Crunch time
A carp-scouting outing takes an unexpected twist: My ankle.
Current Flowers of State:
A free Friday turned into an adventure, a multi-mile amble across four different lakes, ponds, and rivers, with a little bit of spice in between. My goal? Find some carp. The wily, powerful summer fish has captured my imagination as a smart, challenging quarry, dwelling in waterways both close to home and new to me.
I'm much more comfortable about what to do in a mountain trout stream than a valley lake or pond, so I banked a day to start tramping up the learning curve.
I started around mid-morning, on one of the lovely overcast daydreams we'd been getting lately in Western Oregon. Cloudy, mid-sixties, early July. A perfect day to go out on foot and not need to pack an excessive amount of nutrition and hydration. I should probably have brought a little more, but it was just a small fly box and nippers around the neck, a spool of tippet, and a rigged rod. No waders, no waist pack, no net. Packed to move.
I walked up the shoreline of a muddy, choppy lake, with occasional reed beds acting as barriers, scanning the beds for signs of fish moving. Ash stands crowded the water like mangroves, with the constant buzzing of pollinators providing the symphony in the understory of St. John's Wort and Pennyroyal. The Standells' "Dirty Water" was my mind music, imagining myself as a carp, extolling the virtues of silted up lake bottom to hide freshwater mussels and clams like the fly I'd ventured to tie on.
No dice on the first stretch, not a single sign of a fish, but plenty of birdsong, from the polyvocal burblings of cowbirds and starlings to the slurred calls of the western wood-pewees and the sharp chattering of belted kingfishers.
After a mile or so of no fish spotted, cutting inland across a field led to my first useful discovery: Blackberries were ripening. Snack time. Every couple of whiles I'd pause at a stand of the most delicious (and picker-y) invasives in town for a snack. Now, on another lake, I was in a slightly different ecosystem: An oak savannah. "Wide open spaces," as the Chicks sang, and my mind music switched tracks. Room to make some big backcasts. Which was good, because after twenty more minutes of wandering I started to see carp jumping some 60' off the shore.
I'm not entirely sure why carp jump. One theory is they're trying to shake silt out of their gills after digging around in the muck to feed. These fish were breaching and rattling like baby tarpon, once every five minutes or so. Most times out of casting range, but every so often close enough to shore that I'd dash in the direction of the splash and clatter to try to pick up which direction the fish was moving. Another fruitless stop, but valuable observation.
My last stop was a series of smaller ponds another mile down the trail. Could there be a local behemoth in either? The first, maybe four acres, was hemmed in by head-high reeds and grasses, with a tiny trail circumnavigating it, or so I thought. But as I wound my way around, about halfway to the other side, the trail stopped, and I had to freestyle through the thicket. Inflow creeks created invisible ditches I had to navigate with care, all the while pausing to watch the water for any sign of bug or fish activity. Eventually I arrived at the far side of the pond, where it was backstopped by a 30' rise against an access road. Trudge up to the road and take the short way out, or stick to the shore, and keep blind casting to likely holding spots? I couldn't take the easy way out.
Something active on the water helped me make my decision, a grand splash 60' down the shoreline. A bass, ambushing an unwitting frog? I hoped so—hundreds of largemouth fry hid in the shallows. Could this be mama?
Soon, though, the uneven terrain did me in: I stepped on what I thought was a reed bed and my foot went a good three feet deeper, into some sort of animal burrow. I heard the crunch of ligaments and thought "Oh yeah, this is how you break your leg." Mine wasn't broken, but ankle was badly sprained. It was time to make my escape before the adrenaline subsided. I headed up to the road, already beating myself up for taking a careless step, and venturing too far into bushwhacking territory without a stick, when I spooked another creature, a white-tailed doe, napping in one of the massive crevices in the slope. My heart started hammering even faster, and I followed it up to the road, with enough danger for one day, and the resolve to find a walking stick next time things got brushy.
I couldn't quite give up yet, wonky ankle or not. My last stop was at a slightly larger, fishier-looking pond, and I finally got my shot. A clear trail around the outskirts with steep banks offered great vantage points to eyeball fish. About three-quarters of the way around I saw one: a bright golden carp rooting only three feet off the shore.
Suddenly, my ankle felt fine. My only concern was how to feed this fish. After some excited setup and scenario planning, I plopped an extremely short cast about five feet in front of where the fish was feeding, in a slightly less weeded zone. And, lo and behold, I had its attention.
The fish looked up at the fly, and I could see its full length. And girth. And it started moving to the fly. The seconds stretched as it slowly finned forward. It put its face into the muck right where my fly was. I waited for the tell-tale twitch in the line. The unmistakable pluck feeling the fly has been sucked into the carp's mouth, the trigger to set the hook. And I waited. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. I couldn't wait any longer. I gave the fly a tiny twitch. And the carp fled to the depths.
With a brief stop-over to hang my ankle in the river for a while to help reduce the incoming swelling and ruminate over the miss, it was time to head home, grateful for the encounter, a nice six-mile ramble, and that the remainder of the weekend offered a fair bit of sitting around, off my feet.
Hit reply and let me know!
July Casual Casting
Casual Casting co-host Lisa Amato and I are back at it on Friday, July 31 at Westmoreland Park. Register here to drop by for an open casting session where we find stuff to work on, offer friendly critique towards improvement, and maybe even play some fun casting games.
July 31: Casual Casting
Join us at at a free Friday night casting practice co-hosted with fellow casting instructor in training Lisa Amato. All are welcome, and rods will be provided.
Have you got your ribbon map yet?
We've raised over $10,000 for the Deschutes River Alliance and sent ribbon maps to supporters in over 14 states! Have you got yours yet?
🎥 Film pick of the week
Here's a talker this week, but it's relevant: Fly tier / shop owner Charlie Craven offering wisdom around how to fish a low water year. "There's always fishing to be found somewhere," is the key message, with lots of different options.
Event calendar 📆
Got an event you want the community to know about? Send it over and I'll include it here. You can see all of our upcoming CFS events on Luma.
July
July 18, Roseburg, OR
Umpqua River Watershed Appreciation Day
(Umpqua Watersheds)
CFS July 31, Portland, OR
Casual casting at Westmoreland Park (luma.com)
August
August 22, Grants Pass, OR
Rogue Sepy Clave (daxfly.com)
September
Tenkara hang in NC ⛺
CFS pal Amanda Hoffner is gathering interest for a gals-only tenkara campout in North Carolina in early September. Sound like something you'd be into? Let Amanda know! (tenkaraangler.com)
That's it that's all! Current Flow State is a weekly newsletter from me, Nick Parish.
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