BEFORE THE STORM

“I’m dropping out after today.”

    The declaration was one part joke, two parts intent, and escaped daily into a warm, bluebird sky from behind a bottom lip bit in collegiate compliance.

    Once you’ve invested years of tireless angling and observation, and compiled and analyzed a few thousand fish’s worth of fishing logs, you come to recognize Go-Time for what it is.

    It was Day Four of what was to be a week-long warming trend, and March’s winds were moving in response. Friday afternoon would see 75 degrees, and Saturday would bring a sharp cold snap—30 degrees and the possibility of snow. Local stream flows were double average from spring rains, and dropping slowly. In other words, it was Go-Time, and I knew it.

    With the looming reward of escaping to the mountains in search of big wild trout, I crammed my schoolwork into the dark hours, and shaved all unnecessary habits from my routine.

    Thursday afternoon found me speeding towards a Virginia mountain valley, eyes glancing nervously from the road towards the snaking creekbottom below. An eagle soared overhead—casting a shadow over the river’s course and the farm fields surrounding it in its lower reaches—it too content in the spring sun’s gaze.

    I found the water and realized a dream. Rivers—in their ideal state in my mind’s eye—run full and deep. From snow runoff, their runs and holes are highlighted an icy blue. Wonder and possibility are retained when the gravel of the streambed is not too visible. And so this river ran.

High spring water. Photo by Matt Reilly.

    Within these holes and runs and un-seeable gravel lots lies the year’s most promising opportunity to tangle with a big fish, for they find confidence in the slight discoloration, and large prey is disoriented in the chaos.

    Likewise, I tied on a large crayfish fly and worked my way upstream, methodically, keeping contact with the gravel and opportunity.

    Opportunity took me by surprise a few casts into the afternoon, when a sizeable brown snapped at my fly and released it in the same breath. An hour and a half later, opportunity returned with conviction, and ripped my fly into the undercut of a rock ledge. My Tycoon Tackle Scion throbbed under the pressure of a large flash, and a thick 24-inch wild rainbow initiated an adrenaline-soaked game of net tag downstream.

24-inch wild rainbow trout taken on a streamer in the mountains. Photo by Matt Reilly.

    Friday was a continuation in the weather trend, and the joke in my daily threat to abandon academic employment was further diluted with intent. The wind was raging harder; the sun, shining brighter. A storm was coming, and the front was shaping up to be a dramatic one.

    This time, I found the water slightly lower. The currents were calmer and the water clearer, though still rich with opportunity.

    Brown trout are homebodies, particularly in small mountain streams, and so I started the day with a hit list. Patiently, I placed my fly along the current seam of the first run, working my way upstream. 

    Redemption struck where she should have—in a pillow behind a large chunk rock in the streambed where she showed her face the day before—but held on, and rewarded me with 21 inches of wild butter-belly and shimmering bulls’ eyes.

About 20 inches of brown trout taken on a streamer in the mountains. Photo by Matt Reilly.

    It’s funny that fishermen yearn for redemption so avidly, and yet release her graciously once achieved. I was pondering this thought as I examined my tippet and discovered nicks that could cause me to lose another big fish, should I be so lucky. I retied.

    In the act of retying my fly, my focus shifted from my knot to the water in the background, captured by unexplained movement. My heart ricocheted about my chest, more than it would for any fish, when I quickly recognized the brown figure lumbering over the limestone streambed towards my wading boot as a hellbender salamander—18 inches of giant, beautifully adapted, rare salamander.

A hellbender salamander cruises the limestone streambed inches from my wading boot. Photo by Matt Reilly.

    With shaking hands, I reached for my backpack’s side pocket and squeezed my eyes tight in thankfulness for having remembered my waterproof camera. A few moments interacting with, and studying the awesome intricacies of the animal left my spirit enriched.

    God must have been smiling on me and rewarded my responsible stewardship, when granted redemption in that large wild brown trout, with more blessings; for the afternoon ran on, and more wild trout came to hand—approximately 40, with most being larger than 12 inches. The term “golden light” comes to mind—that moment of perfect elemental combination that results in a truly magnificent circumstance, as recognized by photographers and outdoorsmen, alike.

Photos by Matt Reilly.

