Bass, Carp, And Summer Early

Seems like summer has arrived a little early here on the prairie ocean.  Yesterday, the thermometer reached 96 degrees, and today... was a repeat performance. 

The creek continues to struggle even though we have received some rain over the last thirty days.  Most life in and along the creek seem to be holding their own especially the Johnson grass - which most certainly is thriving.  Right now, the Johnson grass is about a foot taller than this fly-fisher and that makes it about six foot and seven inches.  There are few things I can think of that are more aggravating to the caster of fur and feather than Johnson grass and that grainy millet the grass wears as a crown.  I swear this grass, also known as switch, seems to somehow reach up and out and grab the flies we are trying to offer.

When temperatures get to be where they currently are, I'm forced to limit my fishing activity due to some heat problems of years past.  It's either fish early or late, and if that doesn't pan out then time on the water is limited to a couple of hours.  Yesterday, I fished an hour shortly before noon.

Carrying that sweet fiberglass rod, the first fish of the day was a spunky bass that believed he was wall-hanging size.  This fellow put quite a bend in the glass and just wouldn't give in or up easily. 

Although I'm trying my best to protect the carp, those grand and golden ones, from those who wish to end their lives... I'm still fishing for them.  In order to protect this special creatures, out of the way efforts won't be a problem.  If I have to park at one location and walk a long ways to get to the actual fishing spot... I will.  In addition, the locations fished will no longer be divulged.

A young carp came to hand using the same orange pattern that took the bass.  Seems like all the fish, particularly the perch community, favored the color orange on Saturday.

Calling it an outing around the noon hour, a return trip to the creek would take place late in the afternoon.  Two more carp came to hand on the orange colored fly, but, one wouldn't count because the hook somehow impaled in the top portion of the fishes snout.  In other words, the hook was outside the mouth.  The other carp was a young twenty inch Mirror and this little fish took me within two or three feet of the backing.  What a tremendous determination to win and this is why these fish have my admiration.

There is a tremendous amount of life in the creek right now even with the water level being low.  The fry were slashing the water with a frequency they would make one think their numbers would equal a krill community. 

The rest of the late afternoon was spent admiring the life along the creek.  It was a good day.

Future meal for fish or fowl?

Beautiful butterfly contrasted by ugly mud.

Carp Redux 2011 - A Dispatch To Charlie

Charlie my friend, I ink this paper in a mood similar to that of the heavy gray slate sky that hovers over us today. 

For six days now, nary a carp have I touched with my fingertips.  The strange weather that has come our way has caused great difficulty on the pastures.  The spring rains were welcomed of course, but, they blur the currents keeping us from our pursuit.  When the rains subside, the winds come.   Not whispering or whistling winds, but rather screaming wind.  On this Friday that just passed, the settlements aqueduct failed sending a landslide of murky and muddy sediment-laden stew into our pastures complicating things more.  All of this, along with the beeves heavily grazing, with their mouths close to the pasture top, have turned our creek into a mere beef tea or loblolly.

Despite all these difficulties, I did have several chances of lassoing the carp last week.  I am in a difficulted state of being and have not the faintest notion of why these creatures now shun the grand offerings I bring to them.  Perhaps it is simply a case they have come to learn that the gifts of supple feather and shimmering flash have a hidden sting. 

The behaviour of the beeves we tend seems peculiar this drive compared to last season.  The beeves are staying collected in communal form in the deepest of the fertile pastures.  Few strays are being witnessed by these ever-searching eyes.

The beeves have me buffaloed Charlie.  We've known for some time now that they are a persnickety lot, but we have come to admire their wit.  And... it may be that sharpness they own that has me in a forlorn state. 

It has come to mind to search for greener pastures.  However this would require the prairie schooner and the price of pony feed reaches deep into the pocket.  The steeds are ready, but in feeding their extra hunger I would soon be down to the blanket.

It has also come to mind that herders like us do grow late in our season where the sharpness we own begins to dull.  I speak only of myself in this regard, because of the two of us you are the one that continues to hone your skills to a ever keener edge. 

My hope is to receive a dispatch from you - one that will tell a grand tale of a lassoed beeve that comes to your near, where you will make your brand with the simple touch of your hand, where after the beeve will go back to the pasture.

Until such dispatch comes my way, I will stay here at the bunk with my propensity to tilt a bottle, or two perhaps, or more, reaching a state of being jingled.

Carp Redux 2011 - The Wind And The Spawn

Oklahoma is most certainly the place where the wind comes sweeping down the plains. For the last ten… maybe fifteen days, the strong breath of this prairie ocean has been more howling-like rather than just sweeping.

Daily wind of twenty-five to thirty-five miles per hour has, for the most part, put fly fishing for carp on the skids. The wind not only riffles already compromised off-color water, it also launches the air assaults of blossoms, tassels, and tender young leaves that fall toward the surface. Once on the water, nature takes the leafy material and quilts a blanket of cover across the surface, further shielding the golden ones from the sight of the pursuer of carp by fly.

Pursuing the carp by fur and feather is close to impossible on the local carp creek at this time.

It has been a long while since Charlie or I have held good conversation with the good carp. Said dialogue with these creatures is our ever demanding need, and we are quickly becoming desperate for conditions to improve so we can exchange once again with the gentle creatures that lumber in the drink.

Saturday, the wind was predicted to be as strong as it has been for the last ten days, and Sunday's prediction was for even stronger wind.  However, Saturday morning was as calm as a mill pond, so I decide to check the pasture known as Well Springs.  Arriving at Well Springs, the carp are out in good numbers having a morning feast.  I turn the prairie schooner in the direction of the bunkhouse and once there the carp gear is quickly gathered.  I grab the rod, the fur, the feather... and head back to the creek.

