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)



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.

Short & Sweet

There was a strange white substance covering the ground as I walked down to the riverbank.  It was the last day of March and a dusting of snow had fallen to remind everyone that this was indeed still New England.  The inclement weather left the Farmington River void of anglers and the pool I was thinking about during the hour drive up had yet to be fished that morning. 

With only a short window to fish due to family obligations, I was happy to find the trout didn't mind a little foul weather.  Aaron and Derrick joined me and we put together a great sampling of Farmington fish using very light nymphing techniques in scary low flows.  Despite recent stockings, we didn't find any fish fresh out of the hatchery.  It was quite the opposite actually; we netted some high quality trout, a few of which were mostly likely born in the river. 

The highlight of the outing was a double hook-up with a brace of wild fish.  Derrick connected with a female downstream and I stuck the golden male above him, which immediately went airborne on the hook set.  Aaron sealed the deal with a great net job and camera work.  Derrick and Aaron landed another impressive pair of browns after I left too.  It was certainly a short and sweet trip with good friends and cooperative fish.  I am already looking for my next chance up there and will keep doing my rain dance in the meantime.

Micro Managing

It seems that spring fever has spared no one lately. That became more apparent as I entered a fly shop adjacent to freshly stocked trout stream on Sunday morning. The high volume of anglers with the same idea as me on a bluebird day came as no surprise. Who wouldn't want to be outside in late winter when the thermometer would peak over 70 degrees? I for one was like a kid in a candy store, especially after spending the three previous weekend days cooped up indoors painting. 

The fishing on Connecticut's Farmington River has been as good as can be expected for March. A recent stocking means there are plenty of fresh trout to weed through and the mild winter was a gift to the resident holdover and wild fish. Along with the many brown trout that hold over from year to year, there seems to be a larger than normal number of rainbow trout that fared well. What is also different about this season so far is the river's flow--it is wicked low for this time of year, which is comfortable for getting around but it could spell trout if we don't get significant rainfall in the near future.

My friend Derrick did well on the Farmington just the day before, so we had a pretty good idea of where we wanted to be and wanted we wanted to do. Half expecting to see a deli line of anglers in the chosen run upon arrival, we were excited to find a lone streamer fisherman on the move.  The bug life was strong from the start.  There were winter caddis, stone flies and tiny midge coming off the water.  The goal was to imitate the larval forms of these insects in hopes of fooling trout gorging on them under the surface.  We rigged up light leaders under small yarn indicators and added little split shots and weighted flies to get down to the strike zone.  Below our first fly we experimented with a range of midge, stonefly and mayfly patterns until we found what was working.

After the first half hour of ignored drifts and fly changes, Derrick put us on the board using a minuscule yellow midge pattern.  To find out what else this holdover brown trout was eating, we gently sampled its gullet with a tool that resembles a small turkey baster.  Derrick squeezed the contents into the palm of his hand and we stared at a dozen freshly eaten nymphs that were size #18 and smaller.  It was obvious that trout were feeding right at our feet and it was time to go tiny.  We both tied on micro stonefly and midge imitations and stepped up into the head of the pool where many fine trout have won and lost battles to us in the past. 

Photo credit: Derrick Kirkpatrick

Over the next two hours, we connected with several quality trout that were stacked up and feeding along a current seam of fast and slow water. We tossed our rigs upstream and drifted them right along the seam, setting the hook on the slightest hesitation of our strike indicators.  It's amazing to think how these fish could pinpoint our tiny offerings tumbling through the hydraulics of this run, but they didn't seem to have much trouble.  Derrick and I weeded out a few smaller holdover browns that fought extremely hard from the well-oxygenated water.  The next trout my partner hooked was in a whole different class, however.  The lengthy fight that ensued left both angler and net man shaking with nerves.  She bounced from the head of the pool and dropped downstream; she bulldogged down deep then flailed on the surface; she came in close then screamed back out again.  Finally, right before she slid into the net, the only word that came to mind was wild.  Along with the Tyson-esque fight, the fish was in pristine condition; no marks, no clips, perfect fins, and amazing coloration.  It was a perfect example of what the Farmington River has to offer.  This female brown trout measured exactly twenty inches long and, as we would later find out, was getting up in her years.  The day was already made, but not yet complete. 

