Saltwater!

I have now widened my scope, in terms of fly fishing venues, to include the ocean.

I have outfitted myself with an 8 weight rod and reel, a sink tip line, and flies that immitate squid and "bunker." I have read up on all types of salty fishing hot spots in the New York City area, which, as it turns out, outnumber the troutstream fly fishing options innumerably. When it comes to the Atlantic Ocean, the fish catching possibilities seem endless. Unless you don't own a boat, or know anybody who does, which are both true in my case. And as a rule, since I will probably never own a boat,  I fish from shore. Just like in a trout stream.

So I fish from shore, or wade in, up to my waist, and let the waves toss me around. Fighting wind, sand and an ever changing current, I cast into the air and the surf, after Striped Bass, Bluefish, Snapper, or maybe an Albacore or Bonito, all of which apparently inhabit the seas in the New York metro area.

I do not know of these particular fish-facts from personal experience, though, since so far I have not caught any fish out of the damn ocean on a fly. But, being an ocean, it has a tendency to move around a lot, way more than any trout stream. It also attracts a far bigger crowd of humans, so I have caught some things.

Like green stuff. There is a hell of a lot of green stuff floating around in the salt water. Sea weeds. Great big globs of sea weeds that resemble the very crinkly and translucent green cellophane paper that sometimes Christmas gifts are wrapped in. But it's wet, and it's slimy, and it gets caught on everything. Especially the fly that I'm trying to fool the fish with. I don't know of any fish that would go after a smaller fish that was trailing three feet of seaweed behind it. Better yet, sometimes the seaweed even feels like a real fish, but only if it gets caught up in the waves when you hook into a big pile of it. And oh boy, do I feel rather stupid after hooking and carefully playing it like it's a huge Striper (would be my first, want to be careful), only to bring four pounds of slimy ocean vegetation to hand. You can set a world record seaweed catch on almost every cast into the ocean!. Not only that, but it gets wrapped around your leg, too, and if the water's cloudy (which most always is in the NY metro area) you don't know what the hell is swimming around down there. Yikes.

Could be a Jellyfish. Don't want to be on the wrong end of one of these things. Or any end. A throbbing mass of wet, salty, rubber goo with a million stingers. I have not yet hooked directly into one, but it's hard to concentrate on the more sportsmanlike and actual fishes when you have one of these floating by. Every three minutes. They pulsate gently in a hypnotic swim right towards you. The sting is usually a delayed response though, on the ankle or calf. When the pain takes hold, the sneaky bastard is long gone. Never trust a jellyfish.

And finally, there's the people. They're everywhere. Especially if the sun is out, and it's July. Especially if it's a Saturday, and very especially if there's water nearby. And most especially, if it's reachable in under two hours from New York City.

For example, after hiking through dunes and brush to get away from the immense crowds last weekend, I found a beach on Sandy Hook, New Jersey that was nearly deserted. There were two guys fishing with bait off a point formed by some old Air Force structures (Sandy Hook used to be the first line of defense against an air attack on NYC, and consequently there are old radar towers and barracks all over the place- in addition to signs warning of "unexploded ordinance," and what to do if you find some- if you still have your head attached after trying to pick it up), and that was it. No other signs of people, other than some boating and/or personal water-craft activity far away on the horizon. I had my fly rod and I was going to use it. The bait casters had the best spot, but there was plenty of deep water off the rocks. They looked over at my wild cast once in a while, but it didn't seem to matter. They  were catching nothing, too.

I made my way down to a big half moon beach, which was buttressed up against a man made wall of old concrete former road sections, something the military once made, then discarded. The wind was nicely blocked by a small hill. It felt like a set from Apocalypse Now.

Plenty of room on the beach behind me, but I waded out about twelve feet and peeled some line off the reel. Not much green stuff and no jellyfish. I was casting as far as I could, which seemed to be a reasonable distance- I imagined, at least, that there were fish holding just under where my big pink squid fly was landing. I varied my retrieve. It was one of those fly fishing moments where I am certain that a fish will slam into the fly, but maybe on the next cast. I pulled up about twenty feet of line, backcast and let another twenty feet out. Backcast again- then the whole thing STOPPED- midway- as if forty feet behind me I snagged a branch sticking out of the beach. But as I turned around to see what stopped my nearly perfect cast, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something was anxiously moving around...

