Sweet home Minnesota

It's good to be home. Maine has a lot of sweet things to offer, including an endless supply of tastefully crafted micro brews, but Vacationland seriously lacks one thing: brown water. I got in the truck the other day and headed south to the Otter Tail, my first visit in over a month.

First on the agenda was the field trial for my new service weapon, the Echo TR two-handed 5 weight. At 12 feet long, this is just about as long a rod as you'd want for a river the size of the Otter Tail. Packed with plenty of punch, the rod took almost little effort to launch my 380 grain Elixir line into the good stuff 20 yards ahead of me. While always cumbersome with the long rod, landing a fish by yourself can take some strategizing. Your best bet is to try and beach a fish on shore.


The first fish for the virgin rod was a quillback. I was fishing one of those white swimming nymphs I crafted the other day. Fish did seem to like the pattern, so it's a keeper. This golden redhorse also fell victim to the White Knight.


Flows on the Otter Tail are still quite high; the entire drainage is still in flood stage, since March. Flows dropped off about 500 cfs since my last visit, but were still quite healthy at near 1450 cfs. Water temps have since risen. Carp were in spawning mode, and the occasional leap and splash could be observed. Buffalo were also feeling a little randy and the battle scars from this little guy indicates that he liked it "rough".



Second on the agenda for the day was to snag a carp in the mouth. The observed activity of spawning carp is never a good sign for the fly rod wielding carp angler. I fished a pink megaworm and after hooking up with some buffalo, finally managed my first cyprinid in a long time.


Even though flow conditions were less than stellar for this time of year, warmer water temps contributed to increased fish activity. A nice warm sunny day, light breeze, and a half dozen fish at hand courtesy of the new rod, is nothing to be disappointed about. As the dry period (hopefully) of summer approaches, flows should resume back to normal in another month or two. I'd like the opportunity to sight fish to a few carp and buffalo, something that is almost impossible to do at high flows. The summer is young and left with plenty of opportunity. Better catch a few more roughies before old man winter begins his push from the north.

Operation Brown Blizzard

Flows have been sky high due to the record precipitation in the region this winter. I didn't expect much from the day on the river, I just needed some fresh air. Air temps rose from a crispy 14°F and hovered just below the freezing mark with a slight breeze from the northwest. A dense icy fog burned off into full sun. Water was turbid so sight fishing was out of the question. Even with the adverse conditions, I was pleasantly surprised with day's objectives.

Fishing blind can be a low numbers game. Typically when faced with such a situation, you try to present yourself with the best possible odds. Being able to make out silhouettes of fish or schools of fish can work in your favor. Unfortunately, spring flows always result in water the consistency of a wheatgrass smoothie or chocolate milk: the odds are not in your favor. These days typically are low productivity days and can be quite frustrating when you can't seem to see or hook up with any fish. It pays to be optimistic.

I was fishing my 7/8 switch with 380 grain Beulah Elixir, and 7 wt spey with a Rio 520 grain AFS head. The switch caught most of the fish today as it was easier to pull in line on the drift. I was on the right bank, in tight with cover down stream and behind, with high water and heavy current coming at me, making it difficult to swing properly. I fished purple early on without much success. I was thinking silhouettes would work due to the high turbidity. I managed a bigmouth buffalo caught on a Men In Black but that was it for the dark nymph squadron.


I worked a size 8 sparkle yarn caddis pretty hard. Fish were more eager to take this offering. So far this has been one of the most productive early spring patterns. Fish must love the sparkle yarn.


The bonus catch of the day. This is the third greater redhorse I've caught in my life, my second on the fly. Some people spend their entire lives in pursuit of just one. I consider myself fortunate.



The greater redhorse is a species of management concern; it has little tolerance for pollution and siltation. This could possibly explain be why I've only managed to catch this species immediately downstream of a tailwater in an extremely silt-laden watershed. Long one of Minnesota's mystery fishes, the greater redhorse is truly a trophy catch.

Mission Accomplished.

