Tuesday, November 04, 2014
Game Seven Carping
October run continues; into November. I think a guy can get into some decent action in these months. As noted previously the fish I'm seeing are grouped up either moving slowly or milling/stationary. No fish tailing. A few half-looking in rocks along bank. On this day here maybe a week ago I found some moving groups, none of which would offer any individual shots. I spotted one solo fish from above; I marked and ran down and he tried like a MF to eat the fly but he couldn't find it for a while and when he did I set the hook when I saw a mouth pulse and there was no resistance; no connection. This is common and part of the overall calculation and consideration. It was in this 0/1 mode that I found a solo fish who looked ready to go; found him from a high vantage point; one that does not offer a good fishing opportunity. But I was overcome by the brash posturing of this fish and I could not let her be down there, looking in the rocks and feeling safe; hunting in spaces pivoting and looking in, picking up and setting down. I stood about 30 feet above her and stripped off line, steeple casting. Watching for people that I might hook on backcast. Then high eleveation dap was in play; sure, the fly fell into the water about four feet from the carp. Still unawares. It had been a while since I had such a fantastic and dramatic view of a large fish doing a cat pounce. This was a very deliberate spotting of a prey item followed by a fish pushing with a hard tail forward and then down. To settle on a fly. This all lead to an involuntary moan of the sort of ahhhhhh etc. Mainlining at its finest you might figure. I picked up the rod to an absolutely glorious bow; glorious and also hilarious because I had my arm threaded through various ironworkings. I went hand over hand to get the rod above the guarding safety mechanisms and then did a poor job of gauging to which of the four compass points I ought to run. For some reason I chose that with the greatest amount of wild rangy scrub brush and the steepest step down to the bank. This meant an elaborate show of weaving a fly rod (now throwing backing, as indicated in the photo) and line through a bramble-ridden-death-maze meant to shatter graphite rods and beat them with sticks and stones. All with various persons bipeding around looking on. All with an 8 lb fish putting the screws to me.