New Jersey Trout Soon to Cool Off

With Cooler Temperatures Trout are Game

By Bruce Litton

          Some streams are now cooler in the mornings than the 68-degree threshold or so above which trout do not survive lactic acid trauma after struggle on a hook and release.  I don’t know the exact temperatures for the different species combined with varying oxygen levels. That’s a general rule—brook trout need cooler water, rainbows tolerate slightly warmer, and browns fare even better through summer—but it’s worth keeping in mind when fishing trout during the heat of summers like this and the previous we’ve got through.

          Some smaller spring fed streams may never warm above 68. But my son, Matt, and I fished the Paulinskill River in Sussex on the hottest day of the year in 2011 through stretches with ample springs, and we finished our short afternoon by swimming—in water that felt about 82 at the least. Both of us not knowledgeable at the time of this 68-degree rule we learned from Chris Lido, no trout would have found our flies anyway, hidden in whatever spring holes, and we caught a few smallmouth bass.

          The Musconetcong River in Morris, Warren, and Hunterdon Counties is spring fed especially below Hackettstown on down through Asbury, but does warm considerably compared to the Pequest perhaps. Trout holdover in all of the streams and more streams than I’ve mentioned; reproduction occurs at least in smaller limestone streams, and I’ve witnessed trout in a summer-warm stream in Mercer County congregate at a shallow spring release with barely enough water to cover their backs, fish I left alone of course.

          Trout fishing for both fly anglers and those who prefer spinning tackle should improve with cooler temperatures and streams and rivers at normal levels. It won’t be long before rivers like the Musconetcong, Pequest, and North and South Branch Raritan receive a generous stocking of 14 to 16-inch, and larger, trout from the state the second and third weeks of October. The volume of fish stocked is less than during spring, but plenty escape angler’s intentions and remain in rivers for a productive winter fishery; some holdover into spring and beyond.

          However, New Jersey trout are not all about the Pequest hatchery. Native brook trout with genetic lines extending back to the end of the Wisconsin Glacier exist in many pure water streams. Some clean and cool water streams are not stocked, yet have abundant populations of rainbow and/or brown trout which have reproduced since stockings many years ago, or feed into rivers that are stocked from which they migrate upstream, in turn.

          The headwaters of the Passaic River in Bernardsville are full of wild rainbows and browns, accessible at Scherman-Hoffman Wildlife Sanctuary, anglers required to release what they catch and to use artificial lures (flies or otherwise) with barbless hooks. Make sure to check at the office for additional regulations. Hooks can be rendered safer to released trout easily by crimping barbs with needlenose pliers. Most Passaic River trout measure five to seven inches, few a foot long, and the very rare catch reaches 17 inches.

           Trout in small streams such as the Passaic headwaters spook easily and require stealth and skill. It may be easier to fish a wet fly, nymph, or streamer in a river’s deep pool where your quarry will more likely be unaware of your presence, but of course dry fly hatches persist into fall. Rivers allow greater casting range as well to reach unsuspecting shallow water trout. Many years ago I caught plenty of nine-inch brook trout in the small, crystal clear Dunnfield Creek of Warren County on small shad darts, jigs used in the spring Delaware run, but the casting angles I took remind me of modern dance rituals.

          For some dry fly hatches, I refer to Fly Fisher’s Guide to the Big Apple: Great Waters within 150 Miles of New York City, by Tom Gilmore for my advice to you.  Parachute Adams, size 18 to 24, Parachute Blue Winged Olive, size 18, Blue Quill and Blue Dun, 16 to 18, Gray Wulff, 10 to 12 represent hatches that may be encountered.  Terrestrial patterns come in fascinating variety which the folks at Effinger Sporting Goods may have further advice to help you with, but ant, inchworm, and caterpillar patterns prove good into October. The Woolly Worm, a wet fly caterpillar pattern I loved in my teens, is effective tied to as large as a size 6 hook. Find a few fly patterns you like, and this may get you started better than trying to outsmart nature. Hatch charts are not really absolutes as to what trout will take.

