I published this magazine article about 5 years ago. Katy and I have been married 34 years now. In the article I reference having been married 29 years. The first paragraph is possibly slightly exaggerated but not that much. (if at all) The rest happened exactly as I described it.
I am posting this article now in response to the comments and discussion in
this post concerning noise and putting Carp "on alert" or just plain scaring them off.
Rereading this and rereading my fishing journal entries from 6 to 8 years ago I am reminded how darn important it is to do everything I can to keep from putting Carp on alert.
The Tale
In order to
tell this tale I must first make a disclosure.
You might feel sorry for me, you might be embarrassed for me, you might identify
completely, or you might be envious. Who
knows? Maybe it’s a confession, maybe
I’m bragging, I don’t know. Either way,
it needs to be said, so here it is, I’m good at farting. Actually, I’m quite good at it. There
it is; I said it. I know you Good Ol’
Boys in the South know exactly what I’m talking about. I know y'all do!
You boys in the Midwest are down with this skill also; yeah, you betcha. All you boys out here in the West get the
picture. I’m a little concerned though about
some of you blue bloods in the Northeast.
With your dignified little putt putts, I bet you’re wondering what it
means to be good at farting and how one gets to be good at this skill. Without going in to too much detail let’s
just agree that in no particular order the measures of “good” are: duration,
sound volume, and frequency. Plain and
simply I excel at all three measures. I’m
good at farting and I enjoy it. I don’t
know how other people get good at this but I know how I got good at it. Practice, practice, practice, that’s the
key. I have years of enthusiastic and
frequent practice behind me so to speak.
So with the fact that I am good at farting established let us proceed
with our tale.
While stalking Carp I sometimes wade
the flats and I sometimes fish from a small Zodiac. The Zodiac is only 8 ½ feet long. That measurement is for the external
length. The interior space is much less
because of the diameter of the tubes and because the transom is over a foot
from the end of the tubes. The Zodiac is
a marvelous platform from which to fish but it does have some noticeable
limitations compared to wading. The
floor in the Zodiac is made of 3/8 inch plywood with aluminum grooves. I am able to stand in the boat and stalk
fish. While standing to cast, one of my
shins is often touching one of the tubes of the boat. When I change positions from sitting to
standing or visa versa the boards and PVC tubes creak. The boat will even creak if I just shift my
weight from one foot to another. This
can be very annoying. Normally it
wouldn’t seem like much to me, except that is, when I’m Carp fishing. Those darn Carp seem to be hyper sensitive to
the smallest little noise.
On a warm, July day in 2004 I was
fishing from my Zodiac. The eastern Washington wind, which
often howls, was almost non existent.
The water was clear, the sky was blue; amongst the sunbathing and
cruising Carp there were feeding fish. I
had hooked and released some fish; it was shaping up to be a marvelous
day. By day’s end several more fish had
been deceived by feathers and fur. Lots
of fish to cast to, some willing ones amongst my targets, and perfect
conditions, all made for a peak experience.
For whatever reason there are days when my confidence in my own casting
goes up or down. Some days I’m sure I’m
going to place the fly in the desired spot.
Other days I just don’t have it.
This particular day, my confidence was running high. I had made some “money” casts and got some
hookups. There was an occasional breeze which
sometimes helped move me into position to make a cast but sometimes it moved me
out of position. A nice fish moved in to
the swim I was working. He began tailing
immediately. I suppose foreshadowing; there
was a gentle puff of wind which moved me slightly closer to my quarry. I was false casting, picturing a perfect
cast. Even before I delivered the line I
could see the subtle take in my mind’s eye and feel the first explosive
run. I was making my last back cast
setting up for my perfect delivery when suddenly there was a noise. This was no gentle puff of wind; alas, I had
farted. Keep in mind I’m quite good at
it but also keep in mind please that those darn fish are spooked by even the
slightest little noise. The fish bolted
immediately. I have seen Carp bolt for
some easy to explain reasons and at times for no apparent reason at all. I assumed that it was only coincidence that
this fish bolted just as I made some sound.
