Brayshaw's New House

"Dear Jonny,

We've arrived in our new place.  Our new home phone is (317) ***-****.

Attached a few photos.  One shows the house (the green one on the right, with the woman on the front porch), another shows the main street downtown, and another of the local trout and carp stream. I haven't fished it yet, but it looks fishy as hell.

 

 

Best,

- Brayshaw"

Guess what, Honey.

Eager to get out of town, particularly because my home waters are currently running at 13 CFS, but short on resources (mostly time and energy), I decided to hit a slightly larger stream less than an hour north.  This stream has been touted as being not only one of the most scenic in the state, but also as being one of the best smallmouth streams in the state.  I got a small fish on my third cast, and nothing the rest of the day.  In fact, though it was pretty, at least in places, the stream was largely lifeless.

Carp left, smallmouth right

First.  Only.

On my little trickle, I'll see three or four species of suckers on any given trip, as well as carp, smallmouth bass, rock bass, sunfish and bluegills, shiners and the occasional largemouth.  And so, because the day was not over, I paid her a visit.

 

I saw a bald eagle fly over not long before dark.  A small bird, a blackbird of some type, was chasing it.  When I got home, I told my wife about the eagle, but I never mentioned the blackbird.  Only later did it occur to me that, while it's common for small birds to mob large raptors, it's still no less remarkable.  I mean, if you saw a bear running through the woods being chased by a toddler, would you return home and say "Guess what, Honey.  I saw a bear.  Running through the woods.  Neat, eh?"

Rough (fish) hewn

After a fairly productive April of smallmouth fishing, my success with carp in May has been less than impressive, for the most part.  The smallmouth fishing slowed dramatically as well.  We’re low on rain and my stream is now running at 17 CFS.  Up until this week (more on this shortly) my carp fishing produced more things that were not carp than that were.  But some of them were real pretty. 

Striped Shiner

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

I’ll admit I enhanced the colors a bit on the striped shiner.  With an ugly face like that, it only seemed fair that he gets to show off what he’s got.

I spent one morning on my local pond, hoping to hook into Big Mona, but I had no such luck.  I raised a lot of small bass, then put on a bigger fly hoping to select for larger bass, and instead got bluegills.

Several trips targeting carp and carp only only produced a fish or two, so I decided to change things up a bit.  The problem is, I changed too many things at once.  It worked, but of course my experiment now lacks proper controls, so I have no way of knowing  which variable is responsible for my success.  First, I tried a new spot.  It was full of carp.  In fact, it’s possible to see their tracks in the sand at the shallow edges of the bars.  As they move along feeding, they suck the fine silt off of the gravel, leaving long meandering trails like that pictured below.

Carp tracks

This stretch of stream was carpy as hell, but not easy to fish.

I also changed flies, switching from my (formerly) trusty rust-colored bug to a darker and heavier olive thing.  I started wearing light pants instead of waders, mainly for Gary.  Lastly, I got a new hat.   I’m fairly certain the hat was responsible for the change of fortune.  For on this outing, I hooked six carp and landed five of them, all in the course of just a couple hours’ fishing. 

It's the hat.

I Love Thee Like A Carp

Not to be outdone by the tender words of the lovely Erin Block, we note that Zakur and Quill have been waxing their lyrics these past few days. Bravo! Well, be damned, if our very own TJ Brayshaw hasn't sent me his poetry this fine evening. Inspired readers are encouraged to submit poems of their own, and we'll select a winner based on our own criteria of what the best shit is.

Fuck Steelhead

It matters not the fly I have chosen

Since the rivers are blown out or are all frozen

And so I admit

Once I've finished my fit:

With large steehead I'll not be posin'

I Love Thee Like a Carp

With these carp I feel a connection

Those lips give me cause for reflection

I can't get enough

Of that scaly stuff

Is it wrong that I have an erection?

Not Fishing on Sunday

My double haul's perfect, my mending inspired

The backing is fresh, the guide has been hired

I work late on Friday, lest I get fired

In housework the next day, I'm totally mired

Now Sunday is here... but I'm too fucking tired.

The Novice

Your passion is real, your commitment sincere

You've learned how to tie, you've got all the gear

But please don't forget

That your ears are still wet

Since you've fly fished for what? Just one fucking year!

