Winter Purgatory

Usually my inaugural fish each year is caught while ice fishing in Connecticut. It goes with saying that wouldn't be the case this year. Every day this month at the climate station in Bridgeport has been warmer than normal. The average monthly temperature there of 40.1°F is 8.4° above normal. The same goes for Hartford where the second warmest January on record is underway, 9° higher than average. For ice anglers and snow lovers, we are stuck in winter purgatory; a seemingly permanent state of early March.  

With no ice fishing opportunities within a two-hour drive, I have been looking for other ways to scratch the itch. I had a few hours to myself on a recent afternoon and decided to spend them along a stream I had not seen since May. A fresh rain had the flow in its sweet spot. I started out with the dry-dropper method and never strayed from it. The first combo of flies was my go-to; a #14 Stimulator dry with an #18 bead head pheasant tail nymph trailing below it. Kneeling on the bank beside a familiar riffle, I watched a small wild brown trout attack my dry fly. A surface eat in mid-January for my first fish of 2023. I'll take it. 

After several drifts with no love for my nymph selection, I swapped it out for more of an attractor pattern; a trusty San Juan Worm. That seemed to get their attention and a couple more wild browns quickly came to the net, each slightly bigger than the previous. I also missed one or two others due to late sets on the dry fly. It felt good to wield a fly rod again and shake the rust off. No native brook trout on this trip, and what the browns lacked in size they made up in their beauty. Just gorgeous creatures. 

The second and last stop of the afternoon was a short drive downstream. There were trout rising to what I believe were small winter caddis. I didn't bother embarrassing myself with a cast in this shallow, slow stretch; instead I just watched them feed for a while. I walked up to the next riffle and missed a fish on top during my first drift. That was it. A couple hours of fresh air and a few tight lines. It may not have been ice fishing, but to quote a legendary Stones tune, "you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime you'll find you get what you need."

Traditions Never Die

Though several months removed, the trip is still seared in memory and the smell of wood smoke clings to my gear. While a recap from our annual Opening Day celebration is long overdue, sifting through photos from that weekend brought me right back and had me itching for more.

Traditions never die, but they do evolve. Our trip is a hell of a lot less about fishing now than when it started decades ago. It's pretty evident that we spend way more time swapping stories and eating good food around the fire than we do making drifts for trout. I'm not bothered by that. I still love fly fishing and the Farmington River, but when the third weekend of April rolls around, and I get a little time off from work and dad duties, I'm taking it slow and soaking it all in. 

This evolution doesn't change the fact that, come hell or high water, we'll be back celebrating each spring for as long as we're physically able to. It's my favorite weekend of the year by far and something I look forward to introducing my own kids to when the time is right. If they love it half as much as we do, the future of this tradition is bright.

Headwaters

The first open water fishing I did this year was a pair of trips to a familiar stretch of stream. It's close by and I have high confidence in finding willing wild trout every time I go. On a warm lunch hour in March, I hooked and landed four beautiful browns all from the same riffle. The biggest of the bunch came up for a dry fly, which really made my day. Just over a week later and a mile upstream, I got into a few more quality fish thanks to a piece of hot pink chenille tied on a hook that resembled next to nothing in their diet. 

Over the years, I have explored a good chunk of this watershed, learning a little more of her secrets with each visit. Yet for as much as I thought I knew about it, there is always more to uncover. During a recent night on the couch with a laptop and Google Earth, I stumbled upon some new access points north of where I normally fish, a long five miles upstream. 

The following day I found myself along a brand new-to-me section of stream. The waterway was noticeably smaller than the one I knew downstream. It was also fed by natural springs as evidenced by patches of thick vegetation that looked like water cress. I walked the bank just observing for a while. After a few minutes of seeing no life, I finally spotted a trout as it bolted away from me like I was Godzilla. A few more paces and a few more dark shadows darted in the opposite direction. It was clear these fish were easily spooked and I would need a stealthier approach. 

Eventually I snuck up to a pool that looked like it could hold some trout. On the first drift with a dry-dropper, something grabbed my nymph. I pulled tight and a small fish somersaulted across the surface and shook off before coming to my hand. Over the next several drifts, native brook trout of varying size took turns attacking the dry fly and pheasant tail below it. Finally I was able to cup one in my hand for quick documentation. That single pool must have harbored at least two dozen brookies. 

Fifty yards further I stopped at another run and experienced similar results. It was like this was the first time these fish ever saw bugs. Interestingly they were all brook trout and the lower section of the stream was predominately brown trout. The scouting trip was a success and just the tip of the iceberg. So much more water and woods to explore, all seemingly unspoiled and uncrowded. Sometimes in pays to do a little research and break away from the comfort zones on our favorite rivers and streams.  

Softwater

the thick of winter
catching trout in a riffle;
I should be on ice

Two Days In January

Lunch With A View

There are pros and cons to every job. A clear pro of mine is its proximity to a wild trout stream. It's less than a mile from my office. Sometimes I break away and spend lunch breaks beside it stalking wary targets. When the sun is at its highest isn't my preferred time for trout fishing, but it usually means I'm alone. With Muck Boots and a three-weight fly rod stashed in my truck, I can be desk-bound to streamside in five minutes. 

As an obsessed angler with a nine-to-five and a parent of two little ones, it's a major perk to get that small fix on the water amidst the daily grind.  It's even better when it happens on a blue ribbon trout stream like this one. It's refreshing to learn a place as intimately as I've come to know this piece of water. I've fished its entire length, in every month, in all conditions. I've grown quite attached to it and its residents, the best of which are not easy to fool. I've been fortunate to catch and release some gems over the years, but I saw photos of two trout over 20-inches from here in the past year. I'm pretty sure I hooked one on a white Zonker back in the spring and my buddy had one come off at his feet around the same time in the same pool. A trout that size in a stream like this is a horse of a different color. A unicorn. A white whale.

I'll keep taking lunch breaks on the stream as long as I can. Maybe I'll run into one of those unicorns someday, but I'm not complaining.