 

           

Ocracoke Inlet Summer Spanish Mackerel, Bluefish, Flounder, and a Few Surprises

 

Ocracoke Inlet Summer

Spanish Mackerel, Blues, Flounder and a few Surprises

By Bruce Litton

For the roadways running from Corolla southward, Ocracoke Village is the end of the line on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. It’s a great angling destination because many fish species are abundant and boats are few in Ocracoke Inlet. Other inlets get accessed with greater ease. Getting to Ocracoke Island is a test of patience, or a relaxing ride. A 40-minute ferry trip from Hatteras is necessary, or over two hours from either Swan Quarter or Cedar Island some 25 miles across Pamlico Sound.

Ocracoke Inlet hosts Spanish mackerel flashing metallic sides like eyes winking, and blues rushing in from behind and below as if attracted to the light. Flounder fill Wallace Channel--on a good day you will want to move on to some surprising species after catching so many. A proud example is large cobia during summer. Sheepshead over 12 pounds, and black drum over 15, frequent tide rips where the inlet either flows into Pamlico Sound, or gathers it out. We've been fishing the Inlet with Captain Ryan O'Neal for many years.

         

 “No wind today,” O’Neal said. “The water’s flat and that tide is just now creeping in.”

           

Ryan O’Neal is the youngest charter Captain on the southern Atlantic coast to earn the United States Coast Guard Approved Masters License—at 18. He has fished Ocracoke Inlet, Pamlico Sound, and the Atlantic for many years, and comes from a long family tradition of fishing these waters related to Ocracoke. My son, Matt, and I felt privileged to be in the living presence of the village’s long history, especially in direct relation to the fish of its surroundings. Throttle opening on the 150 Honda outboard on the 24 foot Privateer, ”the Tarheel,” we raced southward from the village harbor, Silver Lake, 2 ½ miles into the range of Oracoke Inlet’s Blair Channel until the skiff lowered off plane. O’Neal leapt from his seat, and deftly reached for trolling rods from holders on the canopy.

         

“Let’s get some Spanish!” He said.

         

“You’ll see, dad. Your losing streak on the piers is over,” My son said.

         

Size 0 Clark spoons, tied directly to 25-pound test fluorocarbon in lengths of 25 feet to size 1 planers lined up about a hundred feet out, left and right behind the stern. The outboard continued to propel the craft at 5 to 6 mph. From the stern’s middle, the same lure soon flashed behind a four-ounce in-line sinker for a shallow troll. The planer gets a spoon down as deep as eight feet.

         

“The Clark spoon imitates silversides?” I said.

         

“And small menhaden and finger mullet,” O’Neal said.

          

From May into October, Spanish mackerel move in pods and large schools along the edges of the inlet’s two main channels, Blair and Wallace, and also outside in the Atlantic. Available on occasion to surf anglers up and down the Banks, they also serve as a favorite summertime target from piers. But for reliable consistency, nothing beats trolling for these speedsters in the inlets. They are a beautiful, blue-toned fish with large, golden spots. Their bodies sleek with deeply forked tails propel them like torpedoes.

The previous day, a stop at Tradewinds Tackle in Ocracoke to inquire about fishing the inlet revealed a mounted 10-pound Spanish mackerel, and Alan Sutton at the register as he took a break from fishing. He said the Spanish began a migration from Florida earlier in the year. Naturally they are drawn to inlets for the forage concentrations. Mackerel are not available off the ends of piers in large numbers every morning, since although beaches have varieties of subtle structures, their slope is more and less even, the depths yawning into ever deeper blue expanse. Fish schools rove dispersed compared to inlet situations. Although Ocracoke Inlet’s two channels fill large expanse, sand banks well define them, and you can bet on finding Spanish somewhere along an edge of a cut or specific channel. Evening sometimes results in a run, although mornings not only feel fresh, the sun rises and fish seem to thrive for a few hours or more after darkness.

