The fish should have been in shallow but they weren’t. I asked the old European man with the carp bells on his rod tips about the situation. “The stocking trucks came this week,” he said. The carp wanted nothing to do with this.
The lake has several access points along the shore where the growth has been cleared or the hiking path bends close to the water. Fishermen had stationed themselves shoulder to shoulder bombing fluttering spoons out beyond the drop-off. A few placed plastic buckets behind them in the dirt. One walked by and held up a stringer dangling three perfectly proportioned 12-inch rainbow trout. “I caught 70,” he said with a wink. Three is what you can keep.
I’ll chop ya up and put you inside the mattress like drug money.” –Jay-Z
Three carp were mudding under the overhang of a willow tree. Nobody else ever fishes this creek that ambles slowly through a park in disrepair. The section above the concrete waterfall is overrun with Canadian geese.
I caught only one fish here last year. The fish shouldn’t be as wary but they are always on high alert. It took me two years of trying to catch my first carp on the fly and I don’t want to wait another two. I sat and watched, trying to bring down my heart rate before I acted in a rushed manner.
The large green rock behind the carp started moving. A pointed beakish face emerged on an elongated neck and opened up its pinkish mouth. It accelerated and banked as the smallest carp tried to escape, and then it rolled. The water boiled over in a froth of mud, scales and red, and I knew my first carp of 2012 would have to wait.