It was heat, overbearing heat that ultimately drove me to the West Branch of the Farmington. The summer of 1999 had been unusually hot and dry, and trout fishing in most of New England’s fragile freestone streams, along with many of the trout themselves, had gone belly up. When the temperature and humidity climbed hand in hand into the nineties, an air conditioned car seemed like the ideal place to be. So I tossed a couple of dry fly rods, my vest and a pair of breathable waders into my clankety SUV and headed south to Connecticut. Three hours later I crossed over an old iron bridge, and as I looked down at the river below I caught sight of at least a dozen fly rods waving like wheat in a breeze. Having misread the map and come in the wrong way, I wasn’t entirely sure that I had reached my destination, but there was one sure way to find out. The atmosphere outside my car was like a pizza oven, but as I scrambled down the fifteen foot bank to the river I immediately succumbed to a sudden urge to return to my car for a jacket. The water temperature was a frigid 55 degrees, and the air above it was not much warmer.

I’ve often heard comparisons drawn between Connecticut’s other great trout river, the fertile Housatonic, and Montana’s Bighorn. In the density of their hatches and the maximum size of their fish I suppose they are quite similar. But the West Branch of the Farmington, like the Bighorn, is a true coldwater fishery, transformed by the release of frigid water from the foot of the ninety-foot Hogback Dam. In fact, during a heat spell, when the warmer tributaries are reduced to a trickle, the temperature in the Farmington actually goes down. And, like the Bighorn, many of the Farmington’s major hatches are of insects no larger than a size 18.

The well-populated pool under the bridge is Church pool. It lies toward the upstream end of a three mile long Trout Management Area (TMA) or no-kill zone. Each year the Farmington River Anglers Association stocks the pool with several hundred fish. In addition, brown, rainbow and brook trout from among the thousands stocked by the state migrate to the pool because it is an ideal feeding ground, where a long stretch of riffles and pockets empties into a quarter mile long, fairly wide and very wadeable, waist deep dry fly paradise. The riffles are a nursery for swimming, clinging and crawling mayfly nymphs, stoneflies ranging from the winter Capniidae to little Yellows and numerous cold water varieties of caddis and midges. The river does offer several hatches of medium sized mayflies, notably the Hendricksons and Yellow Quills and, later in the season, Isonychia. It is better known for its predominant hatches of smaller varieties like the Sulphurs, Blue Winged Olives, Tricos and the river’s specialty, the little Chocolate Dun, Ephemerella needhami.

Dolophilodes distinctus

But its most remarkable hatch is of a rather ordinary looking, small, dark, spotted caddis. What is remarkable about the hatch is that it occurs twice each year, not only during the summer but all through the coldest months of the winter. It also defies almost everything you’ve ever read about fishing a caddis hatch.

I was formally introduced to this little bug on the morning after my arrival. I had seen several different caddis, including the Black Dancer, fluttering above the water during the previous evening. The surface was pocked with dimpling rises, and I cast repeatedly with cocky confidence until I’d run through my entire caddis box without hooking a single fish. Even my most carefully executed induced take techniques, using high floating adult patterns, had been rebuffed. It seems that the road map was not the only thing I’d completely misread.

The following morning, at the first spectral hint of daybreak, I chose a position at the bottom of the riffle and methodically cast deep pupal patterns into the drift. I fished for an hour, with my lightweight waders offering little protection against the frigid water, before withdrawing, fishless and chilled to the bone. A heavy fog lay upon the river where its cool water met with the warm, moist summer air. Eventually the rays of the rising sun filtered through the mist and the trees and diverted my attention to a single, large rock near the head of the pool. There I saw what appeared to be a cluster of mayflies engaged in some kind of ritual dance. On closer inspection, I realized that they were caddis, some without wings and others with their wings fluttering in an upright position.

When the first of the Farmington Regulars arrived they found me prostrate on the rock, camera in hand. At first they thought I was injured, but when I explained that I was at work on a book about New England hatches and was photographing the caddis’s curious behavior, they understood that I was just a few feathers short of a fly. Rick Fasciano, a high school teacher who spends many summer mornings on the river, patiently informed me that this particular caddis hatch was a more or less daily occurrence. He then showed me the minuscule, foam-bodied pupal pattern that he uses to imitate it. This he tied to his leader, and then made a short up-and-across cast into the fast water at the head of the pool, where fish were rising steadily. As soon as the fly hit the water he dragged it back across the surface with quick, short movements of his rod tip. Within minutes he was fast to the first of several fish he would catch that morning. I went back to my rock and looked again. Sure enough, the "wingless" caddis were in fact pupae that had crawled out of the water to emerge.

