There will be no more updates from Iraq, but this link will take you to my post Iraq fishing adventures.
Joel's Post-Iraq Fishing Adventures
This is where I am going to hang the updates on my fishing adventures. I see more and more folks out fishing. Guess it is catching on. It does help break the monotony and I think it is therapeutic, but that is just me. Some might call me an addict........
Joel
Early June Update
Camp Slayer Adventure
The one that got away
Ron's fishtail
El Pescador!
Too much fishing?
"Muy Grande Carpio"
"Muy Grande Carpio," dos
The other one that "got away"
Testing a new fly
MANGAR!
Thanksgiving
Grass Carp
Clooping
Threefer
My last few days in Iraq
I have not altered any of my entries since I created them, so the information at the beginning shows my ignorance about the fish I found around Camp Victory. The only other disclaimer I have is that I have recorded things here to the best of my ability with out embellishment. Not all fishermen are liars, though a lot of liars fish! However, I am an officer in the United States Navy and have upheld the core value of honesty while recording my experiences on this site.
Underway! Joel
I still don't know what these fish are called but I will keep trying to find out. My best guess is nothing in the salmonoids - they don't have any teeth. Maybe in the same family as carp, but I don't know. With only one dorsal fin, it is confusing.
Well, now I know a little bit more about these fish. They are Aspius Vorax, a member of the cinneade family, same as carp and minnows. They are basically a giant minnow. I have caught them up to 4-5 pounds (24 inches) but they have been caught here as big as 32 pounds! You can see that one in the pictures below. I don't know who that soldier is, but that is a big fish! These fish are only found here and in
Here are some more recent pictures of me out with my flyrod. They were taken when I went over to
This was with the self-timer, not an easy thing to do with a live fish!
This was pretty decent fish! I caught about 30 fish in the 2 hours I fished. You can click on the picture for a bigger version.
These are some of the flies I have tied while over here. The minnow pattern at 2 o'clock and the wooly bug are about the deadliest. The Goddard Caddis (4 o'clock) and the midge (that one is a size 18) work, but I usually only catch small fish with them.
Here is that monster I was telling you about. 
A couple days ago, a guy I have gotten to know in the JOC (where I work) stopped by my desk with a copy of In-Fisherman, a general fishing magazine. He wanted to show me the article on fly-fishing for carp. It was very good and gave some very detailed info on carp feeding patterns. Now when I was a kid back in
So, I was encouraged to give it a go. Well, it worked. I went to
A couple Soldiers had stopped to watch the fight. I asked one of them if he would snap a picture. So, below you can see my prize. After a couple of shots, I placed the fish back in the water, holding his tail and moving him a bit until he swam off on his own into the murky water of Lost Lake. It was now time to go to work. What a great way to spend the day!
05JUN05
It has been a while since the last adventure I wrote about, but I have been fishing a little bit. Though with the heat, not as much as I was before. That and the ponds have grown lots of weeds. I took a fellow Navy LT out a few weeks back. He wanted to try fly fishing. I took him over to Slayer and found a nice open spot to teach him how to cast. While we were there we had some fish swim by that were easily over 3 feet long! Big, old carp, and they were kings of the lake, you could see it by the way they swam around. Alan had a great time fishing, even though we never caught a fish (first time I have been skunked at Slayer). He is asking about the next time. Below is Alan in action.
That is not all my adventures, but it is time to head off to work and I want to get this and my letter posted tonight, as promised. I will update this again next week. In the meantime I will prime the pump with the two pictures below
.
Well, I guess I kept you waiting longer than I meant to. I have gone fishing a couple of times. Above are the pictures from a day when I took one of the guys I work with, Angel. We hooked more than we landed, some where pretty big carp. We caught a couple of these crazy catfish. They look like a cross between a catfish and an eel. Like our catfish, they have spines in their fins. I also caught about a 5 lb. carp. We used bread for bait. I also caught a couple of asps on my fly rod.
I have taken a couple other people fishing, but my luck had run out. I always do well when it is just me, but if I take some one, the number of fish goes way down. To zero in a couple of cases. However, today was a good day. One of the guys at work is leaving, his time is done. He had not been fishing yet, so I took him. Angel was there as well. Below are the pics.
This was some kind of eel we saw, watching us fish. I have seen some others that were dark green with bright yellow spots. It is pretty exciting to see all these different kinds of fish around here.
I also went a couple times by myself. I always do better when I do. One night I got off work about 3 and the moon was bright as can be. There was no wind and I thought I'd go check out a spot near the palace I had been thinking of. The water for the lakes comes from the Tigris River (and therefore I suppose so do the fish). The water for the lake here comes via an underground pipe. Where it dumps out is a canal about 300 yds long before it gets to the lake. Much of the canal is choked with reeds, but where the water comes in it is not. There is a pretty good current too. I have seem some pretty good size fish in the pool below the pipe outlet, so that is where I headed. I put on one of the minnow streamers I created to use here and hooked up on the second cast. It was 20 inch asp, who gave me quite a fight in the current. I caught a couple more smaller ones and then hooked another big one. The picture didn't turn out too well and the fish was not cooperating, so it is not a great picture, but you can see it is a 22 inch fish. It was now getting light in the east, so I packed it up and headed to my trailer and bed.
My other adventure in fishing took me over to Camp Slayer. The water over there is clearer, it is not as busy (which means I don't have 40 people stopping by to ask if I caught anything. I love to talk fishing, but not while I am fishing), and there is more room for back casts, an important factor in fly fishing. This trip was an expedition. I loaded up my pack with water (3 liters) food and tackle. I hopped on my bike at 0600 (only after thinking about turning off the alarm and going back to sleep). I pedaled the 3 miles in the early morning light, enjoying the fact the the morning was a cool 88 degrees and trying not to think about my return in 5 hours, when it would be a bit warmer (110+). I rolled up on the lake, and the first place I set up was the inlet, much like the one above, except that this one emptied into the lake and not a canal. The first cast was a strike and it was big! How big I will never know, because it was headed for the bushes and a 5lb tippet was not going to stop it, so not only did I lose the fish, but my fly as well.
I tied on another and soon hooked my first fish, a 14in asp. That was soon followed by 2 more. As I was fishing, I kept seeing flashes of silver out of the corner of my eye. I started watching the waterfall created by the inlet, and sure enough, the silver flashes were fish, asp, trying to jump up the falls into the pipe. None made it that I saw, and a couple knocked themselves silly, missing the water and crashing into the rocks on the shoreline. They would slide back into the water, floating belly up, stunned for a moment and then flip over and swim back into the murky water.
I decided to move on, and broke down my rod and mounted up. This time I rode to a point that was a finger of land stretching into the junction of 2 lakes. All the lakes here were dug for Hussein's palaces (water is power in the desert). On the lakes at Slayer are several houseboats and I think this junction was to allow boats to pass from one lake to another, since the bridge over them is a draw bridge. Anyhow, around this point are muddy shallows, called flats. The big fish chase little fish and little fish try to escape by moving into water too shallow for the predators. Sure enough, I could see the tell tale v -shaped wakes and tail fin of fish swimming in water too shallow for it, proving my hunch was right. The water was very clear, so I cautiously approached, keeping low and using the bushes for cover. I poked my head up, slowly, scanning the water for fish. This is my favorite way to flyfish, stalking individual fish, and then putting a fly in front of them. Right in front of me, was a good sized asp, lying in wait for anything unlucky enough to wander into it shallow lair. I stripped line off the spool and after a couple false casts, dropped the size 10 Wooly Bug about 10 inches in front of it. Faster than a striking snake, the fish attacked my fly, inhaling it into its open maw, and I quickly set the hook and the shallows exploded into a spray of mud and water as the fish fought to escape. It streaked into open water and tried to run for the weeds, but I turned it and worked it around the point to where I could land it. It was a 16 inch beauty, a silvery green asp. The hook was deep, but a quick twist with needle nose pliers and it was free and back in the water, finning slowly away from me.
