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.

Wind Blown Expedition

The wind just about blew me off Rock Creek today.  The gusts had to be somewhere in the range of thirty miles an hour and the steady riffle on the creek at times were more like white-caps. 

I spent an hour and ten minutes on the creek today, and the first hour didn't catch a thing.  But, in the last ten minutes the action heated up.

Upon arriving at the creek, I immediately went into a stalking mode.  I've learned much about stalking carp, but two things in particular seem to stand out.  One thing is that it's quite easy, when stalking carp in water that is twenty to twenty-five feet wide, to fixate on the open water or far deeper water.  However, it's always best to check the inland, near, or shallow water by the island, sandbar, or bank.  Oftentimes, when we don't check this water first, we end up spooking a carp that we never noticed.  This is particularly important this time of year with the creek being the color it is.  These carp blend in so very well with the bottom of the creek they are quite easy to miss.

The second thing when stalking carp is to slow down, and then slow down some more.  I think this has been the most difficult thing for me just because I tend to be a hyper-active individual.  So, to counter my excited self, I make myself walk backwards when stalking carp.  It doesn't matter if I'm walking upstream or downstream, I walk backwards.

My entire stalking adventure was a big disappointment.  The strong winds of today created blankets of leaves on the creek.  I started out with the Prizefighter trying to place it in the clear water between the tears of the leaves blanket.  I was getting no interest with the Prizefighter so I switch to a brown and orange Backstabber.  Same drill - place the fly in the tears.  No interest from this fly. 

Giving up on the stalk I go back downstream and decide to fish blind.  I change patterns to a black and olive Backstabber and put it on what I thought was a shadow of a carp.  The fly hit the surface and I waited.  Shortly, I thought there was some movement in the tippet, but with the strong wind I wasn't sure.  Then I actually felt a bump and the line started to move so I set the hook.  A nice twenty-five incher came to hand, but unfortunately I waited too long to set and he swallowed the fly way down deep, so I cut the tippet in hopes this creature will live.

Now I am left with an olive and black Carpola Charlie and again I put it on what looks like the shadow of a carp.  This second carp actually picked the fly up and ran with it.  These two carp came to hand in less than ten minutes after that hour of disappointment.

Carp number 125 on Backstabber

 

Carp number 126 on Carpola Charlie.

I gave thanks and left the creek.

The Prizefighter - Round Two

Yesterday, the new Carpola Charlie Prizefighter got his first taste of Rock Creek, but his debut performance was cut short due to a sudden onslaught of rain.

Today, the Prizefighter returned to Rock Creek for round two.  "Let's get ready to rumble......!"

It didn't take lone for a challenger to step forward and put on the gloves, but the Prizefighter scored a TKO on this 22 inch carp. 

The creek was in surprisingly good shape today, still somewhat blurred however.  A steady wind causing the surface to riffle increased the difficulty in seeing the carp.  I didn't have the luxury of standing on the bank, an island, or sandbar.  Today, I had to wade the creek, which is not a good thing when chasing carp.  When we are in the creek we start to push water and that's like a siren to the carp. 

It didn't take long for the second challenger in the form of a smaller and young carp to come forth.  This fellow was one of the many young carp I've been seeing lately.  Seeing the abundance of young carp is encouraging because it tells me their community is healthy.  Carp grow quickly so the youngsters I'm seeing now will be twenty plus incher's by next spring.

The Prizefighter made short order of the second challenger and we continued upstream.  For the next quarter of a mile or so, not a carp was to be seen and the creek seemed to get more blurred.

It was time to call it a day and wait for the creek to clear a little more.

I gave thanks and left the water. 

One Last Trip

Although Charlie and I may not be practicing carp by the fly as much as we were, we're still out there.  We fished together yesterday, for a short while, and fishing with Charlie is always a great pleasure and learning experience.  Charlie has found yet another pasture and it is a most beautiful pool of water.  Upon his suggestion, we plan on fly-fishing this new discovery by dry flies only, which will prove most challenging.  As we were wrapping up yesterday, I told Charlie my wishes to fish his Pasture one more time before trout season begins.  Today, I did just that and happy I made the trip. 

Charlie's Pasture is a most serene and peaceful place.  The carp that live there are magnificent creatures - probably the most striking of all carp in Rock Creek. 

