Category: Fishing

Carp-less in the Suburbs

On By ChazAaronCampIn Fishing, Outdoors2 Comments

The day started off well. 

Before the alarm had a chance to go off, I jumped out of bed and threw on comfortable clothes. I’d be wearing waders for at least eleven and a half hours of the day, so it was important to get that right. I had already pre-packed the car the night before, so there wasn’t any hold-up. It was still dark and I was on my way to the DuPage Fly Fishing Co. in Naperville, IL, a mere 5 miles from home, to check in for one of my favorite events of the year, The Midwest Golden Bones Carp Tournament. When I got there, I was customarily greeted with a ‘what’s up, dude?”, some black coffee, and a blueberry donut. 

It wasn’t long before the organizers of this tournament, guides Kurt Nelson and Bill Katzenberger, got down to business. No, they didn’t go over rules or hand out swag bags as the first matter of business. They started the important task of making fun of each other, any innocent bystanders in the room, and especially the guys who weren’t there yet. They do the important thing first at this event! I’ve always liked that about these guys and this tournament. It is personal and fun, and friendships form over the common passion we all share.

The crew looks a bit disheveled, which makes some sense out the analogy that fishing crystal-clear waters of the West is like a formal dance, but chasing carp and smallmouth in the Midwest is more akin to a bar fight. Steve Rinella said something like that, which we all know makes it true. We looked like a bunch of people who were down for a bar fight.

After gathering the first set of groggy stragglers together, they went over the rules. Most of us know them already – 6:00am start, no ponds or lakes, and you must use the provided measuring tool for reporting your catch. It’s a good chance to review the rules for new folks, and sometimes, depending on weather or river quality, additional waters are added.

It’s important to listen carefully year after year for another reason; Fly fishermen and women aren’t always known for punctuality, following rules, or details, so the reminder that “you must be at River’s Edge Bar and Grill, checked in, at 6:30 or YOUR DAY IS WASTED” was a good one for all to hear! Warning given, they dismissed us and after a little chatter to throw off our opponents and some exchanging of flies, we took off for a day in the water.

I arrived at my “Plan A” spot around 6:25am. You can stop trying to figure out where I was by that time frame. I’ll tell you. It was the West Branch of the Dupage. I don’t have a boat, so I planned to hoof it. The water looked great. The lighting was right. The temperature was a little cool, but I knew it was supposed to warm up. Surely, I didn’t need a “Plan B”, right? On paper, this was going to be a good day.

Except – related to catching carp – it actually wasn’t a good day.

I caught a smallmouth right off the bat, and that scored me a few points (half points on ‘smallies’ in this tournament). I caught about six river crappie too – some of them would be keepers any other day. I also caught one of the biggest green sunfish of my life. On a random Saturday, this would be more than I could ask for in skinny water like this. The problem lie in the fact that I did not catch a single carp. 

The author’s lone entry for this year’s tournament. A beautiful smallmouth.

I saw carp. Seeing wasn’t the issue. I saw lots of them, in fact. I crawled and crouched to watch them eat. I would meticulously cast a few feet ahead of at least a dozen fish throughout the day stripping the line in short bursts. But every fly had the same effect: FEAR.

I hadn’t seen this before. They were scared of the flies I was casting! ALL OF THEM! It’s one thing to be an ogre splashing around the river scaring off fish, but I honestly wasn’t. I wasn’t casting monstrous Lake Michigan-worthy carp flies or DD’s. I mostly threw small bug patterns, wooly’s, small carp flies, and egg patterns. Tiny guys. Natural colors, cray patterns; it didn’t matter. When the fly drifted to within a foot or two of the carp’s face, they peeled out leaving behind that trademark cloud of silt in the river.

Elsewhere, there were a few champion fishermen absolutely killing it. There are few possible answers to the question of why that happened. First, all the guys who placed are really good. Like, really good. Dave Kuntzelman, who would be crowned the winner of winners later that evening has the reputation of a carp superhero of sorts and may, in fact, speak carpish language though this is unconfirmed. His win was well earned.

I didn’t get a chance to meet Greg, who took 2nd, but I did hear him talking to a buddy about some tactics that made it clear that he and I were thinking on different levels; his level being intelligence and skill, mine being mostly guesswork and what worked last time.

Lastly, I’ll mention Josh Rock, the determined Ohioan who has the uncanny ability to almost will the results in his favor. I’m not sure anyone works harder. With the strategic help of his dad and a morale boost from his mom, The FinFeederFlies team secured third place.

So, was it the talent of these gentlemen that made the difference? No doubt! But it can’t be the only reason. I’ve had better years than this one. Years that I caught a few that I would not chalk up as mere flukes. Years that I not only saw, but also caught some. And the other carp anglers in this tournament are no slackers either – at least not when they fish.

I think the quality of the winning anglers explains why they did so well, but it doesn’t account for why other accomplished fly fisherman struggled to catch them in numbers though they saw a lot. For example, I met a guide from Denver named Chris on my “Plan A” waters, and he experienced the exact same thing I did – except in his case he did manage to land one. You can pin me as a local yokel and non-expert, but not him. He’s an experienced, professional fisherman. These fish were acting weird, at least at first glance.

The second possibility was the weather. At points, there were some torrential downpours of biblical proportions. We experienced what meteorologists, in technical terms, refer to as “raining like cats and dogs”. But I’m going to cut to the chase here and say that we all had the same weather. I’ve caught carp in less-than-ideal circumstances. We all have. It wasn’t that. 

