Homecoming

Right after Makani’s visit we flew off on a two week vacation to Japan. Everyone I know who really loves to travel internationally has a special place in their heart for the first foreign country they ever visited. For Tara that was a volunteer trip to Tanzania, for my older brother it was a study abroad in France. For me, it was Japan. We boarded a ship in Yokohama for a cruise that circled the central islands of Japan – Honshu, Kyushu, and Shikoku, a far more luxurious vacation than the shoestring trips of my youth. It was wonderful to be back, and to dredge up some of my latent language skills. Some things have changed, but many of my fond memories remained intact – delicious meals, friendly people, wonderful scenery, and a refreshing attention to beauty and detail.

Upon my return to the Gorge I discovered that the weeds had ballooned from a nuisance to a serious problem. It took a couple of weeks to check all of my normal fishing spots, but I estimate that 95% of them are largely shut down due to the weeds. Moreover, fishing in the few spots that remain accessible has become very difficult, indeed.

After a few weeks on the water, I have boiled down the difficulty to three distinct problems.

First of all, the carp began rejecting my standard size 6 or 8 hybrid flies. At first, I thought it might simply be a case of heightened line sensitivity due to the warm water temperatures, so I downsized to a 2X leader, but I still had a lot of hard refusals. I observed carp munching through the thick weeds, so I did some mucking about. I found small, dark colored snails, strange beige leeches, and lots of tiny scuds, but I still wasn’t certain what the carp were keying in on.

A transition to small flies seemed to be in order, which highlights the second problem. My usual weighted flies just sunk down into the mats of foliage and disappeared. Even in the rare instance when I got a positive reaction from a fish, it would lose track of the fly in the weeds. Smaller, lighter flies seem like a natural solution to this, but traditional small patterns just aren’t heavy enough to present well with the drag-and-drop. They are too susceptible to current, and get hung up on even the smallest bits of algae. Successfully dropping a size 14 bead-head nymph on a foraging carp in thigh deep water is a tall order in the best of circumstances.

The biggest problem with fishing in the weeds, however, is that even when things go right, actually landing a fish is almost impossible. It doesn’t help that many of the Fall fish are on the larger side. Of the half-dozen or so carp that I have managed to hook in the river since I returned from Japan, most have looked like they weighed in the upper-teens to low twenties. After losing all of them, I have further concluded that my best chance is to play them from the skiff and chase them down with the trolling motor.

With sunny and calm conditions in the forecast, I whipped up a couple of flies in an attempt to solve my first two problems. I tied some smaller shadow hybrids, heavier than a a bead-head pattern, but lighter than my standard hybrids, and with the weight more evenly distributed. I also cut the worm tails quite short. I wanted more of a hot spot to attract attention than a lively, wiggling tail. The end result looked a bit like the snails I had found in the weeds.

The mornings have cooled off significantly, so I took my time fueling up the car (and then recovering from the cost of gas!) and launching the skiff. The first place I checked I found that the mid-water gravel bars, which had been excellent fishing earlier in the summer, had also been swallowed by the weed monster. The carp, however, were still there, but now instead of digging in the gravel they were munching along the top of the blanket of weeds like cattle grazing in a field. My new fly worked perfectly, sinking quickly, but then coming to rest on top of the weeds. One of the grazers scooted over and I waited for the flare of big orange lips, then set the hook. The fish made a surprised dart and then changed directions and sprinted for the channel. I jammed the trolling motor into high gear but the fish outpaced me and continued to take line until, twenty feet into my backing, everything went slack. I reeled in my broken leader and tied on the second, and last, of my new, experimental flies.

I relocated to a large gravel bar and found that the weed there, while also thick, had more of a kelp forest vibe than the dense shag carpet quality of most spots. There were fish around and I felt hopeful that I might actually have a chance of landing one if I hooked it. The water was too shallow in spots for the trolling motor, so I anchored the skiff and waded along the edge of the gravel. Pretty quickly I ran into two medium sized carp that were up out of the weeds and feeding in a clear sand patch. I dropped my little black snail fly on the sand and watched one of the fish swim slowly over and tail almost gently on my fly. I set the hook firmly and saw my fly imbedded in the carp’s upper lip before it bolted out of the shallows. This time, I had only just cleared my line when I felt a pop. Sadly, it looked like my knot had broken. I couldn’t blame this lost fish on the weeds.

I was out of new flies, so I tied on something else. The carp in the weeds ignored it. I tried a different something else, and that got rejected, too. Finally, I tied on a size 14 hare’s ear nymph. It was so small that in five casts out of six I couldn’t even see the fly well enough to know if I had gotten it in front of a fish, especially the ones feeding in the deeper weeds. I tried to keep my pace slow and to stay patient for a good target.

Finally, I came upon another pair of carp along the edge. They were in the weeds, but shallow enough that I felt like I might be able to get the fly down to them. The near fish was an average river carp, maybe eight or nine pounds, but the farther fish was much bigger. I was not in a position to be picky, so I made the safe bet and cast to the smaller fish. Something went wrong and the fish stopped eating. It turned nervously and finned slowly toward deeper water. I turned my attention to the larger fish, just three or four feet farther, fully expecting it to get the memo and also retreat, but it kept on feeding. The sun must have been just right because I was able to see my little nymph clearly enough to drop it about seven inches from the carp’s head, though I couldn’t see it once it hit the bottom. I watched the big fish intently. It did not get excited, or nervous, but instead just slowly and deliberately munched its way towards my fly. One munch. Two munch. Three munch. Four munch. I waited a beat and then just set the hook like my life depended on it. I saw the leader go tight to the fish’s mouth and big carp turned and bolted into the weeds. Quickly, I made a big decision. I backed off my drag, pointed my rod at the fish and started running for the skiff, which was about 100 feet back along the gravel bar. The fish had turned parallel to me and I had good contact, could feel that it was still attached to the end of my line. I made it to skiff and heaved the anchor onto the deck. I managed to deploy the trolling motor with one hand while keeping tension on my rod with the other. I fought to shake the weeds off my line and reeled quickly as the boat cruised out into the deeper water, but I couldn’t feel the fish moving anymore. As I approached my leader I cut the motor and lifted my rod as hard as I dared. Through the mass of weed accumulated around my line I caught a glimpse of golden scales. The big fish was still on! She had apparently tired herself pulling out all that line and then just hunkered down deep in the weeds. Somehow, I cleared away the weeds and got her in the net. She weighed in at 23 pounds, with my tiny nymph hooked securely at the corner of her mouth.

I don’t know how many more river fish I’ll be able to land this season, but if this was the last one, that would be okay with me!