“It can make a difference on what side of the channel’s edge you troll,” Sutton said.

Looking for birds to find a roving school may help, but mackerel do not always feed right at the surface. Ultimately, trolling is a search method when mackerel or blues do not become immediately evident. But one factor above others is important.

         

“See how clear the water is?” said O’Neal, guiding the troll along Blair’s northern edge.

         

“We’re close to open sea,” I said.

         

“And the tide’s really comin’ in. Spanish are sight feeders. So I always look for action in the morning on a rising tide with clear water.”

           

It didn’t take long. A rod bent almost on cue when O’Neal spoke. My son’s first mackerel measured about 18 inches, which proved to be about average size. We caught a dozen or so by trolling along edges of Blair Channel, and about as many blues from one to three pounds. Bluefish tend to move in smaller pods, and situate slightly deeper behind mackerel schools. It’s as if they smell the scraps left behind from slaughters the Spanish race on ahead of in quick, frenzied, lightning formations. In fact, bluefish rely on scent to much greater degree than mackerel.

         

“Some mornings the Spanish run a pound or two, others they’ll be about three pounds. The world record 13-pounder came from this inlet, and every summer we get Spanish over five pounds,” O’Neal said.

         

Portsmouth Island beckoned about a half mile further south; a sand bank defines the northern terminus of Cape Lookout National Seashore. Soon we drifted in to almost chatting distance from a couple walking the water’s edge. Wallace Channel cuts the sand close and scoops it out to depths of almost 30 feet. Through summer into early fall, flounder are not the only desirable fish lurking among its mysterious current variations, forage, shellfish and other bottom obstructions, but they comprise the bulk of the fish. Sheepshead, puppy drum, black drum, cobia, and large red drum just outside the inlet on occasion, exist as worthy summer pursuits in these depths. Cobia often prowl nearer the ocean; sheepshead and black drum position towards the sound.

         

“With just the tide to carry us, no wind, we’ll move at about ½ to 1 knot, which is perfect,” O’Neal said. “1 ½ to 2 knots is too fast.”

Medium power, six-foot spinning rods and reels loaded with 12-pound test monofilament clinch-knotted to spec rigs, red and white, and chartreuse and white polymer on four size 1/0 hooks to each rig, stood by as O’Neal quickly baited them with fresh squid. Mackerel belly strips are also good bait. At the bottom of these rigs, three-ounce bank sinkers are attached to snaps, which take them directly down.

“Let out just enough line to stay at an angle and let drift,” O’Neal said. “When you feel something like added weight, open the bail and let out line for a few seconds before you set the hook.”

The large number of keepers didn’t surprise O’Neal. They averaged about 16 inches and could have been caught steadily all day. A flounder fights with a unique, head shaking persistence that feels like it might throw the hook at any instant. Sometimes they do get off. But in the middle of all the action with flounder, something a lot larger than what we had become accustomed to struck. This fish was no flounder, judging by the quick, steady runs, sudden turns, and smooth power.

“Cobia!” O’Neal said.

“Really!?” I said.

“Uh, huh. Small one.”

The brown stripe came into view. Less than 33-inch legal size, the cobia weighed over six pounds. Drifting spec rigs for flounder, O’Neal’s clients often catch cobia 20 to 25 pounds, occasionally as large as 40.

“Last year I boated one 69 pounds out on the ocean that hit a four-ounce bucktail,” he said.

Alan Sutton had concurred on three or four-ounce bucktails. An eight-inch plastic worm trailer adds appeal. Cobia can be pursued by trying to sight them. With calm surface and clear water favoring visibility, the object is to cast beyond the fish and retrieve the bucktail quickly and close to its protruding lower jaw to tease a strike.

Matt hung something on his spec rig that certainly was no flounder, judging by the sheer weight. This fish departed on a long, unstoppable run, but by the time O’Neal was at the wheel starting the engine to follow, the hook pulled.

“Could have been a big cobia,” O’Neal said. “Or it could have been a shark.”

