Redfishing in Louisiana, Part 1

I wasn’t sure what I should have playing as I crossed over into the state of Popeye’s chicken, SEC football, and the “Who ‘dat” nation, but I was pretty sure it should have been creole. I settled for Lyle Lovett.

And I can’t claim that I drove without a sense of foreboding. We Yoders have a curse of sorts. When the fish gods hear we’re headed out for a trip, they find some way to conjure up unnatural winds and rain; anything to wreck a fly cast. And it was no different as I headed to see my famous fly guiding brother, Dave Yoder. He had begun exploring and offering fishing trips in the Louisiana Gulf region near New Orleans a few years ago, and this was my first chance since completing my graduate work (that’s right, it’s “Dr. unemployed” to you!) to spend some time on a flats boat with my big brother.

I arrived late on the Sunday after thanksgiving with the slight hope that the clouds dropping rain outside would pass, and that the cold front being predicted to follow would get tired and stop. Alas, I was wrong.

We awoke to a first day of fishing filled with constant 30 mph gusts and rain. I don’t believe either of our bodies warmed after the initial 40ish minutes ride to Dave’s not-so-secret spots. He had just finished filming an episode of Getting Guided the week previous, and I suppose this was just get backs for all the success they had.

My casting has never been the strong part of my fly-fishing game; I tend to rely on prayers. And the gusting that day was something that even a few words to the Lord couldn’t lift. So I was relegated to flinging a “Cajun Thunder” cork indicator with some Gulp attached to a jig. From one side of the boat the sound of a rod stressing under the weight of a cast could be heard along with a monster-truck like cry of “Thunder.” From the other side, another cast and scream of “Gulp.” Yet even our siren songs and cat-calls couldn’t convince the redfish we were serious. The only thing we were catching was a cold.

So, we sat and yelled. We ate for warmth. And we hoped, with a fading hope. It took one cast, and the uncontrollable urge of a large redfish for my thunder cork to drop under the water. And with a strong reel, he was on.

That one catch was enough. We had a greater desire to regain our normal body temperatures than discover if another fish was lurking nearby, and we packed up and motored away.

The next morning was clear and sunny. But the wind had decided to stick around.  Yet I was there to fly fish, so we broke out the rod and I went at it. To give an idea about the wind, it caused such an extreme low tide that we both feared we might not make it back through the canal that led back to the drop in marina.

Nevertheless, we fished. And I missed countless, I mean countless, redfish. One after the other. And even though they would be spooked only momentarily (unlike our boney friends down in the Keys) I was still quite unsuccessful. Ok, not completely unsuccessful. We landed three average sized reds that day, but I missed my chance with several 20+ pound versions.

It was, when all is said and done, a success. I came, I saw, I froze, I caught. All because I have a brother who knows his business. Merry Christmas, Davey.

Fly fishing in Germany, Part 13 - The Ilm River (Weimar)

I made one last fishing trip before I packed up the bags (mostly filled with books) and headed back to the motherland. There were a few options, but it needed to be pretty close to Halle. So, I decided to head down to Weimar and fish the Ilm River. It’s a decent sized river that runs directly through the city, and like Erfurt (Gera River) has a good representation of brown trout.

An hour on the train and I jumped off in the city of Goethe and Schiller – but I wasn’t in the mood for poetry. You can get an Erlaubnisschein (permission form) from the Zoomarkt which is located almost directly behind the train station. But to get there you need to walk underneath the tracks, enjoying the beauties of artwork from a formerly communist country, and make a right on Rießner Straße. They store is located in a large yellow building.

The form cost 20 Euros (expensive), which would have been cut in half had I belonged to a fishing club. Ah the benefits of being a part of the gang. They also nickel-and-dimed me for a self addressed, stamped postcard to report what fish I caught. Whatever. I’ll probably use the stamp to send a note to someone…. who cares.

The one thing I regret most of all from the whole trip was leaving my bike behind. From the train station to the bottom portion of the river, below the city park where it enters into Weimar, it took me a solid 45 minutes. It might have been just as productive, and easier to reach, if I had tried the section of the river that exits the city, but hindsight is always 20/20.