    As I write this, the weather has turned stable; the water, low. I’ve hardly threatened to abandon my studies for the river, and my nighttime motivation has shrunken. The conditions are not prime for my mind to wander, but they will be again.□

    

*Originally published in the Rural Virginian            

BROOKIE FEVER

The outdoor lifestyle is ruled by the seasons, and the seasons by traditions.  There is no tradition that enraptures me more than spring on a native brook trout stream.

A sprightly Virginia brook trout.  Photo by Matt Reilly

    Trout do, on occasion, live in ugly places, despite the popular sentiment.  Sewage-contaminated rivers and spillways thick with ground up baitfish and full of big brown trout come to mind.  Brook trout, however, do not—at least in my experience. 

    Their necessary fondness for clean, healthy, and cold water predetermines for them a life in the Appalachian Mountain streams, where they serve as groundskeepers of natural beauty and ecological vitality.  Their absence from such streams is a sure sign of a declining environment.  They are a product of their surroundings; and so it is no wonder that they are the most beautiful of fish. 

    In the dead of winter, when trees lie dormant, the ground hardens, the air chews at your extremities, and the vibrant color of a mountain empire is a faint memory tumbling somewhere downstream, brook trout hold fast to the pigments of God’s generous paintbrush from the bottom of the streambed.  Life resides within the river.

A picturesque plunge pool in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.  Photo by Matt Reilly.

    As spring arrives, the air livens and color springs from water.  Dogwood, redbud, rhododendron, magnolia, mountain laurel, trillium, bluebell, and bloodroot take over the understory, accented by the faint green of budding hardwoods.  Grass, mountain daisies, and ferns cover the sunlit stream banks as the water warms.  Insects hatch and embark on their life’s journey; the brook trout become more active.

Mountain Daisies.  Photo by Matt Reilly.

    Anglers from Shenandoah, the Blue Ridge, and all over dream of these first signs of spring.  For spring is a strong emotion in the mountains—a sharp contrast to the doldrums of winter.

    It is during the spring months that brook trout will readily take a well-presented dry fly, and it is perhaps experiencing the combination of such pleasant purity and the overbearing gamut of hues and aromas present in the mountain landscape, culminated in the brilliant flanks of a quivering trout, that so accurately summarizes our reason for being anglers in the first place.  It is, at least, why I declare the beginning of the year on a brook trout stream.  I hold few stereotypes, but I can safely assume that where there are brook trout is home to me.

    Those with brookie fever are many, varied, and seemingly unlikely. 

    It is no secret that brook trout are a small quarry.  Three and four weight fly rods are common tools.  Streams are often just a few feet wide, and the fish rarely exceed 10 inches in length, though there is the ever-alluring opportunity for fish in excess of 12 inches.

    Regardless, it is mostly true that anyone with an inkling of Appalachian heritage has a fondness for the sprightly brook trout.  Even the most dedicated of big fish nuts can find excitement in the fish, both for the challenge and the opportunity.

    Though they are not especially selective feeders, brook trout are renowned proponents of the old Reverend Maclean’s philosophy on fishing, allowing no person lacking the particular set of skills required to catch them to do so.

    These skills include--first and foremost--stealth.  The vast majority of brook trout streams are skinny, clear, and full of pockets of water holding several fish.  Keeping a low profile, minimizing false casts, maintaining drag-free drifts, and walking softly are necessary skills.  Successful brook trout fishermen are bona fide Blue Ridge ninjas first, anglers second.

Approaching the fish from behind a boulder shield.  Photo by Matt Reilly.

    The typical brookie fisherman spends more money on flies and tippet material over the course of the first two months of spring than the total worth of his or her own rod.  The tightness of cover and challenge of presentation is just another aspect of small stream fishing that adds to the fun.  There are no official testaments to my sanity, but I have often caught myself (on a good day) chuckling when my fly wraps around a limb on my last false cast.

    Gas and energy are equally expended resources.  For the small trout, a dedicated angler’s vehicle is stocked with marked gazetteers and guidebooks detailing even the smallest of mountain trickles, and the “good” fishing often doesn’t start before at least a half-hour hike upstream over rugged terrain.

Wild, beautiful fish in a wilderness setting is the essence of brook trout fishing.  Photo by Matt Reilly.

