Conversations With Carp - Lunch Hour Chat

There are times at the mercantile store that things become more than I can bear, or more than I care to tolerate any longer.  Today was one of those days, so my thought was the best course of action was to take a lunch hour and see if any of the carp cared to carry on a... civilized conversation, which didn't seem to exist at the mercantile store this particular Thursday.

Today, Charlie's Biter Critter fly caught my attention and this variation of the Bonefish Biter went on the lasso.  At the creek bank I wanted to get the fly wet, so out she went to fairly shallow water above the Honey Hole pasture.  Not paying attention I begin to strip the fly in when I saw the carp on it.  But, I had already given the fly too much life and the fish turned away. 

Going downstream a position on a fallen tree was taken.  About twenty-five feet upstream there was the beautiful sight of an orange tail waving in the drink.  A tailing carp is what the carp by fly angler dreams of, what we hunt, the thing we always hold high hope of encountering. 

A problem existed however.  There wasn't any room for a back-cast.  In addition there was thick and heavy tree limbs both on my left and right.  With the fish being upstream and tree limbs extending far over the bank, a standard roll cast was out of the question.  The only way to get the fly to the fish was with a back-handed roll, so I let one go out.

When the fly landed a foot behind and to the right of the fish I figured a golden opportunity had just been lost and the fish would surely spook.  The carp did not spook, but turned and came straight to the Biter Critter, slowed, then lunged.  The rod tip went up hard and fast, the hook-point penetrated deep, and our lunch hour chat begin. 

This carp was a strong fellow, peeling line off, taking me to the backing.  While line was being taken out, I was trying to figure how to land this fish.  There wasn't much to think about really - to land this fish required getting wet and here I was still with my work clothes. on.  There was plenty of time left in my lunch hour break and this would provide time to go to the prairie home to change socks. 

Stepping down on another fallen log I was only about ankle deep in water.  The carp eventually yielded in his run and this give me some chance of gaining ground on the fish.  After a fairly lengthy fight a message was sent to the carp with a hard pull-up on the rod.   The fish answered with a riposte in the fashion of peeling all the line I'd just gained. 

Our meeting and chat would soon come to an end as I placed my right hand under the belly of the carp and removed the hook with the left.  It was a nice chat.

And as promised, since the perch require their due, here is today's Biter Critter perch.



Dividing Line

That Charlie... I don't know what to do with him. It seems as the weather grew hotter, the more Charlie went carping on the fly. And... as the weather grew hotter, and the more Charlie went carping... the more carp he has captured - almost at will.

At times his reports can be excruciating. Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six inch quality carp, that fight like there is no tomorrow. It's more than any inactive fly-fisher should have to bear.

I was doing perfectly fine sitting in the air-conditioned confines of the fly tying studio, if you will, tying up creations that I hope will serve the fly fisher for Blue River trout quite well. But... Charlie's dispatches kept coming. The dispatches, in form of modern day telegram's (email), were quite more than enough to whet my appetite for carp action on the fly. So, slowly I have found myself migrating away from the tying station to the banks of Rock Creek and those ever-so-addicting carp.

Now, my migration has, or is, coming at a cost. I certainly notice the glare-stares, along with the hands-on-hips, slow motion "you're so fired" head shakes from the boss at work, upon returning from a quickie to Rock Creek. Of course, I always have an excuse why I left work... but me think these excuses are running rather thin these days.

Then, there is Miss Carol. It's funny how love and fly-fishing can often times create a friction. Now, Miss Carol seems to have this dividing line between love and fishing with the fur and feather. I'm not so insensitive that I don't understand her position, but, for me, the two are synonymous. I love Miss Carol, but I also love fly-fishing. Quite often she finishes our conversations with "You fish too much", as she waltzes out of the conversation arena. Fish too much? If I've ever heard a more oxymoronic phrase, I don't know what it would be. There is no such thing as fish too much.

Perhaps I shouldn't cross any lines right now, particularly that line in the sand of Rock Creek that Miss Carol has drawn... as the metaphor she intended to be, and hope for some kind of just living life oil, that will calm all the friction.

As far as work... that's a different story. Today, sometime near what should have been considered a "lunch hour", I snuck away from the employment pool to dedicate thirty minutes to the creek hoping to catch a carp. However, all I would end up realizing is a feisty drum that would get in the way. Drum fight differently from carp. They'll actually hit the fly and then take off like a bat out of hell.

And when I returned to work... there was the boss with those hands on hips.

Here's a picture of my lowly drum and some of Charlie's recent carp.

The Carp Crusades - Just Some Notes

Just fifteen more and I can start manuscript.

Notes to remember:

May 4th,2010

Conditions: Bright sunshine but creek primarily shaded by overhanging trees. Few square foot patches of sunlit water at Wells Spring.
Time: Lunch hour
Flies: Crystal Cactus Chenille
Other: Steady wind causing constant ripple. Hard to see at all today. Dressed for work with white shirt on.

The Kraken would not show today. Hiding in his lie, peering out through tassels of roots, branches, and long dead limbs, I knock at his door a couple of times when a young carp is dispatched. The youngster comes to the sunlight and I show him the bugger. He likes and he sucks, then comes to hand.

Shortly another young sentinel comes and he too sucks the bugger. Almost identical in size these are quite young carp... maybe two pounds.



End of the lunch hour grows nigh and I must leave.

Just fifteen more but I also want to shake hands with Ol' Scarhead.