My now-partner-then-friend Emily dropped me off next to an unfamiliar river in an unfamiliar town in the middle of Ohio. Unfamiliar to me, that is. Emily had grown up around there, but I'd actually never fished in Ohio before this trip. Now I had about an hour to figure out a short stretch of river full of unknown-to-me species, and there is nothing more exciting to me that literally just that- getting dumped next to a random river full of fish species I'd never caught with a fly rod in hand. A low-head dam below a bridge immediately called to me... these sorts of things are a fish magnets by default, being that they are choke points at best an migration barriers at worst. I had an Ausable Ugly on... what else... and went about tight-lining the spill over. The first fish was a smallmouth bass. Leave it to the aggressive and ever-present Micropterus to beat all else to the fly in such a situation. Unlike home, though, smallmouth were native to this place. These creeks and drainages in Ohio had been teaming with smallmouth for ages before they were dumped in Connecticut. I do love a native fish. 

A couple more smallmouth later I decided to move down into the slower water and look for some suckers. Though they'll often sidle right up to the base of a dam in the faster water in the spring, many of the sucker species will settle back into the deep, slow pools for the summer and fall. That's exactly what I found. In a lovely deep hole bellow a bridge were various redhorse, quillback, and some white suckers. The quillback immediately became my primary target. Quillback carpsuckers (Carpiodes cyprinus) are so named for their similarity in appearance with carp. They aren't carp, but unfortunately the unearned poor reputation carp have long held in this country also carries over to species like carpsuckers and buffalo. Given my exceptional reverence for these species it seriously hurts to see photos of them dead on the bank with holes in them... I won't apologize, bow fishing is a scourge and the bad characters in that community FAR out-weigh the good ones. Every time I see a "carp" being foisted on a spear that is actually a native sucker, quillback or buffalo it gives me both mental and physical discomfort. But these ones were safe, save for a little prick in the lip. At least that was my hope. Quilbacks are notoriously fickle and even more so on an artificial fly. I know a small number of people that have caught them and there are no defined tactics. Unlike bass or trout you can't pick up dozens upon dozens of books, watch hundreds of videos or find magazine articles galore about how to convince a carpsucker to eat a fly... this was something I'd have to find out on my own with whatever time I had left to fish this spot that day. I do love a challenge. 

I stood pretty much on the same rock for the rest of my time there, studying the behavior of the quillback. They were fairly active foragers, moving around and feeding methodically. I noticed that the focused most of their effort is spots that had a little bit of vegetation or small collections of detritus. They sifted through this stuff, presumably looking for tiny insect larvae and nymphs, their small mouths working much the same way a sucker's or carp's does. I estimated that I'd need quite a small fly to dupe one of them, and tied a size 20 Pheasant Tail onto 6x tipped, with two shot just above it. For a while I tried to present to specific fish, and this didn't work at all. Either they ignored the presentation or I lined them and they spooked. Eventually I got smart and realized that they were so methodical with their feeding pattern that if I dropped the nymph stationary on an algae covered rock or in a pile of detritus, one would eventually make its way to the fly. They weren't feeding in the drift anyway, but on stationary things. So I found a suitable spot near where two were feeding and settled my nymph in a clump of moss green algae and waited. It was probably only three minute before a quillback started rooting around in that clump of algae. I payed close attention to my shot- I couldn't see my fly but I could see the weights -and hoped that if the fish picked up my fly they might move. 

My anxiety was high as I watched the fish feed and my shot sit stationary on the bottom. This was one of my most coveted North American fishes; I really, really wanted to catch one of these. My shot never moved though and that individual moved on. I stood there for another five minutes trying not to move my rod too much and dislodge my fly before another moved in. This one seemed to notice the fly and move directly to it. The shot twitched on the bottom and I struck. In retrospect, I hit that fish way too hard. The anticipation had been killing me. The was a bright flash of a brassy color and a momentary sensation of tension, then the fish hurried off and my fly and shot landed in the water behind me with a plop. I slumped my shoulders and groaned. I didn't know if I'd get a better shot than that. 

For a while the quillbacks went quiet. They clearly didn't appreciate that disruption. So I decided to present to some redhorse. These fish were in slack water and up in the column. Bad targets, really, I can't recall ever getting suckers that were resting high in the column to eat. But I'll be darned if the first one I sunk a Walt's Worm past didn't immediately move to it and take! As interested in the quillback as I'd been, I'm an absolute redhorse freak. I adore this diverse genus and the crazy challenge of catching them on flies. 

Lifelist fish #199, Moxostoma erythrurum, golden redhorse.

Though my time at this spot was about to wind down and I'd failed to catch a quillback, just getting to stand in the midst of an unfamiliar community of fishes and catch a new species was full filling enough. Even better, I had come up with a methodology for targeting quillback with the fly that should be sound and, if I ever encounter them feeding in the same manner again, should produce one. I will target them again, that much is a guarantee. 

