In fly fishing, they refer to the lowly carp as a “poor man’s bonefish.” I disagree. For one, that’s classist. Two, carp were status symbols among European royalty before they were brought to North America. Three, have you ever had to wrestle a bonefish out of a sunken shopping cart?
Many a carp angler has tried to elevate the invasive bottom feeder by pitting it against a fish that is widely considered the pound-for-pound, hardest-fighting target on fly. I’ve heard the arguments on both sides: “Bonefish are faster.” “Carp get bigger.” And on it goes.
While size or spunk are most often brought into question, I believe that the major decider of what builds a good culture behind a species is access. Growing up in New Jersey, I could wade a beach along Raritan Bay for stripers just as quickly as I could drive to wild trout streams in Morristown. When I moved to Oregon after college, the spots near home introduced quests for redband, bull trout, and steelhead. The fish that swim close to where you live usually become your identity as an angler. By default, it’s what we often end up targeting the most. If you’re someone who always needs to be chasing a bite, fishing locally is a must.
In my first year back east and living in Boston, my fishing priorities reshuffled again. There are plenty of excellent trout and bass options close by, but as I adjust to city life, I’m learning something many of you probably already know: It’s not always easy to get out.
Enter Cyprinus. Carp have been on more fly anglers’ radars in recent years due to the growing “alternative species” scene in the sport and because of their adaptability and tendency to be found everywhere. I’ve fished for northeastern carp from the sand flats of Lake Champlain to bustling Central Park—an accomplishment that I question whether it should be an actual source of pride. Regardless, I’ve cast to carp in many places. In my new living situation, I ended up diving deeper into the carp fly world than I ever had before.
With its muddy ponds, slow-moving rivers, and deep reservoirs, Boston and its suburbs host an incredible range of carp-y opportunities. There are canals where 4- to 8-pound fish will run out your drag until your arms are sore, and lakes that are home to 30-pounders you may spot only a couple of times a season. Nearly every fishing scenario involves sight casting. More importantly, many fisheries are easily accessible by a short drive, bike, or good old public transportation.
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After one carp-filled season in Boston, I’ve added quite a bit to my repertoire. The jury’s still out on the carp vs. bonefish discussion, but the wording I’d use to describe carp fishing in the city does ring a bell….
Thousands of big, hard fighting, unpressured fish you can sight cast to in shallow water!
Sounds like what you’d read in a brochure for a high-end saltwater fishing lodge…
Stunning Landscapes!
A world-class fishery is nothing without a fitting backdrop, right? I’ve been impressed with the beauty and green spaces in Boston since I moved here, but it definitely doesn’t scream “trophy fish.” Luckily, I had a head start on locating good carping thanks to some local friends. I was soon getting shots at fish at places I wouldn’t have initially believed were anything special. I was immediately impressed by the density of fish within the city limits. I had just started and was already amid some of the best carp fishing I’d ever experienced. As I readjusted to the world of urban water, I started to do some of my own branching out and exploring what other potential my home waters held.
Carp were introduced in the U.S. for vegetation control, sport fishing, and their familiarity as a food source. When they fell out of favor for these three purposes, the fish populations went unchecked and continued spreading across the continent through river systems and unauthorized stockings. Carp are highly tolerant of polluted, warm, low-oxygenated environments, and as a result, thrive in populated areas where water quality is questionable. There are rarely bodies of water that carp can’t live in, only places they haven’t made it to yet. From office parks to graveyards, there are so many little stillwaters around the city that have a few carp swimming around that it’s hard to suggest any method other than getting out on your own and exploring.
As far as rivers go, the Charles, the Mystic, and their tributaries offer plenty more options all around Boston. Within these systems, look for mud flats, grassy walls, or creek inputs. Carp feed in many different places throughout the day, but anywhere they can dig or find food being washed around are good places to focus a first search.
Technical Fishing!
Still settling into the city, but excited to continue exploring my new backyard fishery, I put quite a bit of time on local waters at the start of summer. We had mostly beautiful weather, and the clear skies and low wind made perfect conditions for spotting fish.
As the season went on, I fished through an array of quickly humbling conditions. The hot, windy days eventually arrived, skimming the water with a constant ripple that made looking for fish next to impossible from a bank. Algal blooms sprouted over the slower rivers and stillwaters, giving the carp sheltered slop under which they could feed in peace. One time, after a particularly rainy week, I arrived at one of my favorite rivers to find that it was completely covered with a thick layer of yellow pollen.
Carp sight-fishing is unique because these fish often feed on the bottom in waters that aren’t exactly ideal for sight-fishing anyway. Although I was familiar with catching them in this manner, the new scene in Boston gave me lots to learn. Committing many days this season quickly brought me up to speed locating giants in unlikely places.
Spotting carp can be as simple as seeing the entire fish or as tricky as matching a target to a steady stream of bubbles and mud churned up in a riverbed. The stocky frame of even a small carp moves a decent amount of water, so be on the lookout for out-of-place ripples or wakes.