Old English, up a tree again.

The Guy We All Know

The jacket is "Simms", it fits like a tux

Your Charlton reel costs twelve-hundred bucks

Yet despite all that money

(It's really quite funny)

You don't even realize: your casting still sucks

English Jonny

There once was a fellow from Guilford
Who fished from Rhode Island to Milford
At night he would go
Where the Culvert doth flow
This time from his family, he pilfered.







[Two of these limericks were published in slightly different forms in the Fall 2013 issue of "The Drake" magazine.  Thanks to Tom Bie and "The Drake" for putting it out there.]

Acarpolips Now

This is the last carp video of the season. I sat on this footage awhile, hoping something better would come along that I could add to it. Never did, so here it is.

Act Nice and Gentle

Down Yonder

Slurp Cast!

Join us for this week's "Slurp Cast!", the video podcast of the Angler's Culvert, hosted by T.J. Brayshaw and English Jonny, and sponsored by "Slurp" magazine, the only magazine dedicated exclusively to fly fishing for carp and the literature that it inspires.

In this week's Slurp Cast, Brayshaw interviews well-known angler Lefty Kreh. Watch and listen to hear some of Lefty's great stories, and learn more about how to catch carp on the fly!!

Those who can, carp. Those who can't, carpn't.

I had a little time to kill.

The Desperate Man

Despite the fact that, over my wife's protestations, I refused to soothe, console, comfort or otherwise contact my children during their recent bout with a stomach virus, I still managed to contract it. This falling on the heels of a week-long, carp-free family vacation (what's the point, really?), I was desperate for some slurp. And so despite something less than a full recovery, I ventured out on a recent Sunday morning, and did alright. In fact, I managed to get three carp, one right after another, in the same spot with nary a footstep between slurps. So, Friend, if anybody tells you that once you've gotten one from a spot the others will have bolted or turned hopelessly off the feed, don't you believe it.

My apologies for the video perspective - this stuff ain't easy to do by one's lonesome.

The music is "The Desperate Man" by the Black Keys. I chose this song because it was about the same length as the video, and this seemed easier than yet more editing.

The Desperate Man (gets his Daily Slurp) from English Jonny on Vimeo.

"Slurp" magazine interviews Brayshaw

Here we've reproduced the entire transcript from a recent interview of T.J. Brayshaw, conducted by "Slurp" magazine, the literary carp journal.

Slurp Interviewer: How would you describe your life right now?

T.J. Brayshaw: As sublime.

SI: Sublime? Can you elaborate?

TJB: Yes. Sublime, as in sub-lime, as in "less than, or below, a lime".

SI: There were some darker periods in your life, correct?

TJB: Well, yes, that is true, but not unusual, I don't think, for people like me.

SI: Is that a period you're willing to talk about? When and how did it start?

TJB: Yes, I can talk about it now. There was a time when I could not.

SI: What happened?

TJB: It started around 5 pm, I guess, on the 28th of May, 2011. I guess I hit rock bottom around 12:30am of the 29th.

SI: Can you elaborate? Why do you think these things happen to you?

TJB: Well, first you have to understand the crowd I was running with at the time, guys like English Jonny, Anonymous, you know.

SI: English Jonny is out again?

TJB: Oh yeah. He's back. Don't you read your magazine?

SI: Touche. What's he been doing?

TJB: Oh, he's a world traveler. Ridgefield, Storrs. Serotyping, shit like that.

SI: Serotyping?

TJB: Nevermind. Anyway, we'd been carp fishing, unsuccessfully, I might add. I think Faulkner was the one who said "Carp fishing is a slippery slurp to hell."

SI: That doesn't really sound like something Faulkner would say.

TJB: How would I know? Anyway, Anonymous suggested ribs. That was the beginning of the end.

SI: Ribs? I don't understand.

TJB: It's the pressure. You can really screw up ribs, you know. It was around that time, maybe 5 pm, when I started drinking again.

SI: And the ribs?

TJB: They were good. They really were. But by then the deed had been done.

SI: And how would you describe your life at that time?

TJB: Like a mug, fired black.

SI: It's been said that, at one time, you were quite a ladies' man. Is that true?

TJB: Well, I don't want to toot my own horn...

SI: So it is true?

TJB: Toot.

SI: Toot?

TJB: Teat.