I turned back to the water and there were more fish in the shallows, some chasing minnows clear out of the water. This was going to be a good morning. I had no idea. I spent a couple hours there, casting to fish who never disappointed me with a strike, as long as I put the fly in front of them. While I was doing this I noticed several carp tailing in the muddy flats. That is they were nose down in the mud looking for food and their tails were breaking the surface of the water. I tried to entice a couple of them, but they were having nothing to do with my flies. Then I heard something making loud slashes in a side lagoon off the main lake. I peeked over the bushes and cruising around the small waterway was an asp bigger than anything I'd seen. It was 36-40 inches and probably between 15 and 20 pounds. I dropped my fly in front of it, nothing, it just swam on. I tried again and again and again. All to no avail. Then the fish spotted me and disappeared. Wow! what a fish.
I decided to move on and let that spot settle down, perhaps I would get another chance at that whopper. I moved down the lake shore. The water was deeper and the steep bank about 6 feet above the water allowed me to look down and spot fish both cruising out in deep water and feeding along the banks. The ones along the banks where usually carp and very spooky. None of them were very big, but they are feisty. Much more scrappy than the asp. A 14in carp will put up as much fight as a 20in asp. There are two kinds of carp I catch here, the normal common carp that is golden brown and quite plump. Then there is another with a reddish hue all over and red fins. It is the spookiest fish I have ever seen, but man what a fighter! I only caught 2, but both gave me quite a fight. I also caught several asp including the one below that was 22 inches.
This fish was another spot, stalk and cast. He was cruising pretty fast along the shoreline, so I sprinted ahead of him and waited. He came into view and I cast. He turned to my fly and then snubbed the offering. I cast again, another refusal. I maneuvered ahead once more and repeated the scenario. Still nothing. Then the fish turned towards the bank and moved into the small shelf of shallow water along the edge. I cast about 3 feet beyond and instead of twitching the fly, I stripped it in as fast as I could. Once more, the water exploded, mud and grass flying as the fish felt the hook. It streaked into the lake, making my reel scream in protest. That run ended and after a few minutes of tug-o-war, the fish was at my feet. Well almost. I was 6 feet up on the bank. I found a way to get down to the edge, and balanced on the 4 inches of dry ground between me and the mud, I snapped a couple of quick pictures before I freed my catch. He too swam off slowly, indignant, I am sure, that I interrupted his feeding spree. I fished a little longer, adding a couple small asp and carp to my tally. I decided to head back to the cove where that monster was just waiting to inhale one of my offerings. I had just the thing for him too.
I rode back to the point, parked my bike and got ready. I tied on a size 6 weighted minnow pattern, one with a a bit of chartreuse in it, with bead chain eyes. I slowly approached the water, screened by the grass, and bingo, there was my quarry, hunting clockwise around the weed choked lagoon, his huge mouth opening occasionally to suck in something that failed to get out of the monsters way. He was not chasing the bait, only eating what was immediately in front of him. I watched his pattern, picked my spot and waited. He came around, I cast, plunking my fly 2 feet in front of him and about a foot beyond. I gave it two short strips...........yep, that mouth opened up and in it when. Setting the hook was no big deal. Keeping this thing on with a 6lb leader was going to be the challenge. As soon as he felt the hook's bite, the fish dove, running strong and straight for the weeds. I could feel the power as it surged up my line and through the rod. What a fish! My heart was pounding and my mind was racing. I was telling myself keep the rod up, don't horse him, turn him from those weeds, don't let him get in there, should have used a heavier leader, hope that fly holds, palm the reel, no don't palm the reel. After about a minute of him bulling through the weeds, the tension vanished from my line and the fish was gone. pulling in my line I discovered that it was not my tippet that did me in, but the blood knot further up that gave up the fight. Should have checked everything BEFORE I made that cast. No matter, the fish is gone, but not the vision of him taking my fly nor feeling him raging against it for a full minute before winning the battle. There will be another time. For now, I am left with a broken leader, a racing heart and desire to outwit and outmuscle that fish. You can bet I'll be here again.
26JUL065 Every Saturday my compadre from work, Angel, and I go fishing. Angel loves to fish almost as much as I do. He lives in Florida and we swap fishing tales while we are at work. I have yet to top his tale about getting a 6 inch Rapala stuck in his back for the ER folks to remove. He said he looked like a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder. I have taken to calling him "El Pescador" as he now out fishes me (the last couple of times anyhow). Anyhow, these are some of the pictures from the past couple Saturdays. The fish I am holding had a deformed tail, what little of it he had. Must have been injured as a small fish. He was still scrappy though! (yes, that is a spinning rod, when I am with Angel, I am not a purist!) The other picture is a guy who was out exploring the lakes with a rod, just like us. He really wanted a picture of one of the black carp and I happened to be near with a camera and happy to oblige. We are not the only die-hard fishermen here!
As most of you know I've been casting to snakes (asp) and rubber lips (carp) over here in Iraq. I have caught a few 6-7 lb fish, and dozens of 1-2 pounders. The fish below is a different kind of carp. Very hard to catch and by far the scrappiest fish here. This one went airborne 3 times! Pretty awesome in the moonlight. Not bad for a 14 inch fish. The biggest of these "red tailed" carp (as I call them) that I have seen (not caught, yet) have been about 18 inches. However, they are VERY spooky and this is only the third one I have caught. But these fish fought beyond their size. This one sucked in a size 6 Wooly Bugger. This fish was one of many caught on another night fishing adventure. When the moon is full, and they are filling the lake, the fish hang by the inlet. It was a 30 fish night in the lunar glow. One lesson learned, it is hard to take self-photos without a tripod. It ain't pretty, but you should be looking at the fish, not me!
Next, is the tale of my buddy Ron. Like Angel, Ron is Puerto Rican. Unlike Angel, he is in the Navy. Also unlike Angel, he is not a fisherman, he prefers golf. However he has two little boys and would like to take them fishing. He himself has never caught a fish, and I wanted to rectify that. I was looking forward to it almost as much as Ron was.
Like any good fishing trip, ours started out with a plan. Ron too works nights, but a different shift than mine. Also, he lives over at Camp Slayer and rides a bus to and from work. Fridays he gets off work early and we agreed to catch the first bus over to Slayer at 0700 on Friday. That meant only 5 hours of sleep for me, but this was fishing with a purpose! (is there any other kind?)