Anyways, I made it down to a section of the river about 100 yards beyond the Bienenmuseum (Bee Museum) and began fishing below a small spill-over dam. It didn’t take long before my Royal Wulff weight a bit more than usual. The section surrounding the museum, if you can get to it, was relatively successful. I believe I pulled five decent sized browns out of the section, and could have had a lot more, if I wasn’t concerned about time.

Being mindful that I needed to catch the train back to Halle, I started walking downstream, throwing a Woolly Bugger in the deep, slow moving sections of the river. [The Ilm, like a lot of German rivers had been dug out near and in the city. City dwellers of an earlier time would use the river to transport things, and so it resembles more of a channel than a river.]

Toward the end of the excursion I had strikes and hook-ups with two relatively large trout. The first rolled off my streamer and the second I played like a bad bluegrass song. I left the river pretty aggravated that the last one got away. I was situated in a great pool situated right under the "Romisches Haus" in the park.  I guess I was too worried about what it would look like on film, and not enough with the amount of freedom I was giving the fish to do its thing. Oh well.

 The truth is, the Ilm is not very pleasant to fish in Weimar, but I am certain there are some large fish hanging out in the deeper sections. It looks like the section in Bad Berka is much more to my liking, but it was virtually impossible to get in touch with the club in charge of that section. So, with that, I am headed back to the land of good bluegrass music and great BBQ.

Fly Fishing in Germany Part 12: the Schwarza River (Thueringen)

Living on the tenth floor of an old communist apartment building has its benefits: the earliest glimmers of a German sunrise feel like they pierce my window first. And when I need to get up and out of the house by 6:45am, I can’t imagine a better alarm clock. This weekend my destination was a section of the Schwarza River that runs between the small Thüringen towns of Unterweißbach and Bad Blankenburg. I had scoped out pictures of the river on the fly fishing forum for Thüringen, and when the clock struck 12am May 1, 2011 (open season for trout) it was to be the first water I tried.

After a few hours on the train, I ran into my fishing partner for the weekend, Guido, waiting for me at the station where we were both supposed to transfer onto the same train. We would travel another thirty-or-so minutes before we’d reach our destination.

The “dorf” of Unterweißbach isn’t more than a blink of the eye, but you begin to notice more and more of it when you have to walk through the town a couple of times. I might not have noticed the graveyard or the swimming pool hidden behind the trees and houses, if we had not been on an hour-long hunt for coveted Erlaubnisschein. [Remember, in Germany you’ll always need both a fishing license and a permission form for each body of water you fish. They can usually be gotten from the local fishing club, and a good place to start when you don’t know who to contact or where to go is the tourist stop or a local hotel.]

We ended up getting a map from a (farmers) museum in Sitzendorf and making our way slowly up to Forellenzucht, a small fishery, which is situated at the top of the river open to fishing. The permission form was relatively cheap, 10 Euros per day, so we decided to go ahead and purchase a two day’er to fish between Forellenzucht and the “Schweizerhaus” [not so sure about the spelling] a few kilometers below Schwarzburg. [To fish below the Schweizerhaus” you’ll have to get an Erlaubnis from someone in Bad Blankenburg.]

After getting our gear together, enjoying some Knackwurst and granola, we hit the first hole… one that’ll probably get fished to death before the season is over. Luckily, it was May 1st, and there were still a few trout that had a yearning to taste a hook or two. I pulled a nice-sized brown out of the section before we decided to head downstream.

About three-fourths a kilometer downstream we hit what appeared to be an unnaturally formed section of the river; a series of steps of rocks which formed some deep pocket water. I floated a Royal Wulff through a picture perfect seam in the water and can’t recall how many strikes from larger fish I received. I greeted a few of them with my net before remembering that we had a lot water to cover before we could call it an evening. …so, we moved on.