And then I heard, "oooohaaaaaa!"

She was there with her boyfriend. They must have popped out from behind a bush. The line was pulled tight, directly from her to me, and she was saying, "oh my god, I have a hook in my arm, oh my god."

I dared not move. The boyfriend would have to get wet. He said, "don't pull!" I said, "ok, I'll just stand  here." Lucky for them I did not spend a fortune on good salt water flies. The hook barely made a dent and she pulled it right out. It certainly didn't go past the barb, phew, and she almost seemed to enjoy the experience. The boyfriend even said, "hey, you caught a big one," as they walked off down the beach.

Trout Flies

A modest selection of the better fly patterns that I use to fish for trout.

First up is the Quill Gordon. Tied for the first time a little over a hundred years ago by Theodore Gordon, and often called the "first" dry fly. Proving it's longetivity, I caught some large, native brown trout just last month with this favorite and original Catskills pattern. Caught them out of the Willowemoc, probably in the same pool Mr. Gordon fished with his "Quill" fly in 1898. Tied very sparsely, the Quill Gordon is a rather attractive pattern. Especially to the Brown Trout. It seems to trigger something in them, and they take it aggressively whenever it appears. They always take this fly readily- even though smaller insects, or perhaps different species are hatching. The Quill Gordon. Made of stripped peacock herl for the body, rust to brown hen for the tail and hackles, and mallard duck quill for the wings. The classic way to tie it pitches the wings forward slightly and leaves a bit of hook shank just behind the eye. The hackles can be long, but they must be stiff so the fly will sit just right on the water's surface. Tie it big and you can see it when it's drifting on a far away riffle, after a long cast, just before it disappears, yet again, in the swirl of a trout rise. The fact that the Quill Gordon still works after all these years means to me that the Quill Gordon will work forever, so I always carry bunches of them in my box.

The Henryville Special.

Really just a complex caddis pattern, but like it's buddy in the next flybox compartment, the Quill Gordon, The Henryville Special attracts brown trout during certain weeks of the season like no other fly. This is a little fly that you toss under an overhanging branch- and immediately get the snarling, splashy rise of a real lunker brown. Always small with a duck tent wing, barred and palmered hackle over lime green floss. Looks like a bug, floats like a cork, and brings the big lazy browns out of their deep holding lies in the middle of summer.

Midge Whisps!

This is a new and untested pattern. I got the idea after getting tired of seeing fish rise steadily, especially in the summer, to feed on flies that seemed too small to bother imitating. Midges. Cousin to the mosquito. A swarming, buzzing little insect. Not as handsome as the mayfly, nor as agile as the caddis. But they hatch year round, come in very nuetral shades and trout feed on them all the time. Especially in streams with a lot of, well, angler traffic. This tiny bug is a safe bet. Hard to get a hook this small. The Midge Whisp is tied with only Cul d' Canard (duck rump feathers) and thread. Dub the CDC for the body and splay two clumps of it for the wings. The Midge Whisp will hang in the surface film and blend in with the other swarm of hatching naturals. I think I'll try it tomorrow.

Red Quill

This is also an old Catskills dry fly pattern, probably also invented by Theodore Gordon, but the Red Quill is not quite the same as the Quill Gordon. First of all it must be small. In fact I think that it's traditionally called "The Little Red Quill." Or maybe that's "The Little Blue Quill." Either way, I tie this fly because I usually have lots of reddish, rusty brown and orange colored feathers around, and almost nothing in blue. Besides, the reddish, rusty and yellow ochre shades seem far more natural to me. And this fly works! My favorite Sulfur immitation, when they're hatching small. The body is stripped hen hackle feather, color should be red, rust, ochre, slightly yellowish but never bright or at all khaki or cream. For hackle, use the same hen neck. Also the same for the tail, too. Wings are usually mallard flank, but here I used a dark partridge, which somehow makes it more, well, English.

Speaking of the English,

Here's a book I recommend; "The International Guide to Trout Flies," by Bob Church. This is an old edition, but I think it's still in print. Lots of shaggy wets and loosely tied dries by very English tyers, methods explained and stories told. Great color pictures of all types of flies tied, all in the British dressing style. Elegant, historic and purposeful. An excellent read if you have tying trout flies on the brain and need some inspiration.