Either one had been a great pleasure for my son.

         

         

           

           

        

           

Tide Rips Combined with Ledges and Shells Host Sheepshead

O’Neal showed how one look at the mouth of a sheepshead tells you where to look for them: among crustaceans, mollusks, and especially barnacles for them to eat.

“Just like human teeth,” he said. “Some would kill to have a set like that.”

Sheepshead are large, round bodied fish that relate to vertical structures—so a ledge that drops off from a sandy shelf cut by a tide rip around the edge of an island may be perfect. Find a spot like this along Wallace Channel towards the sound with lots of shells at the bottom and you may be on fish. O’Neal positioned the boat as best he could in wind against the tide to fish 16-foot depths.

“Normally I could position the boat so we could put our lines directly off the rear,” he said.

The situation presented little problem, but O’Neal expressed clear vision of the ideal. Fish struggled in no time. Black drum larger than 15 pounds may be mixed with sheepshead at such a hotspot, although the drum may be out in slightly deeper current away from such a ledge. Both species love sand fleas, which may be easy to collect in surf wash. But make sure you fill a bucket because sheepshead are great bait stealers. A simple double hook bottom rig with a two ounce bank sinker is sufficient. But keep a tight line.

“You won’t feel the bite with that much line out,” O’Neal said.

A cast had reached further out along the ledge. Setting the rig set closer resulted in a 5 pound, hard fighting sheepshead. We caught about a dozen, the largest over seven pounds. Often twice this many are caught in a few hours, frequently larger than 12 pounds.

Rising Tide is best for Flounder

Pamlico Sound stays slightly off color. At the public boat ramp in Ocracoke Village, for example, bottom is visible in about two feet of water. When tide exits, it takes the sound with it through the inlet.

“Flounder fishing is better in clearer water,” O’Neal said. “They rely more on sight more than smell, whereas a bluefish or a drum will just smell it. If the water is turbid, a flounder will too. But they lay flat and look up for baitfish such as small pinfish, finger mullet, or two inch long baby flounders.”

Any amount of wind can be tricky for drifting Wallace Channel. But light breezes will not necessarily ruin the fishing, especially if you use an electric trolling motor to compensate against them. If your boat is large enough, it won’t get buffeted about by breezes the way a small craft responds. A big boat will tend to move with the tide. But heavy winds can make this fishing almost impossible.

In windy conditions, to anchor and drift a rig port or starboard works. But it’s not the same as being carried evenly for hundreds of yards by incoming tide, showing those polymer colors and squid or mackerel belly bait to a lot more flounder in clear water, and perhaps to a big, curious, aggressive cobia.

Red Drum, Cero Mackerel, and Southern Flounder

Red Drum serve as Outer Banks theme fish, designated in 1971 by the North Carolina General Assembly as the state saltwater fish. O’Neal pursues them avidly. Although November is the best month, when reds over 40 pounds are an everyday happening, spotty action happens in range of the Tarheel skiff through the summer. Various cut baits are standard, and sea mullet seems to attract fewer rays than does bunker.

“We find them in troughs just outside the inlet,” O’Neal said.

Cero mackerel are a happens-chance fish, but they do enter the inlet, particularly in September through October.  They are larger than Spanish mackerel, blue toned like them, but with a thin, dark, lateral stripe. Like Spanish, they slam trolled Clark spoons, and slice through clear, rising tides by the swift action of pelagic tailfins.

“They average about five pounds,” O’Neal said.

Southern flounder are a fascination for O’Neal. His family ancestors fished them commercially, gigging for large profits, impaling fish as big as 30 pounds.

“They gig them right up in the shallows. You can see them lying on the flats,” O’Neal said.