Soon we were joined by Pete Forte, a high school biology teacher who is widely regarded as the resident expert on the Farmington’s entomology. Neither Pete nor anybody else could put a scientific name to the caddis. What they did know was that it hatches steadily from July to September and again from November through April. In fact, the two hatches have nearly blended together over time, possibly as a gradual adjustment to the damming of the river years ago. They also knew that the pupae emerge not on the surface, but after running across it to the safety of the rocks. After I photographed a winged adult specimen I placed a pair of them in preservative. Returning a few days later to my studio I examined one under the microscope and sent the other to Carl Richards. We both came up with the same identification: Dolophilodes distinctus.

Although the genus sometimes goes by the nickname "Medium Evening Sedge," the Dolophilodes of the Farmington is definitely a morning hatch, emerging at first light in the summer and at around 7:30 during the winter. Distinctus is an eastern species. It is a relative of the better known Chimarra in the family Philopotamidae. These are the so-called fingernet caddises whose yellow larvae dwell on the undersides of rocks. There they construct finger shaped nets, woven of the finest mesh of any caddis species, to trap their food. They are rarely an important part of the drift, and I’ve never had much success with larval patterns. Dolophilodes favor large streams or small rivers with clear, cold, moderately flowing water of which the Farmington is a prime example. A few weeks before emergence they encapsulate themselves in a gelatinous cocoon to pupate. When they are ready to swim to the surface, they are a fully formed pharate adult protected by a thin waterproof skin.

The scene at the Church Pool is quite unlike anything else I have experienced in fly fishing. It gets more fishing pressure than any other piece of trout water in Connecticut, and possibly New England. On a recent spring weekend there were forty cars in the adjacent parking lot. But even when anglers are fishing elbow to elbow, it is without the usual territorial tensions. It feels less like a fishery and more like a social club where everybody knows each other by name. Those anglers not actually engaged in fishing cluster at stream side to exchange the latest stories. But as a club it’s nonexclusive, and if its members feel any reluctance to make room for new arrivals, they’re far too gracious to show it.

They even seem to be on intimate terms with the fish. The regulars know each rock or submerged log in the pool and each fish that might be holding there. "Oh, yeah, I caught that one last week, rainbow, thick in the girth, about 15 and a half inches, right?" "Yeah, that’s the one. Stocked two years ago." The FRAA’s annual stocking is about 250 tagged fish. The narrow swing in seasonal water temperatures keeps ice from forming too deeply. The result is a holdover rate of 35-40% of the browns and rainbows, especially high for a New England freestone stream, in addition to natural propagation of anywhere from 2-10% of the browns. The Association maintains a system of
color coded tags while the state uses a marker in the eye of each fish to indicate their stocking date.

Most of the regulars stick to Church Pool and ignore the other 2.5 miles of the TMA. After all, if you know where the big fish are, why go looking for them? These are experienced anglers who fish all over the country, but when they are home, they fish the Church Pool. And if, like I did, you arrive for the first time thinking you know all the answers, you’ll soon learn the pool’s lesson in humility as you gain a profound respect for the anglers who fish it so devotedly. Because of the incessant pressure, its trout are incredibly choosy, even though they are comparatively easy to approach. The surface of the pool is calm and flat, and any but the most gossamer of tippets will quickly betray your intentions. Like any goal worth achieving, true mastery over these conditions requires many hours of practice and a superabundance of patience. On a recent spring morning I watched one angler cast a size 22 pupal pattern for two hours to a pair of rising fish without ever changing his position, and pausing only long enough to re-light his cigar. After he landed the first of them, a brown of sixteen inches, he spent the ensuing two hours casting to the second, without success. I’d seen him at the same spot, casting to the same fish, on several prior occasions. And I have no doubt that he returned to it early the following morning.

The Regulars, members almost to a man of the FRAA, have cultivated both an intimate knowledge of the stream’s diminutive insect fauna and the art of tying tiny flies to match. It is no coincidence that Pete Forte maintains the organization’s Hot Line in a makeshift headquarters above Dave Goulet’s Classic and Custom Fly Shop. The final stage in the evolution of many of their personal patterns is the proprietor’s tying vice. Like most great tiers, Goulet can be rather taciturn. He greets new visitors with the most cursory of "hellos" while remaining attentive to his work. It almost seems as if a probationary period must pass before you earn the right to his undivided intention. Once you cross that threshold he is generous with his advice, his opinions and his vast store of fishing knowledge. I first wandered into the shop during the brief mid-April lull between the last of the winter caddis and the beginning of the Hendrickson hatch. I was too full of questions, but as Dave slowly overcame his inertia I grew to understand his love affair with the Farmington. When I left, well past his closing hour, it was with a determination to discover its secrets, which, says Goulet, nobody really ever masters.

That was also the first time I heard of the winter caddis. At the time the idea seemed rather far-fetched, but when I saw them in action on those first summer visits I quickly became a believer.