If time allows, I highly recommend putting down the rod for a few minutes and observing your targets. Carp watching, aside from being a good way to ruin a park walk with your significant other, is helpful for studying the behavior of a comparatively smart fish. Learning the ways these fish conduct themselves helped me pick how and when to take shots when opportunities were few.
There’s a certain “drag and drop” method of presenting to fish that many shallow-water carp fly anglers use. Its employment depends on the activity of the carp and the fly you’re using, but for the water I fish in Boston, I end up using this technique most of the time. It involves delicately casting past a fish (without casting over it) and slowly stripping the fly so that it stops and begins to sink about a foot or so in front of the target’s head. It’s a great way to get where you need to be without splashing down in that same area, and it allows the fly (usually something that sinks slowly with attractive action) to behave how it’s meant to right on cue. Sometimes, carp will be close enough that you just need to dap a fly on their heads, or they might give you a window so small you need to quickly fire a cast onto one and hope it doesn’t spook. When given the option, a subtle and accurate presentation is most effective.
Legendary Hatches!
Bread, crustaceans, minnows, nymphs… highly adaptable carp eat just about anything that will sustain them within their ecosystems. I’ve seen some nasty stuff in waterways while carp fishing. It’s not worth getting into in a family-friendly publication, but I sure hope there is a limit to what carp choose to ingest.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I cycle through a handful of confidence flies I can present differently that are not really based on any sort of natural forage. Since I often use the drag-and-drop method, flies I can slow-sink vertically like a light worm or mop fly are classics.
Rigging up to deliver the goods can be a moving target. Carp are big and fight hard, but they are also quite spooky and line shy. I try to work backward from the flies I use and match everything else to the environment, size, and behavior of the carp. For most of my time in Boston, a medium-action, six-weight rod and about a 3X tapered leader are my bread and butter. This combination has the finesse to deliver trout-like presentations and protect the light tippet necessary to fool fish in the first place, but (usually) doesn’t make me feel outgunned in a fight.
Fish Measured in Pounds, Not Inches!
Speaking of feeling outgunned, carp are deceivingly strong. One minute they’re lazily coasting over to pick up your fly as if it’s just another option at a noncompetitive buffet table, and the next they’re throwing all that once-docile weight behind a finger-blistering run into your backing. Throw that situation into a rebar-and-wood-choked waterway, and you’ve got yourself an old-fashioned street fight. It’ll make you look at your neighbor’s koi pond a little differently knowing that any of those fish could ruin a leader in a fraction of a second.
An angry carp north of 10 pounds may sound uncontrollable on a five or six weight, but with the right touch, you can land these fish in a couple of minutes. Stay active on your reel’s drag, making sure everything is set to dampen that first scorching run. Side pressure is your friend, but be prepared to raise your rod up high to get your line out of the water and steer a fish around structure.
As if it was scripted, my biggest carp came at the tail end of the summer. It ate a tiny beadhead egg, was sight-fished out of a canoe, and weighed more than 20 pounds. It helped that the fish was hooked in fairly open water, but it still tested my light tippet skills to their limits.
No Other Anglers for Miles Around!
Urban areas have an inverse depressurizing effect on its freshwater fisheries, with the mere presence of so many people acting as a deterrent for anglers seeking the solitude associated with the sport. The fishing might be good, but you’ll likely be around a lot of folks who have never seen what you’re about to do.
Over my carping summer in Boston, I’ve been filmed, laughed at, interviewed, cheered on, and just ogled. I’m often approached from behind in the middle of a backcast by curious people who seem to have no idea that the long fluorescent thing hurtling out of my rod tip has a hook on the end of it. Kids cluelessly threw rocks on top of a pod of fish without any notice of what I was up to.
These aren’t fishing spots; rather, they’re spots where you can fish. They are very public places used by different people for many different reasons, and you need to be able to go about your business with a certain acceptance of the outside noise. By putting on a smile and understanding where you are and who you’re with, you’ll make the experience a lot better for yourself and others. This isn’t for everybody, but if you can put up with it, it’s certainly worth your time. As of now, I can count the number of other people I’ve seen fishing for carp in Boston on one hand. The carp act like it, too.
Rich Cultural Experiences!
I’ll be the first to admit that fly fishing for carp in Boston, or any fishing endeavor in a heavily populated area, can seem unapproachable. However, in the same breath, I’ll tell you not to knock it till you’ve tried it.
A sight-fished carp is an excellent test of your presentation and fish-fighting abilities. These fish are a legit challenge, seriously fun, and completely do away with the idea that you need to head to a far-flung location to have this kind of experience. Based on what I’ve seen on other adventures concerning Northeastern carp on the fly, Boston has some of the best.
At the end of the day, you’re also in a city. You can strap your rod tube to your backpack and walk right into a bar to catch a game or put in a quick 45-minute session on your lunch break (just wash your hands). This all ties into my belief that these areas are the epitome of carp fishing: Places where you can get weird, challenge the norms of where good angling should be, and target something that’s just as out of place in a space as you are with that fly rod. I dare you to go out on a nice day in July and not have a good time.
And on that carp vs. bonefish getaway discussion… I’ve only caught one of the mentioned contenders. If anyone wants to prove me wrong, I’m always ready to expand my horizons. You’re buying.
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