So I packed up and headed to a place I haven't been to in 25 years. I started my trout fishing "career" here on the Manasquan. A river where you learn where not cast rather than where to. It's also a river that could be used to show the history of hooks, sinkers, and lures that have been used in the last 100 years. Basically, there is wood everywhere. Forget the backcasts, it's behind you, in front of you, above you and below you. It's where I started with mealworms and salmon eggs. Salmon eggs that would be stored on your wading belt after removing the cap and screwing the jar into a metal lid and holder combination. I can remember the slick that would be formed everytime I would bend over to reach to remove my gear from a log or branch.
The access I went to was Preventorium Road behind the high school. As soon as I got to the bridge it felt very familiar. I saw the signs stapled to the trees and went over to look.
The bottom sign was the Trout Stocked Water warning sign and above it was about the Sea Run Brown Trout. Maybe these things do exist! I spent the next hour and a half remembering how to fish the Manasquan. It's takes practice and patience. It was a little new since I had never used a fly rod on this river. I can remember how deadly and accurate I was with an ultralight Diawa spin outfit. I didn't catch anything but boy did I have fun. I found some nice holes above the bridge and also remember what it was like to try and cast through a thicket of branches to get
to that perfect spot. I did get there, managed to get a wooly bugger in there, and waited for the strike that never came. I moved below the bridge to some water that I would think held fish but not today. It was just fun to be out there. The water temp was 40 degress and the air temp went from 32 when I got there to 38 when I left. The area below the bridge was a series of s-turns
that made pools and bends in the river. As the morning turned into afternoon I decided to try a new spot downriver. I took the short drive and was on a neat section, with long slow pools and a few riffles. I changed my wooly bugger from olive to black and a few casts later felt a fish on. I saw it turn near the surface after a sluggish strike and it was off. Game on now. It was a little over an hour later when I lost the next fish downriver. But I felt good because I knew fish were there. I went back at both of them with no result. As I tried the second time for the first fish, braced on an overhanging tree, with my leg up as a counterweight, and slightly off balance, I could feel the resistance as I made my cast in the air. My eyes focused on a large branch overhead. First I saw the series of spilt shot, then above that a bobber, and then finally near was my wooly bugger. A typical Manasquan River decorated tree, and with that, my day was done.