If you read my last post about the massive fish kill in Fla. because of the extremely cold weather I have some good news and a story right out of any one of the numerous fishing books I have read.
Yesterday, I was surveying the different fishing locations I have discoverd in the last several weeks. The water has warmed with the more typical Fla. January weather and the fish have turned back on. Last weekend at the Fort Pierce jetty I hooked up with 15 or so bluefish who had trapped massive schools of mullet against the rocks. They were not Jersey size but between 2-4 lbs., great fun on my 7 wt. And last Monday, after getting kicked off of a private lagoon by one of Vero’s finest I waded the flats aroud Bear Island Park and caught 4 Jacks, a nice 25″ trout and a tough 5 lb. blue that almost took me into my backing. But back to yesterday…I was using my new 10 ft., 8 wt. Loomis with my new Orvis large arbor reel which I had just received in the mail. The four spots I had checked were dead so I was not at all optomistic when I pulled into Round Island Park, on the Indian River. This was where I had caught all the snook and my first and only previous redfish, before the cold front did all the damage. As I waded towards my hotspot, to see if any fish had returned to the area, I cast to my right into the boat channel with my small clouser. On the 4th or 5th cast I hooked and landed a nice, 20″ spotted trout. (I now carry a tape measure with me as I don’t get great pictures fishing/wading alone but measurements are easy.) I was still 40-50 ft. away from the bank I was slowly and quietly shuffling my way towards when I saw what appeared to be several large fish, slowly swimming to my left. I froze in place, pulled off some more line and threw a short cast in front of the lead fish. I picked up, stripped off a few more feet and placed a cast of the perfect distance 4 feet in front of the lead fish. When he got close I hopped/short stripped a few times and the fish followed my clouser for several feet but then turned back towards the bank and joined the pack. I picked up and cast again, this time a few feet in front of the next fish. Same strip, hop… hop… and then the fish turned to the fly, accelerated and my line went tight; fish on!! I lifted my rod and felt an enormous weight on the line as the big redfish turned to the bank and then towards a small island to my right. It was all I could do to turn this red at each attempt to break me off and I knew for sure that if he got to the mangroves or the island I was done for. I was really glad I had the larger rod and stronger reel and that I had just put on a new abrasion resistent leader, although I wish it was more than 12# tippet! I took my time and carefully got the fish on the reel after burning/cutting my finger several times by pulling on the fly line and after checking the drag to insure it was not set too tight. No mistakes so far. That red did not tire for what seemed like 20 minutes, (probably 5) and made several more attempts to get into the wood. What I had read about reds was true, though, that when hooked, unless the leader breaks, the hook usually holds in the strong rubbery mouth and that is what happened. I finally pulled him close and trapped him against my leg and measured this brute, 32 inches and so fat around the middle I had to tail him to hold him to get the fly out. I estimate the wt. between 8-10 lbs. After holding him in the water to give us both a breather, he splashed me goodbye with a swipe of his tail with the one huge black spot. Finally, 10 minutes later I hooked about a 14″ snook who jumped twice, the second time right into the mangroves and broke me off on his razor sharp mouth. So close to a grand slam, all within 90 minutes!
So, despite the fact that we lost thousands of quality game fish because of the cold, the fishing is still good down here. If you can break away or are going to be in the area bring your rods and waders and I’ll share some of my spots.
ps. I fished with a neighbor in his boat today- caught a ton of ladyfish and one trout. Came home, ate something and where do you suppose I went? Yes, right back to Round Island, at the same time, 4pm, as today’s weather was similar to yesterday. No reds, no snook but caught 5 small trout. Next- tarpon and bonefish. Tight lines.