Late September is a good time to come across one of these finicky feeders. Compared to fishing summer flounder, the need to open the bail and allow the flounder undisturbed possession of the bait is greater. O’Neal says they are not as big as they once had bee

Destination Information

How to Get There – Approach Swan Quarter on U.S. 264, get on N.C. 45 South for 2.1 miles to 2^nd Street, .1 mile to Oyster Creek Road. After about a mile’s drive, arrive at the ferry terminal, 748 Oyster Creek Road. Cedar Island is approached on U.S. 70 to N.C. 12, followed to the terminal at the point of the island. Hatteras is accessed by taking the Virginia Dare Memorial Bridge from the mainland, U.S. 264 on over Roanoke Island, which becomes U.S. 64 on the bridges over to Nags Head, and connecting to N.C. 12 south to Hatteras, or by taking N.C. 168, which becomes N.C. 158 from the northeast corner of the state, over Currituck Sound, into Kitty Hawk, continuing south on N.C. 158/12, and continuing on N.C. 12 to Hatteras and the ferry terminal at the end of the road. The Hatteras ferry will take you to N.C. 12 resumption at the northern end of Ocracoke Island; a 16 mile drive south takes you into Ocracoke Village. The Swan Quarter and Cedar Island ferry terminal is in town. Public boat ramp is at end of Irvin Garrish Highway to the right of the ferry terminal.

Accommodations – Anchorage Inn & Marina Motel, 205 Irvin Garrish Highway, (252) 928-3421; Blackbeard’s Lodge, 111 Back Road, (252) 928-3421; Edwards of Ocracoke, 216 Old Beach Road, (800) 254-1359; Silver Lake Motel, P.O. 1716, (252) 928-6721; Harborside Motel, Silver Lake Road, (252) 928-3111; Bluff Shoal Motel, Silver Lake Road, (252) 928-4301; Pony Island Motel, 785 Irvin Garrish Highway, (800) 928-4411; Ocracoke Island Vacation Rentals/Island Realty, 1075 Irvin Garrish Highway, (877) 646-2822.

Maps – NOAA Charts, www.charts.noaa.gov/OnlineViewer/11550.shmll; Marinas.com, www.marinas.com/view/inlet/889­_Ocracoke_Inlet_NC_United_States.

         

Upper Delaware River Float Trip for Smallmouth Bass

We floated from five miles north to the Barryville bridge and between us caught 15 smallmouths, the largest about 14 inches. Impressed by the size of the bluegill I caught, it doesn't look so large in the photo. We caught a couple of fallfish--big silver chubs over a foot long--which I didn't mind catching. We've caught these members of the minnow family on Rapalas. Most of the bass hit synthetic leeches on jig heads, whether deep or shallow.

Another float trip without any really big bass. Wind came pretty strong from the north and while it would have been a problem from the south--paddling--it didn't help with positioning to cast, although we did use an anchor. Felt like October.

Butler Reservoir Largemouth Bass and Pickerel in Apshawa Preserve

Hiked over a mile to Butler Reservoir through Apshawa Preserve with my wife, son, and Sadie. Relaxation at the mountain summit was great, then the hike down was steep but short. I casted a spinnerbait for nothing, switched to a Rebel Pop-R as Matt casted a buzzbait, and was just getting into the rhythm when I got called over to the area near the dam because Sadie was threatening to leap over the edge. I switched to a Chompers worm with inset hook and probed the depths. Then I saw the surest opportunity of the outing and laid the cast right between shore and some weeds, the worm splashing right where I wanted it about three feet from the bank. Even though the line was limp, I felt the subtlest tick and knew a bass had taken just as I wanted. I tightened up, set the hook, and the bass leapt for all of us to see--about 2 1/2 pounds online before the hook pulled free just a few yards before I would have grasped the lower jaw.

A number of small pickerel followed the worm in the tannic water. Imagine there are some big ones. This trip was more about the hike and hanging out with my wife and son, but you can find places to cast all the way around and it looks good. I caught a small bass on the Chompers and we hiked back, my son leading the way and walking with his eyes on the ground--almost walking into a black bear with her two cubs. I saw them too. He looked up and saw the mother simply looking at him as if wondering what the hell he was doing. He backed off and they lumbered away.