I started out with a burnt orange and black Backstabber pattern, and the second carp I cast to would become carp number 114.  He was one heck of a scrapper and I had to get in the creek to land him, which really wasn't a good thing.  Once entering the creek, the rest of the carp community went on high alert.  I fished the remaining carp with the same pattern for awhile, but they were in a panicked frenzied.  I changed to an olive and black Carpola, but they also avoided this proven pattern. 

Deciding to give them some time to settle down, I went upstream to the shallows to look for carp there.  Carp were not to be found, but the bass were out in good numbers.  Deciding to target bass until the carp could get their nerves settled down, the Carpola took a pretty and feisty smallmouth. 

Thinking it was time to go back downstream, I tried the Carpola once again on the company of carp, but they seemed to recognize it immediately.  Wondering if they were indeed recognizing the fly and remembering the recent fate of one of their brethren, I decided to try a fly and get away from the black color scheme of the previous two flies. 

The Carp Carrot goes on.  Somehow I managed a long roll cast that fell within one foot of the far bank.  The water was clear as gin here and I watched a carp swim to the fly.  It looked like he ate it so I gambled with a hook-set and the gamble paid off.  This carp took me far upstream, which was good because that is where we would have to go so I could land him.  He became number 115. 

Trout season is only two weeks away and I'm ready for the pretty fish.  But, I don't think I'll be able to just simply walk away from these magnificent fish known as carp. 

Here are today's pictures.



Taken by burnt orange and black Backstabber





This guy liked the Carp Carrot



 

Carp Carrot found the upper lip.

 



Carp Carrot worse for wear.



Rescue And Recovery

                                        

My morning on Rock Creek would start early and what a pretty morning it was.  I come to the creek today with three things in mind.  First, I must rescue two of my flies from a fate that is not theirs to be.  Secondly, I want to recover that chair I've been slowly carrying down the creek, and lastly, I'm looking for carp number 100.

First order of business are the two Carpola Charlies.  Above a bank on Rock Creek, dangling and glistening in the sun, are two Carpola Charlies just a matter of inches apart.  With two flies hanging in such close proximity to one another reveals that this fly fisher doesn't always remember prior or past mistakes.  You would think when I hung the first fly I would have made a mental note.  I did not evidently. 

I must free my flies, for their destiny is not to serve as a garnish or embellishment for a twisted, gnarly grapevine that has ensnared itself around a tree limb. 

The problem is the flies are about twenty feet in the air so a plan has to be hatched.  As any good cowboy would do, I grab my lariat - a hand-made lariat I've had for about fifteen years.  Next, I fetch one of Miss Carol's garden utensils that will make a dandy grappling hook.  Then, I create the handy dandy extended pruners to cut the flies loose if need be.  My plan is to grapple-hook the tree limb pulling it down as far as possible, tie off the rope, and then with the extended pruner, cut the vine freeing my flies from the manacles of these tentacles that currently have the Carpola Charlies incarcerated.

                                           

It took at least ten tries, but finally the grappling hook captured the Carpola Charlies black and olive and it came tumbling to the ground with a small limb attached.  Now, it was time to go after the remaining man.

                                     

Another twenty or so tries and finally the grasp of the hooks found the tree limb and the rope wrapped around.  There would be no escaping for the vine or limb and with a hard tug the olive and orange was freed.

Intimate Rock Creek

Rescue complete, it was time to go into recovery mode.  Going downstream a good ways, I walked up to the last point I carried that chair.  Slowly I've been carrying it downstream and only have about two-hundred yards left before I can carry it out at Well Springs.  With an early start and somewhat cool weather, I saw no better time than this morning to complete the task.  On my way back downstream I encountered another chair stuck in the mud, plus remnants of yet another chair.  I grabbed the remnants, but will have to make plans to get the other chair out.  Carrying the chair up the hill at Well Springs, the recovery was complete. 

                                     

Carp number 100 escaped me the other day and this morning I am looking for redemption. I'll be honest with you, the carp that would take me to triple digits did not come easily.  I snuck-up on carp, stalked carp, and stealth was the keyword of the day.  I fished carp that weren't interested, mildly interested and a couple I would've bet my last dollar were genuinely interested.  I showed them the Backstabber, but they just looked at it and swam away.  It was the same with the olive and black Carpola, and the black and orange Carpola.  At the Courtyard there weren't a whole lot of carp to stalk, but the ones I did... eluded me.