I set the alarm and managed to get out of bed, shaking off the short night. I grabbed my pack with the fishing gear that I had packed the night before. Rods, reels, tackle, camera, sunscreen, hat, and of course, bread for bait (french toast and white bread are best). I felt good about Ron hooking up for the first time. I rode to the designated link up point, secured my transport (bike) and waited. No Ron, but the bus was coming. Then I see a familiar face and there is Ron already on the bus. He had gone to the previous stop, thinking that is where we were going to rendezvous. Disappointment shed from both us as we rode over the our AO (area of operation). Ron quickly changed out of his DCUs and we headed for the "hot spot" I had in mind. I have only once failed to catch fish in this spot and it happened to be a day that Ron ran into me. However I am not one to be daunted by superstition. We got to the point and I showed Ron the basics of how to rig up. Because of the heavy weeds we used a bobber and a 18in leader to offer our tasty bread to the unsuspecting fish. It seemed fool proof. An hour later, I was not so sure.
Ron is a very patient guy, so he was ok, but I was anxious to get Ron into fish. I had hoped multiple times. Now, I was looking for just good bite. I began to look around for more promising water. We were seeing fish, but they were snubbing our offerings. At one point one of the huge asp that terrorize these waters (at least if you are a minnow) chased some minnows up onto the surface. Ron was impressed. I was hyperventilating. However, I remained focused on the mission, which was to catch Ron a fish. So, I switched him up to a small spinner bait and showed him how to employ it. That worked, as an asp attacked it, but Ron missed the strike, but it sure fired him up. He continued to cast while I assessed the situation. After a while, a big carp, 15-20lbs, cruised in. Ron pointed him out to me. Since Ron's spinner would probably not interest this fish, I flipped a fly in front of it. It came up and looked about ready to suck it in and then turned away at the last moment. I don't know who was more excited, me or Ron. He was really tickled to see it all happen. Meanwhile, he was still fishless.
I switched him back to the bobber rig and moved a bit up the shore. I got him situated and then crossed to the other side of the peninsula to scout for feeding fish. Bad move on the guides part. I came back only to find that Ron had hooked into a nice fish. I had told him about how to play a fish and he did just that. However a "helper" came by and decided to help him land the fish. When the guy grabbed the line to get the fish up, it pulled the hook free, and Ron's first fish became his first fish story. Although disappointed, he was also very pleased and the fishing bug had a solid hold on him.
We fished a bit longer, and then decided to call it a day. It was at this point that I realized I had not put on my hat. So, my face and crown had been in the Iraqi sun for 3 hours. I could feel its warming effect as we at lunch (a Camp Slayer specialty - Hellfire Chicken Sandwiches). Ron and I talked like old fishing buddies over lunch. He had learned how to cast, spot fish and feel the power of the opponent telegraphed up the line into his hands. Excitement coursed through him as his fish came into the bank, oh so close, but not there yet. He had only missed the elation that comes with the moment of triumph as one hoists his catch up ending the contest. Our day proved that the worse day of fishing is better than any day at work! We had a great time and created good memories that will grow with time as does any fishtale.
Ron's story does not end there. I am not one to give up, so I had another plan. I would take Ron to my "Moonlight Madness" hole. How could he not catch a fish there? So, Ron had some time one night after my shift ended and I rode back to my hooch and grabbed the gear. I got it all rigged, figuring how could I go wrong with giving him a Thomas Lure (small spoon) and turning him loose. Well that didn't get any strikes. Then came a Mepps. Again zippo. Next came a Mister Twister, but to no avail. Finally, I rigged a casting bubble and my favorite fly here in Iraq, a Wooly Bug. I showed Ron how to put it in the current and drift is down to the fish, swinging it back into the bank and reeling it up. I stepped away to use the portajohn and returned to find that Ron had his fish on! He had finally connected and was grinning ear to ear. We got the asp up the steep bank and snapped the photos below before turning it back. Mission accomplished!
01AUG05
Hello again to all. Yes, I have another fishing story (what kind of fisherman would I be if I didn't?) Anyhow, last Friday (29JUL), I went fishing with Ron as usual (I have infected him with the fishing bug!)
We had a good day on the water. Now anyone who fishes knows that is an unnecessary sentence, but there are some reading this who are not fishermen. Anyhow, this week Ron had wheels (getting a car here is an event worth celebrating) and he picked me up. In addition to learning to fish here in Iraq, Ron also learned to drive a stick, so, off we roared in a cloud of dust, not because it was cool, but because Ron dumped the clutch, but the teenager in me smiled as Ron slung gravel across the lot.
After we dropped the car off in the parking lot for the next guy to drive back to the shop, we headed to the lake. The beautiful Iraqi morning found us hoofing it to my favorite point, where I have had my run ins with the BIG asp. I was hoping to bolster Ron's confidence with numbers, and I have had several 20 fish mornings on this point. It is a great spot to fly-fish, because there is nothing to hinder the backcast. It is also, one of the very few places on the lake where the banks are not 4 feet above the water and steeply inclined, so landing fish is a little easier.
We made it to the point, got rigged up and hit the water. We could see lots of fish cruising the edges, asp looking for a meal. This was going to be great! I set Ron up with a spinner bait and then rigged my fly rod. An hour later, no fish. I changed Ron to a casting bubble with a streamer. I had tried all kinds of flies, plopping them in front of both carp and asp, but nothing was showing any interest. 
Suddenly my disappointment was shoved into memory when Ron yelled for me. He had a fish! I arrived to find him hooked up with a scrappy asp. We beached it and upon unhooking it returned it to the lake. Ron was all smiles. Unlike me, he is a patient man and was content to cast for another hour for a fish. Eventually, I talked him into starting to head back towards the chow hall (I needed to eat, get back to my side of the camp complex, and clean up for work). 
Friday, I met a new fishing buddy, Peter. Peter is a Major in the Polish Army. He was very excited to find that he could fish here. He fishes a lot in Poland. There, carp are a major game fish. They have very sophisticated rods and techniques. I had two rods borrowed from a Major that I came over with and now Peter has one of them. He taught me a new technique for bait, and that is to mix the bread with milk. Now I only fish with bait when I am fishing by the palace (no backcasting room where we fish). We fished by the palace for a while, catching a couple of catfish. Then we moved to a spot Peter had picked out. It was a canal opening in another lake. The spot was back in the rushes and looked very fishy. We cast in and talked fishing. What really struck me about us fishing is that we both began our careers as "enemies." Now, we were fishing together in Iraq! One thing Peter did not understand about fishing in the US was guides. He did not understand the concept of paying someone $300-$400 a day to take you fishing on public water. I tried to explain how some people like to have an expert show them where and how to fish on unfamiliar water. He just shook his head. Our chat was interrupted by me catching an average asp and Peter hooking a turtle. Saturday, as usual found me in front of the palace, with Angel. Fishing was slow, I think the fish are getting wise. I caught some of the small catfish. I did find out that they are called Stinging Catfish. That is because if they get you, you will know it! For those uninitiated on catfish, they all have spines in their dorsal and pectoral fins (back and sides) that are very sharp and will put a hurt on an unsuspecting predator (anglers included). These little guys pack a wallop, despite their small size.
Our spot in front of the palace was not productive so we moved over to a canal by the camp chapel. The new major in my watch section (Keith) found us over there. Angel lost another big carp in the weeds, and I caught some more catfish. I gave my pole to Keith, and he caught a catfish. Angel was dejected about losing yet another fish. It was getting hot (100+) so we decided to call it a day.
