In between rainstorms today I visited "Little" Seneca Lake near Boyds, Md. This is fine countryside, with rolling hills and winding country roads. Door to water is about 45 minutes from northwest Washington. And I say "Little," because that is the geographical name of this massive body of water, which also serves as a water supply for our nation's capitol. It's big, wide open and quite scenic. And quite busy on a Sunday afternoon, especially when you find yourself inside a small window of sunshine after several rainy days.

I found the road less travelled and waded through waist high prickly foliage to a promising looking inlet, where I landed a healthy largemouth after half a dozen casts. I found this encouraging, but spent the next two hours exploring the shoreline in search of another fish.

I would have no such luck, however. It's only May, I told myself as I packed up my gear before heading home, bass season doesn't even start until mid June. I'll be back to this great big "little" lake, perhaps with the advantage of a rented boat (boat rentals become available after Memorial Day). Stay tuned.

Little Seneca Creek

I found a clear little stream that runs under a quiet Maryland road about a half hour north of Washington. The odd part of this story is that I found it when I decided to quit fishing for the day and head home.

I'd spent the better part of a ripe spring day exploring the Seneca lake area. Great Seneca Creek is what the Maryland DNR calls a "put-and-take" trout area, which means the state puts the trout in, and the fishing public takes them right back out. There are no special regulations at the put-and-take designated rivers and lakes, so anglers can find themselves accompanied stream-side by other anglers employing some rather uncouth tactics. Large spinning rods, white plastic buckets, lawn chairs, and giant aluminum nets would be examples of the gear I've seen these folks use. Plunkers of worms.

I'm a fly-fisher, so naturally, also a snob of the highest degree. I spent about an hour on Great Seneca Creek and got back in my car, blaming my lack of hook-ups on the water being slightly off color. I'd hate to think I just spent an hour fishing a stream that was emptied by someone toting a bucket.

I drove up to the lake that feeds the Seneca, naturally called Great Seneca Lake. This is a splendid body of water, sprawling and wide open. Ideal for long casts from shore. I met a guy who was sitting in his car in the pull-off reserved for boaters, taking photos with a giant lens on his camera, like the ones you see on the sidelines of NFL games. He said it was a bald eagle. I saw nothing.

I tried my luck for another hour, then got back in my car. I blamed my lack of success on the wind. It was gusting. I must have taken a wrong turn because after about ten minutes nothing looked familiar, but I had the familiar feeling that I was lost. I zigzagged the hilly countryside looking for a sign or a landmark, and when I finally decided on what seemed like the right "direction," I crossed over this ideal looking trout stream. I found out later that it was Little Seneca Creek, also designated "put-and-take" by the state of Maryland, but smaller and more inviting than many other public fishing locations. I didn't see anyone with a bucket or lawn chair, in fact I didn't see anyone at all. I also landed my first and only fish of the day, a 9" rainbow that had evidence of bait fishing in the form of a worm hook leader protruding from its mouth. The fish had swallowed the hook (which they tend to do with live bait, which proves that fishing for trout with worms is a harmful tactic, and that I am not necessarily 100% snob). I did my best to relieve the fish of its ailment, but figuring I'd do more harm than good I let her go to fend for herself. I'll be back to the Little Seneca some day, perhaps when it warms up a bit and/or stops raining, in search of any other trout that have survived "put-and-take."

Back to Basics

I was recently advised, by a very seasoned angler (and fly fishing manager at the Orvis store in Bethesda, MD), to go off the beaten path. There is a small and wild stream in central Maryland called Morgan Run, and it is way off the beaten path. His advice was based on a recent update that trout stocking had commenced on the Morgan Run, and fishing should be good. Even on a very grey and cold day in mid-April.
The day started off slow. It was raining steadily, but I was dressed appropriately so I wandered freely through the Morgan Run's lush surroundings. The river itself is luscious. It is clearly a unique trout fishing environment.
And although my advisor's recommendation of Morgan Run was based on trout stocking (rainbow trout, supposedly), it didn't take me long to land a pair of native browns...by skipping a Muddler Minnow across the surface. The fish were holding deep, but the eagerly rose to inhale the minnow as it danced on the water's surface. Very exciting, and as the rainfall strengthened and my hands began to take on the chill in the air I kept wandering.
I found myself quite far downstream. I saw no other anglers, and heard only birds and soft footfalls of small animals. I think I have found a new favorite, and I think since it is off the beaten path it may be all mine, unless of course I see you there...

Cold

It's too cold for me to fish. Either that, or I'm not dying to fish in the cold. I've had time, I've got plenty of flies leftover from a season of succesful tying, and I've heard the stripers have started running at Sandy Hook and large browns are running in the East Branch. I'm putting off cold weather outings until I have the balls to fish, which means medium temperatures of 45-60 degrees fahrenheit.

Pools

In fly fishing, a pool is not an ordinary section of river. A pool is not an eddy or a pocket, although it may have those within it.

In fly fishing, calling a particular stretch of flowing water a "pool" deems it worthwhile. We name our pools after people who found them, like Barnhart's or Cairn's, or we give them nicknames, like "The Bathtub." We talk about their great trout, that may have once taken us into the backing, or brag that you got to fish the so and so pool, while everybody nods in dumb nostalgia. Pools can become famous legends, names we instantly recognize for their pure fishability.

