As water temperatures plummet in November, fish are both on the move and slowing down. They are on the move because the need to be in very different water for the winter than they were just in all summer, and slowing down because as cold blooded animals their metabolism slows when it gets cold. This results in some interesting challenges for an angler trying to catch these fish. It can also create some great fishing, because the fish's feeding drive may be just a bit slower but they often pile up in staging areas and then in their wintering holes. 

The fish species I'm really talking about here are fallfish, bass, sunfish, and perch. The late fall and early spring transitional period are, quite honestly, some of the best time windows I've found for loading up large numbers of these fish and often some trophy sized specimens. This year I was presented with the challenge of finding these fish in staging areas on new water, the same general area I've fished all summer in Rhode Island for carp. Because I'd been so focused on carp, I let a lot slide and missed chances to better figure out bites with some other species. Come November, catching would be more difficult simply because fish would be in fewer places and actively feeding less often. 

I knew the sorts of spots that should be holding fish though from past experience on other watersheds. I used google maps and pinned every spot that looked like it had potential, from in-flowing creeks and canals to backwaters and large eddies. Some would clearly be difficult to access, so I started out with the one closest to home that I knew would be publicly accessible. I fished it first in low pressure during a big storm, with a simple "float n' fly" tactic. My leader was 8 feet long, tapered to 0x, with a small Thingamabobber and a micro streamer. Often, when water temperatures are falling, any retrieve is too much retrieve. Think effective ice fishing tactics: you want a fly to be basically in place, maybe with a little bit of jigging action, but barely moving horizontally at all. 

I hit it right with the first spot, which was excellent. It wasn't crazy. The fish were neither huge nor especially numerous, but they were there and I could catch them; that's half the battle. 

Over the next week or two I poked around new spots and revisited the first with mixed results. For a while, that first place seemed incredibly consistent until in one 24 window it went from fantastic, with a three perch and ten bluegill outing being followed the very next afternoon by a complete skunking. All that changed in that time frame was a three inch river drop and a 2 degree temperature drop. That's often all it takes for fish to move on from a staging area to a wintering hole.








Inevitably these spots started to falter to as the temperature dropped even further. I've now shifted focus to other fisheries anyway, but when I get back to this river I'll need to learn another set of conditions entirely. It'll continue to be an interesting challenge. 

 Walking the edge of a small body of water on a warm July morning brings forth a sense of nostalgia in me that many other fly fishers are probably just as familiar with. Many of us cut our teeth on small farm and park ponds, casting foam beetles and ants at bluegills, crappie, and largemouth bass. It's simple fishing, very simple. There isn't anything difficult about it at all. It's just fun- fly fishing in its most basic form.

Though this used to make up the bulk of my warm-water fishing and I still do a lot of it, it has changed from being all I could do because I was limited to waters within walking and biking distance from home to something I do when my time is too limited. Such was the case last week, on a day I had to run around to a couple tackle shops to re-stock necessities. I had very little time between finishing those tasks and the day simply becoming too hot to fish, so I made a quick stop at a pond on the way home. The pond was one I used to walk to from where my Dad lived at the time. It has always been loaded with bluegills and crappie. It also has one large koi and a few pretty big bass. However this time I was just interested in getting a few panfish before the interior of my 4Runner was hotter than the surface of the sun. I fished a muddler, which is of course a tremendously effective fly for many purposes. With a dozen fish to hand I was soon satisfied and ready to head home. 

Of course, small ponds like this often hold a few very large, educated fish. I once caught a 6 pound largemouth out of this particular pond, and of course there's that big old koi. Aside from convenience and nostalgia there is still plenty of reasons to fish places like this. But I'll happily take a few bluegills and crappie and be perfectly satisfied too. 

 Until next time, 

 Right now, big bluegills are setting up to spawn around here. Many are already on beds, and more are being build daily. For someone that likes to catch trophy size specimens of any and all species- like myself -this is the time to look for big bluegills. I love trophy bluegills. A sunfish in excess of 9 inches is an absolute blast on a 5wt fly rod, and bluegills in particular fight spectacularly well. Probably my favorite place to fish for big 'gills is the Connecticut River and its backwaters. The average size is really good and the fish are abundant as well. I know private waters with some truly huge bluegills, and I've often considered sneaking into them to get some. But when it comes to big public water bluegills in CT, there's little better than the big river. 

