It was a surprise encounter. Each of us traveled roughly 350 miles, meeting on an inconspicuous gravel bank outside an unincorporated rural town. I was looking for trout. It was looking for love.
The last thing I expected to catch on a size 16 crippled sulphur emerger on the East Branch of the Delaware River was an American shad. Many trout had been caught by this point in my trip. Nearly all of them fell to dry flies of one sort or another. I should have expected to catch something other than trout, though. As there are all sorts of foodstuffs drifting atop the water at any given time, all manner of fishes can dimple the surface. Rises may be trout. But fallfish, dace, and panfish will break the level as they feed. I’ve caught bass, carp, and even catfish on dry flies intended for other species.
As far as I can recall, every shad I’ve ever caught has been on a shad dart. This jig excels at getting right in the face of goal-oriented anadromous fish as they move upstream. One could argue that it’s colors and erratic movement mimics some baitfish the shad are used to. I maintain it is simply a nuisance that the shad would swat away with their hands if they possessed such appendages. As is the way of fish, their mouths have to do.
This startling shad not only rose to the dry fly, but it pursued it from upstream. Something about this finely tied mayfly imitation spurred a creature that had moved over 500 kilometers in one direction to turn 180 degrees. Skill tinged with faint traces of happenstance is where I’m at, presently.