Lake George at Schooley's Mountain Largemouth Bass

Today I awoke to rain, surprised. We had planned to fish the Paulinskill for smallmouths. I remembered an outing on Lake Musconetcong, June 2006, in light rain like today's that turned out great and decided I might go around 4:30. I called the boat rental and got the answering machine.

Rather than just fish my neighborhood pond, I decided to come here, an eight-acre pond I've had in mind to try for a first time. You never know about new spots unless you've been informed and nothing on the web suggested Lake George.

I didn't feel very impressed, but obviously some fair-size bass inhabit the pond. It's got depth. 15 feet at least near the dam. The water stained by rain, I used the spinnerbait shallow. But with a swimming beach, the water must usually be clear and of very good quality. An evening with topwater plugs might result in a few in the back of the pond. You could probe those depths with a plastic worm during the day, but in my experience, this sort of activity usually doesn't bring much result. More often than not, fishing the shallows where bass leap for dragonflies in the sun is better.

This bass I caught had a lip scar from a hook, so at least some fishing pressure occurs. Good that the bass was released, and most everyone who fishes ponds like this puts the fish back.

It's pretty nice up on Schooley's Mountain. I walked all the way around the pond and while access to casting positions is fairly limited, there's enough for an hour or so of relaxation.

Fishing Pressure on Pond Largemouth Bass

As I write, a line of thunderstorms develops to the west, so we cancelled our Apshawa Preserve hike and fishing of Butler Reservoir. Perhaps we'll go Friday.

So instead, I grabbed my favorite rod, tied on a little eighth-ounce Strike King spinnerbait, and walked out in the rain to our neighborhood pond. It's not fishing as well as it has been for years, but I caught two bass in 20 minutes, one of them close to two-and-a-half pounds, the other over a pound.

That's the biggest bass I've caught in a long time and it felt good to connect. I thought the fish was over three at first. I guess this year's a lot like last with the bulk of the larger bass caught in May. If I fished this neighborhood pond hard, I would catch a lot more, but the pressure I would put on it would result in declining catches, even though I've never taken a bass and no else does either.

Bass feel sensitive to lures, especially those that catch them, and after they get caught, it's less likely they'll hit any lure again. I think university studies exist to back this claim. I know for a fact some universities do some very interesting studies with us in mind.

It would be interesting to chug a Crazy Crawler at night during hot weather sure to come again. I think at least one five-pounder exists. A five-pounder got caught and released last fall so it's even bigger if it's still alive. But I don't get worked up about fishing a pond that takes 60 seconds to walk to. Besides, I did try it at night once and got no hits at all. Every time I think of doing it again, I feel that indifference. But who knows.

Pepacton Reservoir Smallmouth Bass, Channel Cat, Rock Bass; East Branch Delaware River Fly Fished

We began by drifting out of the large cove or hollow where the rented rowboat is kept. Using 3/4- ounce slip sinkers, our herring or sawbellies as they're called in the Catskills rode at almost a vertical angle, line easily measured down by two-foot increments to just deeper than 30 feet, barely below the thermocline. We had tied eight-foot leaders to barrel swivels and hoped for the best. I found the batteries to my graph recorder dead, must have forgotten to turn it off after Hopatcong. Perhaps the one item I forgot to bring along was a Phillips head. But a couple of other boats fishe
d nearby and marked trout, so we moved through the vicinity.

The day had begun before sunup at about 48 degrees and as we trolled, four and  five colors of leadcore line out and a very thin metal Sutton spoon tied to a fluorocarbon leader six-pound test, a cool breeze felt just like October. I had a look at a topographic map before we left New Jersey and found that no shallow flats exist. All the shorelines fall off into great depth quickly, some from sheer faces of giant boulders and continuing down underwater with shelves and cavities below--excellent smallmouth bass habitat. Pepacton is about 20 miles in length with even the back sections very deep. The reservoir's mean depth is 70 feet; deepest water is over 160 feet and acres of it exist.