I had another day of fishing planned for Sunday. I was supposed to meet Jen, the Marine who wanted to learn to fly-fish. While I was waiting for her, I set up to fish and WHAM! I caught an asp on the first cast. I fished for a bit longer, and was joined by Angel and Keith, headed back to their trailers after church. We talked and I fished for a bit longer. Jen never showed, so I packed up and headed back to my trailer to put up my gear and head to church. That ended a pretty busy 4 day streak of fishing. Even though it was only a couple of hours each day (except Thursday, that was a marathon expedition), I needed to take a break from fishing to take care of things like laundry, haircuts and cleaning my room.
05Aug05
For this update my tale is a bit different. because I am working on a story that I am going to try and get published. Key word in there being TRY. This is sort of a trial run.
So if you recall from last week, Ron and I set up one more day of fishing before he departed the AO (area of operations for those not in on all the military-speak) and rejoined his family. He had the day off, so I rode the 0700 bus over to Slayer to meet him. This time we did not trek quite as far, but fished the lake right by his trailer. It was another great morning, clear skies and no wind. We started fishing around one of the buildings built on a causeway out into the lake. Ron was casting the same fly on a casting bubble that had worked so well before, and I was using my fly rod.
I spotted a long dark form cruising about 60 feet out from where I was casting. It was on a course that would bring it within range of my fly in a moment. I began false casting, and when the moment was right, I put my fly about 2 feet ahead and a foot beyond the fish's course. The fly landed, the form turned towards it and when I twitched the fly, the line went tight! The water exploded in spray and my reel began to scream in protest as the bright green flyline vanished and my backing began to pay out at an alarming rate. For those that don't know about fly-fishing, a flyline is about 90 feet long. Under it on the reel's spool is a 300-500 feet of smaller diameter line, called backing. You need this extra line to play bigger fish. Now I had hooked into a whopper, and was nervous about how much backing I had. 150 yards seemed inadequate at the moment as the locomotive I tied into steam out across the lake. I could not apply too much pressure, as my fly was tied onto a 5 pound test leader. So, I put as much pressure as I dared, hoping the fish would turn soon.
The reel began to screech a bit less and I could feel the run coming to an end. I began to recover line a few feet at a time. I worked the fish in closer, keeping my rod high to keep the line out of as many weeds as possible. I could feel the fish shaking its head, trying to lose the hook. Now I could see my flyline emerging from the water. Soon I could make out my fish. It made me out too and took off again on another blistering run. All the line I had gained melted back off my reel. Once more I felt the fish slow and I began to recover line. Once more my bright flyline rose up out of the weed choked waters and soon the white backing was covered up by flyline. The fish now began to nose down into the bottom, rooting around in the weeds. Ron had gotten my camera out of my pack and began to capture the battle with it. 
I kept pressure on the fish, being careful not to horse it and break the fragile tippet. Finally the fight left him and I was able to raise him to the surface.
It was great to have Ron there to take some pictures, I can't do that fishing alone. I asked Ron to see if there was a place I could land this fish. He found some steps leading down to the water and I worked the fish over. I had been fighting this bruiser for 25 minutes and was anxious to complete the catch.
I finally was able to put my hands on my prize and hoisted him clear of the water, my fly trailing from his rubbery lip. Ron was as excited as I was. A soldier that happened by was also impressed with the fish. Ron took a couple of shots and then I lowered the fish back to the lake, held onto his tail and moved him back and forth to get water flowing over his gills. That lasted for about 20 seconds before I felt a powerful surge ripple through the fish as it broke free of my grasp and swam back into the lake. It did not disappear, but rather u-turned and eyed us for a moment, before sauntering back out of sight into the dark water.
The fly that did him in, I call it a a Pheasant Leg
It was a great moment for me. It was the largest freshwater fish I have ever caught on a fly rod and a 5 weight at that!
Even better was being able to share the moment with a fishing buddy. I won't say that is what it is all about because it is not. I don't have the words to describe the thrill I get from just getting a big fish to hit my fly, let alone landing it. I was shaking for an hour after turning the fish loose. That was my day. We kept fishing, and Ron caught 3 more before we headed to the Desert Rose and a hellfire chicken sandwich. I think I've turned Ron into a fisherman, so he can go home and bring his boys into the fold as well. A very satisfying feeling comes over me when I think of our adventures on the lakes of Camp Slayer.
Ron, El Grande Pescador!
15Aug05
Wow, the days are flying by! I am now 1/2 way through my deployment. Even better, I will be home with my family in a few short weeks. I can't wait. Fishing has certainly helped the time pass. Between working, fishing and a little bit of reading, I am pretty darn busy and that is what is making the time go so quickly. I did not fish as much this week as the past couple of weeks. The dust storms were back and frankly I did not have the energy to keep fishing at the pace I was. I loved it, but I have other things to do, like write this webpage.
Last Friday (12Aug) found me back over at Camp Slayer in my favorite spot. No big asp were cruising the lagoon, but there were carp tailing in the flats and smaller asp darting about chasing minnows in the shallows. I began to fish as the sun climbed into the sky, dragging the mercury along with it. I was by myself, having ridden my bike over in the dark to see if I could find one of those elusive uber asp.
Fishing bike.
I had a good morning, catching about 15 asp and one small carp. I also worked on getting pictures with my self timer. It is not easy to get everything ready, starting the camera and dashing back to pluck the fish out of the water and smile. I seem to have trouble with that last one the most. All you will get is my tongue. Don't know what is up with that, but I must be concentrating.
I was getting ready to pack up and head for the pool to cool down, when I spotted a long dark form swimming down the shoreline. It was another big carp, and I had the same Pheasant Leg fly on. I began to false cast, judging the distance to the fish, aiming for the sweet spot 2 feet ahead and a foot beyond. My fly landed in the right place, and I gave it a twitch. The cruiser turned towards the fly and SLURP! I was hooked up to another locomotive. My reel sang and my rod bowed under the fishes power. It made a long straight run, chugging steadily out into the lake. When I looked down, I guessed that about 1/2 of my backing was gone. The fish slowed, and I began to reel in line, pumping him in closer, a few feet at a time. He came right into the bank and I was thinking this guy didn't have as much fight as the one I caught last week. Then, he saw me and set me straight on that. Once more the line melted off my reel. I had the drag set as tight as I dared with my 5 pound tippet. I got the fish slowed and worked him back in. I worked him back towards me and then he made another run, but this time into a bunch of rushes, and my heart sank. If he wrapped me up in those, there's no way I'd get him out with my light line. I put as much pressure as I dared on the line, but he just bored right into that grass. I keep the line tight and began to lower and raise my rod tip, inching him out of that jungle. It worked, and soon he was clear of the weeds, but not out of fight. He would nose down to the bottom, and I could feel his head shaking as he tried to toss the hook. This tug of war went on for another 10 minutes. Finally he rolled on the surface and I was able to work him into the bank. I could see that the hook was firmly planted into his fat lip, so I secured my rod against a pipe and dug out my camera and got set up. The fish was patient and hung there resting. I started the timer, scooped him out of the water and the camera clicked. The background is Sadaam's Victory Over the USA palace. (More on that in my Camp Slayer letter). There's a bit of irony somewhere in that!
I turned him back and he did not look back but thrashed his tail and sped into the water we had muddied up in our struggle. It had taken me 35 minutes to bring him in. Thought not as long as my other fish, he was thicker, I'd guess about 12 pounds. Both were the same species, a fish called Barbus Grypus. I have checked with a biologist and need to get a ray-fin count to confirm it, but the foremost expert on Middle-East fishes (Dr. Brian Coad, www.brian.coad.com) seems to think that is what it is.