There are certain stretches of river known as "pools."

And pools can be crowded. In May and June even parking a car near some of the most well known pools is difficult. You pull up and there's already six anglers who've claimed every decent lie and three others on the bank, just watching.

Pools. There's a reason for the fame, of course, and I'm convinced it's because these pools hold lots and lots of hungry trout. The depth is just right and the temperature is just right, and the water has just the right amount of oxygen and the rocks in the riverbed are constantly churned up by anglers, causing the abundant local caddis pupae to jettison into the flow so the bigger fish can lie on the bottom with their mouths open, constantly inhaling food. Drift a larger than necessary weighted nymph over one of these beasts and you can easily entertain nine other anglers who will watch you land it, then immediately ask what you're using. Catching an immense fish in a crowded pool is always a conversation starter.

I have taken, lately, to avoiding these pools. In fact, I have sort of endeavored to find my own pools, which are a little bit off of the road, a little less frequented. Once in a while I'll find another angler wading around in a pool that I consider "mine," and often he is standing right on top of the spot where the trout usually lie, fishing into a hopeless midcurrent. Kind of feel sorry for the dope, but it's too late to give him advice so I just wave and move on to find another "pool."

I have to admit, so far, so good. I've found many. And all I had to do was wander off a bit, away from the same crowds casting to the same fish in the same famous pools, just into the woods a bit, over there, away from the road.

And I have my own nicknames for them; Just Above The Bridge Pool, Corner Pool, Construction Vehicle Parking Lot Pool, Beat 21, Horseshoe Beach, and The Grassy Knoll. Maybe someday I'll tell you where they are.

Amawalk River, August 2008

The reason I fish the Amawalk is not entirely for the fishing opportunities it allows, it's the memories. I grew up there. I spent my teenage summer evenings there, when I should have been drinking cold beer with other high school aged kids. I knew every inch of this stream by the time I reached the ripe age of fifteen. I knew where the fish would go when it was hot out, and I pretty much knew that the Cahills would start hatching on - well, June, in the evening- air warm, water cold. And letting off a foggy steam for dramatic effect. 

I knew back then what I know now, that wading slowly and carefully up the heel of the first bend pool you can find a sixteen inch wild brown, if you toss a grasshopper under the long grass at the bend's elbow, at about seven fifteen in the evening.

Or a nine inch wild brown. Either way, if you're carrying a very small fly rod with a 3 weight line (no more), you can get a real nice fight out of any Amawalk trout, if you're lucky enough to fool one in the first place.

I have a special rod that I use for this stream only. It's a home made job, six feet in length, weights about two ounces, and it casts a whopping 12 feet, max. All you'll ever need for the Amawalk. Especially if your leader is fifteen feet long. When I spool up and change locations I have to wrap the leader all over the reel just to keep it away from hanging up in branches. I like to sneak around in the woods up there.

There are trees everywhere, and weeds grow shoulder high. Especially in August. Care must be taken with each cast, and with each motion you make, or trees, twigs and various unknown gravitational forces will grab hold of your line, your leader and/or your fly and not let go under any circumstances. The quarters are tight.

I've fished the Amawalk in the rain, the snow (one time it snowed two feet on opening day), the hot July afternoons, mornings, evenings, dusk and absolute dark. I've even fished the Amawalk in the middle of winter when parts of it are frozen over. Even though trout season on the Amawalk ends on September 30th.

The biggest fish of the day took a 50/50 nymph, fished just along the far bank above the Wood Street Bridge. And don't think I'm giving away any secrets here, the Amawalk protects itself from amateurs with it's overhanging branches and finicky, reclusive trout. Go ahead, fish the Amawalk, I dare ya. Watch out for the deer ticks.

The Amawalk is a tailwater. The entire flow is made up of the cold, clear water from the bottom of a reservoir, released gently through the wooded hollows that are a small part of the Croton Watershed, and this, without accident, makes up a healthy, thriving habitat of aquatic insects, deer, squirrels, and foxes, mice, owls, hawks, and trout- then supplies drinking water to New York City.

The Amawalk is true fly fishing stream. If you do visit, please practice catch and release.

Ah, the Esopus

Ah, the Esopus. A roller coaster ride of a river from beginning to end. Spring creek, water supply for New York City, temperamental at times- since you are deep in some spots and shallow in others.

Your trout are small and difficult to seek out. You are hard to wade. You are a big river, Esopus, almost in a Western sense, yet no lunker rainbows ever seem to find your rocky strides. What happened?

Coincidentally it rains every time I visit you. It is my calling, it seems, to bring a fresh dousing to the region every time I visit. Thunderstorms and sideways bolts of lightning are not uncommon. Often I've had to flee your banks in dreadful fear of being stuck dead while fishing. And I can think of many fates less glorious!

So like a fool I go back to your mysterious swirling eddies, to try out memories of you against the real thing, and maybe, just maybe catch a nine inch stocked rainbow out of your deeper pools while the sky erupts in a circus above our heads.

Ah, the Esopus.