I sit down on a rock to ask myself what I was doing wrong?  But, perhaps it wasn't a case of what I was doing wrong, but rather a case of what would Charlie do?  Knowing Charlie well enough, I'm certain he would go to a white pattern or the San Juan Worm, and so this would be my next plan of action.  However, I wanted to try the olive and orange Carpola first, and the only one I had was the one just rescued from that grapevine ensnared tree limb.  I tied it on and go downstream.

At Mother Hole the water was completely milky or muddy, but I could see some shadows and therefore I cast to shadows.  Suddenly something caught my eye upstream.  I could tell it was a carp feeding in the shallows, but the problem was all the trees next to the water.  There were several trees and the limbs were only five feet above the surface.  I pursued this fish anyhow, and when I arrived at his grazing spot I knew this was going to be difficult.  A forward roll or flip cast was out of the question.  The only way to cast to this fish was with a back-handed side arm flip cast.  I took the rod in my left hand and worked it around the tree trunk where I took it with my right hand.  Dropping the fly in the water I made my first attempt at this difficult cast and blew it big time.  My second attempt was much better and the fly landed behind the carp's shoulder.  The plop of the fly was enough to make him turn and when he saw the fly he was on it.  Carp number 100 was a fascinating looking Mirror.   

                                      

Getting back to the subject of recovery, I was telling my boss the other day that I thought when I caught carp number 101, I would quit fly fishing for carp for the rest of this year.  As he laughed, I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and my own amusement as to his lack of confidence in my self-control.  Then he said, "You won't quit Shrader... I'll bet you two cases of beer that you won't quit."  Again, with the same raised eyebrow, I replied, "Why would you make a bet that is so easy for me to win - I just won't fish anymore after 101."  With an even louder laugh and more confident air about him, he countered with, "That's just it Shrader, you won't quit because you can't quit.  I know you too well!"  Then he extended his hand to seal the bet, and for the life of me I could not make that bet.  I knew he was right.

Early into the carp crusades I knew I was addicted.  Undoubtedly, I've been addicted to the Rainbow's and Blue River for years, but this addiction to carp on the fly is much more powerful.  I guess there could come the day that I can quit, but at best I will still be an addict - living my life in recovery. 

My goodness - I couldn't make that bet, and I could really use two cases of beer.

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The Mystery

After work today I went to the vise and tied up a Backstabber with legs.  The original Backstabber worked so well yesterday, I wanted to see what the addition of legs would do. 

I started out at the Beach at Rock Creek and with a cast sent the legged Backstabber on her maiden voyage.  Less than twenty seconds after the fly pierced the film I saw a significant jolt in the line and went for a hook-set.  Under my breath I said, "Number 99!", but it wasn't.  It was a catfish.

After releasing the kitty, I made the second cast of this fly's life and another jolt and again I said, "Number 99!", but again it was a catfish.  One thing for certain was catfish liked this pattern, but whether or not the carp would buy it remained unanswered. 

I decided to go upstream to a stretch of water that is always dotted with carp.  There's not a tremendous number of carp here, but usually every forty or fifty feet you will see one, two, or three carp.  I was in total stealth mode today because I desperately wanted two carp so I could reach 100 battled. 

In the first fifty feet I sensed something wasn't quite right.  I continued to walk ever-so slowly, with each step slower and softer than the previous.  The sky had darkened and was overcast which give me excellent vision due to the absence of glare.  I'd take a step and scan the creek; scrutinizing water in front of me, to both sides, up, down, beyond, and then by quadrants... but no carp were to be seen. 

My steps became even slower, my breathing quieter.  Wherever I could, I would leave the water and take to the bank, even if it was for only ten feet.  But... there were no carp to be seen.

I searched ever so carefully 300 yards of water and never seen a carp.  My brow had deepened as the question of why dominated by thought.

Continuing past Well Springs, I entered the stretch of the creek that is shallow and narrow.   After a short while I came upon a slough with two carp feeding.  However, it was impossible to cast to them for the brush and greenery.  I continued upstream to Shipwreck at the Boulders.  Here, Charlie has caught carp, but I have not. 

There are seven or eight carp available and I cast the new Backstabber to the first carp of choice.  He looks and turns away.  The second, third, and fourth carp do the same.  Out comes the orange and olive Carpola and on it goes.  Across the creek are two carp feeding in the shallows and the Carpola is delivered to the nearest fish.  He sucks it and I set.  He heads straight for overhanging brush but I pull him out and he becomes number 99. 

