Rainy weather fishing at Deer River Flow

By Lisa Ballard

There’s an old adage among anglers that the fishing gets good in the rain. One theory is that the droplets aerate the surface of the water, enticing fish to become more active.

The fish cannot see predators, including humans, as clearly through the uneven interface between water and sky, and thus feel more comfortable feeding higher in the water column. What’s more, since birds tend to stay in their roosts, fish are more likely to rise to the surface to nab bugs. Or maybe the fish sense the drop in barometric pressure and feed more heavily because a storm may be brewing, and this might be the last chance for a meal for a while. 

Regardless, I’d rather take my chances when nothing is falling from the sky.

Given that I’m a fair-weather fisher, last summer, when my friend John invited my husband Jack, stepson Micah and I to meet him with our fishing rods at the Deer River Flow, I had a dilemma. The weatherman called for a chilly, overcast morning and rainy afternoon, good for fishing. It was an overdue chance to get together with John, and I was curious about the place. I had passed the put-in for Deer River Flow, 15 miles north of Paul Smiths on Route 30, more times than I could count but had never explored it. 

“Let’s go,” urged Jack. “If it rains, we’ll head home.”

Flow, defined

“What’s a flow?” asked Micah, who was visiting from Montana. I wondered if that was a uniquely Adirondack term where there are many flows. I was hard pressed to think of one elsewhere.

“A flow is not swamp or marsh, though it is typically shallow and full of grass, stumps and lily pads,” I explained. “The water isn’t stagnant. It’s flat, but moves gently, or flows in one direction. Usually there’s some sort of impoundment, manmade or beaver-made, that creates the flow, the Deer River in this case.”

We met John and one of his friends at the put-in as the first hint of the morning drifted up from the hazy horizon. Our small flotilla worked its way down a narrow cut in the grasses that filled the waterway to either side like an unruly aquatic lawn. The air and the water were completely still, except for the occasional croak of an unseen frog.

The flow, a wide spot in the Deer River, is about 2.5 miles long from the roadside put-in to the dam. It’s a 400-acre Y-shaped body of water, with the base of the Y at the put-in, the left arm (the main arm) ending at the impoundment, and the wilder right arm narrowing to a sometimes-navigable channel to Horseshoe Pond.

After a quarter mile, the grass petered out as the gray-veiled sun rose into the sky. I prayed the rain would hold off until lunch as Micah and I veered to the left. I was in the stern, and though I had a fly rod with me, I was content to handle the canoe while Micah cast. 

Using a spinning rod, Micah expertly tossed a lure toward the uneven shoreline, while Jack, who had headed to the right side of the flow about 100 yards away, cast a fly line toward some nervous water by a decaying, half-submerged stump.

“Got one!” he shouted, his rod arcing toward the stump. A couple minutes later, a feisty smallmouth bass wriggled in his net. After a couple of quick photos, he returned the fish to the dark water.

MORE TO EXPLORE

Paddling the Deer: Bushwhack required

Canoeing the Deer River Flow

‘Other-worldly’ isolation along the Deer River Meadows

Photo by Tom French

Micah got excited to land a fish himself. We returned to the other shoreline, and he cast again as I watched Jack turn up the right arm of the flow. He didn’t go far. The arm proved too shallow, but there were fish in it. His rod arched again, this time with a toothy Northern pike on his hook.

As we paddled to see Jack’s second catch, a raindrop plopped onto my nose. Little pock marks marred the previously glassy water. Digging our rain gear out of our drybags, I thought, “The fishing does indeed get good when it starts to rain.” But the thought was more an observation than motivating.

My cell phone rang. “You guys need to head this way. The bass are biting!” said John, enthusiastically. This way meant into the flow toward the dam.

Micah and I left Jack to his pike and returned to the other shoreline, planning to fish toward John. Micah cast several more times. With each cast, the rain gained intensity. Soon, the bottom of canoe had a half-inch of water in it. I had had my fill. We were over a mile from the put-in, but only half-way to the dam.

“Let’s go home,” I said to Micah, turning the canoe around, then signaled to Jack to follow.

Jack shrugged at us, as if to say, “Are you sure?” then turned toward the put-in, too. There was no sign of John or his friend.

We found the cut through the marshy grass and followed it back to the cars. As we loaded our gear, the rain came even harder. I had no regrets, that is, until my cell phone rang again.

“Where are you guys?” said John. “I’ve caught eight more fish!”

Was I too hasty demanding my family’s retreat? Maybe, but those fish are still in the Deer River Flow. We’re already planning to return on a nicer day, even if we need to work a little harder to find them.

Directions: 

From Paul Smiths, head north on Route 30 for 15 miles (about 3.5 miles north of Meacham Lake Campground) to the junction with Cold Brook Road. The put-in is on the north side of Cold Brook Road by the junction. Parking is on the south side.