One thing I’ve rapidly discovered about the East Coast is the dearth of good wintertime fishing (as I write this I realize I am opening myself up to all manner of argument). But compared to the strong options back home in the West, I’ve been pretty underwhelmed with cold-weather trout fishing in the Northeast.
In the spirit of desperation (aka I must cast at something other than targets in the snow) friends Pete, Jackie, Joseph and I braved the snow and rain this past week to try a local river with a bit of open water. Without enough open water to swing, we all resorted to bobber watching (personally, sometimes it’s nice to let the mind wander and just watch that little blob of fluorescent plastic float along). My nymph box is still rather Western-biased, but experimentation reigned as none of us got bumps. An hour in, I had cycled through the tried-and-true winter nymphs and moved onto weird combinations.
Nada.
Some days it just doesn’t come together. None of us had a bump the entire day, though we enjoyed warily dancing along ice shelves and exploring the ice-castle-like, rainy landscape. It was my first day out with the new camera; very fun to have a new tool to learn.
After a few hours we took refuge under a creatively-graffitied outcropping. The boys built a fire, and we huddled around laughing, steaming as the heat began to dry wet clothing. Somehow the world is just a bit better with snow-cold cheap beer and a bit of fire.
And you know any day when you come home damp, smelling like a campfire, and needing to hang waders to dry is a good one.
By the time you read this, I’ll be in the last day at the Fly Fishing Show in Somerset, New Jersey. If you are around, drop in and say hi!
