Comments (0)

By Sean Fenner, August 26, 2010

One of the U.K.’s biggest Carp “Two Tone” dies and not only does he get stuffed and donated to the Natural History Museum. He also gets a plaque at the lake where he resided, getting big and fat off of bait all those years. Man, they treat those Carp good in Europe! I guess things are just a little different over there.

“Service held in memory of Kent’s giant carp”

Comments (1)

By Sean Fenner, May 15, 2010

Fly Fishing for Carp at times ranks very high on the roughest days that I have had on the water, and this day was no different. I sight casted at this one Carp for about 20 minutes and he finally bit flailing around like no Xarp I had ever seen. We Struggled back and forth as he pulled out line and I tried desperately to reel it back in, seeing the backing 4 times within about 10 minutes. Finally he had started to tire out and to the surface he came. Not a huge Carp about 10-12 pounds, but on the 5 Weight he felt big and the stamina was incredible. I swooped in for the catch and as soon as I grabbed him he came to life snapped my line and that was the end of it. In shock I headed back to the truck pulled the tailgate down and sat there thinking about what I had done wrong. Was the knot bad, had he cut my line on something, why was my net at home? These things were all racing through my mind, but man was it fun to feel that fish on the other end of the line.

Comments (3)

By Sean Fenner, April 14, 2010

Seeing Carp in a Feeding Frenzy for the first time, was like witnessing the 8th wonder of the world. It’s amazing to see fish jumping out the the water thrashing about, tails up and their mouths in the dirt.

Last Saturday I just so happened to witness this very event, and to make things even better I had my fly rod in my hand.

The morning started out foggy and cold, and the weather had me thinking that a skunk was lurking right around the corner. Little did I know that I would have one of the best fishing experiences of my life.

I drove up to the water, and I could not believe my eyes. Splashing, Tailing, Bubbling, Carp everywhere my hands were shaking on the stearing wheel. I jumped out of the car almost forgetting to put in park, and pulled out the 8 weight.

First cast and boom a 8 to 10 pounder nails the fly and my drag goes screaming off the reel. After about 5 minutes the fish tired out and 1 carp in the net. Cast number 2, and the same result Carp on, could this really be happening! All in all I caught 8 Carp and had more bites than I could count, and this all happened within an hour.

As quick as the action was on it turned off, and I decided to call it a day. I just couldn’t let it be ruined if I was not able to hook another fish. So, I pack up the rod and reel, jumped in the truck and rode off into the sunset. Well, not into the sunset more like to McDonalds for an Egg McMuffin.

Comments (0)

By Sean Fenner, February 19, 2010

I’m sitting here writing this post listening to the rain outside my window, and the one thing that comes to mind is that timing is everything. I was so exited all week for Saturday to come, so that I could get on the LA River and finally hook up on a long overdue Carp. But apparently the weather just doesn’t agree with me, and it’s just not meant to be. In the meantime I will just have to go through my Previously caught Carp Photo Selection, and dream about seeing my 5 weight strained to the max while hearing the scream of my reel as the line peels off.

Comments (4)

By Sean Fenner, December 11, 2009

I know you guys are thinking what happened to all the Carp fishing. My schedule has been really busy lately and I just haven’t really gotten a chance to get out on some good Carp water. I was going to try my hand this Saturday, but the rain took any chance of that happening away. I am hoping to get in at least a few times up at the La River this Spring and hopefully I can come away with a few fish. I’m telling you though once you have one of those bad boys on the other end of the line it just gets into your blood. It is so easy get caught up in not wanting to do anything else but think about the sound of your line screaming off that reel when you fooled that fish. So here is a little Carpage to hold you guys over until the next hook up!

Comments (3)

By Dan Zambrano, September 11, 2009

A week ago the L.A. basin sat under a thick, brown layer of smoke and ash due to the massive and deadly Station and Morris fires burning wildly out of control just to the north of Los Angeles and, in fact threatening some of the foothill communities. Maps posted on the website, inciweb.org, (one of the best sites for quick, factual fire info. for the western U.S.) showed ugly, ragged fire lines encompassing some of the most rugged and heavily vegetated terrain in SoCal. At the time of this posting, those same maps show that the fires have eaten through an area larger than the city of Chicago…and they are still burning.

A week ago I stood on the lawn of the Griffith Park Observatory along with my buddy, Sean, and we watched through telescopes as the fire exploded entire trees in its ravenous march down the hillsides of not so distant canyons.

But that was last week.

Yesterday, Sean and I stood on the banks of the L.A. River, just a couple of miles from the observatory, beneath a startling clear blue sky with a fresh cooling breeze in our faces.

And while all of California is in a severe drought, down in the River the water flowed fast and strong and clear.

We had made the drive back up from the O.C. to “La Reever” because in my quest to learn more about the fires I thought I might have stumbled upon a new fishing spot via Google aerial maps.

Sure enough, tucked away in a highly industrialized neighborhood of sheet metal fabricators, welding shops and dubious import companies and nestled between freeway bridges, railroad trestles and high tension power line towers there is a little slice of paradise – at least by L.A. urban standards. And the best part of it was that no one was there. Not a soul.