Last week I devoted some special effort to a particularly productive bank. Its one of those places I know I can count on each year, there are always beds for about a month solid and the fish are always trophy sized. The methods I use aren't complex, but my casts do typically need to be on point. Before the fish are all on beds, they are usually relating to specific logs. Not every dead-fall along the bank holds fish, but two or three are usually piled with them. Small streamers are my weapon of choice. The action is almost always hot and heavy. 

Until next time, 

 As the days gradually warm, the ice thaws, and we finally say goodbye to the erratic and harsh New England winter, those dormant for the last few months start to emerge and exhibit some behavior other than lethargy. As soon as the ponds open up, I start looking for the first bass and sunfish of the season. The sun heats up mud flats and shorelines, especially on the north sides of these bodies of water. Fish gather there to take advantage of the warmer water temperatures. This presents the first opportunity I get most years to cast dry flies for bluegills. The fish usually aren’t big and they are still slow and finicky, but after a winter of hardwater fishing any fish on a dry is welcomed. 

Sometimes the gathering of sunfish and bass up in the shallows is visually spectacular, as was the case one day when Noah and I found the first fully open pond of the year. There was a big school of bluegills, largemouth bass, and small chain pickerel at the northeast end of the pond. 

A few days later I visited another pond that is productive just about any time it isn’t frozen. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite as good this visit as it has been in the past. I saw a huge largemouth and the same big koi that has taunted me there for years, but the fishing wasn’t on fire. I managed a handful of bluegills, pumpkinseeds, and largemouth bass on both dries and small wet flies. The water was extremely clear and it was all sight-fishing, so though the catch rate was nothing special and I got nothing of impressive size it was still fun. It felt like spring.

Afterwards, I made my way to a ledge where some black racers den. After a winter without reptiles, I was eager to see the first snake of the year and with air temperatures in the low 60’s it seemed like the right day. I pulled off the road and walked over to the ledge, noting just how warm it was out in the open. Slowly and cautiously, I examined the bottom of the ledge over towards the den holes themselves. I made it over to them and looked around very carefully but didn’t see any snakes. I turned and began to walk back towards my car when I heard a rapid rattling sound in the leaf litter. It was the telltale sound of a snake shaking its tail in the grass. Though rattlesnakes are known for their, well, tail rattling, and are certainly well evolved for it, they aren’t the only snakes that shake their tail when threatened. It's an extremely common behavior in racers. I looked closer and suddenly the snake came into focus. It was coiled under grass and leaves and very well concealed. My first snake of the year was in front of me, but I immediately backed off so as not to disturb it too much. I called my friend Bruce, and he almost immediately answered: “Wow. We must have ESP.”

He’d been in the process of writing a text to me about going to this very spot to see the first snake of the year. I left the immediate area and awaited his arrival before we went to photograph the snake, which fortunately had not decided to leave. 

Bluegills in the shallows, black racers basking in the grass, and that warm sunshine beaming down… spring has sprung. 

 Sometimes I just have to say screw it and go fishing regardless of the weather. I’ve basically been doing this professionally, anyway. Neither snow nor sleet nor heavy rain nor tornado warning has kept me off the water. Frankly I enjoy fishing in bad weather. It excites and rejuvenates me. And if I’m honest, it also makes me feel at least a little bit badass. So when Connecticut was being pummeled by a gnarly snowstorm on the first of February, I was going fishing. I wasn’t going to drive anywhere, it was too nasty. I wasn’t going to fish open water either, I just didn’t feel like it. I was going ice fishing. The closest options are all pretty mediocre hardwater fisheries. There are plenty of fish in them, they just seem trickier to ice fish than other bodies of water I’ve been on. But there was one place that was as near a guarantee as I could get and it was within walking distance. 

So I set out into the winter wonderland. The howling wind blew both the snow that was falling and that which was already on the ground. I could hear plow trucks in the distance and the wind in powerlines and trees, but not much other than that. In about 15 minutes I was at my destination. Spudbar in hand, I cleared a bit of snow from the inside of a vertical concrete tube about four feet in diameter. Then I spudded a hole in the 5 inches of ice underneath that. I then lowered my little tungsten jig down there. A few minutes later it came back up with a bluegill attached. A few minutes after that I got another. They were all tiny, but I’d caught some fish and that’s all I really needed.

 I looked out over the rest of the pond this little weird culvert-like pipe was in. Streaks of snow whipped across the ice. I’d never caught much any time I tried to fish any other spot in this place. I briefly considered trying along the dam somewhere, but decided to head back home. 

