Fly Fishing for Carp (Pt 1): The Pursuit of Muddy Holly

To the uninitiated, fly fishing is not commonly associated with competition, or for targeting carp for that matter. However, there is such a competition for this quarry in the flats of Eastern Washington. 

EVERY SUMMER, A CLANDESTINE GROUP OF ANGLERS DIVERGE ONTO AN UNNAMED LAKE FOR A TWO-DAY TOURNAMENT CALLED THE SCHMOOTS CLOOPER.

Clearly, huge sums of cash aren’t on the line. Those who compete aren’t bedazzled with endorsements on their clothing and on their boats. Instead, it is (loosely) a tournament about the love of the game, celebrating these special fish and hanging out with likeminded folks. 

Here’s a brief synopsis of the events of the tournament as they shook out for two anglers competing for the Gold (bones that is):

THURSDAY:

The goal: Finish up work, hit the road and get to home base; the Ala Cozy Motel. This quaint roadside stay is perfect. It has the charm of a something you would see straight out of the glory days of Route 66 coupled with the grit of the desert. 

FRIDAY:

The goal: Case the scene, test some new patterns and be back to base by 6pm sharp to get the official rules of the tourney.

Conditions: Ideal. 

The feverish July sun weighed down an oppressive glow that washed over ‘Lake X’ and the surrounding steep sided canyon walls. The sun extended its light over the flats to reveal the desert’s bounty, Golden Bones. The carp numbered in the dozens and visibility was good. Armed with a few covert ops flies fresh from Skunk Works and a belly full of Billy Burgers we launched the boat. Figuring out the migratory patterns of the fish and meeting the conditions with gear and expectations was critical for the competition. As a veteran of the fishery and of this tournament my fellow angler, Tyler, was quick to lead us to some fish.

Each of us lobbed out a new pattern that Tyler had created just days before. In short order the fly produced fish. One fish turned into several on this new pattern. Details about this fly are sworn to secrecy until further notice (you understand of course), however, just know that it works. This new proven pattern gave us high confidence in our odds at catching a winning number of fish for the tournament.

With our spirits high, we returned to the Ala Cozy for the night. We were met by many familiar faces, most notably Mr. Bill Marts. Bill, also known as the Carp Ambush Assassin, The Colossuses of Snout, and the creator of the tournament we found ourselves in, the Schmoots Clooper. We were happy to see our friend and recount the day’s events. We also met up with our buddy, Travis De Boer. Travis, a certifiable badass and accomplished angler was set up and grilling a slab of ribeye to perfection when we arrived. Travis and House of Fly’s own Caden Byrer of West Spokane would later pair up to fish the tournament.

After greeting friends both new and old, we gathered up to be given the rules and regs for the tournament. Marts passed out some useful info to each of us as we set around the fire outside of the motel. This grip of material included a map of the flats, the official tape measure, a look at a selection of flies and concluded with Bill waxing philosophically about the pursuit of carp. We were now ready for the days to follow. We headed to crash out and get prepared for the morning.

SATURDAY:

The goal: Tournament is on, catch fish!

Conditions: Good to great.

First things first. Coffee from Big Wally’s and a microwaved breakfast sandwich. With the gut bombs in place and our rods rigged we headed for the launch. We had found some friends upon our arrival to the water. A camp of folks from an unknown Slavic part of the world based on the language they spoke. 

The sounds of music emanated from their campsite from a far distance even at the early hour in which we reached them. It was the type of music that made you want to cross your arms in front of you and kick out one leg in front of the other. Music that sounded like it could have come straight from the Borat soundtrack. Remnants of the previous night’s party were hanging about which had clearly carried on to the next day. All in all, these folks were kind and kept to themselves. You never know what you might see in the desert. 

We returned to some new locations that we scouted on maps and Google. These flats were ideal and had signs of fish judging by the copious amounts of pock marks scattered across them. The only problem? No carp in sight. We pursued these new flats before returning to more familiar and reliable water.