We rowed to the shoreline at the right of a cove facing out upon the reservoir's main body. My son caught a couple of rock bass and I noticed--through very clear water--the bottom become too uniform a mix of gravel and small stones as we drifted, no real structure to hold bass. I heard a wood thrush in the woods--my favorite songbird--and my son spotted a deer maneuvering the slope. All was very quiet out here. The area has very high quality wilderness value and you feel at the center of things, since after all, reality is mostly without us. We rowed out of the cove and headed just to the right, trolling again over water that must have been at least 70 feet deep, attracted to rock formations on shore which, if they extended into the depths, would certainly be bass habitat.

On my first cast, I hung something good-size and soon felt puzzled. Could this be a walleye? It wasn't a bass, I could tell. Not even a largemouth. It fought just like a walleye, but we soon saw in the clear water a channel cat. It was a beautiful, white fish with black spots like a trout and a gray back and head. The bottom here had more boulder-size rocks and Matt soon caught the first bass after I released the cat. Further west, underwater shelves and surely cavities inward in relation to what we could see form magnificent structures. I got into casting my jig on top of the shallow shelves I could plainly see and letting it slide over the edge to drop in front of the recesses from two down to 15 feet or so. I fished the jigs right in the rocks as deep as 35 feet or so and lost plenty to wedge snags, although I suppose most or all of the bass stage shallower than the thermocline at 30 feet, although every bass we caught was at least 25 feet down. Some of the rock bass seemed to be deeper, but I'm not certain.

None of the bass we caught larger than Matt's photographed, which is pathetic and unfortunate judged against my hopes that we might catch our year's largest, perhaps even that elusive five- pounder we've come closest to on Lake Hopatcong. But you don't let inevitable broken hopes determine a day's value. We had a deeply absorbing time and it's not easy fishing from a heavy rowboat with strong breeze and water too deep to anchor effectively. And once the mist burned off, the sky felt like an empty expanse with a huge blue curtain, letting all that light in. We heard of two trout caught, one by each of the guys who marked fish to the left and right of us as we drifted herring early. Two browns about three pounds each.

We drove back to Roscoe Campsites, had a late lunch in town, and stopped in at Beaverkill Fly Shop, picking up a couple of #20 sulfurs as fit the report for the East Branch Delaware. We grabbed power naps and then headed out. And then we drove as far west as some grove or other, stopping along the way where we could to judge the water, but not actually walking and wading the river to find any holes. The spot that looked best was at Downsville by the covered bridge. Nothing rose at all, so I cut off the sulfurs I had tied on back at camp, and we tried to provoke interest with Woolly Bugger streamers. A fast run and pool down below looked better than the run and pool below Roy Bridge on the Flatbrook where I always catch trout on streamers in late May, but I got no hits at all. Finally evening came on, and I tied the sulfurs back on. We did see a very few rises, but I suspected at least most of these were carp! Here we were at the fabled East Branch Delaware with its 55-degree water in July and trout tales to fill volumes, and I had spotted a school of small carp of some unusual specie I couldn't judge, from between a pound to three pounds. I watched the water surface intently and finally I clearly made out the back of a carp break the surface.

Oh, well. Back in Roscoe, before we arrived back at camp to fix a steak, we checked out the confluence of the Willowemoc and Beaverkill. Both of these streams were about 70 degrees, so we didn't dare fish them, although we saw quite a few more rises than at the East Branch and suspected these were indeed trout. It's a beautiful hole at the confluence. It would be sacrilege at this world famous fly fishing stop, but if you were to roll a nightcrawler along the bottom at night--given that the water is lower than 68 degrees so as not to kill the trout by lactic acid reaction--you might find that hole holds some real lunkers. I think the real reason it's so famous is because back in the 1940's a train connected Roscoe to NYC and the wealthy came in the spring, summer, and fall. Not that some real nice trout don't reside there. I don't know if it's fly fishing only or not, but we didn't fish it with water warm to the touch, although a size 20 dry fly of some sort would have been about perfect.

 The blue haze wasn't really that dense.