    Brookie fever is an affliction difficult to justify or explain except by the emotions experienced in the act of discovering it.  Such an unlikely target is the drive behind hundreds of miles of anxiously explored dirt roads; miles of rough mountain hollows navigated on foot; countless around-the-next-bend expeditions; and bruises, skinned knees, stubbed toes, thorn bushes, and mosquito bites sustained.  It is the focal point of our momentary distraction from civilization, and the medium through which we comprehend the grace of the natural world as it was meant to be.

*Originally published by The Rural Virginian

WHEN DOGWOOD BUDS ARE THE SIZE OF A SQUIRREL'S EAR

Local knowledge—it’s the earthy flavor and time-tested confidence in the voice of a weathered character who can forecast the weather, crop yield, and animal behaviors with just a finger in the wind and an eye on the past.  I’ve had the pleasure of knowing a few such minds.  Most were outdoorsmen, and could unfailingly concur on a single truth—turkeys start gobbling, shad start running, and crappie start biting when the dogwood buds grow to the size of a squirrel’s ear.  In central Virginia, that system is more practical and manifestly observable than any calendar or watch of any ability.

Photo by Matt Reilly

    The latter prediction has been the most valuable to me.  Crappie will bite year-round, but after the new year has brought sufficient sunlight and warmth to bud the state tree, the water temperatures in our stillwaters have largely warmed and teased shoreline vegetation to the surface, providing the tuxedoed panfish cover in which to stage their spawn.  Around these grassbeds, crappie become much more accessible to a pair of youngster in a john boat.

    During my younger years, my family and I almost always ended up at my grandparents’ lake house on the Northern Neck in early spring.  The lake held my interest more than the house did.  There were fish to be caught in what was then my playground, and crappie were no minority in its waters.

    My cousin and I typically launched the small boat that was kept tied up to the dock two or three times per day, returning for meals and in the instance of any bouts of dangerous weather.  At 35 acres, the lake was easily navigable with the small trolling motor mounted on the stern, which we commonly re-designated as the bow for simplicity in navigation. 

    I was often assigned the captain’s role.  With crappie on the mind I would point us towards some distant creek mouth or cove and we would be freed from the constraints of land, lake breeze in our hair.

    Finding ourselves in an intimate arena, attention was turned to our tackle boxes.  We regularly took crappie on Roadrunners, small spoons, grubs, Beetle Spins, and crankbaits, but there was no science to our choice.  Whatever struck our fancy found its way to the water.

    One particular morning, we enjoyed good success in the upper end of a creek throwing small crankbaits and landing some quality fish.  It seemed that the skinny areas held the best fish.  So I would man the motor, positioning my cousin in the bow for a long cast through a narrow lane of shrouding laurel.

    Concentration was paramount in making the deep cast, but as the bow of the boat slowly slid into position, the voice of a hoarse dragon erupted from the thick bushes adjacent.  Heron Cove was so dubbed when we discovered a nesting green heron as the source of the commotion.

    Composure regained, my cousin made the cast.  Thump.  His crankbait collided with a stump.  He kept reeling, and connected with the papery mouth of a big slab.

    The long, riverine nature of the lake and a handful of recently purchased gold spoons came together in my mind one day early in the season, when the white flowers of the dogwoods were still scarce among the hardwood banks.  With the aid of the trolling motor and built in rod holders, we quickly developed a trolling system, and with the speed set just fast enough to keep our lures out of the woody snags on the bottom, patrolled the lake in search of a suspended school.

    Crappie are highly mobile schooling fish.  So when we landed the first fish just minutes into the routine, I experimentally employed an old trick, tying 20 feet of fishing line through the hole left by the hook in the fish’s mouth and tagging the end with an inflated pink balloon.  The rest of the afternoon, trolling was abandoned for following and placing casts around the bobbing balloon.  

    Evening came.  After dinner we took to the water once again in search of our ballooned friend.

    We found him in a favorite evening cove and freed him.  With Roadrunners we beat the banks, the evening light slowly creeping out of the scene as we competed for numbers.  We were tied somewhere in the 30s, but short-striking fish caused many to lose the hook at the boat, sometimes even breaking free and back into the lake after they had been hoisted from the water.