 It had just started to get properly cold in mid January when Garth and I went looking for our first stripers of the year. It was too cold, as it turned out- the spot was frozen over. In a desperate bid to catch something, I suggested we visit a productive winter panfish spot I’d been told about but had never fished. That turned out to be frozen too, so much so a lot of it seemed walkable. We didn’t bother testing it though, this little cove was criss-crossed by docks that allowed us to fish it without actually getting on the ice. We only had fly rods but both of us managed to get yellow perch. 

Two days later, I returned, this time with Noah. We had the right gear and were hopeful that the fish would be on. They were, both of us were promptly catching panfish. I was using a tungsten jig and switching back and forth between the Eurotacke Eurogrub Jr. in white and Gammascud in chartreuse. Bias aside (I worked for Eurotackle and remain friends with the owner), these plastics hammer fish. They’ll go toe-to-toe with spikes a lot of the time and often enough even out-fish them. I fished some small tungsten bead nymphs as well.

Yellow perch dominated, followed in abundance by bluegills, pumpkinseeds, and crappie. I also got a small golden shiner. The native pumpkinseeds were gorgeous specimens. They weren't big but they also weren't tiny. Pumpkinseeds are a stunning and underappreciated fish locally. Their colors often rival those of wild trout. Their patterns and depth of color vary drastically from fish to fish. Unfortunately, overcrowding and hybridization with bluegills keeps pumpkinseed numbers relatively low in waters they would have historically been the dominant sunfish. 

Ice fishing has been very good for me. Not only has it allowed me to stay out on the water on days I wouldn't want to fly fish but it has opened up new learning opportunities. It has allowed me another window into fish behavior. In any case where it is possible to fly fish (or at least closely approximate it), that's what I'll do. If not, I'm still going to fish. I want to learn as much as I can. That's what this is all about for me. 

 Spillway holes in Connecticut are sporadically productive. It seems that throughout the Midwest, most spillways hold fish well through the winter, but in New England only a small percentage do. It has taken me quite a few years to find some that do hold bass, panfish, suckers, and shiners year round. To make things more complex, some of the spillways only appear to hold fish some years, regardless of conditions. I wish I could say visiting any spillway hole that isn’t frozen is a sure bet for some fish, but that’s definitely not the case in Connecticut. Fortunately I have a couple ringers, and when I’m not in the mood for holdover stripers, trout, or ice fishing, they are there to save my sanity. 

The thought process behind looking for fish in spillway holes in the winter is pretty simple. When the water temperature drops in smaller streams and rivers, the deepest, slowest pools offer the best refuge for warm-water species. Spillway holes are often deep and slow and some have slack or near slack water as well. The thermocline of the lake or pond above also plays a role if the dam isn’t exclusively releasing surface water. In the winter, the water at the bottom of the lake is typically warmer. In essence, the best winter spillways are micro-tailwaters. I know one such micro tailwater in Connecticut and a few top spill dams that hold panfish, bass, and golden shiners at least most winters. 

Noah and I visited one such spillway on a mild day in mid January and found plenty of fish there but didn’t catch much. A few days later I went back on my own. I was in the mood to catch anything that wasn’t a trout, but I was particularly hopeful to get at least one nice golden shiner. I would fish a very small indicator and a size 14 Walt’s Worm. Like a float n’ fly in the late fall or early spring on a pond or the jigging through the ice, an indicator and tiny nymph is subtle enough not to disturb the fish and slow enough they don’t have to move much to eat. The indicator is key, the fly needs to suspend. There is rarely enough current to dead drift a fly in the column without an indicator.

Initially it was sluggish. I could see some very small white suckers flashing but I wasn’t getting takes. It turns out many of the bluegills and crappies were all just jammed into a very small area of less than three square feet. As soon as I began casting to a specific part of the pool, it was a fish almost every cast. Bluegills dominated, though there were a couple very small crappies mixed in. 

I kept going beyond the point where the bite seemed to die hoping for just one golden shiner. I was still getting the occasional take but not many after fish 23. I crept up on number 30 with 7 more bluegills in half an hour. My 30th fish was a golden shiner! It seems 30 is a number of significance when it comes to panfishing in particular. This is something Noah noticed first. If you want to catch something unusual or bigger, one in 30 fish will be something atypical. Sure, it’s not a law, but it seems pretty darn consistent. 