I arrived at our home in Vero Beach, Florida on December 21, suffering a bad case of cabin fever, also called, “I need to get out and go fishing”. Spring in the Catskills had been awesome, I fished Utah and Montana with Lee Hartman, I enjoyed some good nymph fishing in Central Pa., the fall had been good to me on the Salmon River, the blues had been hitting really well all summer and the stripers cooperated a bit with me in November or December. All and all a very exciting and adventuresome year to this point.
With all of the obligatory family visits, tons of eating and business to attend to I did not get out fishing till Dec. 27th, before the cold front hit. I typically wade the Indian River in several different spots and I hit a few of those locations picking up a few small sea trout, small jacks and a ladyfish or two. The next day I went out with a guide who I have fished with before and we had a poor day of fishing; I caught two small (12″) trout, one pompano and a salt water catfish. We did spend over an hour and a half trying to get several large, (18″-28″estimated size) trout and redfish to eat anything we threw at them… to no avail.
The next day, with the temperatures slowly but steadily dropping, I drove to Round Island to an area I had discovered and fished, with success, last July. I had consistently caught 8″-12″ snook there, always at least 6, on small Clousers. I was not optomistic because of the cold temps but that changed when on my third cast I hooked and landed the first snook of the day. That was followed during the next two hours by at least a dozen more! The size also was impressive. The 8″-12″ snook were now all over 12″ and up to 18″!!!! Boy, can they pull on a 7 wt. fly rod. The tough thing is that they hang on the mangrove edges and as soon as they feel the steel they try to get into the roots. And because you are casting towards the mangroves and stripping line you never get thse strong speedsters on the reel, you are fighing them by hand. Additionally, in the past I had only found these snook in one small area but on this day as I moved along the shoreline I found what I was seeking- more holding/ambush points. I was in fisherman’s heaven. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better they did. In the midst of this snookfest I caught and released my first ever redfish, one of the other prime, highly prized fish of the coast.
It was the best of times!!!
Then the cold wave hit.. and got worse.. and colder.. and colder. We were in the grips of the coldest and longest cold spell in the history of the area and when I went to Round Island to look at the water and see what was happening to the Manatees because of the cold, I was shocked and DEVASTATED! There were no manatees in the cove but the surface and the bottom of the water were littered with the bodies of dead and dying snook; my snook. I did not know at the time but was told by the other mourners who were there to witness this catastrophe that snook are a tropical fish and are the first to die if the water gets too cold. I saw a many, many small snook, dozens of dead snook that were over 15 inches and I was blown away. I saw several that were over 25″ and saw one, just under the dock in two feet of water, that had a head as big as a small dog, shoulders like a linebacker and was estimated by several of us to be at least 9 pounds!
It was the worst of times.
I do not know how long this fishing will take to rebound but I’ll keep you posted. I had my camera and would have taken and posted a photo of the monster if I could have pulled it onto the shore but we were warned to not even attempt to move or touch these fish as the fine is very heavy and enforced; that is a good thing. I’ll try to get the picture out of my mind.
Finally, before I go I wanted to report that the trip out West was great this year but not long enough. I would love to go out again this year with some Louts so if anyone is interested send me an e-mail. If you are going to be on the east coast of Fla. near Vero, look me up.
Tight lines, Glenn
glenn.kamp@wmtps.org

This year’s PA deer season was a very special one for yours truly. It began with snow covered ground, a bonus for seeing deer in the dense forest. I climbed into my stand long before dark to allow the woods to settle down.

Shortly after first light (~ 7 am), three deer snuck through the top of the Hemlock swamp below my stand. Quickly finding them in my binoculars, I could not make out any antlers and watched as they passed through the thick beech trees below my stand. It is always exciting to see the first deer of the season and my stand typically does not see deer that early. I thought to myself, this is going to be a special day! We had seen some real bruisers during bow and small game season and each of our 11 hunters in camp were hoping that one of these big boys would show themselves. Little did we know what the day would provide Camp Yellow Snow…

About a half hour later while looking off to my west, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. As I slowly turned towards that movement, I saw a large buck step out of the thick beeches and right into my cleared shooting lane - a mere 35 yards away. Surprised that he had snuck up on my so quietly, I quickly got my rifle into position, took the safety off and took aim. BANG barked the big 7 mm Rem Mag and off he went. Did I make a good shot? That deer bolted at the shot and I wasn’t sure, but I knew at that range without branches in my way that my bullet should have flown true. I quickly chambered another round and swung the gun towards my running deer. Just as the scope swung to his path, I could see that I had, indeed, hit him hard. But with the thick beech trees still holding their brown leaves, I could not see him well as he piled up in the snow about 40 yards past where I had shot at him. Giving him 10 minutes to be certain, I unloaded the gun and lowered it and my backpack to the ground and climbed down from my stand, all the while shaking with excitement. In the heat of the moment, I realized that I had no idea just how big he was, I hadn’t needed to take the time to count antler points - I just knew he was the largest deer of my life to date.