 I was in Vermont for my younger brother's graduation, and only for a couple days. Fishing time was limited. My partner, Haley, was also with me. Options weren't as broad as they might otherwise be. Contingencies aside, when I'm somewhere I don't always get to be I'm going to fish at least a little. With finite time and a limited number of options within hitting distance, my friend Drew Price pulled through for me with a close to sure bet for shorthead redhorse. Having only caught one lone smallmouth redhorse in western Pennsylvania and being interested in the rest of the Moxostoma genus, this seemed as good an option as any. So I dragged my very tolerant girlfriend with me to a Lake Champlain tributary to look for a new species. 

Redhorse are a diverse genus of North American suckers that includes more than 20 distinct species. Moxostoma are spread across over a substantial chunk of the Eastern half of the continent. Like their other sucker relatives they are often underappreciated, poorly treated, and frequently badly managed by state fisheries agencies. As in all cases, I just don't get that- they're cool as hell. redhorse are native, they fight hard, live in beautiful rivers and creeks, are often hard to fool, and look darned cool. They don't taste half bad either. What isn't to love? Any time redhorse are an option I perk up. I adore targeting them on the fly and don't get to at all often enough. My confidence in success bordered on certainty given Drew's report and we jetted out the door the moment it looked like we might have time. The drive south to the tributary he suggested was about 45 minutes and we only had a few hours to work with so time was of the essence. 

The stream was a lightly-stained freestone over dark grey calcareous shale and blueish limestone from the Ordovician period. Where the stream cut to the bedrock, the step-like fractures allowed sand and gravel from different bedrock layers upstream to collect, and along with algae growth made the riverbed became a rainbow of pastel coloration. Some stretches meandered and featured deep pools with some mud bottom. I was keeping my eyes sharply peeled for any red tails waving in the riffles. The first fish I saw were big smallmouth bass on beds. I half heartedly presented a small Ausable Ugly to the first large one I saw and she ate. The fight was pretty intense as the fish tried to lodge under every large rock in the run. 

I continued upstream a little ways, catching a few more bass and a very large white sucker. It was nice to get a native species but I was getting a little worried that the redhorse had managed to make their way out of the system already since I wasn't seeing them. A text from Drew changed the trip... I'd gone the wrong way!

Counter to my instinct to walk upstream, we turned tail and headed down. It didn't take long to encounter a couple of pools absolutely packed full of redhorse. They stood out quite well in both the pools and the riffles, though I found the fish in the shallow fast water entirely too finicky. The pools were more comfortable territory though- I already know how to catch suckers holding in pools, that's pretty much my typical white sucker fishing scenario back at home. I rigged up with an indicator and left on the Ausable Ugly. The redhorse weren't exactly obliging, but after some time I did convince one to eat: another new species thanks to Drew. He's been responsible for two so far this year. 

Lifelist fish #190: Shorthead redhorse, Moxostoma macrolepidotum. Rank: Species

After bringing the lifelist up to 190, I relaxed a bit and went about enjoying the action. I caught three more shortheads; one with a couple hangers on in the form of sea lamprey. Unlike the ocean, where lamprey parasitize large fish that are capable of handling the the blood loss, in landlocked environments they can be a big problem to native species. I removed both lamprey from this redhorse accordingly. 

Presumably, as anadromous lamprey sometimes do, these guys had latched on to catch a ride up to spawning territory. If so it is remarkable how small they are to be of reproductive age. Of course the landlocked lamprey don't get anywhere near as big as their oceanic counterparts, which attain sizes in excess of 30 inches. 

 Our finale full day in Pennsylvania was upon us and Noah, Jake and I wanted to end the trip on a high note. With lower pressure, cloud cover, and showers in the morning forecast we hoped our luck with the bigger predators might improve. Add to it, my grandfather would be joining us on the water for the first bit of the day, it seemed nothing could be better. At first we may be in luck, as the redhorse, drum, and carp were much more active. One thing I forgot to count on is how bad I sometimes am at hooking bottom feeding roughfish, especially suckers and carp. I have days where I just whiff take after take and this was one of them. I whiffed a few carp. I whiffed a nice drum. Then I reefed the set on a huge redhorse and my leader snapped with a sickening whip-crack. It's a good thing I can nymph channel catfish, apparently, because I got a few of them. They weren't big but I'll take any cat on the fly any time, and indicator nymphing them was new to me. 

Jake ended up getting himself one smallmouth redhorse on a worm, but as the morning wore on it seemed we might not get the big fish we were hoping to. We all aught fish at least, and for my money, Some of Noah's were the funniest. There was a puddle on the walkway above the tunnel, where fisherman stand and soak bait in the deep, roiling dam discharge below. They'd clearly been discarding their minnows in that puddle as it was full of them. 