With my golden shiner acquired I decided to head to another dam to see if it was fishing well at all. This one had been sporadic for me but at least usually holds trout. Sure enough, that’s all I caught -stocked trout. One was a tiger. I can’t seem to escape those buggers. A little bummed that there weren’t any wild fish of any kind willing to eat and losing my light anyway, I headed home. My spillway adventures are not done yet this winter though. 

Early spring is an exciting time in the Northeast for fisherman who enjoy variety. Winter holds very little of that... if you want something different from December through mid March in the northeast you are probably going to have to drive a while for it. But as waters warm in April everything starts to eat and any given day there are too many choices... one can't be 10 places at once. But Noah and I sometimes try. Pond hopping is one of those joys of the early season that just doesn't get old. On April 15th (yes, I am just about exactly two months behind), the weather was perfect for hopping spot to spot and we went out seeking panfish to kill and bass and pickerel to release. Our target area was a vicinity I'd spent quite a bit of time in a few years back but hadn't fished that much since. A couple of the ponds aren't that out of the ordinary that I've been missing much but a few are very special.
The first has a miraculous tendency to produce bluegills on dry flies any day it isn't frozen over. I even got a couple on top one day when there was still some ice on the shaded southeast corner.

bluegill x pumpkinseed hybrid

It wasn't in finest form this day but it knocked the skunk of quickly and thoroughly. A morale boost, if you will, though we didn't really need one. The next pond is the one that interests me most as I'd seen and hooked  number of truly large bass in it. Pickerel had also always been abundant there, though of diminutive size. And unlike the first pond it wasn't restricted to catch and release so we'd be assured to leave with some meat.

As we walked the trail around the pond to one of the open areas, I hear Noah exclaim "snake!" from behind me. I dropped my rod and ran back. It was a common species, the most common species frankly, but it was a lovely Eastern garter and posed wonderfully for me, allowing me to get one of my favorite photos I've ever taken of the species.


Garter photographed and sent on his way, we began plying the waters. Bluegills and small pickerel were, predictably, the first fish we caught. They're the predominant species in this pond, closely followed by the ubiquitous and popular Micropterus salmoides. 


It wasn't long before the old green meanie decided to make an appearance. This was not the big one that I was casting at at the time though, she was at least three pounds. But I'd have to be satisfied with the little one though.


Noah, down the bank a ways, managed a near trophy caliber fish. I had never caught or seen a crappie in this pond and here was this beautiful foot long specimen with wonderful iridescent colors.

We decided to eat that fish.


With the sheer number of pickerel I was catching, I started to wonder if my 6lb tippet would become a potential liability. I didn't expect to lose any large pickerel because of it because I didn't expect to find any large pickerel in this pond, but I didn't want to loose a fly to one of these little hammer handle sized fish.


After I got the release photo above and put my camera away, I picked up my rod to far more weight than should have been there. Thinking I may have forgotten to unhook that fish I'd just released I lifted the rod and looked down into the clear water... and saw a giant. Things suddenly got frantic. My white woolly bugger, dangling in the water while the kayak was drifting and I was busy dealing with a small pickerel, had been eaten by a 25-26 inch monster chain pickerel, a fish the likes of which Id not hooked in years, and I was now virtually guaranteed disappointment. There was no way that 6lb tippet would hold. The fish was fighting hard but staying close enough that I could see it, and eventually I could tell it was hooked in such away that the tippet wasn't in its teeth. Maybe I was in with a shot? No. That pickerel broke my tippet so damn easily on one long hard run. Had I had a net I'd have gotten her. She was up top and close to the kayak for a while. I was gutted. A pickerel of that size is equivalent to a 45 inch pike in my book. They are hard to come by, especially on the fly.

We made a few more drifts there with nothing special happening before moving to another area. We found very little life in a good crappie spot I'd fished before but managed to find some action at a pond I'd seen but never fished. There was a bit of flow coming down from the next pond up the system and some bass and panfish were gathered near that. I rounded out our take with another crappie, this one very dark and spawn-ready.


This was a pretty typical April day, the sort of fishing that was fly fishing for me for a long time. These are my roots, these freshwater ponds in the Northeast, and I won't ever outgrow them because I clearly still haven't figured everything out. I learned so much this one day. If I can't apply what I learned in the future, that's a failure on my part. That's what separates a fisherman from somebody that fishes sometimes. I don't ever want to fall into the latter. Always learn, always grow.
Until next time,