I mean, well, yes, I’m good at it, but while I thought it was funny,
there was no way I could have made enough noise for that fish to hear. Good grief he was 35-40 feet away. I laughed to myself about it several times
and laughed when I recounted the story to others, including my very patient
wife.
A year later, almost to the day, I
was back on the same water. Again, I was
in my Zodiac. There were some wispy
clouds overhead, the kind that look like someone found a few fat, puffy ones
and tried to sweep them away leaving track marks in the sky. There was some wind, enough that it made
stalking more difficult, but not enough to make casting impossible. The water was cloudy. It was still clear enough for me to see
tailing fish but because the surface was disturbed from the wind the fish were a
good deal more challenging to spot from a distance. Because the wind was moving the boat I got
only one cast at an individual fish as I came into range unless I
anchored. I had fished three hours and
had released only one fish. I wasn’t
getting many casts to good targets. When
I did cast, if I wasn’t anchored, I was fighting the drift of the boat. The line would belly very quickly; if I
mended it I spooked the fish. If I was
anchored, the boat was swinging on the anchor.
Again, certainly not impossible conditions, but not ideal either.
I had moved upwind again and was
beginning to drift down the lake. There
were some tailing fish but by the time I saw them I was usually too close. The wind subsided as if it had been running
up hill and needed to take a rest. The
surface of the lake calmed and just like that a tailing fish came into
view. He was off to my side so rather
than move my feet and risk making noise I turned my upper body to make my
cast. Both the Carp and I were fully
engrossed; he looking for hapless critters in the mud, me trying to trick him
with my fake. I had made just two false
casts and was delivering the line. Just
as I let go of the line with my left hand I let go with something else. And yes, it was a good one. Just before the line landed on the water the
fish bolted and left me staring at a cloud of mud. I hadn’t moved my feet, the floor boards
hadn’t creaked: it just had to be a coincidence; that fish just couldn’t have
heard my rumblings. Rested, the wind
found its breath; with renewed energy it started blowing. I dropped anchor and as I did so another
cloud of mud appeared not far from me. I
had spooked yet another fish. I sat down
and grumbled. It wasn’t shaping up to be
a marvelous day at all. In fact the single
fish I had already released would end up being my only one for the day.
The previous year I thought that it
was funny when I farted and a fish bolted.
It was easier to make jokes about it because I had a great day and
because I thought it was humorous coincidence.
Now I actually started to wonder.
Could those fish actually hear or sense a fart? Surely they couldn’t. Or could they? I thought something else made those fish take
off, possibly a signal from a shoal mate, maybe seeing my funny looking face as
they looked up through the water, maybe the sight of the boat, and maybe the
moving shadow made by the fly line just before it hit the water. It just had to be one of these things.
The boat is in obvious contact with
the water so any sound from the boat is easily transmitted. My feet are always touching the floor boards
and my leg is often touching the side of the boat so any sound from me is
easily transmitted to the boat and so on.
I started to take my own joke more seriously so I read and reread things
I had studied the past few years. In
several sources I was reminded that Carp have elaborate sensory systems which
enable them to hear better than most fish and to detect subtle changes in their
environment. They have the traditional
lateral line along with internal Carp ears of sorts. If that’s not enough, quoting from the
Dictionary of Ichthyology, “The Weberian apparatus is four bones and associated
tissues connecting the gas bladder to the inner ear and conveying pressure
changes and sound.” Now wait a minute, a
lateral line and internal Carp ears seem fine but not this Weberian thing. That’s just not fair. I think it makes the darn Carp too smart for its
own good. The kidding aside I really was
starting to believe a Carp could be scared by a good fart.
