I’ve been cooped up indoors for the last few days so when I
got a small window to go fishing, I loaded up the truck quicker than a Ronda
Rousey fight. I hit the water around
6:00 PM and it was hot. How hot was it
you ask? It was that kind of hot where
you sweat even when you are sitting still.
It was also so hot that I saw two trees fighting over a dog. There wasn’t
a gust of wind either. The water was
like glass and I was hopeful that would make spotting carp significantly easier. I was also hopeful that warm temps and little
wind might bring out some insects and get some carp cruising along the surface
for a buggy dinner.
Now I am very new to fly fishing for carp so I am full of
idealistic beliefs and hopeful feelings.
I haven’t been grizzled and beaten down by the realities of this pursuit
yet so I always find myself thinking, “Oh yeah, this is the night where
everything falls into place and I catch ever carp in the lake.” I think you see where this is going.
In an effort to minimize the unimportant facts, here’s how
things looked for most of the evening: nothing happened. Carp weren’t cruising, feeding in the
shallows, or even on the move. It was
like everything in the lake had hunkered down for the day and wasn’t going to
do jack until the temperatures dropped.
However, as the sun began to drop, a fish started to cruise and in the
immortal words of Lloyd Christmas, “So you’re telling me there’s a chance.”
It first moved just below the surface of the water and I
couldn’t tell what it was or how big it was.
The little whirlpools it created with its tail gave little information as
to what was below. It eventually built
up the courage to start slurping some bugs off the surface and the view of an orange,
rubber-lipped, Midwest bonefish (carp) came into focus. Now this was the only carp I had seen all
evening and my pulse started to race. I
knew that this guy might give me the only opportunity I was going to have all
evening. That reminds me, sometimes carp
fishing is like deer hunting in this sense.
The only thing you should really hope for, is a chance to get a shot on
a deer. If you get a chance, I call that
a successful hunt because even if you don’t take the shot or miss a shot, then
nature gave you SOMETHING. Well this
carp was my chance I had hoped for.
He was about fifty feet away from me and on my left side in
the shallows. I was standing on a point and
was going to have to cast back towards the bank and under a tree. It was perfect and it was a challenge. It was exactly why I love to go after carp
with a fly rod…it’s not easy! I could
probably catch a lot more and maybe bigger fish if I used dough balls and a
bait caster with twenty pound line or bow fished at night with spotlights, and
there is nothing wrong with either one of those techniques. Fly fishing for carp is a challenge because
you have to be accurate with your cast, smart with your fly selection, and thoughtful
with your movements.
The fish in this pond are especially spooky and rightfully
so. I have caught quite a few of their
friends this summer and I think the word is out. I knew I had to be efficient with my casts
and couldn’t afford to pound the water.
At the same time, I had to put the fly in the ballpark where he was
feeding. See why this is a
challenge. You can second guess all of
your decisions all day long, but the bottom line is that you are going to spook
fish and you are going to hook fish. You
need to be able to live with both and accept failure sometimes or this is not
the fish for you.
My first cast was close, but not close enough. I had to wait for my fly to drift away from
him before I could cast again and without any wind, this was about a five
minute wait. I double hauled my second
cast and put it gently right in the middle of the circle he was feeding in. He
didn’t spook but he didn’t exactly jump all over it either. I watched him swim under the fly on the first
pass. I watched him swim right up to the
fly and back off at the last second.
This was difficult because you are on edge and want to sink some metal
into meat. On the third approach he was
in full on feeding mode. I saw orange,
rubber lips slurping like crazy and headed right toward my fly. Two feet…one foot…six inches…two inches…fly
inhaled. I don’t know if I will get more
used to seeing a carp eat my fly the more I fish, but for now, there is still a
moment when I see a carp eat my fly and think, “Did he really eat that? Should I set the hook now?’’ I have had moments like this and missed fish
or thought I saw a fish eat a fly only to find out he missed it by an inch and
my hook set ends up spooking the fish.
Well there was little delay between my hook set and finding out if I got
him this time. Water swirled, a tail
made a wake, and my six weight got a bend in it so deep that I could feel it in
the handle.
I knew right away that he was not a big fish because when he
made his first run, I could apply some pressure to him by cupping the reel and
put the brakes on him. Nonetheless, he
fought hard like all carp tend to do and it was intense. After a three to four minute fight, I was
able to net him at the bank. Not all
carp fishing stories end this way and I was glad that I landed the fish. This was especially rewarding because I did
not see another fish for the rest of the evening. I didn’t catch a huge number of fish or a
particularly heavy fish, but the fact that I hooked, played and landed the only
fish I saw all night and that it was a carp was enough of a reward to keep me
smiling all night.
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