Can a New Jersey wild trout make my month? | Quest for No. 1: Part III
Now all-too-frequent floods had this New Jersey trout stream running high.
With the days moving faster and faster, it was already late January and still I hadn't caught a single fish. I only needed one catch to keep my monthly streak alive, and push it to 11, one short of my full-year goal.
With the weekend approaching and high temps expected around 40 F, I decided to make a trek to the upper reaches of The River, the river in New Jersey where I primarily spend my time smallmouth fishing in the warmer months. But where I was going, no smallmouth swam. Instead, wild trout called it home, mostly wary browns whose ancestors were stocked back in the early 1900s.
RELATED: Skunking my way into the New Year on thin ice | Quest for No. 1 Part I
RELATED: This park (and this month) is full of skunks | Quest for No. 1 Part II
RELATED: Last-ditch, Hail Mary trip for winter stripers | Quest for No. 1 Part IV
RELATED: A fish of many firsts (and the first fish of 2024) | Quest for No. 1 Part V
The previous year I’d done a similar trip, on an even colder day, hoping to get an elusive February fish. I failed, but what I did learn is that it was a beautiful spot that beat sitting inside on the couch for another full day.
To my surprise, as I was suiting up in the parking lot, another angler ventured up to me, asking if I’d ever fished there, and if there were any deep pools. I told him that most of it was quite shallow, but historically heavy rains (which in recent years have pummeled New Jersey causing massive, repeated floods in the area) probably had the river high.
He thanked me and walked away, so I made my way down to the water, which at this spot meant pushing my way through dense swamp choked with briar patches for 100 yards.
The trek to this stream is short but treacherous.
The water was indeed high and very dirty for this section of the river. And my fly fishing skills were more rusty than I’d hoped. Much time was wasted liberating flies from trees and frequently changing flies. I mostly stuck with wooly buggers and hooper-dropper rigs. But nothing was biting.
And there were signs everywhere of just how high the water had gotten a few days before during the floods, which have become all too common in the region lately.
My favorite, though, was this “POSTED” sign washed up into the roots of a streamside tree.
This POSTED sign won’t disappoint adventurous anglers anymore.
After a few fruitless hours spent in the woods listening the to rushing water, I gave up and called it. My drought would not end this day.
Instead, I’d have to make one last trip on the second-to-last day of the month, and hope that somehow, some way I caught one single fish.
SONG OF THE TRIP
Check out more from Fishing On Fire with our social accounts below…