There we were, in the middle of roughly 11 million people and we actually had a sizeable stretch of moving water all to ourselves.

We backed Sean’s tan Toyota about a quarter-mile down a service road (every successful guy from the “barrio” learns to drive with equal facility backwards and forwards – it’s a useful skill for avoiding stray bullets) where it blended in nicely with the decomposed granite roadway and the tall bushes trying to hold on ‘til the winter rains.

We geared up and walked another couple of hundred yards to a breach in the chainlink and barbed wire and began our decent down the steep concrete banks. I did a quick scan of the local graffiti to see if I could detect any active “dissing” going on which would raise the keep-looking-over-your-shoulder factor, but found none. In fact, we did not even find any piles of empty beer bottles or food wrappers or any signs that anybody had been down there in the recent past.

As we moved down the embankment, I started to get excited because I could see dozens of fat, torpedo shapes resting in a large pool at the bottom end of some riffles. Sean had forgotten his polarized glasses and could not see the fish so he just looked at me and nodded politely – the way one nods at the finger-pointing, rambling conspiracy theorist stationed on the steps outside the main Post Office.

I began muttering about needing light colored sinking flies and desperately tried to remember if I had any white Wooly Buggers left in my fly box. Sean was already rigging up a Wooly Bugger with a salmon egg imitation as a dropper rig and, again, just nodded politely in my direction.

We positioned ourselves at opposite ends of the pool and began working toward the middle. I cast carefully in front of the shadowy shapes beneath the surface. There was very little conversation, no drama, no people and it just felt great being out on the water, casting with my favorite rod and enjoying the peace and quiet murmuring of the River. Anyone, I repeat, anyone who tells you that Carp are not worth the water they swim in has not fished for them in earnest.

The next several hours were spent casting and crawling and kneeling amongst the bushes and pleading and grumbling along the banks of this section of water in an effort to entice these fish to strike. Time and time again I watched two-foot long Carp follow my flies only to turn away abruptly and inexplicably.

When I finally did get a strike, the fish immediately dove into the rocks and broke me off before I could turn its head around. Based on the unhappy groans coming from over Sean’s way, I surmised that he was having similar woes.

After thoroughly working about a quarter-mile of the River we decided to head over to Atwater Village and fish below the Hyperion Bridge – a well-known and commonly fished location. We were disappointed that we hadn’t landed any fish but we were thrilled with the number and wariness of the fish we had stumbled upon in this new location.

As we crested the hill on the path leading to the Hyperion Bridge section of the River, our first image was that of a lone fisherman sitting in the middle of the flats in a folding lawn chair. He was using two rods and even from a couple of hundred yards away, we could tell that he probably had them both rigged with 40-pound test or more. By the time we got to the bottom of the embankment, he was busy landing a foot-long fish.

There was a backpack on the shore and after Lawn-chair-guy had let his catch go he waded over to the backpack, sizing us up as we drew near to it. He took a cigarette from out of the front pocket and lit up as Sean asked him how he was doing. He smiled and said it had been a very good day. Sean asked him what he was using for bait and the guy replied, “tortilla”.

We looked at each other, wished him well and then somewhat frantically started digging around in our respective fly boxes as we walked toward a favored pool. Despite a plethora of flies for practically every location we fish, neither of us had any approximation of a tortilla. After some hard thinking, I considered snipping off a corner of my boxer shorts and using some tippet to tie it onto a #10 hook but then, aside from the obvious logistical problem of dropping ‘trow in the middle of the River, I remembered that it was Sunday and I had on the plaid ones anyway.

So, we fished until near dark but did not have the success of our lawn chair friend. The ride home was a mixture of contentment over our new-found location and amazement that we had been out-fished by tortillas. I could tell, though, from the animated way Sean was speaking that a fire had been started in him and we would probably be using a very interesting pattern the next time we hit the flats at Glendale Narrows.

Comments (2)

By Dan Zambrano, September 4, 2009

Much has been written about Benson, The Famed British Carp that was reportedly about 35 years old at the time of its passing.

Sadly, I now understand the sense of loss over this national treasure.

This morning upon awakening, I did my usual routine of stumbling out of bed, heading straight to the coffee maker and then over to the 40 gallon tank where our veil-tailed goldfish (dubbed “Goldie” in a rather uncharacteristically mundane naming ceremony by my wife) resided, only to find her floating on her side, doing a slow motion pirouette in the current from the filters.

Dumbfounded and not fully awake, I stared at her for a full minute before the caffeine kicked in and I came to the realization that her gills were indeed still and she was indeed…gone.

I was baffled since only six hours prior she had swam along the front glass of the aquarium while I carried on a late night bill paying session at the dining room table.

In any event, I stood there for quite a while watching my long time pet drift aimlessly over the tops of the aquatic plants.

Now, I know goldfish and death are a frequent pairing in the scheme of things and I consider myself not overly sentimental, but “Goldie” had given a solid decade to soothing the jangled nerves and settling the twisting stomach by doing nothing more than gliding silently, serenely and slowly along the length of her tank while all sorts of drama unfolded around her.

She was a subtle reminder that a good home, a good meal and a nice long swim go a long way toward putting things in perspective.

Rest in peace, Goldie, rest in peace.