Unfortunately, after that short section of pocket water, the river became relatively “dead”. The trout were there, and I caught a few more, but it was nothing like that brief section just below Forellenzucht. [Why are the fish always congregated around the fishery anyways?]

That caused a little fear. What would tomorrow hold? We’d paid for two days on the river, and if the lower section remained as unproductive as the section around Unterweißbach (note, Forellenzucht is situated a little ways above the town) we’d be a little ticked.

We called it an evening once we reached Schwarzburg, and made our way to Pension Friedrichsthal, where we dropped off our bags and prepared ourselves for what can only be described as a time warp. One thing to be noted about small, former East German towns: they really, really liked/like the eighties. Granted, you could experience the same thing in a small North Carolina town, but it’s hard to perfectly describe the culture that exists in these small German towns that are still rooted in their former cold-war ways and yet still long for the “west”. So, next time you’re in Schwarzburg, head up to the Weißer Hirsch, and say hi to Elvis for me (or don’t, there are probably much better places to eat). Aside from all this, it must be said that the town is beautiful (a former East German hotspot that’s fallen on hard times since the unification), and the pension was amazing: inexpensive, good facilities, a nice view, and a tremendous breakfast.

We saw off our friend Andrew, who came down from Gotha to take in the night life, and decided to walk down to the end of our allotted section of river, the Schweizerhaus, before fishing back up to Schwarzburg. The fishing was great, the closer you got to the Schweizerhaus. I can imagine it only gets better the closer you get down to Bad Blankenburg, especially since that section is a wade-free section. I tied on some attractors, a Wulff and Adams, and pulled trout after trout out of the river.

…but there’s always that one. The one you’ll remember from the trip. It’s not always its size that makes the catch memorable; it might simply be the take. For me it was the situation and the take. As Guido and I were walking downstream, I noted a section of the river which ran along a stone wall. It would be by far the most productive section for me, and it’s also where I met Herbert. Herbert was holding up against the wall, and once I saw him, I had to have him. It only took one cast (and that’s not usually the case) and I was able to get a decent drift right over him. But his take was a beautiful one: a nice, subtle tilt of the head, lips barely breaking the surface; and boom. He was on, and I was smiling. Like most trout, he wasn’t astoundingly big, but he was fat and healthy. And, well, he made my trip. Thanks Herbert.

So, make your way to the Schwarza. And try to teach the Germans a thing or two about catch-and-release.

Fly Fishing in Germany Part 11: The Gera River Erfurt and "schonzeit"

Ok, it's a week away from the first day of spring fishing.  The protected period on trout will be lifted and anglers are allowed to take home the trout they catch.  Bad news for the trout, good news for anglers.

But this also affords me the opportunity to clarify "schonzeit".  I was under the assumption that once a fish was protected in the river, then the whole river was closed down.  Not so.  The key is (especially if you want to continue trout fishing in the winter) is finding rivers that have one type of fish that is not protected during the winter period, in which trout are untouchable.  The presence of such a fish (for instance "Bachsaibling") would then allow you to also fish for trout.... unintentionally, of course.   And every trout you catch must be returned to the river, and for a conservationist like myself that's music to my ears.

Here is a video I shot this past weekend.  My hope is to fish the Schwarza River and maybe the Saale in two weeks.  But I need to get my license and secure an Erlaubnis.  Expect a blog post on the adventure.

New website!

Folks, my brother's website is up and running! He's one of the best fly fishing guides in the Florida Keys, so if you are interested in heading there, get in contact with him.

Salt Water Fly Guide

or you can follow him on facebook

A video to pass the time

I am waiting for the trout season to start up again in Germany, but I thought I would share with you a video that made me crack up laughing in the library.

Fly fishing in Germany, Part 10 - The Isar in Muenhen (Munich)

Ok, so I didn't actually fish the Isar... I drank Bavarian beer.  But I did make this for you:



I question whether the fish were bumping up against the support for food or whether it was for some other reason (suggestions?) but I don't question their size.  Big!

Oh, here is a German fishing magazine:
http://www.hook-magazin.de/