Spring on the Farm

A pictorial of springtime on Connecticut's Farmington River...



 

 

Out Front

It felt good to break free from the tidal rivers on Monday evening and fish the open Sound for my first time this season. I was aboard my buddy Mike's boat of Reel Cast Charters. He'd been on a solid bite for a week leading up to our trip, with catches including striped bass up to 32-pounds and two elusive weakfish. It was shaping up to be a gorgeous night as we launched in the western Sound around dinner time. We made a B-line to a popular weakfish spot to try for a unicorn and saw a couple dozen casters lining the shoreline. I have never caught a squeteague before and, while reports this year have been better than the last few, my luck wouldn't change on this outing either. Instead my first several bluefish of the season jumped all over the metal spoons and plastic swimmers that were intended for a more prized catch. Nonetheless, it was still fun to have the toothy critters back on the scene.

Once the we had our fill of the blues, we shot out to deeper water and focused on throwing top-water lures around rocky structure. Mike had a boil on his spook right away so we knew there were fish around. We kept at it for a while and he finally stuck a nice bass right before dark. The nearly 20-pound striper fought very well and was incredibly clean and bright having just made its way in from the Atlantic Ocean.

Once the sun went down, we switched tactics and began drifting eels along the same structure. The wind and tide combination created a quick drift and we both missed some strikes while adjusting to it. Mike boated a few smaller keeper-sized bass and I struggled but enjoyed every second of it. We knew there were a lot more bass around than we were catching because we could hear them popping on small bait on the surface. After a while of no love with the live eels, I downsized to a slender swimming plug and drew a hit on my first cast. A short while later I nabbed my first striped bass of the season outside of a tidal river.

Losing the tide, we made a few more passes before heading back to the launch through a thick blanket of fog. I've been in fog like that before, but not always at night. It really dawned on me how crucial good electronics are to a boat captain in situations like those. And like someone flipped a light switch, poof!--the fog was gone as soon as we entered the harbor. Regardless of my subpar fishing performance, it was an awesome night on the water. It sure felt good to have the salt spray on my face again after a long winter. Here's to a great and safe season ahead!

Game On!

The Food of Opening Day

One of the most anticipated things about Opening Day weekend is the top-shelf food consumed in camp. For three nights and four days, if we are not fishing or sleeping, we are eating or preparing the next meal. It's three square meals a day all weekend, but it's broken up into two breakfasts and a monster dinner. We forgo eating lunch to fish during the bulk of the day, then go to town on appetizers and the main course late into the night.

Breakfast sandwiches and bowls of Cheerios with bananas are always on the morning menu. The dinners and appetizers are where we change it up a little bit from year to year. This Opening Day consisted of paella (a Spanish rice dish) served with clams on night one. We kept it simple on night two in the pouring rain with natural casing hot dogs topped with kraut. Then the grand finale was the classic steak with baked potatoes.

Fresh seafood made up most of our apps. This year's sampling included clams from Long Island Sound, oysters from Point Judith Pond and sea scallops form George's Bank. Of course you can't overlook the serious cheese spread that was cut up each night.

A little excessive for a camping trip?  Probably, but then again Opening Day isn't just any old camping trip! All this food and camp talk has me already looking forward to next year...


A nice cheese spread with my late Grandfather's KA-BAR.

  

Top neck clams fresh from Long Island Sound.



Clams on ice waiting to go down the hatch.



My uncle preparing his famous roasted oyster dish.

 

Big boy steaks over an indian fire with potatoes baking in the coals.



 

Kurt prepping ingredients for the paella dish.




Sea scallops wrapped with bacon held together by tooth picks whittled in a pinch.

 

Slicing up natural casing hot dogs before they go over the fire.



What It's All About

Like many anglers, I am big on traditions, and the grandaddy of them all in my book is Opening Day of trout fishing season. It's been nearly two decades since my first Opening Day celebration, which has grown and morphed over time into what is easily my favorite trip of the year. It is a tradition, God willing, that our crew will continue recognizing until we are physically unable to do so. The hope is, when that day comes, a new generation will pick up the torch and carry it on, but they need to be shown the light first. This year's trip brought us one step closer to that reality, as we introduced new blood to our cherished Opening Day rituals.

Max, my 13-year-old cousin and youngest son of the trip founder, experienced Opening Day weekend in all its glory this year. Between the sampling of weather, camping, incredible food (which deserves its own post), camaraderie and fishing, it couldn't have been drafted up any better--just a textbook Opening Day like we'd been doing it for a while or something. The kid was absolutely blown away like I was for my first time about his same age. Everyone in the group took their time to teach Max the "right" way to do things, from whittling walking sticks to mending a fly line. I may be biased, but he is a natural with a fly rod. We all caught ourselves shaking our heads on the riverbank just watching his nearly perfect casts and drifts. And when he fought and landed his first feisty rainbow trout on the long rod, there was a well deserved photo shoot, high fives and smiles all around.

