I decided it was time to pick up the long wand; the one with the popper! It took perhaps a half hour and a change in location to a slightly deeper edge before one ate; but this 25-incher was certainly my biggest fly-rod striper to date! I enjoyed my efficiencies with the Spook better, though, and we located and chased down several groups of fish. Many casts with the Spook would result in multiple strikes before the hooks found flesh. There were plenty of chases, swings and misses, and outright rejections, too. We saw some bigger fish, and the day's biggest (26.5 inches) came aboard. At about 8:30 AM, the tail slaps clearly outnumbered actual strikes. I switched to a Heddon Knucklehead popper; that fooled a couple before that, too was ignored. For the rest of the trip, a four-inch white swim-bait shined. We gave others opportunities, but white outproduced others by a noticeable margin. With fewer birds now working, we did more blind-casting and searching. Seemingly any current seam held fish, and I enjoyed working a 9-inch Sluggo to visible fish along one scum line. Once again, "fast and aggressive" illicited more interest than "slow and vulnerable", but the fish were obviously getting more selective. Now committed to working the Sluggo high and fast, I had a group of fish chasing it down. One was a big bass!! Fish on! This turned out to be a nice, 7- or 8-pound bluefish, a great fight on the medium power TFO Inshore rod. It was now about 9:30 AM and we thought we would try some deeper/structure fishing. Somehow that turned into targeting more shallow bass with birds inside the barrier beach near Duxbury. While the Spook generated a few swings and misses, the white swim-bait burned near top provided the most connections. We encountered one of the most intense blitzes I've ever been party to. A thousand bass or more had two-inch peanut bunker pinned to the grass edge at the mouth of a creek. This fish moved quickly, and I only pulled two out. We followed the school down the shoreline, where I presented a variety of small streamers to the fish. I had lots of follows, but no takes. We finished the day fishing deeper water (up to nearly 30 feet) near the edge of a rocky island with bucktail jigs. We were hoping for one more, larger fish. My only hit was from a small fluke; we called it a (great!) day. What do I have to say about this? This simply turned out better than I expected or I could have hoped. It was an intense morning of fishing with more visible targets and action than the rest of my season combined. While I left a few fish on the table (pinched barbs and flubbed landings), I didn't miss many. With a total of 25 stripers (including a half dozen or more over 24 inches and a fly-rod PB) and a strong bluefish landed, and the visual prospect of encountering bigger fish, what more could anybody have asked for? I'm already thinking about my next fall trip to these harbors. It might be in a few weeks, or it might be next September. But I do believe that I will be back! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways |
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