I headed to the same lake about 10
days later. While driving over and while setting up my gear I had again been
wondering about, and actually marveling at, just how sensitive Carp are to
changes in any part of their environment, particularly to sound. It was a calm
day, the sky was absolutely clear; the water was only slightly off color. I could spot tailing fish from quite a
distance. My sense of anticipation was
very high as I pulled out from shore. I
was planning to fish a new Carp pattern.
I had tied two dozen of them in couple different sizes. After only a short time out on the water a slow
cruising fish stopped for what looked like a serious breakfast. He was about 35-40 feet from me. He was
perpendicular to my line of sight. I had
loosely, coiled line hanging from my left hand, the fly was pinched between my
left thumb and fore finger, rod in hand I was perfectly poised to make a money
cast. Suddenly I felt the urge, so to
speak, to perform a piscatorial assessment.
I had to act decisively to make sure that no other variables
intruded. I had to decide if I was
willing to forego casting to this wonderful fish in order to have my question
answered. I farted. The answer to the assessment was immediate;
the fish made a hurried escape.
Please know that each of the three
experiences actually happened just as I described. The results were also just as I
described. Being serious, the
experiences gave me cause to pay much closer attention to the noise I make when
stalking Carp. In so doing, I have
observed in several different instances that accumulating noise is not nearly
as frightening to Carp as a sudden noise from the same source and of the same
volume. For example, if I am motoring
along with my small electric, I can literally go right over a feeding Carp
before it will bolt. If I start the
motor up even 20 or 30 feet away, the sudden noise is enough to send the fish
to deeper water. If my buddy and I are
talking as we approach a swim of tailing fish they aren’t as likely to spook as
if we begin talking after we get there or after the fish get to us. I know another Carp fly rodder who fishes
from a larger boat and uses a gas motor to move from one area to another. Again, the gradual accumulated noise isn’t
nearly as bothersome to the fish as the sudden noise. Just last summer he had his motor wide open. Sadly, he hit a sunbathing Carp. If he had been stopped within 60 feet of that
same fish and then started the motor the fish would have run immediately. Again, the Weberian apparatus makes Carp so
alert and discerning. I guess to achieve
“World’s Greatest Sportfish” status a fish has to have some serious assets. Indeed, Carp do.
At the end of 2006, as I do each
year, I wrote out goals for myself covering several parts of my life. Areas that I work on setting goals are: personal,
professional, financial, spiritual, family, physical, and social Included of
course were my fishing goals. My fishing
goals included among other things: new places to which I plan to go, numbers of
fish I hope to catch, size of fish I hope to catch, number of days I plan to go
fishing, people with whom I plan to fish, flies I intend to tie. As I review my goals I realize that I need to
ask myself what am planning to do to help myself achieve these goals.
Based on the results of my
piscatorial assessment I am seriously going to work at stalking fish more
carefully. Even if I don’t see a fish
bolt that doesn’t mean I haven’t alerted or scared more than one with a
careless movement or sound. In fact I
should assume that I have. I realize
from the tale above that I am probably scaring fish I never see. I’m not just scaring them away I’m keeping
them from coming anywhere near me since they hear me long before I see
them. This is a critical lesson for me and I need to adjust my tactics
accordingly. I made a list of things I
need to stop doing. In a huge way I need
to avoid so many things like: the clippers dropping, the radio plopping, the
anchor thumping, the boat bumping, me telling, my buddy yelling, my feet
pounding, the motor sounding, my backcast splashing, the water thrashing, the
boat bag sliding, the trout guys chiding, the gravel crunching, my sandwich
munching, the floorboards creaking, and the boat seat squeaking. All of that said, when stalking feeding Carp, this
coming year I will do everything I can to minimize the noise I make, even if I
enjoy making the noise.
Epilogue: My lovely wife of nearly three decades just
finished reading this article. She
commented, “In social settings, in the car, at a movie, at the grocery store, shopping
for furniture, and during the night when your wife is trying to sleep, none of
these situations have ever got you to stop farting. But now, finally, after 29 years, you’ll hold
back for Carp fishing? What does that
tell you? Hmmm…”