The battle sends pheromones through the water and the remaining carp scatter.  The sky has grown darker and my hour grows shorter.  I need to be home and haven't much time.  I leave my slow approach behind and hurry to another spot in homes of finding carp number 100.  However when I arrive there are no carp at this spot. 

It's time to return to the prairie schooner and go to my prairie home.  On the way back downstream, there is good chance for a carp and I send him the Carpola.  He sucks it right away and just like the previous carp he goes straight for the brush and tree roots.  Quickly trotting across the shallow channel to the sandbar, I try to heave him out and end up pulling the hook out of his grasp.  The carp that would have been number 100, was not. 

I carried the plastic chair a little further today.  This chair is heavier than it looks and I can only carry it a couple of hundred feet before tiring.  So, each time I go to this area I work it downstream a little further and eventually will make Well Springs, where I can take it up the hill.

On the trip back downstream, never did I think of the carp I lost that would have made 100.  My thoughts were on why that stretch of water, the one that always has carp, had none today.  In my fly-fishing life, this question and answer will always be a mystery.

A Long Morning Wade

A half-hour before sunup, I was tying on the Carpola Charlie aided by the canopy lights at the gas pumps. As I moistened the tippet and drew the knot tight I had a craving for a hot chocolate-coffee mix, so I quickly fetched one and headed for the creek.

I arrived at the south side of Well Springs just as the sun was breaking the eastern horizon. I knew very well that the creek would probably be quite off-colored since we received five inches of rain Wednesday. Sure enough, it was cloudy... more cloudy than I expected. It was tough seeing, but I could make out several images of carp so I tossed the Carpola to one across the way. We hooked up, but upon turning him the hook pulled out. Looking at the Carpola I noticed it was looking quite battle fatigued so I changed to the Carp Carrot.

In fly fishing for carp, the sun can be, at times, our best friend and at other times our worse enemy. This morning the sun was not a friend. If the cloudy water wasn't enough, the glare of the sun didn't help a bit. I left Well Springs and went to the Bend.

At the Bend, the water was even cloudier because the carp were mudding the wide pool. I decided to cast blind and missed the first suck of a carp. Going upstream I found more carp and would miss the next two sucks also. Finally I hooked up with the second carp of the morning and once again the hook pulled out.

Further upstream I saw a pool of water that I just knew held carp. It also held Rock Bass... a lot of them, and I kept pulling the little dudes out one after another. The carp that were in this pool moved out with all the excitement going on. The perch and carp robbed me of a number of perfect opportunities to catch carp this morning. Although, I came to the creek to catch carp today, I also had another project in mind. I decided to go elsewhere.



Driving over to the north side of Well Springs, I parked in the parking lot of Flower Park. Here there is a ledge that's about six or eight feet above the water, so I decided to sit on that ledge and see if I could spot any carp. Sure enough, in the middle of this pool was one big bad boy. Now, I knew if I hooked that fish it would require me to jump off that ledge into the creek. But, I just couldn't stand it, so I showed the carp the carrot and he sucked it up right away. And yes... I hollered "Geronimo" as I jumped from the ledge, hoping I wouldn't come away with a sprained ankle or worse.



I waded across to the other side where I could beach the creature, and he turned out to be a dandy sized carp. Now, it was time to start the long wade because my plans were to wade all the way to the Wynnewood Street bridge, which is about a mile.

I fished the big pool at Well Springs, but it was cloudier than most other pools. Continuing upstream, I waded a fairly long stretch of really tight and murky water with few opportunities to fish.





I make it to the boulders at Shipwreck and see a few carp, but due to the glare it's almost impossible to sight fish these creatures. I leave the boulders with no fish. Charlie has caught fish here, but I have yet to capture one.



Working my way under the Broadway bridge, I get another chance for a carp and we hook-up, but once again the Carrot pulls out. Making it to the pool where Charlie caught his nice carp on camera the other day, the perch keep robbing me of opportunities for carp.



Even the smallmouth get in on the action of intercepting flies.



I head for the area Charlie and I call the Courtyard, and this stretch of water is actually muddy. Spotting one carp in the shallows, I toss the Carrot one more time and he takes it. The dog-gone hook pulls out once again and sails past me into a tree. I just broke the darn thing off after having lost four fish to the particular fly. I have no idea why this particular fly or hook would not hold fish today.

It was time to call it a morning and I had covered a lot of water for one carp to hand. However, I said earlier I had another project in mind and I'll share that in the next posting.