SI: OK. Let's move on. Some of your critics charge that you've fabricated this entire interview, where you play the part of both interviewer and interviewee. Is there any validity to these charges?

TJB: Ha! It would seem to me that it would take a fairly strange, and quite vain, person to do something like that, don't you agree?

SI: Well, I guess I do agree. But you haven't really answered the question.

[At this point, Brayshaw storms out of the room, along with the Interviewer, then both return simultaneously.]

SI: I'm sorry to keep carping on about this, but what about the charges?

TJB: "Carping on." Ha ha. Real funny. What if they are true - does it matter?

SI: I think it does. I mean, aren't you painting a picture of somebody who isn't the real T.J. Brayshaw?

TJB: I'm not going to talk to you anymore.

SI: I'm not sure you have that option.

[At this point, the interview concludes, with both Brayshaw and the Interviewer leaving, again simultaneously.]

Well, there are always rock bass.

(Or, thy Daily Slurp...)

Another way (not) to catch carp

People often ask me "T.J., is there just one way to lose a carp?", to which I reply "Absolutely not - there are many, many ways to screw things up, and it's the wise fisherman who has a full quiver of options!"

They will also say things like "And isn't it enough just to have hooked a carp? To just be on the water, enjoying nature's bounty?", to which I will reply "That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard."

How (not) to catch carp

Carp fishing and iMovie software: I am equally proficient.

Water-monks these...

Carp

On the river bottom,
the carp have blown out
all the candles.

They whisper along
over the closed, black
bibles of clams.

Water-monks these,
with mouths like those
of angels singing,

but not angelic,
so very naked now
in darkness,

their cool, hard bodies
touching, among
the tapestries of weed.

[From "Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985", by Ted Kooser, Poet Laureate of the United States, 2004-2006]

Carp Cathedral

We had quite the intense but brief storm last night, so I expected the water to be higher this morning, and it was. But it was manageable. Thick fog and near 100% humidity made for an interesting walk in the woods. I explored a lot of stream-side bottom land today, saw a lot of carp, missed one take, and found a large sycamore. I came home soaked to the bone and stinking of sweat and muck, but unfortunately, not of fish. But the new water I found has a lot of potential. I particularly liked the wide, flat pool with the high open canopy, where the sun tried to penetrate the fog. It had a cathedral-like feel to it...a carp cathedral.

More Low Bred Grossness

I have a confession to make. In my last slurp* post, I claimed to have caught a carp during a quick trip to the grocery store. The truth is that I reached for the leader, at which point the tippet parted, sending both carp and my fly back into the murky depths. It just didn't seem like important information at the time, at least not information that you, Gentle Reader, needed to know. But the guilt has gotten to me**.

Plus, it makes the next story better. Two days later, I was back at the store and decided to take a peek: a carp! In the exact same spot! Could it be?

I scrambled over the concrete rubble, positioned myself, and pitched my fly. The carp took the fly, came to the surface, and in that brief instant I spied not only the fly to which I was currently attached, but also the rusty red fly from 48 hours previous!

No, that's not how it happened. I can't stand the lies any longer. The carp did take the fly, but it came unhooked immediately, and I never saw the fly. But it was probably the same fish.

Now, I have lost two fish from the same spot. This won't do. To a new spot I went, where soon I spied a feeding carp. I got a good slurp from this fish, but the shakes revealed this carp to be very small. Until it wasn't. After an initially uninspired fight of a few seconds, this carp made a bee-line for some very thick cover - a series of partially submerged trees, really. If I could turn this fish, it could be mine. But I couldn't, and it wasn't. When the carp finally surfaced to thrash about, it was so far back into the trees that I knew immediately that this was soon to come to and end, and so it did: pop goes the tippet, and another carp now swims adorned with a Brayshaw lip ornament.

Today, during my lunch hour, I returned to this place but found nobody home. A hike upstream, to new water, eventually revealed some carp. A brace of carp spooked, but then a bit upstream I spotted this shallow-water feeder.

I got above this fish, crept low, and knelt within range. It was feeding in just inches of water, and inches from the bank, such that the cast that produced a slurp involved no fly line in the water at all. An explosion of water, mud and scales followed but despite the gesticulations, this fish decided not to break for cover, and was landed in short order. I know that the appeal in carp fishing for so many fly fishers is the potential for long, fast runs but those of you who have tangled with carp in small water near tight cover know that this is really good shit.

