With life’s demands, of late, bumping my fly fishing toward the side, even a close by trip seems impossible. The other evening I crossed over a nearby slough that connects to the Columbia River. I decided to pull over and peer off the bridge into the weed choked, murky water that ran (oozed is more like it) beneath the bridge. Not a pretty picture but that is what some aspects of ‘brown lining’ are like.
There laying like a suspended chunk of wood was a Carp. I could barely make out the slightest movement as the fish just held there. If that were a Trout I would consider myself lucky to live within a quarter mile of the trophy sized fish.
But, I must admit, I have not warmed up to the Carp. Of course, I have not caught one to become enamored with the alleged power and awe of the poor man’s bonefish…so on and so on. But, I want to.
My problem is, I believe, location. The slough is almost weed free earlier in the year. The slough now is covered with a mat of ugliness that provides cover, oxygen and feed for the marauding fish. And, impossible presentation of the fly. Equally close, is the Columbia River and I bet if I headed East a couple hours+, I could find those cruisers in a slightly more hospitable and more scenic environ. Someday.
Check out these three links re those that know what they are doing and have a passion for chasing and catching these behemoths: Roughfisher and Jean Paul Lipton.…John Montana and Carp on the Fly….Trevor Tanner and Fly Carpin…..
‘Someday’ That mentally uttered word. Someday I will go here, there and perhaps drive up the Gorge and ply those shallow waters, near the shoreline, of the mighty Columbia River for the much vaunted behemoths….the Carp. Cheaper than Christmas Island that’s for sure.