We all have our home waters. The water in which no matter where else in the world we may find willing fish, stays sacred in our hearts. The water in which the passion of fish on the fly began and grew. One of the things that I love about being a fly angler is getting the chance to share my waters and see other angler's waters as well. Now this is not an honor that comes easy. We all measure up other anglers to determine whether or not they are worthy walking in our sacred rivers. I was given such honor this weekend by The Rusty Spinner.
I have fished parts of this river once before. Another good friend had shared it with me last year. Anyone that knows me, knows that I am the worst navigator known to man. If my life depended on it I would never be able to find my way back to the places that I fished over the weekend. I cannot share the name of this secret water under penalty of ostrasism from the elite group of angers in the know of this water. That makes it even more of an honor that I could walk it's banks and step foot on it's bottom.
The scenery is a bit different then what I am used to. It was reminiscent of a post apocalyptic city scape. I was half expecting zombies to appear from behind boulders to attempt to eat our brains and steal our carp.
Even with the falling buildings in the distance, the factories, treatment plants and whatever other urban development that surrounded this gem beauty was to be found.
As we entered the river the fish were there waiting. Pods of carp lay in the available pools waiting for our offerings. It appeared that they were going to play a bit of a different game then we had in mind. We had some follows, I even hooked into a pig of a carp...It ran me out, played it for a bit and was broken off by the treacherous rocks that lay everywhere. This river was some of the toughest wading that I have ever done. Trenches, holes, uneven surface, unsteady boulders..etc...This river will beat you up as we found out. Mr. Spinner took a step on a rock that was a bit unstable and sacrificed his leg to the river.
Not that long after I did the same. I misjudged the depth of a trench stepped a bit off and rolled my ankle over a rock. It instantly turned purple and looked like a golf ball...
Battered, bruised and swollen we pushed on to finish our quest to find willing fish. We caught all sizes of smallies along the way. The last fish of the day was by far the best bass that I got into.. It displayed some impressive acrobatics for us before being unhooked and released back to the waters in which it came.
The man, the myth, the legend...Rusty Spinner in action......Smallie hunting off of the boulders....
We did get into some carp as well...That being the ultimate goal of the day...For anyone out there that has not caught a carp on the fly....I feel for you...You are missing such an angling experience words can't even explain. Get out and give it a try...If you like seeing your backing, hearing your reel scream for mercy, your rod bent end to end, being frustrated out of your mind by their uncooperative behavior, and a genuine knee shake when you do land one....Then this is for you...and their ugly mugs do grow on you after a bit...As my lady exclaims..."They are adorable."
Many thanks to The Rusty Spinner for sharing his wonderful water with me. It is truly a special place. I look forward to more fishing adventures with my new friend...Until next time...Tight Lines and Screaming Reels.....