The beast from the cold water

I hit the brownwater late last week. It was too warm for snowmobiling, so I grabbed the fly rods instead. Armed with a two hander and a pocket full of nymphs, I tied on a roughfisher swimming nymph, Men In Black version, and rigged up my backup singlehand rod with a Lucille. I found a huge school of fish stacked up in one pool; I kept on scouting to see what else I could find. Low and behold I stumbled across a pod of shorthead redhorse. I grabbed the singlehander, pinched a shot on to my leader, and tossed the red headed stepchild in to the riffle. After some finagling, I dredged up a shortie. Gottdamn these are some beautiful fish.


After landing the fish, I made my way back upstream to the large pod of fish. Along the way, my fat ass broke through the two foot deep crust of snow, smashing my knee on a large granite boulder. That sumbitch smarted. Hard. At least I had a badass battle wound to wear as a badge of courage. I put down the short stick and grabbed the two hander, rolling out a tight loop just outside the pod of fish. I worked the adjacent riffle and swang the MIB like a G-man. It didn't take long before I apprehended my next suspect.


After working the outskirts for a while and nabbing a few more delinquents, I moved in to the pod to interrogate a few targets. Objective completed.



Between the melee of wrasslin with them buffalo, I managed to hook up with a monsta carp. This fish was one of several I had my eye on over the past few years. During the cold water months, these behemoth fish would hold tight in the middle of a pack of fish, nearly impossible to detect that they were even in the pod. They would also take cover under ice shelves. Lucky for me, higher flows had receded the ice shelves near shore, eliminating any chance of cover for these fish. As I worked the pod blindly, I managed to catch the big fish off guard as it took my fly. After playing the fish for nearly 5 minutes, I struggled trying to land the fish that was hooked a mere 10-15 yards from me. As I tried to work the fish closer to shore, the hook pulled free, a major disappointment.

I worked a few different areas and reaches of stream, managing to catch quite a few buffalo. I didn't manage to catch any quillback or more redhorse, but that was okay. Anytime I can land over a dozen buffalo in a day is alright by me. Just about when I had my guard down, I hooked in to something big. This fish ran for the main channel and started taking line. I tightened up my drag as the fish headed down stream in the moderately heavy current. Knowing that if the fish ran too far I'd lose it, I pulled up on the rod to bring it up to the surface to turn it. I hoped the extra rod length would help protect the 2X tippet on this fish. I finally pumped this fish up and grabbed a glimpse of it's reddish-orange anal and tail fins. Carp! Not only a carp, but that carp: the carp I had hooked up with earlier.

I played this brute for damn near 10 minutes. It felt like an eternity. Everytime the fish neared shore, I was afraid of breaking the tippet, or worse, snapping my rod. That is the only pain in the ass with the two hander, it is hard to land a fish by yourself with the long rod. Beaching it wasn't an option since there was some sharp and jagged shore ice. I also proved to myself earlier in the day that I lacked the agility to float on the crust of deep snowpack. I finally tired the fish enough to net it. When I put my hands around the fish, I knew it was a mutha fuckin' beast! This was a John Montana caliber carp.


The fish looks tiny in comparison to the two hander. The other photo I have of the fish doesn't do a proper job of displaying the size of this beast. I had it measured from the butt end to the first rod guide, 34 inches. The fish had a huge gut, worthy of gaining entry to the Fat Guy Fly Fishing Hall of Shame. This fish was easily a 20 pounder; length/girth estimates also correlate with that range.

I was lucky to go the entire outing on the same two flies I had started out with. They easily caught a dozen and a half fish between the two of them. Maybe if I wasn't so chicken shit to throw some big meat out there I'd fish the clam. But it's hard to switch it up when you're swinging flies that are producing. I need to help break the notion that carp don't feed in cold water. That's complete and utter bullshit. It's obvious they do, but I've been safely hiding behind the nymphs. I need to tie on a Darth Clam and deep dredge that bad boy. I need to bust out the guns and play with the big boys.


Do you think we can ride? Yes we can!