Where The Wild Things Are

Fly fishing for wild trout in Connecticut small streams.

Small Water & Good Samaritans

It always nice when business and fishing plans cooperate. Before this last bout of heavy rains, I had a meeting awfully close to a favorite small stream. By early afternoon I was doing my best Clark Kent transformation in a Panera Bread parking lot, shedding a shirt and tie for waders and a 3-weight fly rod. 

There were small blue-winged olives coming off the water when I arrived. The dry-dropper setup already rigged from my last small stream trip was all I needed. A little pheasant tail nymph fished under a Stimulator drew strikes at nearly every pool I knelt beside. It was great connecting to some beautiful trout, taking in the fresh air, and seeing signs of spring emerging all over the place.

A great outing was almost completely erased by my clumsiness, however. Later that night my father called and said that someone had found my camera bag. WTF, my camera bag is missing??? In my haste to get home for dinner, I must have left the waterproof bag, along with its contents of a DSLR and GoPro, back at the parking spot. Thankfully my fishing license was inside and a passerby with a good heart had found it. He looked up my last name in the white pages and dialed my parents house, leaving his name and phone number. We connected the following day and I picked up the bag on his front porch, leaving a thank you note and some hand-tied trout flies in its place.

If you are reading this Pat, thank you! I am a lucky man and will be paying it forward and then some. 

Connecticut Natives

Sometimes the best things in life do indeed come in small packages. Take Salvelinus fontinalis, or the brook trout, for example. Full grown they may not exceed six inches in length, yet stream-born brookies are by far the most handsome fish swimming in Connecticut waters. In addition to their striking beauty, brook trout are special because they are the state's only native trout (they're technically a char, but let's not split hairs here). Unfortunately, these little gems face an uphill battle in the Nutmeg State. Once found in streams all across Connecticut, over development and pollution from stormwater runoff (among other factors) have relegated wild brookies to only our most pristine, gin-clear waterways.

A friend and I spent this past Columbus Day stalking one such stream in search of its resident trout. After a 90 minute drive and another thirty minute hike, we finally arrived to a watercourse no wider than the length of my fly rod. Our excursion couldn't have been better timed; foliage was peaking, water levels were ideal and there wasn't another soul in sight.We brought along a handful of dry flies, nymphs and small streamers, but only one pattern proved necessary. A loud, buoyant fly known as a Stimulator lived up to its name that day, bringing dozens of little wild trout from hiding to smack the floating meal ticket.

Drawing strikes wasn't all that hard, as the first good drift over any fishy-looking lie was often rewarded with a mini surface explosion. Getting the fly to where it needed to be in tight quarters was the tricky part, along with keeping the wildly acrobatic brookies on a tight line. More fish were lost than landed, but most of the fun comes with the initial take anyway.

 

My friend had hiked and fished this place once before, but it was my first time and I was completely in awe of the stream and its surroundings. It was a pristine place untouched by the outside world. A huge swath of wild land that hopefully will always be kept the way it is for future generations to enjoy and to see what much of the state once looked like. It's fitting that such a gorgeous creature as a native brook trout can only thrive in places like this one.

Walks in the Woods

Saltwater has dominated my fishing for the last few months, yet something about the fall gives me the urge to stalk wild trout hiding in thin blue lines in the woods. It had been months since I last tied on a nymph pattern, but as I knelt down beside the stream a size #18 pheasant tail stuck out like a sore thumb in my fly box. I attached the fly to a short section of tippet and attached to the hook shank of a bushy Stimulator dry fly. That simple dry-dropper combo has become my all-time favorite small stream method over the years. It wouldn't disappoint on this day either. It is an awesome sight watching the dry fly get sucked below the surface from the pull of a native brookie or wild brown. While getting outside was the main goal, a few trout to the hand was a welcome bonus!

Just a few days later, our family took a hike along another beautiful small stream. No trout were caught this day, but we did encounter a few feisty fallfish. This native species readily takes nymphs and dry flies and can be fun to tangle with on light tackle. They also make great ice fishing bait for northern pike. Murphy, the family golden retriever, had the most fun of all on the hike, spoiling many a good pool by jumping in before I could get a cast off.

A Wild Saturday

My good buddy Aaron and I visited an old haunt of ours on Saturday in search of wild brown and native brook trout. The small stream was still on the high side after the major rain event that hit the region earlier in the week. The water was still gin-clear, however, and very fishable. The warm sun spiked the water temperature to a high of 54 degrees and a seine net sample revealed a variety of menu options, with an abundance of cased caddis.

Photo credit: Aaron Swanson

 

We spent much of the day nymphing with weighted flies; a method we haven't spent too much time using here--and for many stretches, it proved very effective. At times the tight quarters made wielding long rods difficutlt, but the extra reach helped maintain our stealthy approach.



Photo credit: Aaron Swanson

A few fish came unbuttoned early, but we eventually settled into a groove and landed a fair amount of trout. A few stockers migrated into this Wild Trout Management Area with the heavy flows, but the majority were stream-born and flawless.



Photo credit:  Aaron Swanson



The extremely mild weather was a welcomed treat, and it felt good to be back on a stream that we spent many a day on during college. It felt even better to have her cough up some gems. Until next time, tight lines... 

Where The Wild Things Are

Over the weekend a good friend and I returned to a part of the state where we spent many days fishing during college. It's an area crisscrossed by wild trout streams and large tracts of protected land. Neither of us had been up there in years. One of our goals was to fool some wild trout by employing tactics we had learned since our last visit. With our blaze orange hats, a lunch-filled backpack and two fly rods each, we set off into the woods. 

It was a perfect late autumn day with air temps in the mid-50's and a water temperature of 46. The stream flow was a little lower than ideal, but still very fishable. A seine net sample in the first pool revealed a healthy array of trout food to imitate. As always we both had high hopes starting off, but neither of us would have guessed how hard we would have to work to see a few wild fish. 

Memories of great battles, won and lost, came roaring back with every bend of the stream. We swore that every pool that we stopped at held trophy fish, though none dumb enough to fall for our imitations. The native brook and wild brown trout found here are wary creatures--there is not as much traffic here compared to other small streams in Connecticut. And the thick brush and overhanging limbs sure make a proper presentation a challenging task.

We enjoyed a spread of cheese and crackers at a spot once dubbed Champagne Pool. The a fallen tree once stretched bank to bank here causing the bubbling white water that gave its name. The lay down was now gone, but the new set up consisted of a beautiful shelf perfect for nymphing. When this run didn't cough up a fish, we realized we were in for a long day. It wasn't for the lack of trying either--we busted out all the tricks in the book and a few dozen different fly patterns.  

A few hours into the trip, I finally broke the skunk with a yearling brown trout that fell to a yellow prince nymph, perhaps mistaking it for the golden stoneflies we encountered while sampling. It wasn't in the size-class we were after, but it felt good knowing there were still fish to be found!  We ate lunch at the same pool and soon began the long walk back to the car, stopping at a few old favorite pools along the way. 

Upon reaching the final stop of the day, Aaron made a last ditch effort using a fly that had brought so many fine trout to the net here in the past; a black Woolly Bugger. In a very fitting way to end a great day, he fooled a marvelous native brookie on the old classic pattern. It was awesome reconnecting with a special place after so many years had gone by.