Outdoors
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I prefer river fishing to pond fishing. I would rather wade than fish from a boat (much less from a float tube), all things being equal.
That said, I very much enjoy fishing from a drift boat and have floated the West Branch, the East Outlet and the Upper Connecticut, as well as the Yellowstone and the Madison. Of course, when drifting a river, you are usually using floating line, setting and forgetting an indicator rig, or better yet, throwing dry flies.
What I abhor is sitting in a canoe for three hours “casting the clock” with sinking lines, counting down, then strip, strip, stripping, as the faint hope that a trout will actually latch on to your offering diminishes with every cast. The dull pain which materializes between my shoulder blades after about half an hour of trying to make long casts while maintaining “canoe posture” is just an added bonus.
I find myself in this position from time to time only because my fishing partner, Robert — an intelligent individual who displays no other sadomasochistic tendencies — seems to like this type of fishing. I participate in furtherance of our fishing partnership.
Robert, for example, is not a big fan of the Lower Magalloway River. He just does not have good luck there, with one very conspicuous exception. Yet he jumps onboard, mostly without complaint, when I want to fish Mailbox Pool. In exchange, I am willing to endure, at least in small doses, the canoe fishing he inexplicably enjoys.
Actual experts like Lou Zambello and Dave Klausemeyer extol the virtues of throwing woolly buggers, dragonfly nymphs and leeches on sinking lines when fishing brook trout ponds. I have no doubt that is good advice. But the cast, wait, wait some more, just 20 seconds more, now strip, protocol is just not my vibe.
A brook trout caught at Profile Lake in New Hampshire during an evening of dry-fly fishing with one of the author’s “usual” flies. Credit: Marc McDonald
Despite my preference for moving waters, there is one time when I am all-in on pond fishing, even if I need to be boat-bound to do it: mid- to late June and early July evenings, when dry fly fishing peaks on still waters.
Arriving at a trout pond when the surface is boiling with rises is about as good as it gets for a fly fisher. Even when the rises are sporadic, so long as there is reason to believe the brookies are looking up, I will give it a shot.
I tend to fish ponds around Franconia Notch, New Hampshire, including Profile and Echo lakes, as well as waters near Pittsburg, New Hampshire, and in the Rangeley region of Maine.
So what flies does this nonexpert pond fisherman reach for when the brookies start rising?
More often than not, I find myself pulling a size 16 parachute cinnamon ant from my fly box.
A guide in Montana introduced me to the pattern while I was fishing Armstrong Spring Creek. The crystal-clear, slow-moving water certainly presented a challenge for this New England angler. So I was surprised when my guide, Jeff, handed me an ant with a bright pink post and chartreuse wings.
It seemed a bit ostentatious for those fussy spring-creek trout. But the garish features did not put off the two 12- or 13-inch rainbows I caught on that pattern — my only fish of the morning. I fished the most ruffled stretch of water I could find. I had no hope of hooking up on the smooth-as-glass sections of the creek. I left that to the adults.
The author has found yellow Hornberg patterns, left, particularly effective on trout ponds, especially in sizes 12 and 14. A parachute ant pattern, right, has become one of the author’s most reliable flies during pre-hatch periods and when only occasional trout rises dot the surface. Credit: Credit: Marc McDonald
Brook trout definitely like the profile. This fly has caught me plenty of trout in New Hampshire and Maine during pre-hatch periods and when only occasional rises dot the surface.
The second fly is a bit unusual — though it is called the Usual.
It is a pattern from Fran Betters, the late, great Adirondack fly tier. The fly looks messy and a bit ridiculous. Made of little more than thread and snowshoe hare fur, it allows the bright orange underbody to show through, creating a translucence that brook trout seem to find appealing.
While the original pattern called for bright orange thread, I sometimes use bright pink, which can be equally effective.
I don’t make a habit of catching 20 to 30 trout a day on either moving water or ponds. But a couple of years ago, the Usual produced back-to-back evenings of more than 25 trout on a White Mountain pond.
It floats surprisingly well for a fly with no hackle and continues to draw strikes even after it sinks. I am not really sure what possessed me to tie some of these up and actually fish them, but I am glad I did.
Next is the Royal Wulff, an old standard that still gets the job done. I tie mine with pink or chartreuse poly-yarn wings rather than calf tail because they are highly visible on the water.
A parachute Light Cahill in sizes 12 to 14 is useful for matching the larger pale-bodied mayflies common in early summer, as is a tan, olive or orange Elk Hair Caddis.
Yes, I know about the Hex hatch. I do not have much luck catching it — quite possibly because I get off the water before zero dark thirty.
The Royal Wulff, left, is a longtime favorite dry fly that still earns a place in the author’s trout pond fly box each summer. The versatile Hornberg, right, can be fished as a dry fly, wet fly or streamer. Credit: Marc McDonald
Finally, I would feel naked without a few Hornbergs in sizes 10 to 14 if I am fishing northern New England waters.
The Hornberg defies categorization. I have caught countless fish on this odd-looking fly, distinguished by its full hackle and paired mallard flank feathers. It can be fished as a dry fly, swung as a wet fly or retrieved as a streamer, with equally happy results. Various writers have theorized that trout take it for mayflies, caddis, dragonflies or baitfish.
Who knows? All I care about is that they work.
I remember going to Libby’s Camps in northern Maine about 30 years ago and fishing a small stream near the camp when a sudden rain raised the water level. Fishing a natural-colored Hornberg on the swing, I got hit after hit.
The fact that the brown hackle feather became detached and trailed along the side of the fly had no adverse effect. Nor did the fact that minutes later the remaining grizzly hackle suffered the same fate. It was about the best half-hour of fishing I have ever experienced.
On ponds, I have had particularly good luck with natural and yellow Hornbergs, usually in sizes 12 and 14.
The classic Hornberg includes a slip of jungle cock along each side of the fly. Some anglers swear it is essential, while others view it as little more than decoration for the benefit of fishermen.
The jungle-cock version certainly looks classier. I have caught fish on both styles and have conducted no empirical study regarding which works better. That sounds like too much work.