    The light was soon gone and the temperature dropped.  Sweaters broke out when the water lapping against the hull was our greatest perception of place.  A classic breeze filled our senses, and we were comfortable, amid a murky southern lake dimpled with the snowy petals of dogwoods and a sporting springtime tradition carried on.□

*Originally published in the Rural Virginian

THE 2015 SPRING GOBBLER SEASON LOOKS PROMISING

Spring is an experience of rebirth, an exercise for the senses.  Rich aromas and dramatic sounds clutter the landscape, but none is more impressive and melodramatic than the thunderous boom of a gobbler announcing its presence to the countryside.  His intended audience is a willing mate, but the loving echoes beckon hunters to the woods, and this year they are liable for great success.

Photo by David Coffman.

    This year, the spring gobbler season in Virginia opens on April 11 and runs through May 16.  During the first part of the season—from April 11 through May 3—legal shooting hours span half the day, from a half hour before sunrise till noon.  The latter portion—starting on May 4 and running through the end of the season on May 16—offers hunters the full day, from a half hour before sunset until sunset, to chase gobblers.

    Despite the 2014-15 turkey hunting seasons’ 44-percent deficit over last year’s seasons’ harvest numbers, DGIF Wild Turkey Project Leader, Gary Norman believes the Commonwealth’s wild turkey population to be in excellent condition, as participants in the annual August Brood Survey reported record numbers of broods and birds.  The population has exhibited a consistent annual growth of two percent throughout the last decade.

Photo by David Coffman

    This is positive, considering the potential for much more dramatic population variances.  Because wild turkey lay and incubate 10-12 eggs after mating, the weather during the month-and-a-half-long period during which the eggs are incubated and the chicks are growing and learning to fly--beginning sometime in early May--is the crux of population growth.  Wet, humid conditions improve scenting conditions, thus increasing predation opportunities for nest-robbers and poult-nappers like raccoons, foxes, coyotes, and bobcats.  After the chicks are hatched, extended periods of moist, cold weather are dangerous until the newborns are old enough to maintain their body temperatures.

    Hunter success rates have been proven to reliably mirror these variables with a two-year lag time for maturation.  Such was the case in 2013, when a record harvest number of 19,265 birds correlated directly with a record poult recruitment estimate in the spring of 2011.

David Coffman with a big bird!

    Looking ahead to the coming season, one can only speculate about the weather.  However, in studying the reproductive success of Old Dominion turkey in 2013, hunters can confidently expect to observe a great increase in gobblers afield in 2015.

    Of even greater encouragement are the potential consequences of last fall’s heavy mast crop, which made deer hunting difficult.  Biologist popularly hold that turkey gobble more frequently and enthusiastically when they are in peak physical condition.  Given the density of high-energy acorns present through the fall and early winter, and the relatively short-lived bouts of winter weather, the Commonwealth’s turkey population should be feeling vocal and ready for love this spring. 

The 2015 Virginia Governor’s One Shot Turkey Hunt

    The Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries and the Wildlife Foundation of Virginia invite hunters and outdoor enthusiasts to the First Annual Virginia Governor’s One Shot Turkey Hunt to be held April 17 and 18—the second weekend of spring gobbler season—based out of downtown Richmond.  The inaugural event is designed in celebration of turkey, hunting, and the rich spring sporting tradition that is an integral element of Virginia’s heritage. 

    The festivities begin Friday night at the brand new VDGIF headquarters building located at 7870 Villa Park Drive in Richmond, where hunters and guides will pair up and make plans for Saturday’s hunt.

    Hunter-guide teams will hunt a variety of private properties across the state loaded with gobblers until noon on Saturday.  The event will draw to a close Saturday night with dinner, music, and an auction at the NewMarket Pavilion in downtown Richmond.

    The registration fee for hunters is $1,000 and includes all activities for you and a guest, as well as some great gifts.

    Come out and be a part of this long-awaited inaugural event that is sure to become a treasured tradition!□

*Originally published in the Rural Virginian

IT IS TIME

The author with a 5-pound early spring largemouth
caught on a lipless crankbait.
Photo by Phillip Morone.

The big snow of 2013 is behind us, and if the weather report is right, there may be yet another one on the way.  But the warming air has brought water temperatures into the 50s; the action will begin to pick up across the region--we're in the home stretch.

