Hop(per) on The Carp Train

This morning, I had a long phone conversation with Howard. We talked Dream Stream, float fishing, and lots of other things. But something he said reminded me of an idea. Howard was talking about how he loved to throw hoppers at big browns on the Arkansas. Browns? Brown trout. But what else is brown? Carp! So this afternoon, I went out to my favorite spots with a question in my head. Was it possible to catch carp using dry techniques? Fishing hoppers on the skate, the twitch, the dead drift? Basically, was it possible to catch carp as if they were trout? From the second I pulled up to the pond, I knew I had picked the right day. You could see the rings and hear the "bloops" of carp feeding all around the pond. I tied on a Grand Hopper, hopped into position, and took a cast. My first three shots brought total rejection. My forth shot, however, fell short and landed literally 4 inches in front of the fish's face. But the fish didn't spook. He looked up, moved towards the surface, and slowly inhaled my fly. He turned, felt the hook, and shot away, snapping the 3x tippet as he went. I watched my last Grand Hopper swim away feeling pretty stupid. I re-rigged with a PMX, moved to a new area, and tried again. One fished came up and nosed my fly, then turned away. Next I had another slow eat, but my set was too early and I missed the fish. Finally, I moved to a nice sunny patch of water between two trees. After watching for a minute, I saw a big shadow moving along the bank. I cast out and in front of the fish, twitched it three times and let it sit. A giant golden head rose up, sucked in, and thrashed at the feel of sharp metal. Ten minutes later, I had the answer to my question:

Shown Here Displaying Jordan Shoes And Gucci's "Carp Selection"

Mug Shot

The Blue And Gore Creek

When my friend gave me a call after my second day of Drivers Ed and asked if I had some time for a spare fishing trip, I actually wasn't sure. After moving a couple things around, checking with my mom, and other assorted boringness, I gave him the OK. So with the bags packed, we got a late (7:00 am) start up to the Blue. As usual, the fishing in the upper section was tough. Once we hit my favorite area, the fishing took a turn for the better. All in all I landed some fish, lost a couple more, and broke off once.

After awhile, we head out to our final destination. Wait, not the Blue? No, we were here to fish Gore Creek and its surrounding beaver ponds. We biked for a little while and found ourselves at a nice pond with some rising brookies. I started off with a Slump Buster, but quickly changed up to a yellow Adams. Sight casting to these fish was a great time, and it reminded me of Small Stream Reflections. Speaking of which, SSR is one of my favorite blogs. I wish I could tie flies half as good as what I see on there. If you don't already read it, hit the link and check it out.

The next day, we fished Gore Creek all the way through the Golf Course property. After catching a bunch of brookies, two browns, and a rainbow, I joked to my friend that we should try for a Grand Slam. Not even 30 minutes later, a nice Colorado Cutt found his way into my net. I admired his beauty, held him up for my friend, and let him go. Then I tried to drown myself for a good ten minutes because  I forgot to take a picture. Sorry guys.

Keep checking back in, there's going to be something really cool up within the next few days.

The Makeshift Grand Slam

The Grand Slam. Brook, Brown, Cutthroat, Rainbow. But what happens when the Grand Slam changes? When you're trying to pull the Slam in warm water? When you're spending half the time helping someone who's never fly fished before? And when all the fish in the entire lake are giving you the infamous middle fin? Well than, here is your Grand Slam:    Bass, Blue Gill, And One other fish that's willing to bite.

We got out to Pella Crossing around 9:30. The heat was already rising, and the Smallmouths were being lazy. They wouldn't eat any flies we threw at them, and spooked at any movement. After a few minutes sight casting to the little bastards, we moved onto Largemouth. Any fish you could see wouldn't be willing to bite, but casting out into the deeper sections wielded a few fish. Obviously, the Blue gill would attack everything, and a few managed to actually hook themselves.

We kept fishing the bass, and even managed to get the kid who's never fished before onto a decent fish. Our shuttle (Mom's car) was arriving around 1:30, and when I looked at my clock it was 1:15. We started making our way back toward the car, and arrived at the parking lot by 1:20. Right as we were about to sit down and wait for the car, I spotted a dark shape. Closer look showed that it was a catfish, feeding around a rock. I'm sure it was pure luck, but my first cast landed right in his hole. Fish on! And that my friends, is the makeshift Grand Slam.