A week before Thanksgiving I arrived at my studio to find a message on my machine from Rick. The winter caddis had started, and the tiny Blue Winged Olives were still going, making for a great full day of fishing. The angler in me wanted to schedule an immediate departure for the Farmington, but the photographer part decided to wait until there was snow on the ground. That didn’t happen until late in January. After the first snowfall I called Dave Goulet, who advised me to bring an augur, as the river was now frozen over. Up until then, he reported, the hatch had been fantastic, the caddis were drifting in quarter-sized clumps and the fish were going crazy. Each week thereafter I checked the Hot Line, and each week I heard woeful predictions of anchor ice and fish kills. "Go to church this Sunday and pay the preacher" said the voice of Pete Forte. "Pray for a warm up." The situation looked bleak.

Don Jepson demonstrates the proper technique...

... and reaps his reward.

When I next saw Rick he was dressed warmly in a hooded red sweatshirt and neoprenes over a football warm-up jacket to combat the chill of a foggy winter morning. He was reeling in his first fish of the day. It was a Sunday morning on Church Pool, but when pealing bells broke the morning’s stillness with the call to worship none of the dozen or so anglers seemed to hear them. Just a week before, on President’s Day, the January ice that had firmly locked up the pool had finally given way. On Thursday the sun came out, the hatch was on and Pete Forte recorded a twenty fish day. There was no hatch at all on Saturday. Sunday presented the first opportunity for many of the regulars to return to their favorite pastime after several weeks’ absence. I’m told that the best hatches of the winter caddis are on sunny days, but on this misty, overcast morning, caddis were hatching in abundance along with a less significant mix of early stoneflies and midges, and the fish were responding.

Although the summer and winter broods are exactly the same species and emerge in the same manner, the two behave in some ways as if they were different insects. In warm weather, when the water is lower, Dolophilodes hatch just where the riffle empties into the head of the pool. The current masks the rises, which are less splashy than most rises to hatching caddis, for in this case the pupae remain bound to the surface. Once they reach the stream side they crawl out onto the rocks, shed their pupal membranes and dry their wings in that unusual posture that first drew my attention to them. Eventually they fly off into the nearby foliage to get on with the business of mating. Their summer egg-laying flights appear to be scattered among those of the little mayflies, and I’ve yet to see fish feeding on them selectively.

As temperatures drop in the winter even slow water has plenty of life-sustaining oxygen, and the hatch moves progressively further down into the pool where rises are easier to read. Just as in summer, Dolophilodes pupae rise to the surface and scamper across the surface to the water’s edge. There they crawl onto the rocks, pull free of their thin pupal skins, and seek a mate. Finally, they return to the water to lay their eggs, all without ever becoming airborne. In fact, during the winter the females are wingless, so that a mating pair appears to have a head at each end. Some females never fully cast off their pupal skins, but mate and lay eggs after wearing a hole in the business end. Their daily activity is compressed into the brief intervals between frigid winter nights. When nighttime temperatures moderate in the spring, the caddis begin to behave more like their summer siblings.

Most caddis mate on the rocks or in the foliage at streamside, with only the females returning to the water to lay eggs. But winter Dolophilodes are as likely to mate on the water’s surface as anywhere else. In addition, it is common for several males to cluster around a single female or mating pair. The adult insects walk or run across the surface as they float downstream with the current. The males’ wings are motionless, and the winter females have none, so it is not surprising that floating pupal patterns continue to take fish hours after the hatch has subsided.

The pattern that Rick showed me on that first day was tiny, a size 22, but relatively simple to tie. The version I use is the one sold in Dave Goulet’s shop, consisting of cylindrical foam lashed to the hook, then brought forward and tied town. Sparse, soft hackle completes the fly, which actually was developed to imitate small terrestrials and which, I have subsequently confirmed, is deadly when so used. I’ve also found that a Hare’s Ear Caddis, tied in the appropriate size and color, makes a good match for the hatching Dolophilodes and skates well across the surface. The three most important factors seem to be size, silhouette and the fly’s ability to ride up high on the surface where the fish don’t have an opportunity to scrutinize it.

	Foam Caddis Emerger HOOK: Nymph Hook, curved or straight THREAD: Black or Brown 8/0 BODY: Brown cylindrical foam, lashed to hook and brought forward. HACKLE: Black hen hackle
David Goulet modestly credits his FRAA associates for many of his original patterns. This is his store version of Rick Fasciano's pupa. The sample in the photograph was tied by David Goulet
Hare's Ear Caddis (aka Vermont Caddis) HOOK: Standard dry fly THREAD: Black BODY: Natural hare's mask fur mixed 50:50 with dyed black rabbit fur, guard hairs included Hackle: Mixed rizzly, dyed dun, and brown.
The first hare's ear caddis was tied by George Schlotter, whose shop, The Angler's Nook, was for many years a fixture on the Battenkill in Shushan, New York. George tells me that the pattern was actually developed by a group of anglers working in concert. The original calls for batural hare's ear mask dubbing and a brown/grizzly hackle. The folowing is my version for Dolophilodes.

