Really Cold Water

My employer forces most of us to take the last two weeks of the year off. As an angler, this is disagreeable because the cold water this time of year slows the trout's metabolism to a state of minimal feeding and movement. As a family member, its a good thing, as I get to spend more time with my family. Now that those two weeks have past I did spend a good deal of it with my family, and somehow managed to fish, too.

In fact, I fished four times over the break. The Farmington River in Connecticut was the first trip. The air temperature was well below freezing and the water only a few degrees above. My friend Dave Barletta joined me on that trip. We each hooked some trout. But the bitter wind and constantly freezing rod guides made it more of an endurance test than a relaxing respite. We found fish in a pool that, on a summer day, would hold a score of anglers, jockeying for the best position from which to cast. That day, there were only two others. They moved around a lot, probably trying to keep warm, but Dave and I stayed in the same spot, freezing, and occasionally catching a trout. The styro cups of hot gas station coffee afterwards were some of the best I've ever tasted.

The next trip was solo, to the Housatonic. It was a day above freezing preceded by a several bitter days. The trout were hungry. I caught the largest brown trout of my fly fishing career not five minutes after stepping into the river. "Fly fishing career"--imagine that! Over the next hour and a half I managed to catch several more before packing it in. What a great trip that was. The water was glass clear and the low flow allowed me to move about the river with ease. I used a less expensive graphite rod, a 6 weight. It helped me land that beast. Because of the clear water I used tiny flies. The big boy ate a size 20 midge larva, just a hook with some red thread and a wind of peacock herl for a head. Imagine a red mosquito without wings, legs or blood sucking needle. That's what this this fly is, simple and small. Hard to believe such a big fish would eat something so small. The other fishes ate a pink dot of poly yarn, imitating a fish egg. Same size, tiny.

Dave joined me the next day, but the conditions had changed. It rained overnight. The river rose. This broke the shelf ice along the banks free and sent them downstream. These icebergs ranged in size from what you put in your drink to a stack of drywall sheets. The most excitement we experienced was getting bumped by these little ice barges on their way to Long Island Sound. Dave hooked one fish and I landed one. Not a big day for catching, but the warmer weather made for a more relaxing experience than our Survivor Man experience on the Farmington.

And finally, on New Year's Day, the temp rose above freezing and the Housy called. I snuck out before the festivities and the arrival of my parents, for another shot at the Housy trout. I saw one other solitary angler on my drive up Route 7 and continued up to the next pool. The water was up a bit and cloudy. A new fleet of ice barges had been manufactured by the cold weather and were launched in time for my arrival. One of these struck me and capsized against my upstream leg as I played the only fish of the day, a buttery brown trout, almost bragging size.

The river at the spot I fish most runs aside scenic Route 7. During each of the outings in the Housy I was jolted from my angling reveree by the honking of car horns. I wondered why the drivers were honking at me. Was it a thumbs-up honk, a hey-get-out-of-the-river-you-nut- you'll-freeze-and-drown honk, or a leave-those-poor-fishies-alone honk. Probably a combination of the three. Whatever, I don't acknowledge these distractions.

On New Year's Day, I happened to be facing the road from mid river and while looking up, noticed a woman driver flipping me the bird. I didn't respond to the obscene gesture, but I wondered what prompted it. Was this woman a fly fishing widow, her ex-husband having abandoned her for the quiet sport? Was she a PETA psycho? Did she see my truck with NY plates and maybe she hates New Yorkers? I'll never know. A quote from the author John Gierach comes to mind: "If people don't occasionally walk away from you shaking their heads, you must be doing something wrong". My version of that is now, "If you don't occasionally get flipped off, you're a pansy".

I should mention that many respected fly fishermen hang up their rods when the normal season ends in October, or sooner, like after the fly hatches end. Some believe the trout should be left alone in the winter based on the principal that they deserve a break from angler's hooks. I can appreciate this, it has a certain poetry to it. However, the opposite argument could stand up to the same logic. Why not leave them alone when the flies are hatching and they are most vulnerable to being suckered into eating some feathers concealing a hook? About the only time I get outside in the winter is to remove snow from the driveway, or go sledding with the kids. Winter fishing is often uncomfortable and not always productive. If one can consider catch and release productive, then I guess the product is the enjoyment of being in a natural setting. Nature in the winter is something everyone should experience, I prefer to experience it while standing in a river, fish or no fish.