Although we do like to have some fun here at The Culvert, there are some things, like protecting your skin from the sun, that are not to be joked about.
However, some of the things that hip fly fishermen wear are to be joked about - as often as possible.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Happy Fishermen
Occasionally I read something so bloody good, so terribly pleasing, that it's worth the poor photographs. Well, they do say a picture's worth a thousand words
(they being a bunch of dribbling morons.)
Monday, August 15, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Wilde
I have nothing to declare but yesterday's species count. There were 8 in total and, in order of importance, they were: large mouth bass; striped bass; white perch; sunfish; calico bass; creek chub; brown trout; salmon par.
I caught the first 6 by my house in a natural stream that anglers ignore. I didn't even go there to catch these fish - I was after carp, but the tide was in, the sediment thick, so I had to settle for these 6 different species of wild fish. I didn't see another angler because this isn't a fishery - it's not a destination, despite the weeping willows, the loveliness of the stream, the reality and challenge of the setting, the plentiful fish. It's not a trout stream. Here are some of the wild fish:
Afterwards I made the long drive to fish the Farmington in the afternoon with Zakur and Don, and it isn't even Thanksgiving. These two guys know the pace of a river; that catching doesn't really matter. Sometimes sitting by a river, catching up, is better than fishing it, and this is true of the Farmington in August. It's a great trout stream when the stocking truck's been, but despite its relative beauty, it's something of a limp affair in the dog days. We caught a handful of this year's stockies and a bucket full of salmon par, each delicately fried in cornmeal, held by the tail and consumed whole. We had a jolly time, but the fishing wasn't what you'd call good.
Like a stocked brown trout, by August my brain has re-calibrated from the lusts of spring. By mid-summer I need natural rivers and wild, weird fish.
See you by the old Mill.
Jonny
I caught the first 6 by my house in a natural stream that anglers ignore. I didn't even go there to catch these fish - I was after carp, but the tide was in, the sediment thick, so I had to settle for these 6 different species of wild fish. I didn't see another angler because this isn't a fishery - it's not a destination, despite the weeping willows, the loveliness of the stream, the reality and challenge of the setting, the plentiful fish. It's not a trout stream. Here are some of the wild fish:
 |
| Quite a chunk, this fish went air-borne twice. |
 |
| One of the prettiest fish I've seen. |
 |
| If these fish grew to 6lbs I'd buy a flats boat. |
 |
| Sunny, midday, August. A world record? |
Afterwards I made the long drive to fish the Farmington in the afternoon with Zakur and Don, and it isn't even Thanksgiving. These two guys know the pace of a river; that catching doesn't really matter. Sometimes sitting by a river, catching up, is better than fishing it, and this is true of the Farmington in August. It's a great trout stream when the stocking truck's been, but despite its relative beauty, it's something of a limp affair in the dog days. We caught a handful of this year's stockies and a bucket full of salmon par, each delicately fried in cornmeal, held by the tail and consumed whole. We had a jolly time, but the fishing wasn't what you'd call good.
 |
| It looks like a trout stream, but is it? |
 |
| Real wild flowers? |
 |
| Don and Steve. They are real. |
Like a stocked brown trout, by August my brain has re-calibrated from the lusts of spring. By mid-summer I need natural rivers and wild, weird fish.
See you by the old Mill.
Jonny
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