Tag: Carp
So here’s how my day went:
Actually, I got a rolling start last night by donating a couple of old reels to the Southwestern Council FFF charity effort at Orvis in Pasadena. That got me 20 percent off a new Battenkill III, which is a reel about as minimalist as they come. In other words, the palm of your hand and fingers supply most of the drag to slow a running fish down.
In other words, it burns so good.
A.M. off to the L.A River with my 5 wt., armed with a fine new line, new leader and, of course, the new reel. Throw in, hook up within five minutes (rare) and — bam — knot fails after three sharp tugs. Blame the new 5x leader, curse the gods, curse the river weeds, curse anything but the fish. From the size of the pull, think the better of a 5x leader and get on down to a 2x. Toss in, wait a bit — bam — same result, including failed knot.
Curse Orvis, maker of the slippery leader, curse limited knot skills, curse Lou Ferrigno, for no reason. Look up at monochrome sky and ask “why?”
Sit on rip rap. Retie. Walk upstream, toss in, hook up — bam — fish on. Big fish on. Mental notes intrude on sweaty, running experience … Play him on the reel. Slow down the narrow spool with palm, getting hot, ouch. Turn head, tire him out, another run, fingers, ya oh, man that smarts, more mental notes. What’s with the mental notes? Blame golf psychology book, “Golf Is Not a Game of Perfect” that is current read.
Walk back, walk back slowly. Runs again, remember that knot fail! Ease it up, running, slow him down.
In close now. Gold shine, liquid undulating gold. We see eye to eye. Back up, back up, and … he’s ashore.
Heart pumping, mental note, take the IPic. Fumble in pocket. Curse the white-hot September light, so bright I can’t really image the picture. A Mexican guy on a bike on the bike path, says “Take a picture,” as both a question and a statement. I think to myself, “but I am taking a picture,” and then realize maybe he wants to scale down the rip rap and take a snap of me and this California gold rush.
Elation. Snap. Fish back in water. Heart beats hard; left hand hurts; praise Orvis, praise my limited knot-tying ability, praise the very moment, alive, so very alive.
I right myself, put back in, same fly, and quickly get a different kind of tug, bass tug. Oh, yes, this is so easy, haha, nothing two-to it, and will it ever happen to me again? Snag an L.A. river deuce, same day, same fly.
Hallelujah.
In honor of this twofer, I propose an unofficial contest: if you hook up, two different species, same day, same fly, send me the story and pics, I’ll send you an lariverflyfishing tee shirt. Only got three left from the derby, all extra large.
See you on the river, Jim Burns
By Ansel Trevino
Guest Contributor
Age 12
It was just starting to get dark. Me, my dad, and my dad’s friend had decided to go fishing together, while my grandpa walked the dogs. After a long day of catching nothing, my luck changed. I knew then that this was going to be a big catch. I felt the weight of the fish as I started to crank the reel.
Luckily, my dad’s friend brought a net to get the fish out of the water and put it into the bag to weigh.
The fish barely fit in the bag, and had its tail hanging out.
We weighed it and the fish weighed roughly 10 pounds. We then measured the fish, at a length of 25 inches. It was now time to let the beautiful fish go. I saw the sun reflect off the fish scales as it touched the water. It rested there for a short while, waving its tail back and forth, and eventually, its silhouette disappeared.
So, why would coming upon three anglers on our own river be in the least bit unusual? To clarify, it wasn’t actually the number of fishermen as how they were fishing:
— spin cast
— Tenkara
— line tied to a tree
Of course, if you also counted my son and me, you’d have to add fly fishing to the mix.
Earlier on, we’d gotten advice from a young dad, who was pushing his two toddlers in tandem along the bike path.
“Lots of fish in there, but you gotta use the right bait,” he said. “Bologne sandwich. Or tacos.”
And he was serious.
Whether the spin caster was using either of those, or the more traditional masa mix, I didn’t ask, but we did manage to make out in a mixture of Spanish and English that he’d just hooked a 20-incher, and released it.
Meanwhile, under the bridge, a dapper Asian gent explained that he was fishing with a Tenkara rod, which he had extended all of its 15 feet in length over the water, suspended in a type of harness, so you could just make out the colorful backward-hackle fly.
“I’m not sure of the name in English,” he said, but the fact that he used no reel told me this was my first time to see this newcomer to the states in action. Created some 200 years ago for fly fishing streams in Japan, the name translates intriguingly as “from heaven.” Tenkara USA opened in San Francisco in 2009.
“Hey!” my Tenkara reverie was interrupted from the other bank as a man with his dark hair pulled back stuck his head out of the bushes, smile on his face, big, bruising carp occupying his hands.
“Want it?” he asked. “People say you can’t catch ’em, but what they eat is worms, worms from the river.”
I shook my head and he respectfully tossed the fish back and disappeared.
I ran into my son a few minutes later, who told me a guy had just asked him if he wanted a fish. “And look,” Will said, “he’s already got another one on the line.”
Sure enough, across the water, a large carp tried to free itself from a line tied to a tree.
“I watched him get his bait on. As soon as the hook went into the water, he had another fish on.”
For our part, all we got using fly lines with a variety of flies was a vicious bite off. I’d carefully maneuvered my crawdaddy imitation close to the mouth of a waiting carp, one who, with at least four friends, waited outside of the strong current.
Will and I watched as the fish inhaled the fly, felt something amiss, turned to run and then jerked his muscular front section, as well as his mouth, dislodging the fly. My No. 3 tippet severed without much of a fuss.
It’s all true.
See you on the river, Jim Burns
By Mark Gangi
Guest Contributor
What a great fight that day, which created a spectacle and drew a small crowd of joggers.
The fish took off downstream, wrapped me around a large rock and then headed upstream. I didn’t jump in after him until he was deep in my backing and I thought I was going to lose another carp on the river.
The water was deeper than my hip waders so I had to slosh like a maniac upstream after him, and when I had him in shallow water he was too big to pick up by the jaw so I had to go WWF on him.
I have had my best takes with Jan’s Carp Tickler and Hise’s Carpnasty, both in brown with orange. Maybe the orange looks like tilapia eggs? Both of these flies are also visible in the water.
Here’s a typical beauty shot, seen in fly-fishing mags in shops across America. But, this isn’t catch and release. It’s a true lifesaver as L.A. environmental Compliance Inspector Howard Wong rescues this sweet carp and three others from their waterless perch atop the bank, where they were washed up during our recent powerful storms.
Without Howard, we would be four fish short in the river. Thank you!
Hope to see you on the river, Howard. — Jim Burns
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