[Editor's Notes: * carp do not strike flies, they slurp them: see minute XXX of the Brayshaw interview; ** it's interesting that he feels guilty about this, but not about deceiving his wife, isn't it?]

Low breeding and vulgar quality

"It is self-evident that no fish that inhabit foul or sluggish waters can be 'game-fish'. It is impossible from the very circumstances of their surroundings and associations. They may flash with tinsel and tawdry attire; they may strike with the brute force of a blacksmith, or exhibit the dexterity of a prize-fighter, but their low breeding and vulgar quality cannot be mistaken. Their haunts, their very food and manner of eating betray their grossness."

C. Hallock, author of "The Fishing Tourist" (1873)

I mean no offense Brother Hallock, but that's just rubbish. Take, for example, the last carp that I caught. Here's how it happened. My wife and I were planning the birthday party of my 5 year old son. The party was scheduled for 2 pm. At 9 am, my wife sent me to the grocery store to fetch a few last-minute items. As it turns out, the stream runs just past the grocery store parking lot...so after picking up my items, I naturally detoured across the parking lot to take a look. There, under a some over-hanging branches (which, I later learned, held mulberries...Oh! What joy!), were three feeding carp. My vittles were frozen, so I could only sigh, avert my gaze, and head home.

But! At 11 am, my wife asks if I wouldn't mind running to the store for just one more forgotten item. "I know you were just there, Honey, but I really need just one more thing," she pleaded. I hemmed and hawed a bit, rolled my eyes appropriately, then sprinted for the car, but not before a quick (but unseen) detour to grab the fly rod.

When I smelled the diesel fumes of the delivery trucks, I knew I was close.


I crept to the edge, peaked over, and there 'twas, the most wonderful of sights: low-bred, vulgar scaly grossness, actively feeding and oblivious to my presence. Who needs crystal clear mountain streams when you have this?


The water was so off-color (though I now refer to this pea soup as "on-color") that I was able to creep to within just a few feet of my target, and it took just two or three casts to get the presentation I wanted. The carp slurped the fly in, I set the hook, and it shot across the stream, leaving a groove in my line-hand that it still evident today, several days later. Once across the stream, the carp nosed up under the opposite bank...and would not move. When finally I managed to loosen my line, I could no longer feel the fish but instead only a branch. Defeated...or so I thought. But when I untangled the branch from my line, I saw that the leader continued upstream, and soon the carp was fighting again. Up to the rubble it came, a quick release followed, the fly rod was stashed, item purchased, and I returned home, my wife none the wiser. I had pulled off a double deception in less than fifteen minutes. If that's not 'game', I don't know what is.

Carp Fishing in America*

Many** of our readers have inquired as to how I first met English Jonny. I was in the Cleveland Wrecking Yard, shopping for another method of making walnut catsup.

English Jonny tapped me on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said. "I thought you were a carp fly."

"I'm not," I said.

Then he wrote "Carp Fishing in America" on the back of my shirt.

[Editor's Notes: *This makes no sense to you now, I know. But it will. Also: **None]

New Perspectives

Although in many ways I am back home, being now just a few hours from where I grew up and fishing streams that look like those of my childhood, nothing really feels familiar. I fished small midwestern streams with worm and bobber then and rarely caught anything other than small sunfish and creek chubs. Approaching my new and current "homewaters" with a fly rod in hand and an eye out for carp and smallmouth bass is as new as can be. I've traded plenty of back cast room and a ten weight rod for tight quarters and a four weight.







New is humbling, but new is fun. I haven't yet figured out why one spot gives up multiple fish and another produces nothing, and I may never figure this out. But I've been playing the odds with enough success to keep me coming back.





Thursday I fished thirty minutes at lunch time and got nothing, then went back that evening, to the same location, and watched as smallmouth bass and rock bass pushed wakes in an effort to eat my flies.


On Sunday I badly needed to clear my head of something, so I spent several hours stalking carp. Jim Harrison once said something to the effect that few of us shoot ourselves during an evening hatch. An afternoon slurp turns out to be equally effective medicine. I highly recommend it. Many carp refused my flies, but one did not and I am a happy camper.