Every Opening Day is special and looked forward to, but this one was on another level and rightly so. A new member has been sworn into our crew and another ambassador to the sport has been created. We were treated to a glimpse of the future of Opening Day and I'm proud to say the future looks bright. 


It always starts at the woodpile.

 

Derrick spinning flies under lantern light.



Chef Aaron mans one of the Coleman grills.

 

A meeting of the minds about fly selection.

 

If the rocks around this firepit could talk...

 

A fine looking campsite.





Gearing up before a full day on the water.



Learning from the master.





Enjoying the show from the bank.



Max's first trout on the fly!  I can't tell who's happier.



He's getting "the look" down now.



Dad showing son what the stocked trout grow up to be.

 

The obligatory group shot with a new addition.



Spring Into Action

Ever since I could hold a fishing rod, springtime and trout have been closely intertwined in my life. In the month of April, I'm perfectly content being knee-deep in a cold stream while bugs are hatching off the water and birds are singing their hearts out. I love the warm spring sun shining on my face and I can't get enough of the lush green leaves when they first sprout from their buds. The trout fishing can be pretty good too. I've made two trips to the Farmington River so far this spring and was rewarded with one nice holdover trout each visit. I'll take quality over quantity nine times out of 10. Action on our rivers and streams should only intensify over the next few weeks as the bug life kicks it into high gear. I am ready for it.



(photo credit: Aaron Swanson)



(photo credit: Aaron Swanson)



In late March, I stumbled upon the remains of an eight-point buck along the banks of the Farmington River. Shed or not, it was the first set of antlers I've ever come across. There was no visible evidence on how the deer died, but my first guess was that it was shot during hunting season and never found. That or struck by a car, but this stretch of river wasn't along any road. With my boot on its skull, I tried like hell to pry the antlers free to no avail. I returned the next chance I could three weeks later half expecting them not to be there. Thankfully the antlers were still intact and this time I had a hack saw. A fellow angler saw what I was up to and crossed the river to lend a hand. He was a hunter and a little upset to see the deer "go to waste," but I was going home with the antlers and many a critter feasted on the corpse since it died, though I understood what he meant. The rack will look good over a garage someday.



An April morning's haul of sea glass from the shores of Long Island Sound.



The King

Fishermen have long had a love/hate relationship with the Internet. On one hand it has turned us on to new angling opportunities, methods, spots, and the list goes on. On the other hand, everyone and their brother has access to that same information, which can lead to overcrowding, overfishing, loss of access, and that list goes on too. Whatever your school of thought about fishing and the Internet, at least two things are true: 1) you're reading this now thanks to it, and 2) it has connected all of us to other like-minded anglers. 

A fine example of the latter is my friendship with a fellow fish bum named Jon that I met through CTFisherman. For years now, Jon and I have shared valuable fishing information back and forth from our respective experiences on the water and ice. I love writing publicly, but I also enjoy having a small circle of anglers that I can confide in about a hot bite or a certain spot without the whole fishing community able to find out. Jon is a good guy to have in your circle. 

A few years ago, he moved from Connecticut to New York, which put him a stone's throw away from some incredible fishing opportunities, none more so than through the ice of Lake George (affectionately referred to some as "The King" due to its namesake, King George II). In the last few years, Jon has established himself among a pack of lake trout gurus, which has really helped cut his learning curve on Lake George and dial-in his jigging technique.It didn't matter much in 2012 as the massive lake never froze, but this past winter was another story when Jon iced over 100 lakers before I realized what I was missing just a little over three hours away.

News from Jon about a good bite materializing on The King started coming in early February. There was an open invitation, but it was difficult to commit to a weekend in the Adirondacks with a trip to Maine already scheduled. It wasn't until the ride home from the Sebago skunking when I made up my mind to continue the quest for lake trout the following weekend. Who knows when the next time this kind of opportunity would present itself? With the blessing from the home front, it was all systems go to New York with my good buddy Aaron on board and anxious as me. 

The only missing piece was Jon. He couldn't join us that weekend, yet was more than happy to offer a weekend of lake trout fishing on a silver platter in the form of access points, GPS coordinates, and advice on everything from tackle to technique. All we had to do was show up and show up we did on a Saturday morning in late February. For the next two days Aaron and I didn't do much other than fish our brains out for lake trout. We barely ate, drank or stopped to soak in the scenery. It was a constant state of working to figure out the continuous stream of lake trout showing up on our electronics. It was ice fishing at a furious pace and we loved every second of it. I'll save the rest of the story for another time and let the photos and video speak for themselves. Thanks again, Jon!