Spent some time on a relatively untraveled stretch of Maryland’s Gunpowder river; my first time there and covering 2 miles of water (6-7 hours) I only saw one other angler. He had come in from a different point, aiming to cover some of the same water — just from the opposite bank and he started a little later in the day. Most of the banks on this stretch were about 6 feet above the water line but there were periodic egress points through the vegetation to begin reasonable approaches to the water. Most of these, however, resulted in slipping on the slick mud and unintentionally sliding down the bank into the water. Success quickly became doing so without making noise on the water or making much of a wake. I did okay after that first one.

I was looking for Brown Trout. Mostly, I caught Fall fish on the day. I had never seen Fall fish before; they are a new species for me. They ranged from 8 -12 inches and seemed to really stack up in places. In one run, I pulled at least four from the same 20 foot stretch despite the commotion and splashing made by the previous fish. I imagine there were quite a good number more in there, but eventually the spot turned off and I moved on. They (rightfully) fight hard enough, but 6x fluorocarbon is too much for them and they’re quickly to net. They seem to jump more than brown trout, not nearly as much as the wild rainbows back west — even in the net however, it takes a while for the Fall fish to settle down it seems.

These fish can sometimes reach lengths of 20″, but typically are much smaller. Larger fish of the species are called ‘Shenandoah Tarpon’ – but mainly, folks dismissively call them ‘chubs’ (a moniker they share with the similar-looking Dace of the area). Fall fish happen to be the largest native minnows found on the East Coast of the United States, for what that is worth.. [… and having gone down that rabbit-hole, I will also volunteer that the Colorado Pikeminnow is the largest native minnow in the US (up to 6 feet long and 40 lbs) adding further, that the Siamese Giant Carp of Indochina is the largest minnow, period — one being recorded in 1994 at 6ft and 330 lbs.]

The Fall fish in the picture above was simply notable for its winning personality. They photograph well — silvery bodies with darker tops to blend in with the river bottom — and those beautifully large and pronounced scales, of course. The tarpon reference is well-informed, if only for aesthetic qualities and not size or the ability to mangle and ultimately break a young man’s 3|0 hook or spool you while you’re running down the beach on the wrong side of the surf. It is a good looking fish to my eye. The fish in this photo went for an olive quill-body perdigon, tight-line drifted across the bottom of the river (just before the swing started as I recall) and after calming down, was sent back on his way, perhaps a little-bit wiser.

Earlier in the day, the high point of the day occurred while standing on the river bank peeking out through a double-door size opening in the vegetation and trees, staring at the water — trying to read what was happening in the river. A bald eagle flew from upstream, seemingly oblivious to me until it was about 6 feet from me, maybe a foot higher than eye-level. He swung his head right, noticing me right as he passed, and then did a solid bank to his left to get some distance, turning back upstream, looking at me again, and then started climbing back up (to safety?) reaching what I imagine is one of his usual perches in the largest bare White Oak that lords over the entire area. No nest observed, but he stayed there for the next twenty or thirty minutes while I worked through a nice little run from the other side of the river — until I looked up at some point and noticed him gone. I have never been so close to an Eagle as that moment, and I like the idea that we were sharing that stretch of river, each of us looking for fish in our own ways for a nice little stretch of time.

I will also note that when I arrived (still well ahead of sunrise) the first spot I entered on the river brought out a grumpy beaver who swam out, not quite half-way across the river, and started in on the tail slapping threat-displays. I am increasingly annoyed by those guys, but respect that they belong in the ecosystem. The thought of getting into it with a beaver is kind of ridiculous though — if you lose that, then you have to explain that your injuries are from a beaver — and it you win that fight, congratulations you beat up a beaver, a fact that will literally impress no one. To boot, I have to imagine that tail-thumping warns the fish that predators are about.

Best to just move on.

Finally, summer is officially over. The days are colder and the nights start sooner. Leaves are on and in the water. There is not enough light after work to make it worth driving out to the Potomac (which has been high and brown over the last couple of weeks), and unless I decide to start mousing or night-fishing, consider the Potomac back in the category of being accessible only on weekends. I feel good about my connection to the Potomac though — that I’ve learned at least a solid few miles of it really well this year– and that I know more about its changing character through the seasons, an aim I’ve been working on this year. It is a good river, and I never cease to be amazed at how completely alone you can be when you’re in it, smack dab in this middle of a metro area of millions.

currently reading: Playground, Richard Powers

Last full listen: Trail of Flowers by Sierra Ferrell