As a gris-gris for the tippet, and as a charm to the carp, the Crazy Charlie goes on with high hopes this fly will be the fool's gold for the carp and serve as a good enough trickery so we can do battle. 

The majority of the carp are downstream to the east.  At a quarter to eight in the morning the sun is blinding to the fly angler for carp.  I kept trying to get position where a tree trunk would block the sun's beams... but, that proved fruitless.  Finally, I simply turned my back to the sun and looked upstream.

Upstream there were only a half dozen or so carp across a vast span of creek.  Targeting two carp in a shallow and narrow channel, the Crazy Charlie is sent with a twelve foot flip cast.  The fly disappears from sight almost as soon as it enters the water, but watching the behaviour of the near side carp it looks as if the fish in on the fly and has sucked.  A slow lift of the rod tip, pressure sensed, snap of the wrist and the tie is bound - man and carp are connected.

With so much of the creek being compromised, the intended pasture today is Charlie's Pasture.  This pasture remains clear with great visibility due to an inflow of water from little sister creek Travertine. 

Upon arriving at Charlie's Pasture it doesn't take long to realize that something special is taking place today.  The carp of this pasture are in the spawn.  It's a frantic, frenzied, passionate and lustful event to watch.  Knowing that this is their time, not the anglers, I simply sit on the bank and watch the events take place. 

There is tremendous thrashing along the deep cut bank across the creek.  Whether this is a result of the chase or the females trying to dislodge eggs... I do not know.  

I carried a single beer with me today. It takes a solid hour to sip that beer while I take in the spectacle of nature's call in this carp community - a call that ensures the community will continue. 

Watching this event made me realize how little I know about living life in the water and on one hand I wish I understood more.  However, on the other hand... I'm glad it is a mystery to me, because it's the mystery of life in the water that continues to draw me.

The male carp are dogged in their pursuit trying to win the favor of the fruitful and fair females. After watching these creatures for a good long while I decide to see what the bass and pan fish have on their minds.  

The only fly used today was the Crazy Charlie.  Both bass and pan fish favored this pattern and it seems like the presence of both bass and pan fish is healthier this year compared to last year. 

Encouraging, delightfully encouraging.

Last night I enjoyed reading one of Tom Chandler's recent posts on Trout Underground.  It seems that recently Tom was contacted by a writer doing an article and Tom was asked the question, "What is Trout Underground?', which basically asks "What is fly fishing?" 

Of course, like most of us would, Tom struggled to find the correct or sensible answer and perhaps that's because there is no right answer.  Fly fishing... is perhaps... impossible to define. 

There was a time in my fly fishing life I had to catch fish.  If I went fly fishing and didn't catch a fish, regardless if it was conditions, my inability, not minding my P's and Q's, or the sun being in my eyes, I would become quite ill from getting skunked.  Ill to the point of being generally pissy, down-in-the-mouth, severely depressed.

Fortunately, this stage would only last several years as I grew in fly fishing and the day would come that catching fish each time wasn't necessary.  No sense in lying about it though, I always want to catch fish when fly fishing.

Over the last couple of years I've come to look at fly fishing as not something I do, but rather a place I go.  I now call fly fishing the workshop for the soul.

Approaching sixty years old, rather soon, I am most thankful I can still get on the water as easily as I do. 

This morning I recognized the smell of spring grass, blossoms, and flowers.  This morning... I found the footprints of wildlife bound - wildlife that live along the banks of the creek and share their home with the angler. 

This morning... it took me an hour to drink a beer while watching the carp make love. 

It was a special morning... this morning. 

Unfortunately, the wind did come up and a gust took the Crazy Charlie into the clutches of a far bank tree.  The Crazy Charlie gave his life at sea this morning.

A Sinner's Lament

I owe Charlie a huge apology.  You see... about ten days ago Charlie trotted down to the creek and caught a couple of carp.  I was too quick to announce what Charlie had did and stated that he had faltered in his resolve and made this great transgression since it wasn't anywhere near spring - the time the next carp adventure was scheduled to begin.

Today... I sinned also, and I would be such the hypocrite if I fail to first admit my own transgression and say to my friend Charlie, "I'm sorry ol' buddy, my response was a knee-jerk reaction."

Now if I was looking for an excuse or a reason as to why I fell so hard into this depth of sin I committed, then the fault would end up squarely in the lap of Mother Nature.  You see, it was seventy degrees today, a temperature more associated with the spring season rather than winter, and quite simply... I was fooled. 

Today I found a very thin creek - very thin.  The afternoon glare was difficult at best and in some places impossible to get any kind of visual on a carp.  I finally could see the outline of a carp and blind casted to him with the orange and olive Carpola Charlie.  This first carp picked the fly up and ran with it.

Few other carp were being spotted so I move upstream and find a carp I can sight fish.  Carpola Charlie in front of his face and he came to it right away.  The first Mirror Carp of the 2011 season.

The weather that is coming our way will put the 2011 campaign back to the wait list for awhile, but tomorrow is predicted to be near seventy degrees once again.  What is a fly fishing, sinful, low-down
carper suppose to do?

First carp of the 2011 season.

 

Second carp of 2011 was a Mirror Carp.

The 2010 carp adventure was known as the Carp Crusades and our adventures were chronicled.  Charlie suggested that 2011 should be known as the Carp Chronicles Redux.  Let the redux begin.