Well, I know it has been a while since I regaled all of you with fish tales, so I am writing one for the books. Everyone knows the story of the one that got away, well here's mine (actually another of mine.........) I have another fishing buddy now (funny how that happens to me). Fred is a Marine raised in Colorado who is almost as nuts about flyfishing as I am. He heard my stories and saw my pictures and had to try. First time out he caught a couple of asp and was turned onto fishing in Iraq.
We made plans to go last Monday. Fred gets off work about 0900 so we established a 0930 link up at the transportation rendezvous point (bus stop for the civilians in the crowd). Our transport dropped us off at the objective and we reconned the area. Our analysis lead us to decide on leap-frogging around the shore, casting to cruising fish. I hooked up on my 2nd cast and landed a small asp. Fred worked the shoreline ahead of me and we patrolled (dismounted) around the lake. Ahead of us where some inhabited structures, protruding out into the lake. Intel reports had good sized schools of carp gathering just off these structures. We moved in and soon spotted our quarry. Fred took point and I covered the rear as we approached within striking range. Fred discovered an elevated observation/casting post and set up there. He soon bagged a couple of small albeit scrappy carp. We saw lots of fish, but nothing of any real size, so we moved on, scanning the water looking for lunkers. At one point, we divided our forces and I patrolled a familiar spot, the old zoo across from the Victory Over the USA palace while Fred skirted the complex perimeter and checked out the disengaged side. Carefully advancing, I was rewarded by finding a nice sized asp guarding an inlet. I cautiously approached and he assaulted my first offering, darting out from his ambush site to maul my poor fly. After a short struggle, I emerged victorious!
Fred and I linked back up and continued to maneuver around the perimeter. We soon approached my favorite spot on this lake. It has been the sight of many of the adventures written about on this page. We decided to conduct a 2 pronged flanking attack on the peninsula (he took one side, I took the other). There were some fish feeding, but nothing was interested in our offerings. I was down near the mouth of the lagoon where I lost the big fish this spring. I often see lots of carp tailing in the shallows and have even managed on occasion to catch one.
Today however, there was a marked absence of fish. Soon I realized why. I spotted a wake moving towards me. Not wanting my opponent to spot me, I crouched, lowering my profile. It was two BIG asp, prowling the shore line. They had probably bullied all the smaller fish out of the area. I felt my heart begin to race, as it always does before a big showdown. I began to work out line and then realized it was not two asp. It was one fish, a giant mangar (Luciobarbus Esocinus). These fish are the behemoths of the Tigris River system, and this one was no slouch. All that stood between him and me was a few feet of water and a cast from my trusty 5wt. I cast and my fly went long, the fish cruised on. I cast again, short. I eyed my spot, 2 feet a head of the monster and made a third attempt. The fly landed, I let it sink 8 inches and gave it a short strip. The giant rolled left, opened his maw and my fly went in! I set the hook and waited for the rodeo. It was not a long wait. The fish sped back into the lagoon as I yelled at Fred. He could see the wake it created as it ate line off my reel at an alarming rate. My rod was bowed as deep as I dared and it was having no effect on this whale. I could see the arbor of my reel peering out at me from between what little backing remained on the spool. Thankfully the beast decided to stop and try to shake out the annoyance in its lip. During the run I had run up the back, trying to preserve my frail connection to this beast. My line had become tangled in the reeds lining the shore and I worked to free it from their clutches. Meanwhile I could feel the constant pull on my line, letting me know the fight was not over yet. Eventually Fred and I worked my line free of the foliage, but the line was slack. I reeled up backing as fast as I could, my heart sinking at the loss of such a great catch. Suddenly the pressure returned and I realized I was still hooked up. The fish ran across the lagoon, taking back the line I just gained with a vengeance. This run too stopped and I started pumping the rod and gaining line. Soon my reel became reacquainted with my flyline as it began to cover the stark white backing I had been looking at for 20 minutes. Then the fish stopped. I know I still had it, but it was not budging. It hung out right about where I had first spotted in and dug in. It was now a completely defensive battle. I was defending my ground and he was digging a trench in his. At least it seemed that way, as the mud boiled up off the bottom from his thrashing.
We stood there awhile and finally the big guy came up and rolled near the surface. Fred got a look and all he could say was "Oh my God!!!" The fish then took off on another run, taking me back into my backing. This run did not go as far and soon I worked him back in. Then he ran across the shallows and thrashed the water into a froth before tearing off towards a brushpile. The brushpile was on the opposite shore and if he wrapped me around it, I'd lose him for sure. I then made a tactical decision under fire and plunged into the lake, to cross the narrow channel between the lagoon we were battling and the main lake. The water was thigh deep and the mud sucked at my sneakers. I charged up the far shore and closed on the enemy, taking in line as I gained ground. Fred came across to, supporting the main effort. I had been hooked into the fish for 35 minutes and my arm was feeling the strain. The toad then dug in again and the fight came to a stale mate. I put as much pressure on the fish as I dared without parting my tippet, to no avail. The dinosaur was not not budging. He was certainly prehistoric and not going to succumb to some upstart with a flyrod. I kept up the pressure, hoping to wear him down. A crowd had now gathered, to see what was bending my rod in such a manner. The fish was only about 8 feet in front of me, in about 6 feet of water. I could see the butt of my tippet, but no fish. He was rooting in the bottom and the mud was coming up in clouds, not allowing for even a glimpse of the maker. Then he began to move, and I got ready for another screaming run. He turned towards the brushpile and I strained the connection between us, trying to turn his massive head out of the danger zone. That proved to be too much for my weary tippet and it gave up the fight. Just like that it was over. I had been in the fight for an hour and felt every minute of it. The moment of defeat induced despair was quickly overcome with the euphora fed by adrenaline. I had fought the fish of a lifetime for an hour on a 5wt with a 8lb tippet!
Now, as I wrote at the beginning of this tale I got a good look at this fish. Later Fred did too. How big was it? Well, I would conservatively put it at over 40 inches, likely closer to 44. Fred figured the same. It was a wide and heavy bodied fish, but I won't begin to make weight estimates, It was big. Need a picture? Below is a similar fish, maybe even the same one, as it was caught in the exact spot I was fishing a few weeks ago by a British contractor. The all line record for this species is 140 pounds! They can get up to 2 meters in length - longer than I am! Now, that is a big fish. So, now you've heard my fish tale and as promised, it is a whopper.
I have caught a few other fish and lost some other really nice ones. That is what makes the big ones such a challenge. I am trying to get another of the large shaboot so I can get a decent picture to go with the article that I wrote. The pictures I took of the other two are not of high enough quality to use. I did not realize until too late that I did not have the resolution at its highest setting. Now that I have that fixed, I can't seem to keep one of those big boys on the line. I have lost 2 in the last week. I know, I know, more fish tales! But I'll keep at it and get one. I'm also looking to add a mangar to my list of fish caught here in Iraq. Maybe not a whale like the one I lost, but a nice 15-20 pounder would make me happy. I wonder if there is a fly caught record for that? Wonder if IFGA has records for Iraq? I guess I could answer my own questions if I weren't so busy trying to catch fish.............
Enjoy the pictures.