Fly selection is important, but good presentation is essential. To fish such tiny flies, most of the regulars use a 2-weight rod. The casting distances are never great, and the ultra-light rods, with their supple tips, do a better job of protecting the long and fragile 8x and 9x tippets required when fishing small flies on smooth waters. But they must be long enough for an active retrieve. To match the behavior of the emerging pupae, cast just beyond the fish’s feeding lane and allow the fly to float only a second or two before you simultaneously wiggle the rod tip and gather in the slack with your line hand. This is not as easy as it sounds, as I soon found out. It is altogether different from skating an adult caddis or stonefly pattern. And it takes considerable dexterity to skitter your fly across the surface without leaving a V-shaped wake. For this reason alone, I drew more strikes by casting up-and-across than with downstream or hooking presentations, which invariably produced fish-repelling drag. But the more practiced regulars hook plenty of fish with across-and-down deliveries in the slower reaches.

Once you succeed in bringing the fish to your fly you still face a stiff challenge in hooking them, and you can expect a lot of missed strikes. Especially in winter, the fish have plenty of time to look over each passing morsel, and refusals are common. Then, even though the fish are chasing a moving target, their quarry is small, and with an active presentation you have little or no slack to work with. To be effective in either season, strikes must be quick but gentle. My first tendency was to over-react and to pull the tiny fly out of the fish’s mouth. At other times I achieved the proper skimming action on an upstream presentation but lost control of my line hand when it came time to set the hook. It may take a morning or two before it all comes together. But then what fun it is to play a 12 to 16 inch fish on a 2-weight fly rod.

During the coldest months of winter shelves of ice line the river and create barriers where the caddis collect. The well-educated Farmington trout take advantage of this opportunity by foraging along these icy platforms. The better-educated anglers respond by casting their flies onto the shelves and then drawing them back into the water. Like the bump of a hopper, this technique draws attention to the artificial where fish have plenty of naturals to choose from.

Winter anglers must be especially guarded against the possibility of hypothermia by wearing several insulating layers beneath their waders, if only because they will spend so much time in the water standing still. I’ve fished in plenty of rivers where the water temperature was only a degree or two above freezing, but never have I been so cold as in the Farmington in the waning weeks of winter. I missed several good fish during my first February outing because I was too cold to respond to the rise. And if, like most of us, your casting gets a tad rusty during the cold months, you might want to invest a few hours in practice before fishing the Dolophilodes hatch. It’s no fun trying to find your stroke when you’re fishing 8x tippet in 33 degree water.

For all the emphasis on Church Pool and on tiny dry flies there are plenty of visitors to the river, at all times of the year and all up and down the West Branch, who succeed in taking large fish on nymphs, wet flies and streamers (all de-barbed when fishing the TMA). On several occasions during that first, hot summer I broke with tradition by exploring the upper section of the TMA and found plenty of fish, although they uniformly ran smaller than those at the Church Pool. I also found good mid-day hatches of Drunellas (a group of Blue Winged Olives in the same family as the Hendricksons) as well as the more familiar two-tailed Baetid BWOs. In the substrate I discovered healthy populations of Epeorus vitreus nymphs (a later hatching and, in New England at least, more frequently occurring relative of the Quill Gordon) and another cold water loving caddis, Neophylax. Curiously, there were no signs of the spotted or cinnamon caddis that are so dominant on our freestone rivers. It seems as though the same environmental changes that have gradually extended the Dolophilodes hatch have slowly killed off the more common netspinners, causing Dave Goulet to retire some of his best known caddis patterns.

In August I returned to the Farmington to fish the Trico hatch. It was an off year for Tricos, but the Dolophilodes were still there, hatching at the head of the pool, and I had the opportunity to photograph a pupa in the act of emergence. They weren’t difficult to catch. All I had to do was step out of the water and pick one off my waders. The Farmington Regulars were also there. Some were skimming pupae just below the riffles while others, further down in the pool, were casting tiny imitations of Trico spinners. All of them were catching fish. And for the next few hours, so was I.

FRAA
P. O. Box 147
Riverton, CT 06065

or consult their web site at www.fraa.org.

For current conditions along the TMA, the FRAA River Hotline number is (860) 738-7327

The two flyshops nearest the TMA are:

Classic and Custom Fly Shop
190 Main Street (Rte 44)
New Hartford, CT 06057
(860) 738-3597

(Flies, tying materials and tackle, guide referrals)

UpCountry Sportfishing
Rte 44
New Hartford, CT

(860) 379-1952

(Flies, tackle, guiding services, licenses)

*This article origianlly apeared in the November/December 2000 Issue of Fly Rod & Reel under the title "The Caddis of Winter"