As it began to seem our options at this spot were exhausted, we decided to move along. My grandfather headed out and Noah, Jake and I went to the next spot. It was a small freestone stream suggested to us by my grandfather, where we stood a reasonable shot at Jake getting his lifer rainbow trout, as well as catching good catfish bait for that night in the form of big creek chubs. We filled the bait quota but found no trout, but the odd bass instead.

As we were fishing downstream, a family hopped in just below us and continued on down. Not wanting to fish water that had just been fished, we turned back upstream and headed back towards the cars. Noah rushed ahead as Jake and I lollygagged and fished our way up. We ended up finding a pool with some good darter and sculpin habitat, and started micro fishing it. I flipped some rocks and found that some large mottled sculpins were residing under them. It didn't take long for both Jake and I to catch one, and when Noah wondered where the hell we were and came back down he had little trouble getting them to eat either. At the time, this was a lifer for me, but sine then I'e learned that the tiny sculpin I got further up in the Allegheny watershed was a mottled too. 

Lifelist fish #176, Mottled sculpin, Cottus bairdii. Rank: Species

Sculpins are awesome, I really do adore them. They are beautiful little fish and very charismatic. And honestly, any fish that has the gall to still eat after you've essentially lifted up the roof of his house in order to find him is pretty cool. 

Jake then diverted attention to darters and it payed off, he got a lovely fan tail, a lifer for him.

Fantail darter, Etheostoma flabellare

Then we all caught bluntnose minnows, which were lifers for Noah and I.

Lifelist fish #177. Bluntnose minnow, Pimephales notatus. Rank: species.

 As dawn broke on our second morning in Pennsylvania, it became abundantly clear to Jake, Noah and I that we needed to make a pretty drastic change. We'd struggled the whole day prior and well into the night to find larger fish that were willing to eat, and we just weren't successful. And now it was the coldest morning any of us had felt in months. Temperatures had dropped below 50 overnight. We hit the same creek where Noah and I had found wild trout the first day, and Jake quickly got his lifer, but we then dropped south. Even though we were inland and not even travelling an hour, we were going into slightly warmer weather. We were headed to another area I'd spent a lot of time around as a kid, but still hadn't fished much. 

We dropped further down the Allegheny watershed, towards a town called Vandergrift and the surrounding area. Vandergrift is where my mother grew up and where my grandparents still live, northeast of Pittsburgh. We'd spend the second half of our trip fishing this area, which is just as species rich though much more impacted industrial activity. It would be interesting to see how the native species were faring in these waters. 

The first spot we decided to check out was a spillway my grandfather has been telling me about for years. It was a spot he'd caught a number of muskellunge at over the years. That was certainly a big draw, but it was a spillway... from shiners to redhorse to huge catfish, spillways draw fish. They're both a barrier to upstream travel, a food delivery funnel, and a provider of deep holding water. We knew the likelihood of encountering things like drum, sauger, redhorse, and buffalo would be pretty high at such a place. And he first few minutes were not disappointing, as we saw multiple sized and species of redhorse. Some were just flashing, but others were actually tailing like carp. Or, frankly, like bonefish. Because if I were going to consider any North American freshwater fish a bonefish, it would be redhorse. They're sleeker than carp and I'm convinced they fight harder, pound for pound. 

As it turned out though they aren't as easy to catch. I was getting snubbed constantly no matter what I presented these fish. This surprised me a bit, I'd expected these fish to be about as difficult as carp and a little easier than white suckers, but at least in the conditions we'd been presented so far they were about as tricky as white suckers if not more. Even with bait they were far from pushovers. 

Incidentally, the first notable catch, by Jake, wasn't a fish, but a reptile. He'd actually caught one the night before as well, albeit a juvenile, and that one had been my lifer. It was a queen snake, an unassuming but beautiful semi-aquatic natricine that feeds primarily on crayfish. They're cool snakes but that's all I really knew about them, I hadn't even realized they lived in the area. 

These were very cool snakes, I saw them exhibit behavior more aquatic in nature than any snake species I'e observed besides actual water snakes (Nerodia). They'd poke out of crevices with everything but their heads under the surface, and spent extended periods of time completely submerged. They seemed especially abundant too, we saw lots of them. 

Lifelist fish #174, smallmouth redhorse, Moxostoma breviceps. Rank:species.

That was a gorgeous fish, a native species that is largely overlooked and an exceptional challenge to catch. I promptly fell in love and had a big goofy smile plastered on my face as I let the fish slip from my hands and back into the muddy river. 

Lifelist Fish #175, rosyface shiner, Notropis rubellus. Rank: species.