A Couple of Surprises

Rainbow from the Paulinskill River.

Trout Away From Home

I can catch more trout close to home. Even today proved that point, as I caught two of my three trout in the North Branch Raritan a couple miles from where I write now. Those last two fish took only 20 minutes to catch. I fished the Paulinskill River an hour away for three hours, but despite a long time spent to catch one trout, that river surprised me in a couple of ways I’ll tell you about, today a great day of fishing alone.

I drove up there basically because I felt curious about catching trout elsewhere. More specifically, it was because I want to write an article for New Jersey Federated Sportsmen’s News about the Paulinskill, and though I have some limited experience catching trout there, I had no photos of trout caught from that flow until today. I do have photos of some of the many smallmouth bass my son and I have caught, including some big ones. The biggest smallmouth I’ve ever caught—19 3/8 inches—came from a stretch in Blairstown.

Blairstown Interests

To digress just for a moment—maybe it will interest you, maybe not at all—Blairstown is multidimensional regarding my interests. I guess it could be for others, particularly with respect to the opportunity for camping and hiking, but anyway, the fact that I’ve done more up there than fish frames my motive to visit today in a larger frame.

My son and I have not only fished there, he used to attend a New Jersey Audubon camp during the summer nearby. Ridge Runners may still be in existence for high school aged participants. New Jersey Audubon naturalists are steeped in experience and knowledge to pass on to youngsters, and the kids love it. Talk about outdoor experience instead of games on a mobile device.

Matt, his mother, our former black Lab Sadie, and I, also once camped at Mohican Outdoor Center just outside of town at the foot of Kittatinny Ridge.

Besides fishing and camping, my wife and I did a history outing, visiting various attractions in town, especially those having to do with 19th century entrepreneur John Insley Blair. Otherwise, I attended a poetry festival at Blair Academy decades ago, when I rubbed shoulders with Gerald Stern, a famous American poet who my writing mentor, Ed Minus, author of the novel Kite published by Penguin Classics, knew personally.

What does that have to do with fishing? Well, nothing is ultimately separate from anything else, and though it’s surprising when something pokes its face where unexpected, I wouldn’t have become a poet myself without trout fishing leading to getting published in fishing magazines…which led to writing poetry.

Not Really Expecting Anything

I rode up there feeling as if nothing would really happen, though I enjoyed the ride. In Blairstown, I surveyed my favorite stretch. The water low, clear, and shallow, I didn’t see a single fish. Didn’t bother taking a cast. Yeah, the day began to shape in the form of a skunk, I thought, but I didn’t really care.

I felt suspended as if life had been lived a decade ago when my son and I caught the big smallmouths. Since I felt gratitude, it didn’t matter much if I would catch nothing. But it felt a little weird, as if today will prove to be my conclusion of goings-on along the Paulinskill and in Blairstown.

Maybe not.

I tried the low-head damn, and though the state posts a sign there, I believed they hadn’t stocked it. A nice pool exists. Not too big, not too shallow. And if any trout held in it, they probably would have struck. I caught a fallfish.

Fallfish probably swim upstream from the Delaware River.

I followed State Highway 94 eastward, to the site of the former Paulina Dam removed during summer 2024. Again, the water was shallow, but viewing a slight depression from the bridge, I saw a fish dart for cover. It didn’t look too big, but I knew I could have been mistaken about that, the realm of possibility including that it could be a fall stocker.

I got my rod, camera, and black Lab Loki. Loki splashed only yards from where that fish had darted, but I didn’t really believe it would make a difference. On my second or third cast, I saw that fish as if it were a ghost—darting forward and knocking my jig.

I cast again and got slammed.

This one I brought home to my wife. It came as a surprise, but I was wondering if maybe the state tossed less than a dozen trout in over the bridge rail. Guess I got the last one.

Next, finding a certain bridge in Marksboro came as a surprise, where Matt caught an 18-inch smallmouth in 2014. Another kind of homecoming. The swiftly moving water looked no less than great for holding trout. I had made a left at a road that seemed familiar though I wasn’t sure. Now depths as great as four or five feet allured me. Lots of big rocks. Water pushing through hard but not too hard. I fished it thoroughly and got hit once by something that felt small—that quick jibber-jabber feeling like a sunfish that had to be a fish a little bigger than that. Full sized trout will sometimes just bite on the black marabou and not on the hook.

Posted

Further east along 94, but not as far from the left turn I had made as expected, I hung another left where this time I was sure, but after riding a couple of miles, I wasn’t sure if I should continue on the same road or make yet another left that came into view. I continued without turning but I soon turned around.

That proved to have been the right decision, but I had to drive an additional three or four miles. I did fish the pool until I got snagged and broke off. But then I found the spot had been posted since last I fished it more than 11 years ago, and no state posting for trout stocked water exists.

I found the spot but now it’s posted.

On the way back out to highway 94, I came on a smaller road leading in the direction of the river and made the turn. I found the road a one-lane passage that indeed took me to a bridge I’d never seen before. And state trout stocking signs.

A very swift passage of river—a chute—calms somewhat in deeper, fishable water that should hold trout. I even think it probably holds bass. I fished it thoroughly, but never got hit.

A Paulinskill River bridge I saw for the first time today.

Home Water

Three hours had passed and I felt ready to ride home, though I had a spot in mind. The North Branch Raritan. There I found a young fly fisher standing in the river on the opposite side. I said hello and began fishing upstream of him. When I worked my way back towards him, he fought a trout.

“There’s a couple of huge ones sitting right in front of me I’m trying to catch,” he said.

“What pattern are you using?”

“Egg pattern. The browns are spawning now and rainbows love to eat eggs.”

“You catch any browns?”

“No. But there’s a lot in the South Branch.”

I told him about my 15-inch wild brown from further downstream.

“If you want to cast here, you’re welcome to,” he told me. I obliged and pulled a 15-inch rainbow almost out from under his feet.

Then I turned to make my way back upstream again, determined. “There’s usually trout up there,” I said. I hooked something that smoked my drag. When it came into view, I understood I had snagged an average fall stocker, not hooked a big one.

Not that average fall stockers aren’t good sized.