This is another of my fishing buddies over here. He is a LTC that wanted to take up flyfishing, so he bought a rod, I gave him some pointers and there you have it, his first fish on a flyrod. The second picture is another, slightly bigger fish. The size will come, eventually. If big fish were easy, it wouldn't be such an event to catch one.......right?
The business end of an Asp, with the business end of my flyrod.
This was from this afternoon, before going into work. I got skunked on my usual Saturday morning fishing expedition with Angel, so I had to strike out again before work. That plan paid off much better.
Now from reading this page, most of you know that in addition to fly fishing, I tie my own flies. Have since I was about 6 when my Dad taught me how to tie wooly worms. Anyhow, no fly tier is satisfied with other people's work, he has to create his "own". I'm no different. I am limited in the material available to me, so I create with what I have. One fly that I came up with is a simple freshwater shrimp pattern that I am pretty proud of. I call it a Ginger Shrimp.
My Ginger Shrimp
So, to try out this new fly, I head over to Lost Lake, the lake closest to my trailer. I have caught several fish out of it, but nothing really big. I have caught all the big fish over at Camp Slayer, but it 4 miles over to Camp Slayer and I didn't have that kind of time this day. So, to Lost Lake I went. I worked my way around the lake on my bike, (about 2 miles) looking in the likely spots for signs of feeding fish. Nothing, so I decided I'd give the inlet to the lake a go. I fished for a few minutes without seeing a thing. This is in the same spot where I caught the fish pictured in the installment above. Then I saw a really big tail as a fish swirled near the surface. I kept casting, letting my fly drift in the slight current that the inlet created but to no avail. I shifted over to the other side of the inlet and saw another big tail. This time I cast, and saw the water swirl, like is does when a big fish is moving down deep. Then I felt my fly's drift stop and I set the hook. My reel immediately exploded as my rod bowed and a really big fish began to run.
None of my efforts to slow the fish seemed to have any effect on its run. In a flash, my line was gone and backing was disappearing. The fish then turned and ran back to me. I was stripping in line as fast as I could, all the backing piling up at my feet. I managed to keep tension on the fish as he ran right back to me. He slowed and began to nose into the bottom. I just held what I had and began to crank the backing tangled around my feet back onto the reel. Soon I had the mess cleaned up, and had most of my flyline on the spool. The fish apparently tired of rooting around on the bottom and took off on a tour of the lake shore. All the line I just put back on the reel quickly paid out. This time when the fish stopped, he stayed put about 200 feet up the shore. I began to slowly pump the rod, reeling in a little line each time I lowered it and muscling the fish as much as I dared with a 3x tippet (6lbs). I slowly worked the fish back in. Then we ensued with a game of tug of war that last over 30 minutes. Finally, an hour after hooking him, I brought my fish to hand. It was a dandy! I didn't have a tape (one would think I'd have learned by now....) but I guessed he was about 3 feet and around 15-20 lbs. A really good fish, especially on a 5wt!
A Soldier was passing by, and I convinced him to take a few pictures of me. I needed one more good picture of me with a shaboot and now I had it. You can see the fish below.
A nice asp I caught over in a new lake, called Z Lake, 'cause it's shaped like a Z.
All this was rolling around in my head as I scanned the water, looking for fish. Looking down the once reed choked shoreline, I spotted rings radiating out from a few remnant reed stalks 1/2 in and 1/2 out of the water. The rippled quickly dissipated into the slight ripple the wind was putting on the water, but not before I was locked onto the target. I carefully worked down the high back, cautiously placing my feet so I would not spook the sensitive fish with a heavy footfall. I was casting a size 8 Wooly Bugger, a fly that I had always done well with on this piece of water. Soon I spotted a dark head and a set of rubbery lips breaking the surface near the old reeds. I began to false cast, estimating the distance and calculating the wind's effect on my line. The fly "plopped" down just beyond the fish and before I could even give it a twitch, an asp rocketed out of no where and pounce on it. Once it was hooked, the big fish disappeared into the murky depths with a stroke of its broad tail. I quickly landed the asp and returned it to the lake. Once more I began to scan the surface, looking between the ripples for the dark outline of a fish.
The wind ripples on the lake cannot hide the wake created by the fish headed toward me. It is a mangar, and I had him in my sights. The fish was about 50 yards out, headed straight for me. I moved back, away from the water and crouched down, reducing my profile. I stripped line off my reel and began to cast, aiming for the "zone." The fly landed and the fish swerved towards it. Refused! I quickly picked up the line as the fish turned away from the fly and swam closer. Again I presented my offering and again I was snubbed. The fish was now at CPA (closest point of approach for you land lubbers). My next cast was to a target that was passed and opening. I led the fish more, putting the fly a full 3 feet ahead and 2 feet beyond his course. I let the fly sink until the fish was a foot away. This time the ploy worked - that huge flat head swung towards my Wooly Bugger, the big maw open and inhaled it. Seeing the hit, I set the hook and held on. The handle on my reel was a blur as the fish raced out into the lake. My flyline was gone in flash and the backing was going fast. Suddenly about 100 yards out, the surface erupted as the fish tossed around on the surface trying to rid itself of the hook. That ended the run and I began to work line back in. The fish did not come easily, but I slowly gained line back until the fish was right in front of me, but the water clarity only allowed about 2 feet of visibility. Then the fish's head came into view. We made eye contact and he decided he did not like what he saw. Once again my reel sang my favorite tune as my quarry tried to put distance between us. This run did not last as long or end as dramatically as the first, but gaining the line back was even tougher, as the fish headed to the bottom and tried to stay there. Pump and reel, pump and reel and finally we were almost eye to eye again. Then the fish found the reeds and promptly tangled himself in them. I slacked the line and then put side pressure on him, lowering my rod tip 3 feet into the water. I eventually got him out of the snags and the fight left him. I quickly scooped him out of the water and admired my prize.
While I was home on leave, I dug out my scale and brought it back with me. So, now I could see just how this fish measured up, literally. He was 34 inches stem to stern and tipped my scale at 16 pounds! A very respectable fish on a 6 WT rod with a 3x (6lb) tippet. So I needed to take pictures. Just then some friends showed up, and my problem was resolved. After a few pictures the Arabic interpreter asked what I was going to do with the fish. When I explained I would release him, she asked if she could have it. Apparently this is a favorite fish to eat here in Iraq, so I dispatched the fish and we loaded him into the car. He was dinner for an Iraqi the next day. Not a bad first day back on the waters of Iraq. See for yourself:
That is Janet, the interpreter, with me. She gave the fish to the locals.
Ive done a little research on Barbus Esocinus. What I found is that they are a giant member of the carp/minnow family. What is meant by giant? How does a maximum length of 200cm (6 ฝ feet) and a maximum weight of 200Kg (450 pounds) strike you? That is pretty damn big in my book! The fish is classified as follows:
Name: Barbus Esocinus
Family: Cyprinidae (Minnows or carps)
Order: Cypriniformes (carps)
Class: Actinopterygii (ray-finned fishes)
In Iraq this fish is know as Biss or Bisz (phonetic from Arabic). They are an important food species sold fresh in all fish markets, especially Baghdad. It is also known as Mangar, Euphrates salmon, pike bard, and Tigris salmon (though it is not in any way (besides being a fish) related to the salmonoids). I took my buddy Fred fishing over to Camp Slayer again and he hooked up with his 1st shaboot. It was the classic carping situation of spotting a feeding fish and presenting him with temptation. The third cast worked and Fred landed a decent fish on a 5 WT.