Upon our return to the Mecca, we were rewarded with the sight of hundreds of carp. Some cruising, some spawning, a few tails and luckily enough for us a few players. Tyler hooked the first fish of the day which proved to be a good battle. The fish ran out from us and back three or four times before relenting to back bone of an old trusted 7wt. 

 This fish was as ugly as it was mean. Missing a chunk of it’s scales, the smooth bodied fish revealed a pale tan color where he had ditched his armor plated elasmoid. This one measured out to 22” and weighed in at roughly 6-8lbs.

From here the day was spent stalking, casting to and landing fish. We went fish for fish for several hours. We had great luck and took advantage of the conditions. While there were plenty of fish boated between the two of us, I personally lost a few fish to a sudden-seizing reel and a hook eye that had just slightly too large of a gap between the eye and the shank. The result was that the hook allowed my leader to slip out from under the eye while fighting a fish. 

These events served as a reminder to always make sure your gear is dialed before an outing. There is no hollower feeling than retrieving your line to inspect your leader and find an intact loop knot and no fly after earning a fight with a carp. Despite my misfortune, another success of the day was getting in some time on the polling platform.

Learning the intricacies of using a push poll and helping to sight fish for your fellow angler is akin to the nuances of rowing a river on a raft or drift boat while ensuring that your approach to a run, riffle or pocket is just right for the success of the person on the bow of the boat. Small adjustments and a thoughtful speed were critical. Push too hard and you could zoom right past fish. By that same token you might spin the boat out of control when trying to move from left to right.

Another surprise from Saturday’s outing came in the form of Smallmouth. Not only were there plenty of Smallmouth milling about, but they were also of decent size. You could often see bass cruising the flats alongside their maligned compatriots eager to eat up what the carp kicked out. It was a fun sight to see and was reminiscent of watching salty fish cruise a flat with a Ray in the same symbiotic fashion.  

SUNDAY:

The goal: Regain traction from the previous day. Last chance for the win.

Conditions: Washed out and windy. Not good at all.

With spirits high from the previous day’s outings, we set our ambitions accordingly and headed out. Sunday morning came with the ceremonial slather of fresh sunscreen and a few slugs of jitter juice from Big Wally’s. We were met by the Slav’s yet again at the boat ramp, this time their campsite was quiet and sparce. After launching, we cruised some areas that had been successful in the days prior. 

At first glance the glaring issue in these areas was a huge wash out resulting either from the gusts of wind through the night, the fluctuation of the dam, or both. It became clear that the poor conditions would make the day difficult for sight casting. None the less, it was the final day to add more tallies to our total number of fish, so we pursued the fish with the same vigor.

One flat to the next, we found the same thing time and time again, opaque milky water. There was no escaping it. As a result, we headed to an area where we felt that blind casting could still potentially result in a few fish. Unfortunately, this was not the case. We spent an hour or so on the blind cast to no avail. We had to keep morale high, so we headed out to bassy waters.

We threw streamers on a sink tip and cruised the banks taking turns running the trolling motor. Even the pursuit of Smallmouth proved to be difficult in this murky water. We finally put down the streamer rig and headed back for one final stab at some carp.

We returned to a very predictable flat and tried to find just one fish. When last we left this flat, I had been on the bow, so I offered Tyler the chance to fish while I polled us around. I hopped up on the platform and began searching, but the outlook was not good. This was the case until we reached the one and only pocket of clear water that we had seen all day. We camped out waiting for a fish or two to cruise by.

Suddenly, Muddy Holly appeared. The last shot at cruising carp. The glare hit the water in such a way that it compromised Tyler’s line of sight. The two of us were keyed up on a shot at this fish so I told Tyler “Cast! Three o’clock! 30 feet out!” The fly landed perfectly just beyond the unsuspecting fish. I then instructed Tyler to make larger strips and then smaller and smaller strips as the carp cruised up closer and closer. Still without sight of the fish, Tyler pursed.  Finally, the fish caught up to the fly. I could see the fish fixate on it as it’s gills flared picking up the bug. I yelled “SET! SET! SET!” Tyler dug into the fish with a trout set and the fight was on.