So, what was it that made the day so hard? I think it was the most important factor of the whole tournament; the critical thing that brought us all together; the reason we were all there. It was the carp themselves. 

These fish are smart because, as fish go, they have big brains. They’re strong. They adapt quickly. They have huge eyes too! The kind of eyes with the capacity to distinguish between random floating debri and a larval insect passing them quickly in murky water. It’s what makes them worthy quarry. It’s why we obsess over them. It’s why we think, “Idiot.” when we hear someone refer to them as trash fish.

I think the fish I was chasing that day were educated. They were sick of getting their lips pierced, and who can blame them? Somehow they – in a moments notice – have learned to identify and avoid flies. Somehow, the mere presence of a human meant ‘stop eating’.

Will I give up on carp because my spot is compromised? No way. If anything, this makes me more excited about next year’s tournament! Do I like that they’ve figured me out? Of course not, but it’ll motivate me to get better at faking out fish! And, ultimately, was it really a bad day? Absolutely not! I didn’t catch any carp, but I did get to hang out with friends, eat barbecue and drink beer, and spend the whole day on the water doing what we all love to do; Throwing flies at some amazing creatures!

See everybody in 2020!

AC

The Angler and the Surprise Nemesis

On By ChazAaronCampIn Fishing, OutdoorsLeave a comment
Two Pools | illustrated by author

What’s the nemesis of the angler?

Some might think it’s state regulations, the game warden, or a wildlife biologist who limits the amount of fish they can catch. That’s a very wrongheaded view considering these people help maintain healthy populations and manage the resources we love. They are enemies like a doctor or dentist would be! You have to misunderstand what they are doing to be against them. Maybe we should look elsewhere for a worthy foe. 

Well, what about the fish itself? We do battle against it in one sense. But is the fish a foe in any true sense? An archenemy? A nemesis? I feel compelled to argue against that position. Remember, we love fish beyond just the meal, beyond the sport, and beyond the preparation to catch them. We love that they are out there. We love to learn about them and watch them. It’s hardly right to call them a nemesis or enemy. When fishing is done right, it’d probably be more accurate to view the fish as a dance partner when caught or an artist’s muse!

So, now that we know what it is not, let’s go back to the original question; what is the fisherman’s nemesis? 

I think the antithesis to the angler and his or her chosen activity and lifestyle is the modern swimming pool. I know that this may come as a shock, but hear me out!

First, the modern swimming pool is a sterile, life-less place. The nature of a swimming pool is to remove any kind of biological environment. This means no substrate, no algae, no microorganisms, no insects (except the ones floating, dead on top of the surface), no small animals (except the ones floating dead on the surface), and – most importantly to us – no fish!

Loaded with chlorine because of its capability of keeping out the majority of bacteria harmful to humans, pools just can’t support anything living for very long. Sure, the water clarity is something dreams are made of, but I’ll take staring at stained water and mosquito larvae over crystal clear water and pool tiles ten out of ten times!

Flyfishermen and women like life. We like to enjoy it, but we also like to engage with it.

Secondly, it is a place filled with uncatchable creatures! What a curse! Here you have a body of water, usually a few miles from home or possibly in your backyard, and the only thing that can survive in it is people. As far as I know, we aren’t allowed to catch people. A body of water where the only living thing in it can’t be caught is a miserable place for a fisherman. Could there be a thing more opposed to the sensibilities of an angler!?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying a pool is useless or bad. I’m not assigning a moral quality to this observation either. I take my family to the pool a few times a year, and we have a pretty good time! I’m not in the position to own one, but I don’t begrudge those who are. In fact, I’ve found that most of the people I know who have them love to invite others over for parties. The problem is not the pool itself. It’s more complicated than that; It’s what the pool isn’t. 

Picture it with me. It won’t be hard. If you haven’t been in this place before, you’ll track with me because you’re a fisherman.

As I slip off my sandals and take off my shirt, I realize that the closest thing to mineral substrate here is the concrete I’m standing on. My mind starts to wander to gravel beds and muddy banks where I have to put on waders and a uv shirt to enter that world unscathed. It’s not a safe place in all respects, but it’s where I want to be. 

I walk over to the edge of the pool, and I look in. Nothing. Wait, is something moving in there? Nope, just a diving ring in the deep end. I adjust my polarized lenses – a critical tool when I’m wading a river or scouting a local lake. Here, they don’t help me find anything. They’re only a shield from the sun’s reflection on the chlorine bath in front of me. 

There’s a dead frog in the pool skimmer. I imagine the dozen or two frogs I see or hear each time I wade the skinny river nearby. I don’t get sung to from the pool skimmer. That guy has joined the heavenly choir. While I take another look at the crystal clear pool, the only debri to the naked eye is a raft of floating mayflies, mosquitoes, house flies, and the occasional bee. Those are also dead – they have ‘ceased to be’. 

I take a deep sigh, and a swig of whatever the host has handed me. Everyone is smiling. Kids are splashing around. But in my mini-daydream, I’m out in nature. I’ve got a 6 weight with a bass popper, knee-deep in brown water, eyeing a downed branch in a slower part of the stream. I saw something move there. It’s not sterile. It’s full of life and life that I’m excited to engage with. 

It’s got fish and I’m a fisherman.

AC