Walking to where I had taken the shot I found his track.
Did I hit him? I must have, after all, he went down in the thick trees. There was no blood at that scene, so I began to track him, finding this in the snow…

That’s what I thought! A lung shot and a good one!!! Tracking in the snow was quite easy and I quickly recovered my 10 point buck - the largest taken to date in some 40 years of hunting at Camp Yellow Snow (I’ve hunted that camp for about the past 26 years). Later on that same day my buddy Dave shot another monster. This one an eight point buck. Two of our other hunters were also lucky enough to take legal bucks and all 11 of our hunters saw bucks, although many of those were too young to take given PA’s 3 points per side antler restrictions. Should be plenty of young bucks around for the future!

As November winds down, I’ve had the good fortune to dine, fish or speak with many of the Louts recently. By far the most interesting day on the water for yours truly was last week when Glenn Kamp and I met up along the Jersey beaches to fish for stripers and blues. With strong westerlies, the fish were too far offshore for our tackle but we were amazed to see a whale feeding in the shallows merely 100 yards or closer at times to the beach! I wish I had a fancy camera with me instead of my point and shoot, but here is a photo from that day.

On Monday of this week, Louts Kamp (can you tell he’s recently retired???) and Axt met me down at Sandy Hook for another attempt. This time the wind was strong out of the SW and we did not see any bait nor bass. Leaving early to get some real work done, I was surprised to hear from Glenn later that night that things picked up considerably after Rick and I left. First were the hickory shad, fun but not what you came for, and later stripers. I guess it pays to stay until dark…

I was full of excitement, anticipation, and, yes, some trepidation as I thought about Doc’s arrival a few Thursday afternoons ago, on the Salmon River. I had arrived the previous Sunday. The King Salmon had predominated the catch for the previous 5 days (not a bad thing) with a few Coho’s and steelies tossed into the mix for variety. The flow had dropped steadily from 800cfm, high but fishable, to a perfect 400. The weather had been amazing with the promise of continued more of the same, so why the trepidation? Simple- I had talked about my previous trips and had shown pictures of last year’s amazing fishing and now I had invited fellow Louts, and Doc decided to join me. I wanted him to have the trip of a lifetime without even leaving NY state. You all know the feeling of setting up a trip and praying it would live up to expectations. Well this one did as you can see from his post and the representitive photos.

We fished hard every day, drank a bit each night and ate 5 nights in a row at a great steakhouse that we could walk to. Life does not get much better than that. After catching a lot of Kings for the previous 5 days I had the freedom to move around and try different spots and tactics. That is when I found a lie under a fallen log where georgous Brown trout loved to rest and hide out. Doc and I also enjoyed amazing runs of Coho’s. These may be my favorite fish in the river; they grow large, absolutely attack the right fly, go crazy like the steelies do when hooked, and are beautiful!! Then you have the steelhead. What can I say about them that you don’t already know except that this trip proves you do not have to freeze your ass off in horrible conditions to catch these fish. My sources, those people I talk to, tell me that during the last weeks in Oct. and part of Nov. the kings are gone and leave behind a river full of browns and steelies. The upper fly zone, which Doc and I did not even explore is supposed to be great for this type of fishing and a lot of the crowds leave with the Kings. I’m going to watch the weather and try to get back up for a couple of days.

This is a trip worth looking into although I can not promise the same outstanding fishing or weather. The drink and food are easier to predict and the company will always be great. I have remarked to people who have suffered through my fish photos that if we had spent thousands of dollars in say, Alaska, and had the chance to catch 4 distinct species, of the quality and quantity we did, while enjoying glorious weather and great food we would have felt we got our money’s worth!! All within driving distance and about $50 per night per man for a decent room.

Doc and I have a room reserved for next year and if you are interested call me. The Portly Angler, the largest hotel in the area, where I usually stay is purportedly sold and will likely be closing, so hotel rooms for prime time can be hard to come by. I’ll have some suggestions for you. Glenn

    You don’t have to die - though your casting arm will feel like it did - to go to “Lout Heaven” on the Salmon River in Pulaski, NY. Unlike recent other Lout trips afield which have produced prodigious e-banter but nary a Trout Lout site post, allow me to provide appropriate fish-porn and commentary in hopes of promoting a second yearly Lout venture in future Octobers.

    Glen Kamp had already staked out the Salmon River for five days when I arrived. The fact that the gin bottle was untouched, yet the Alleve bottle nearly empty and spools of medical tape littered the hotel room floor was the first give-away: This was gonna be fun (Editorial note: The gin, and in my case vodka, oversight was quickly remedied with nightly generous celebratory Lout cocktails before ravenous consumption of various meat products after long days on the river).

