I didn’t enjoy near as much free time as I’d hoped on my recent (bidness) trip up north, but I did get a chance to sneak out for a half day of fishing with my good buddy Quinton. “Agent Q” is a native Vermonter, and he’s passionate about his trout. He took me and my friend David deep into the woods to a healthy, scenic little mountain stream that courses through a dark canopy of trees. We scared up some nice brookies and whiffed on some nice strikes, but it was the way the trip started that is memorable. While Quinton and David pulled on their boots and rigged up atop a small bridge, I made a short, casual cast into the water below.

A large fish rose from a deep cut, sucked down the fly and headed to parts unknown. We all scrambled down the bank as one, rods and tackle flying everywhere. The trout battled hard, testing my little 4-weight, but after a few minutes it slid into Q’s net for a quick pic or two. My first Vermont brown trout — a bonafide 19″ native (a fly fishing feat for such a small stream, I’m told), it’s butter-yellow sides stippled with red and black markings. She was released unharmed. I’ve done my best since to pass off blind luck as consummate skill. No takers so far.

Rain. Then rain. And then some more rain.

Finally got out yesterday with MoJoe, making our way north after work to hit DependaBay. Big red patches loomed on the radar, but we figured they’d rain themselves out by the time we arrived. The best laid plans, and all that. We put his skiff in once we arrived, heard a bolt of lightning erupt nearby, and skinned our asses back to the dock. From the safety of his truck we watched light dance across the heavens and the rain fall on the bay in sheets. To pass the time, we listened to talk radio, where Mark Levine was hammering Obama and Hillary “Her Thighness” Clinton. Great stuff. Struck us that Levine’s voice sounded just like the duck in the Aflac ads. We ran back to the flat with about twenty minutes of daylight left, but the rain persisted, the water was muddy and it was soon dark. Joe had a chance to cast a new prototype lure he built, but it spun in barrel rolls on the surface and he cussed it like a sailor. As he put it away, he said “Nice frigging job, Proto Baggins.” I had to take a knee. Tough fishing, but big laughs, as usual.

I took the day off this past Friday and snuck “down south” with MoJoe and his dad. I was half asleep by the time we made it to the ramp at around 6 a.m., but I was soon wide awake, hurtling across long bays into the heart of the Glades. Joe’s dad seldom gets out, so we were all hoping he’d have a great day. Things started off slowly. (more…)

Big Joe and I took a day off this past Friday with plans to fish Pine Island Sound, far to the north of our normal haunts. However, predictions of mild winds gave way to 15 knot gusts, so we headed into the Everglades, instead. I’ll take that consolation prize any day.

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This past Monday Joe and I headed down into the Everglades, hitting the water at about 6 a.m. Rumors of a brutal cold front were circulating (it’s presently in the low 40s outside and falling quickly, so they weren’t exaggerated), but we had a comfortable ride down, and the temperature actually soared well into the 80s in the afternoon. In December, folks. Fantastic. Guess the fish thought so, too, since we caught them with abandon. Nothing truly large came to the boat – though I lost a very thick redfish hooked on a topwater lure — but we caught well over 30 snook on plugs, and a number of chunky reds. As for one that got away, I’ve recently developed a knack for losing large fish. It’s an acquired skill.

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At first light on Friday, Joe and I left the dock at Chokoloskee to recover my misplaced angling mojo. We found some…but it was all Joe’s. I held my own for a time, but as the day wore on he caught fire. By mid-afternoon I was rummaging in the hatch for a flame-retardant suit.

Though big fish eluded us, we did have some heart-pumping moments. Early on, with the sun still low, Joe was bending down to release a plug-caught jack when a thick bull shark shot out from under the boat and sawed the fish in half. We were pretty skittish while releasing fish the rest of the day.

We didn’t keep a tally, but we (OK, he) caught scores of fish and saw several over-sized snuke blow out ahead of us. Weather was incredible, with a bluebird sky from dawn to dusk. It’s not overstatement to say I’ve never seen a prettier day “down south.” Crisp temps, active snook and redfish, big laughs, and sections of water as smooth as polished marble. Another classic day of Glades angling…and another stack of good memories.

Back home. A delayed flight last night delayed our homecoming until 3 a.m. Brutal. A tough night capping off a tough week. A couple of days before my second trip north, I was informed that I had picked up parasites by drinking water from a Vermont river. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I arrived in Canada six pounds underweight and utterly off my game. To compound matters, it stormed relentlessly, which resulted in blown-out rivers and muddy water — the polar opposite of the sweltering weather that nuked the aforementioned Vermont outing. Mother Nature has inserted her foot up this angler’s nether region on a regular basis of late. Mercy, Old Girl. Mercy. (more…)

A great pic of what we did not catch.

Anticlimactic. That word best describes my much-anticipated trip to Vermont/New Hampshire. There are other words that spring to mind, but I need to consider those of you out there with tender sensibilities. Bottom line: trout like cold water and cloudy days, and we had – for the most part – low, hot water and bright sunshine. The last day it did get grey and foggy, but when the sun rose it was sweltering and brutally muggy. In fact, two days ago the heat (in the 90s) broke long-standing weather records in Vermont. The rivers we’d hoped to fish were mere trickles, and the big Connecticut River was dead. We beat the snot out of the big river with dry flies, steamers and even spinnerbaits, then abandoned that and took a shot at a river to the west that’s regulated by a damn, and allegedly not as dependent on rainfall. Wrong. (more…)

A wall of rain closes the curtain on our latest fishing trip.

Yesterday Joe and I left our respective jobs at about 5:30 and scooted up to DependaBay, his big skiff (a 21-footer with a 225 Yami that I affectionately call “The Teleporter”, given its ability to hurl us across bays at light speed) in tow. Radar showed storm activity to the east heading southwest across the state, and it looked like the nasty stuff would pass us right by. There was a purple cloud on the far side of the bay when we arrived, but it was gliding to the south, as expected.

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Date: July 6, 2007
Location: Dependabay
Time: 7 PM to 8:30 PM
Weather: Overcast, surprisingly mild, sporadic rain
Tide: High outgoing

Joe called me late this afternoon asking if I could go fishing. Naturally, I replied that I had a lot to do and that a man can’t just neglect his responsibilities. Then I drove to his house with my gear.

Weather was funky–overcast and threatening rain. Radar, however, showed little of the heavy stuff, so we rolled the dice. Turned out to be a good call. We ran back to a new stretch of shoreline while we waited for the tide to fall and the heat to wane. A light rain began to fall–enough to soak our shirts thoroughly–but no lightning accompanied it so the cooling effect was welcome. After squeezing through a tight tunnel of mangroves, we glided into an open area and began casting. A few minutes later I placed a good cast (who am I kidding–it was spectacular) into a dark little pocket, and the lure went “poof” inside a big swirl.

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