I went over to 8 Lake and caught this fish just before I had to meet everyone for class. Great way to start the day!
I have created a webpage just for the Baghdad School of Fly Fishing. I will post the newest pictures and updates there.
I have caught fish on Thanksgiving Day, before, but not while on deployment. I caught this one before class and Thanksgiving dinner. He was cruising and darted to my fly as it hit the water. It was a streamer that wouldn't float in cement, but he nailed it so fast it may has well have been a dry fly.
JT, a new fishing buddy in the making, hit me up to go fishing on Saturday and how could I turn him down? He did well casting, but not catching. I hooked this guy on literally my last cast. I was going to pack it in and BAM! He bolted out of a bunch of weeds to nail my nymph. Wish it had been JT, but he understands. He is going to be an addict. Only a few hours into it and he is hooked, bad.
I've hit the water a few other times, but teaching and writing for this blog have kept me pretty busy. I caught a few asp one afternoon over on Camp Slayer, even caught the same fish twice. I turned him back and the fly was dangling in the water. The fish swam from my hand, turned and assaulted my fly again. When I turned him back the second time, I kept the fly out of the water. Here are a couple carp I have fooled on Camp Victory. The bigger one (6.5 lbs) was over on Lost Lake, the other was following the Tuesday class right in front of the palace.
So, though only a week since the last update, I have a new fish to report. As with any good fish story, it is best told in a comfortable setting with good friends and a drink. Since I only have 1/3 of that recipe, you will have to provide the setting and drink.
Wednesday morning, the 7th (Pearl Harbor Day), was clear, warm and most importantly calm. It was also smoggy, there was an inversion layer and it trapped all the smoke from burning trash and the lake was making fog. Not terrible conditions, and the fact that it was calm over came the inconvenience of the smog. I taught BSFF class in the morning after I got off work and then debated my day. I had to go to the post office and get some stuff in the mail. I had to take care of laundry and was planning on cleaning my desk. I checked out a car and went to the post office and took care of that. An hour later, I was ready to do some fishing. It was still calm and laundry could wait as well as the desk. Days like this should be used correctly.
It was getting on in the afternoon. At work we had mad a shift adjustment, so instead of sleeping through the afternoon, I could fish and sleep at night. It was as close to a day off as I was going to get. I had not fished at sunset in a long time so I was looking forward to it. I grabbed my gear and loaded it onto my bike. rode over to Lost Lake. I patrolled around the perimeter, getting a read on the water. Recon complete, I chose the east end as my "zone." 1
I had just gotten a new book in the mail, Carp on the Fly by Barry Reynolds, Brad Befus and John Berryman. It is a goldmine! Now you know from reading this page that I caught carp on a flyrod when I was a kid and gained great respect for them. I also used to fish for northern pike on my flyrod, but I was just a dumb kid, right? Well I guess not, since these guys are writing books about those exact same things. Anyhow, I started reading and they had managed to put down in words much of what I have learned here and plenty I did not know. I was anxious to put some of that new knowledge to work. In this book and an article by Dave Whitlock, they talked of grass carp. We have grass carp here, but I have not caught any. They are not completely vegetarian but like most carp omnivorous. However, I think more of their diet is salad than is the case with common carp. Anyhow, I was raring to catch one, so I rigged up and began to prowl the banks as the sun began to lower.
The water was like glass as you can see, which called for very careful presentation. I was hoping for mangar, but looking for anything big. I spotted a few carp hanging suspended just under scraps of reeds, but I didn't' cast to them, not wanting to spook any fish I might be able to catch. I learned that from the book and about how the fish when alarmed release a chemical to warn others. I had learned that from the Dave Whitlock article, but from the book I learned it was called schreckstoff. Apparently it is pretty potent stuff and will keep fish away for a while. So to avoid a release of schreckstoff into the water, I passed on these tough targets.
No the banks around lost lake are about 10 feet high and very steeply sloped. The used to be covered with reeds, as you can see from my earlier pictures. However, crews have cut down all the weeds as a force protection measure and so it is pretty barren now. While it give access to more water, it also makes me more visible to the fish. Therefore I was being as cautious as I could be in trying to spot a fish to cast to. I found a couple to cast to, but no takers. Then I moved onto the south shore easing my frustrations with the hope that new water brings.
The water on the south side was all muddied up from carp rootin' on the the bottom for dinner. Tell tale rings were expanding out into the water from where a couple of fish were dining on the shoreline vegetation. I guess with carp as with cows, the grass is greener on the other side. I worked up on the closest fish, only to spook him with my sloppy presentation. Another was feeding about 40 feet up the bank from my now departed quarry and so I stealthily moved in. I made a 30 foot cast, plopping my fly down beyond the fish. I let it sink and then began to work it back, slowly crawling it across the bottom. I felt it hesitate and set the hook. The fish whirled and sped off into the depths, but my reel was not singing and accompaniment as I was left hooked up to a reed stump I unsnagged my fly and climbed back up the bank trying to spot another feeding fish in the fading light.
More rings radiated out from the shore line about 30 yards west of me. I closed in, looking for a way down the steep bank that would not cause too much noise. I spotted the fish, a long dark form hugging the shore line. Most of his body was back underneath strips of reeds, but I could see his head and the outline of his body. I eased down the bank and got to within 30 feet. I knew I need to make an accurate cast. I cast down the shoreline about 5 feet beyond the fish. I worked on swimming the nymph back, but snagged more reeds. I cast again, nothing. Again, same. The fish was just hanging there. I finally tried a closer cast, putting the fly in the lake about a foot beyond the fish's head. I slowly swam the fly back not letting it sink to the bottom. It must have passed within about 2 inches of that huge head. I let it stop for a moment and then twitched it again, but felt resistance. The fish turned and I set the hook. The water boiled where his great tail made a quick sweep. This fish too whirled and headed for deeper water. However this time his progress was slowed as my fingers put tension on the line and then passed off the job to my reel.
The fish felt heavy as he raced out into the lake. His run ended just as the backing was beginning to show through the flyline on my reel. I began to gain line back until the fish was almost to the bank. Then he saw me. This run made the first look like a Sunday stroll. Line melted off the reel like there was no drag. I dared not palm the spool as I was using a 4x tippet. Well into my backing, the fish again slowed and then stopped. I worked him back in, noting that the light was fading fast. I crouched on the shoreline, hoping that my lowered profile would not cause another blistering run and I could land this fish before dark. Wrong. The fish's eyes met mine and off he went again, though not as far. After working him back in again, we played hide and seek as I tried to get my hand on him. Finally I did and I had my first good look at a grass carp. It was a dandy fish too, 31 inches and 12 pounds! Sure am glad I got that book.
Last Monday I went over to Lost Lake after taking a morning nap. I was hoping to find some fish in the flats along the south shore. I beat the water to a froth casting in vain. I could not get a fish to take anything, small nymphs, big nymphs or streamers. They seemed to be just hanging out, not tailing or doing much of anything. I could see them, just not catch them.
I finally packed up and headed home about an hour before sunset. When I got to the northwest corner, I stopped to look back at the lake, why I don't know. What I saw was a series of rings, indicating rising fish about 20 feet from the bank. I looked closer and it was a pod of very large carp sipping on the surface. Carp on the Fly taught me that the British have coined a term for such behavior - clooping. So, I had a chance to give dry flies a go for carp.