After collecting ourselves, I got back into the head of the pool. That wasn't the only horse up there because I tangled with another hell of a trout just a few drifts later. At first it acted as if it didn't really know or care that it was hooked; just pacing around in a patch of slow water. There was a lane of very quick water I had to lead it through to get to the safe zone where we were standing. I took a few steps backward and the fish bolted from the head, cleared the dangerous fast water and was almost within reach before that dreadful feeling of slack line ran through my body. That is just part of the game when planting micro hooks into large maws. There was no question if it was a big brown trout, but just how big nagged at me for a short long time.

After shaking off the lost fish, I climbed back in the driver's seat, though it seemed our short-lived window of success was closing.  There were surely other trout feeding in this section, but our drifts were neglected the rest of our time there.  It was a memorable morning and we both felt a sense of accomplishment akin to solving a puzzle.  Most of the popular pools in the upper Farmington River have top notch trout holding in them, but it's not every outing that you can dial in on exactly what they want and how they want it.  The rest of the day's action was rather anticlimactic, but no one was complaining.  The weather was phenomenal for mid-March.  The thermometer in my Jeep read 79 degrees as we cruised downstream to have lunch and a beer along a favorite stretch of river.  

A toast to an old friend after a good day on the water (photo credit: Tommy Baranowski)

Back at work on Monday morning, after emailing the photos from the trip to Derrick and our friend Aaron who couldn't join us, we learned that it wasn't the first time our crew landed that magnificent stream-born female trout.  Aaron's detective work after scrolling through archives of old photos revealed that I had caught her in April of 2009 and Aaron after that in November of the same year; all three times in the same pool!  In the three years since, she had only grown about a half of an inch in length and hadn't moved much, but it most definitely survived numerous encounters with sharp hooks, probably winning more than a few of those battles.  This fish was 19.5-inches when I caught her three years ago, quite possibly when it was at least three years old.  I think it's pretty cool that the Farmington River is producing trout that are five and six years old and perhaps older.  Check out the unmistakable line of dots behind the trout's right eye in the photos above and below.  Hopefully we'll see her again soon. 

Aaron with the same trout in November of 2009

Change Of Pace

Much of my free time in February is reserved for ice fishing, yet winter fly fishing is always a worthy option. My friends Derrick, Todd and I spent a few hours on the Farmington River yesterday. Air temps crept near 40 degrees, though gusty northwest winds and leaky waders let me know winter was still in the driver's seat. River access wasn't easy--we had to blaze new paths through the snow at both spots we fished. The Farmington was running at a nice level, yet I couldn't tell you exactly what the flow was because one of the gauges used to calculate it was frozen solid. 

It was strictly subsurface fishing this trip and a variety of nymphing methods produced in the right situations. There wasn't a magic fly, yet a few different caddis pupa, midge, and pheasant tail variations took fish, as did off-beat patterns like a pink scud. I had not fly fished since November and it showed, but any day on a fine piece of water like that is well spent. There is a good amount of ice fishing still to be done this season, though the wonderful winter fishery on the Farmington River is never far from thought.

 

A Fine Day

My buddy Aaron and I logged some hours on the river today in preparation for our annual Opening Day camping trip later this week. The water flow has come down quite a bit from the last time I fished here, but it wasn't low by any means. The surface temperature was steadily rising, with a high of 49 at lunch time.  A healthy amount of blue wing olives were popping off in the afternoon, but not many trout are looking up yet. The river was extremely crowded and high winds made getting quality drifts difficult at times. Other than an unpleasant encounter with a fellow angler with poor stream-etiquette, it was a great outing. We did quite a bit of seining and fly changing today before eventually settling into a nice groove. A few different subsurface presentations worked well, with yarn indicator and European nymphing being the most productive.  Woven golden stone patterns and STDs both fooled large, quality brown trout. It felt great connecting with some nice fish on my own flies.  It's the best way to build confidence in patterns. Hopefully this is a sign of things to come for our upcoming trip.  For now, it's back to the vise.

Photo credit: Aaron Swanson

 

Photo credit: Aaron Swanson