Dear Carp Gangsta,
I come to you with a problem. My homeboy XXX hails from XXX XXX. We’re good pals from back in the day when we used to fish for small troots here in XXX. XXX has since moved on and is an avid XXX steelheader. I, however, have lured him to the dark side. He’s been prowling the back waters around XXX looking for an urban fix.
Young jedi XXX has apparently figured out the first two critical steps in tricking a cyprinid: 1) he’s found fish, and 2) those fish are apparently eating.
Here is the issue: he’s explained a scenario that vexes me. He talks about a situation where he comes upon a back water slough of some sort where there is heavy grass or milfoil and the fish seem to be tail down, nose up…slurping and eating. I asked if they were sucking foam…nope. XXX has put a bunch of different patterns into the “zone” and they are indifferent. I asked if they were spawning – nope. Tail down, nose up, chuffing grass.
Any ideas to help a playa out? I haven’t seen this before. Think he’s on a pod of grass carp?
Please drop some science so we can help pop XXX’s carp cherry.
And now for the response…
Dear XXX XXX,
What your friend is observing is fish with IQs that exceed that of a Border Collie, and who, if they were not protected by the cover nearby this slough (which is quite obviously a bed of baby crayfish being guarded come dinnertime) would be acting more paranoid than talk radio’s Alex Jones.
No, your friend has not run into a pod of grass carp, as that species is more apt to be found cruising for surface fodder. Coming up with excuses for failure to hook Cyprinus carpio is more common than the cagey beast itself, but nice try anyway. Instead, he simply faces a problem every fly angler comes across when they begin their pursuit of the finest gamefish alive.
My recommendations are as follows…
Tell your friend to quit his job, and dump all his friends and loved ones. Avoid bathing more than once per week, and throw away every razor in the house. Begin a subsistence diet of 7-11 Quarter Pound Big Bites, Red Bull, and Blueberry Pop-Tarts. Send all rods, save a few six or seven weights, to my attention – include all reels with less than 200 yards of gel spun capacity, and all flies smaller than size 8. Cut teeth day in and day out like Don Quixote himself, and don’t miss a single psychotherapy appointment.
Should Mr. XXX follow this advice, he should be catching those fish in no time.
MG signing off (to be the happy helperton)