My first outing of the spring brought tell-tale success, and what I hope to be an indicator of what is to come. The water and air temperatures today made wet hands comfortable, rather than numbing, and the kayaks were due for some exercise.  So my brother and I put them on a local reservoir around noon, hoping the warmer temperatures of the afternoon and the impending cold front would turn on feeding fish.

We caught three fish.  The first was a decent 5-pounder still holding onto a winter belly (pictured on the right).  The others were much smaller.

March still hasn't metamorphosed into a lamb in Central Virginia, and we fought a slight breeze throughout the day.  Still, the weather is on the upswing, and so is the fishing.  Get out and enjoy the action as it warms, and send us pictures of your catches!  You may find yourself on the site or in the paper!

IT'S ALMOST TIME

    Despite the occasional snowmagedon, thermometers across the state are showing increasingly more red.  

March is rolling in like a lion; the shadbush is budding; and the fact remains that our furry friend, Punxsutawny, found himself alone by his groundhog hole on that prophetic February morning.  Spring is almost upon us.

Organize and Simplify

    Winter offers a perfect time for anglers to take stock of their fishing tackle and prepare for the upcoming season.

    Reorganize that terminal tackle box that was shaken to chaos over the course of the summer; and replace the items that are running out.  Return all lures to their homes—whether organized by color, type, or target species--, for they were surely mixed up for convenience’s sake.

    Take critical inventory of all lures, paying attention to those that were put to good use in the previous season and those that were not.  Those that were could be considered confidence baits—those that you turn to when times are tough—and should be amply replaced.  Exclude or pack away any lures that were neglected last year—they were for good reason.  The freed space will provide more room for the lures that continually produce for you, and will make your tackle box altogether more effective.

Time for Shad

    The annual migration of anadromous shad is the first rite of spring in the angling world.  Sexually mature adults begin their run up Virginia’s large coastal rivers when tidal temperatures approach 55 degrees, and offer great sport for the light-tackle angler.

    There are two species of shad to be caught from Virginia waters, the hickory shad and the American shad, the first arriving first and the latter arriving last.  Spawning hickory shad often weigh one to two pounds, smaller in comparison to the larger American shad that average in the three to five pound range.

    Small, flashy minnow imitations like the shad spoon and famed Shad Dart are time-tested shad lures, and routinely yield the most fish.  The angler will be well-equipped with one of these lures rigged with a light spinning rod and six-pound line; but don’t go much lighter.  Spawning fish frequent strong currents and use them to their advantage in a fight.  A fisherman wielding a traditional ultra-light setup would be outmatched against a five-pound fish in heavy current.

    Favored fishing spots include the tidal James River at Richmond, the Rappahannock near Fredericksburg, and the Potomac in the far northern region of the state.  Brackish tributaries to these major waterways, like the Chickahominy, Mattaponi, Nottoway, and Pamunkey rivers, also provide good action.

    Blueback herring and alewife follow the migrating shad on their own spawning runs, but responsible anglers should note that, as of March 2012, it is illegal to have in possession either of these two river herring.

Time for Big Bass

    Shad aren’t the only fish feeling the urges of the spawning season this month.  Largemouth bass, too, will begin to move from their stable wintering waters to the spawning coves where they will spawn this time in April, when the water temperature climbs past 60 degrees.

A solid largemouth taken by the author's 
brother from a grassy point on a windy 
march day.  Read more at Blustering Bass.  
Photo by Matt Reilly

    Many anglers prefer this period.  As nature instills a common goal in the bass’ movements, they become very predictable; and, still stocky from their winter lethargy, this pre-spawn window is often recognized as the best time to catch big bass.

    In lakes, these bass will relate to long, sloping points on the main lake that lead to shallow coves.  These points provide transition zones for fish to move along as the surface temperature warms.  In true reservoirs, a similar point providing access to the main feeder creek is a hotspot.  Still, movement is largely dependent upon water surface temperature; likewise, northern banks, provided they have the correct structure, will be the most productive because they receive the most sunlight.

    Productive lures include Texas-rigged soft plastics, swimbaits, jigs, and spinnerbaits.  Working a lure slow, but covering water quickly and taking note of the depth at which you get strikes will help in putting together a fishable pattern.

    Stay organized about your tackle and your plans, and the end of this month could hold many memorable adventures afield.