Once again I arrived at the reservoir around 12:30pm, and surprisingly (no, not really) there were two fisherman in the spot I’ve been frequenting.
In fact, there were several fishers along the first few hundred yards of shoreline.
So, I kept driving, confident I could find carp elsewhere.
I spotted some fish pretty quickly and went down to the shoreline, but after 20 minutes or so, there were no decent shots afforded to me. So, I drove farther down the road.
Stopping at a turn-off, I saw several carp far below. It was a very steep bank, and about 150 feet above the water, but it looked navigable.
I grabbed my fly rod and bowfishing bow, and headed down the embankment. It was more of a controlled slide, since the ground was loose rock and sand.
About halfway down, I stopped and contemplated whether or not I was making a huge mistake. I wondered if getting back up the steep hill would be arduous.
After convincing myself that I aim to visit spots other people don’t have the fortitude to reach, I went down the rest of the bank to the water’s edge.
The carp I’d seen earlier clearly spotted me, because they were nowhere to be seen.
After 20 or so minutes of watching and scouting with my bow, I grabbed my fly rod and started casting.
I caught a little smallmouth bass on the first cast. Then again on the third cast. And the fifth. And so on.
It was almost automatic. Soon boredom set in.
Eventually I grabbed my bow again and started walking along the shoreline very slowly.
Planting myself in one spot, I crouched and waited.
Just a few minutes later, a medium-sized carp swam by and I shot and reeled it in. Here’s a picture of the fish.
Not long after, I saw a big carp swimming down the shoreline towards me. I stayed in the crouched position, and drew my arrow back.
The anticipation was exciting, and as the fish approached I aimed and let an arrow fly.
I saw a small cloud of blood behind the fish. The carp immediately bolted with my arrow lodged about two inches behind its eye socket.
I reeled the big fish in, and started pulling it along the shoreline so I could get a picture of the beast (my iPhone was in my pack around the bend). But, just a few seconds later, I felt no resistance.
The fish was gone.
My arrow had gone all the way through the fish, so it seemed implausible that it would simply come out. But, it did. Damn.
I’d hoped to soon see the fish floating nearby, but there was never any sign of it.
I shot another carp about fifteen minutes later, but it too threw the arrow before I could land it.
It was now around 2:45pm, and the carp action had slowed. I decided it was a good time to explore farther down the reservoir.
So, I grabbed my rod and bow and started up the hill.
About a quarter of the way up, I had that sinking feeling—I realized this was going to be a ball-busting climb.
Maneuvering up the long, steep hill covered in loose rock and sand in the hot sun was no joke. I’d guess that the angle of the embankment was around 55-degrees.
My heart was racing. I was gulping oxygen and sweating like mad. A brief thought crossed my mind–would anyone ever know I was down here if I couldn’t make it up?
Several minutes later, after I reached the top, my legs felt like jello. You know the feeling.
The below picture doesn’t come close to doing it justice, but here’s the hillside. To provide some scale for you, I could’ve probably laid down on the large brown rock seen in the middle of the picture near my forehead.
I put my bowfishing gear away, turned on my vehicle, and pounded some lemon flavored Vitamin Water Zero. That’s some good stuff.
Farther down the road I found another, much more accessible, spot with carp mulling around the shoreline.
After a short walk down to the water, I took what I’d call a Hail Mary shot. The carp was big, and it was right above another carp, but they were about 25 feet out and 1-2 feet below the surface.
But, I stuck the fish and it bolted. But, the threw the arrow after a few seconds. I really wanted to bring that fish to the shore.
About ten minutes later I found a nice spot to crouch and survey the water. I saw some white carp mouths ambling through the water towards me, and I got ready.
I stayed crouched, drew my arrow back, and let it fly.
Bullseye!
The fish headed for the depths with my arrow in it and after a decent run, I started reeling it in.
But, that sumbitch threw the arrow!
How does this keep happening?
Here’s my hypothesis, which I admit could be wrong.
I used the same arrow today as I did earlier this week. The point of the arrow wasn’t sharp any longer—it was blunt. Could it be that my arrow wasn’t penetrating all the way through some of the fish that escaped?
The second fish I shot today escaped even though the arrow point had gone completely through its body and out the other side, so that’s one kink in my theory.
My other hypothesis is that the arrow I used today had two barbs, which doesn’t seem to have the holding power of my three-barbed arrows.
Anyhow, I left shortly thereafter, and I think my accuracy today was around 20% again. Maybe 25%.
Fun day on the reservoir!