I tied on a size 16 Elk Hair Caddis, and trimmed the wing down a bit. I eased up on the fish and cast. Immediately one came up to look but refused the offering. I cast again, same result. After three more casts and no takers I changed flies. This time to a size 14 emerger (I didn't have anything smaller or I would have gone with a 16 or 18). I spotted a fish nearby and aimed for a spot about 6 inches in front of him. That is where I aimed, however, my fly landed about 6 inches behind his head. That however did not matter, as the fish swung about, spotted by fly and sipped it in. When I set the hook, I knew I had a good fish. That was backed up by the line zipping out the guides as the reel protested. The run ended about 30 yards into my backing and I began to gain line back. The fish came right to the bank and then saw me. The second run was a repeat of the first, just a tad shorter.
After the second run, the fight became the usual tug of war. Finally I was able to bring the fish ashore. As I scooped it out of the water I could tell it was a chunky thing. The scale confirmed that as its needled quivered over the 15lb mark. The tape said the fish was 34 inches. I used my forceps to slip the hook free and slid the fish back into the lake, after snapping a quick picture. The sun had set while I played the fish, and I happily pedaled back home as a few tracer rounds danced across the southern sky (Baghdad's version of the Aurora Australis).
I've been fishing a few other times since my last post. I went one day with JT around the palace lake. I landed a couple of shaboot, including another clooper (albeit not as big as my first clooper). I also have caught a couple of nice asp, here and there. Last Thursday I was supposed to meet one of the BSFF students for some one-on-one, but when he couldn't make it, I fished on. It was a slow day, but I did land a 17 inch shaboot on a size 16 Elk Hair Caddis. The fish turned from over 10 feet away to come to my fly. I did not cast to it, but when I saw it turn, I just let my fly sit. The fish was near the surface, but when it spotted my fly, it went deeper, and came up under it to violently slurp it up. He was a very scrappy fish. I didn't get a pic because after I got the hook out he slipped from my grasp back into the lake.
The rains have come here in central Iraq and the mud puts a cramp in my fishing. between mud and work, I am just not getting on the water, what is wrong with this picture? Well, I did sneak down to the lake one day. I had gotten some flies in a fly swap. A fly swap is where a group of tiers will each tie one fly for everyone in the group, send them to a central coordinator, who will put together sets for all the participants. The sets are one fly from each contributor. Anyhow, mine showed up and I had to try them out. I only had about an hour, but that was enough. I went to a lake across the camp that I don't frequent too much and found a good spot out of the wind. The water was not pretty, covered in dark scum from dust that was floating on top, but I could see fish below the crud. I got ready, and offered out a pretty poor cast. I was picking it up to try again when I felt that familiar resistance of a fish hitting the fly! It was a fat and feisty asp that attacked my first cast. I turned it back and started untangling my line from the bushes that had grabbed it while I unhooked the fish. I flipped my fly into the water, not really a cast but an effort to keep it out of the weeds. Then my leader began to cut through the muck on it's own. Well, not really, because another hungry asp has taken the fly. So I brought it in, a twin of the first. These two were a couple of the plumpest asp I have caught. Often they are long and thin. These two had pot bellies that reminded me of largemouth bass. So, I turned the second fish loose and made an actual cast, one that went where I wanted. I let the fly (a damsel pattern) sink for a moment and then began to twitch it back in. Three twitches and Bam! I was hooked up with another scrappy fish. This one was a first, actually clearing the water in its efforts to shake the hook. Soon I had it by the lip, plucked the fly out and turned it back. 3 fish on 3 casts (no matter how lame the first two were) made for a threefer and I was ready to head out.
Fish one and two of the threefer. Look at that potbelly!
I may not have been fishing, but one of my fishing partners has. He tied into a real monster over at Camp Slayer. I have been promising him for sometime now to hang the pictures, so here they are. I still Like the one above of his first fish on a fly rod............
I'm scrambling to get this out, so my last few stories will not be as elaborate as previous updates. In the last few weeks I was in Iraq, I did not find much time to get out and go fishing. Not much, but some. I made it out 3 times in the last couple of weeks and did pretty good. The first was with a fellow JOCster (inside joke) and Fred. We did pretty good over at Slayer, slaying the asp. Fred and I both managed pretty nice fish (and a ton of dinks) and Nate, well he was happy to be on the water. In other words, he caught a bunch of dinks. It was surreal, as all 3 of us are from the Rockies (MT, WY and CO), driving around fishing in a Suburban, listening to country music and telling tales. There were no mountains however, just palm trees.
Then came the day that SSG G came by and asked me to go fishing. I was dead tired, but he really wanted to go one last time, so I obliged. We fished all around Lost Lake and did pretty good. Well I did anyhow. In the first spot I caught 12 fish, almost one after another. They were all bright shiny asp that were uncharacteristically scrappy. We hit the same spot on the way back and I caught a couple more.
Finally on the day before I was to fly out, I got all my checking out done and had time to hit the lake. As I expected, I found Gillk at his favorite asp spot (it is really good, thanks for sharing it). Since there were a couple other Soldiers slapping spinners into it we decided to move on up the shoreline to his other honey hole. We walked up to the spot and I immediately spotted an asp near the surface and fooled him with a Drunken Sailor SSG G was still rigging up. We cast for a while with no results and then a guard tossed a hotwing (yep, you read that right) in and the water boiled! The feeding subdued, but I slapped my fly on the water and got an immediate response but no hook up. I cast again and this time I connected and we were on! The fish ran me well into my backing, tried to lose me in a snag, but finally succumbed to the power of my mighty 5wt. As my fish was nearing the bank, Gillk hooked up, giving us a double. His fish was scrappy, but tired quickly. We discovered why when he hoisted it out of the water. He maintained his policy of trying not to show me up by catching inferior fish. This one was deformed as you can see below. Mine weighed in at a tidy 13.5 lbs and was 32inches. I sure appreciate SSG G for sharing hit hot spot with me.
After that, SSG G had to go to work and I kept fishing. There were fish everywhere, it was a banner day to be out. I got a lot of refusals from the ever picky shaboots, and then spotted a huge mangar. I quickly changed to a clouser and cast infront of the huge shadow prowling the bank. The fly hardly began to sink when that big head turned and my hands were shaking as I gave a small strip. The beast turned a bit to the side, indicating it was taking the fly and I set the hook. Wow! the fish was off like a rocket, line screaming off my reel. Then I heard a sharp crack and the rod jumped in my hand; the tip section had broken between the tip and the last guide. The line went slack, and I my heart sank. I was so stunned I couldn't even cuss. Yet another mangar had bested me. The score was now mangar 4, Joel 1 and I was down 1 5wt. This was the first time I'd ever broken a rod on a fish and man what a fish! Probably in the 25-30lbs range.
I tried to cast with what remained and ended up in a palm tree. Tugging to get the fly back, got me another crack - 6 more inches trimmed off my 9 footer, making it an 8 footer that cast like a 12wt loaded with a 5wt line. Time to go back is what all this was telling me, so for once I listened. What a memorable day on the water, one I won't forget.
That is the last from on the water here in Baghdad.
There will be no more updates from Iraq, but this link will take you to my post Iraq fishing adventures.
Joel's Post-Iraq Fishing Adventures
Fish on! 
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