     Glen has generously dubbed me ‘Steelhead King” in honor of ten steelies in one day in the Douglaston Salmon Reserve, along with another dozen or so during the rest of our five days on the no kill fly stretch of the Salmon River in Altmar. Despite five or six monster Kings (which were first-ever’s for me) I humbly report that Glen has apparently dedicated his retirement years to becoming one-with-the-salmonoids. That man can hook (and land!) salmon: Kings & Cohos alike. In between we managed to do our fair share of damage to monster browns as well. (and, ahem, one creek chub keeping the Lout tradition of honoring the bottom-feeder alive). The attached photos are just a few of the fish we brought to justice. Fair to say the average day saw us each with 25-30 hookups and maybe a dozen landed. The fall weather was truly remarkable and watching the behemoth salmon jump, smash and rise again all day was a sight and sound which will haunt my dreams (hopefully replacing the existing recurring screaming, sweating nightmare of watching DeBie deposit my new $600 rod combo overboard some years back… but I digress).

    Here’s the new Lout Heaven formula: Sleep in till 830, grab breakfast, stuff pockets with apples, bananas, candy bars and the like and drive to the river. Hike in, set up, unsheathe your 7-10 wt., tie on one of those pansy mini-swivels at the end of your leader, add 47 7/8″ of 10# fluorocarbon tippet and the trout/salmon candy of your choice and start the party! (For those keeping score, flies of choice were SMALL: dark stone-fly, golden stone-fly, single salmon eggs, anything glittery and pink, beaded hair’s ears with a touch of green, and then anything small and black that was still in your box at the end of the day. Figure on losing 30 flies a day, easy. I’ll also admit to using a rather large pink-salmon-egg-sucking white leech (in honor of Joe Schmidt’s “Goat Dick” lure story) in the midst of a ferocious autumn-leaf blitz that left the water saturated with multicolored yellow/red leaves … I’ll admit to it ‘cuz you’ll see it hanging off my rod next to the photo of the monster male king which whacked the shit out of it, thereby making me look brilliant.

    Deep riffs and fast water were generally the key, though slow pools and some sight fishing also prevailed at times. While Doc honed into one of six or seven favorite spots and figured out every possible sang in each, Glen “I should run for office” Kamp wandered the entire river, met and personally interviewed every angler, and fished every square inch of water … usually to return to “the glen” just before the hatchery where he personally discovered and decimated a holding pod of browns nearly every day. (Note to Brian “Float King” Cowden: The man didn’t teach English back in the day as an accident, he can TALK).

    What say you Louts? Anyone up for a return next fall?

As night fell on Loutsville and engraved whisky glasses rang hollow-but-well-used, you could hear the far-away cries of the Whip-poor-will, warbling its woeful song amidst some dusky Frangipani…

At night’s end, was there a dry eye to be found? (No Brian, that’s “eye,” not “fly”.) I think all would agree that the quiet comforts of a well-made fire, a few boon and fish-fragrant companions, a flagon of sturdy malt to beat back the evening chill, the pleasingly obvious arc of an oft-told joke, and one of those decent bow-ties that doesn’t require much knowledge of knots, yes, those are the very essence of masculine amusement! Hooray! Here’s to 2009!

As in the previous post in this series, no excess is too much on Turkey Night, and the gents turned out in their best campfire attire. Tell me truly, fellas… Has the Group Sing-a-long ever sounded better?

More to follow!

The Louts went fishing again during Bug Week 2008 and definitely raised the bar a notch or two in the hospitality department.

More to follow!

On a rainy, frustrating day that crushed spirits all up and down the river, my boat buddy Glenn Kamp conjured up a rarity: this 20″ Delaware River tarpon. It tail-danced like a rainbow, tossed its big, bullet-head like an alpha-male brown trout with ‘roid rage, and generally resisted capture for as long as the wily pescador would indulge it.

Eventually, Glenn boated that bad boy and I had a sudden flashback to 1948 and Guyaberra, Cuba, on a morning me and Old Hemm were knocking back rum jumbies and talking horses when a big, dark critter torpedoed up just off the playa. It snapped Hemm right off at the outrigger and then turned on my kona-head like a slashing, water-borne she-devil in heat. As I fought back my breakfast and bent into the rod, Hemm’s little Maccaca striker mate danced around the gunnels, pointing and screaming “Tar-poon! Tar-poon!” in that sing-song accent the boys all affect when you’ve got a fish-on and they know you’re the Paying Customer.

Hemm never paid, the bastard.

No wait. Maybe I read that somewhere. Anyway, Glenn’s as good in a boat as the old man ever was.