Fishing report: June 28
Written by admin on June 29, 2009 – 4:21 am -By Charles Walsh
Correspondent, Connecticut Post
Updated: 06/27/2009 07:05:27 PM EDT
If getting to the Trout Management Area of the Housatonic River in West Cornwall was half the fun (see the Post's fishing column, June 21), there must be three halves to the trip. Once we arrived, the actual dry fly fishing was way more fun than the drive up.
When we left our fly fishing duo last week, Stratford fishing legend John Posh had just ruled "too crowded" a wide area of the river called "Push-'em-up" above the covered bridge that had been recommended by river guru Harold McMillan of the Housatonic River Outfitter's Fly Shop. Posh suggested an area to the south that he said was almost sure to be free of competing fly fishers.
We drove along the barely paved road on the east side of the river below the bridge for about a half mile before reaching a small pulloff area under a grove of pines.
"This is it," Posh said, "stop here."
The sound of the rushing river could be heard as we assembled our five-weight fly rods and pulled on waders. When we were fully outfitted, Posh looked like what you expect a serious dry fly fisher to look like. From the fully stocked vest to the guide-quality waders to the large wood-frame net hanging off his backpack, he could have posed for an upscale fly fishing catalog.
I, by contrast, looked like I was not sure if I was there to fish or pump out somebody's flooded basement. I had no vest and no net and the collection of tiny flies that McMillan had given me were still in the small plastic container he placed them in (the kind that holds the duck sauce in take-out Chinese food orders).
It was a five-minute walk on a narrow path along the river before we reached the stretch that Posh had his sights on. He was right, not another angler in sight; just a beautiful tree-lined quarter-mile of wide, vigorously running, hopefully trout-loaded river.
Posh directed me to wade in at an open spot along the bank while he went back up river a bit. Not one to argue with a master, I gingerly stepped into the water next to a large rock. A set of yellow flowers, wild irises, I think, glowed in the late afternoon sunlight on the bank. The air was filled with just-hatched insects flying crazily in every direction. If this was not a dry fly fisher's paradise, it was close.
"Just look for the splash when a trout comes up to take a bug," Posh told me. "You have to look very carefully, sometimes they can be just a little blip on the surface and all these ripples make them hard to spot. Other times the fish will come clear out of the water. When you see a rise, cast at it or a bit upstream and let the fly drift down. Trout work the same spot over and over. They usually ride again."
He wished me luck and disappeared.
The first thing you notice about this stretch of the river is that the rocks and boulders on the bottom are very big and very slippery. Since in most cases the ripples and reflections hide the rocks, you have to feel your way with your booted feet to get far enough into the river so your backcast won't end up in a tree on the bank. Working one's way into this river gives you an inkling of what it's like to be blind.
The god of dry fly fishing must have been protecting me that afternoon. Not only did I not tumble into the river, but with one lucky cast, I hooked a medium-sized brown trout at a spot called the Corner Pool in Housatonic Meadows Park. As for Posh, it seemed that every time I looked at him, his fly rod was bent in a gentle arc. He did not keep count but later estimated he landed and released 10 or 11 trout, including one fat rainbow that jumped several times before coming to net.
It was dark by the time we scrambled back up the steep bank and walked to the car. Posh lit up an aromatic cigar as he stripped off his waders and carefully stowed his rod in its case.
"Not a bad night," he judged, "not bad at all."
On the ride back to Stratford, we slipped a disc into the CD player and let Sonny Rollins play us home.
Short casts VALENTINO A WINNER -- John Valentino took both first and second places in the recent Stratford Boat Owners Association bass tournament. He weighed in a 23.86-pound bass for first place and a 20.84 bass for second. Third prize went to Don Faulkner. Valentino said he caught both fish while chunking fresh bunker in the buoy 18 area outside of Bridgeport Harbor. MORE REGULATION -- If the Connecticut saltwater fishing license will end thousands of years of free recreational fishing in Long Island Sound (if the governor even signs the bill), Wednesday's vote by the New England Fishery Management Council in Portland, Maine, will end the way commercial fishing has been managed (or more accurately mismanaged) in the waters off the New England states for hundred of years. By a one-vote margin, NEFMC officials approved a proposal that in May 2009 mandates commercial fishermen manage their catches cooperatively. Rather than limiting the amount of fish an individual fisherman may take and the number and length of trips a boat can make, the new system places limits on fishermen that are formed into groups called "sectors," reports The Boston Globe. Essentially, commercial fishermen will have a stake in making sure ground fish stocks remain healthy and not overfished. -- CHARLES WALSH
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