For most fly fishermen, carp are simply seen as trash fish. Gross, ugly, disgusting critters that live in the muck, serve little purpose, and would be better off gone.

Words like those, uttered around me, leave me gasping for air, trying to spit out all the reasons carp are arguably one of the best
freshwater fish you can chase with a fly rod.

From rivers and ditches to ponds, manmade reservoirs, and natural lakes, carp are widespread, prevalent, and, most importantly, accessible. For many anglers, there are carp swimming within minutes of home. Why wouldn’t we take advantage of such an incredible resource?

Ironically, the black cloud hanging over carp and their reputation as “trash fish” has helped create some pretty unique opportunities. They are ignored, overlooked, and often left alone in places where other gamefish receive tremendous fishing pressure.

And I’m perfectly fine picking up everyone else’s trash.

Growing up in Pennsylvania, carp were everywhere. Among the bass, panfish, trout, and plethora of other species available within a few hours of home, carp somehow found a spot in my brain at a young age.

I still have a few early memories that stand out. My dad catching a huge carp on the Schuylkill River. Drifting that same river and seeing giant scaled creatures feeding in the shallows. Even watching grass carp bigger than me cruising a pond next to a soccer camp.

At that age, these fish seemed enormous and nearly uncatchable. Naturally, that made me want to figure them out.

My first attempts involved worms, corn, bread, and just about anything else I knew, or thought, a carp might eat. At the time, the idea of chasing them with my 4 weight fly rod seemed ridiculous. But after spotting carp cruising the local trout streams and ponds I regularly fished, the thought had crossed my mind.

The first carp I distinctly remember hooking and landing on a fly came shortly after, when I was around 12 or 13 while fishing a local trout stream. I spotted a fish feeding along the far bank, tied on a larger golden stone nymph I could easily see, and dropped it in front of the fish.

It ate.

Suddenly, I was tight to a fish I had dreamed about catching on a fly after years of chasing them with conventional tackle.

That was it for me. From then on, if I was going to chase carp, I wanted to do it with a fly rod exclusively.

The floodgates didn’t open immediately. Carp fishing rarely works that way. But no matter where I was fishing, my eyes started scanning for them. I could be chasing smallmouth in a creek or bluegill in a pond, but if carp lived there and were spotted, everything else went out the window and that was my new target for the day.

More than 20 years later, not much has changed.

After more than two decades of chasing carp on the fly, I’ve found one thing to be true almost everywhere I fish.

“They’re trash fish.”

“They’re ugly.”

“Why would you fish for carp?”

My response is almost always the same:

“Well, have you ever caught one on a fly?”

Almost always, the answer is "no", or,"I tried but didn't catch any."

Very few anglers who have spent enough time pursuing carp to catch them consistently would call them trash, ugly or not. They are difficult to approach, difficult to fool, incredibly powerful, and frustrating enough to
humble even very good anglers.

That frustration is also why a lot of people give up.

You can spend a few hours stalking fish, make only a handful of legitimate casts, get a couple of refusals, and go home skunked. For anglers whose primary goal is simply to “catch fish,” that can be a tough pill to swallow.

Carp fishing certainly isn’t for everyone.

But it is available for almost anyone to try.

Learning how to spot fish is essential to becoming a successful carp angler. More importantly, you need to learn how to read what that fish is doing.

Seeing a carp doesn’t necessarily mean you have a good target.

A fish sitting motionless near the surface and soaking up the sun is certainly catchable, but it isn’t nearly as angler friendly as a fish actively feeding. Just like in the salt, I’m looking for tails, mud, nervous water, movement, and other signs that tell me a fish is happy and eating.

A happy, tailing carp is a happy, hungry target.

Once I spot one, my brain starts running through a checklist.

Which direction is the fish moving?

How aggressively is it feeding?

Can I make a traditional cast, or would a drag and drop presentation be better?

Will my fly line cross the fish?

Will the leader spook it?

How quickly does my fly need to sink?

Can I get closer?

Should I make the cast now, or am I better off waiting?

Sometimes, before I even clearly see the fish, I’m making decisions based on nervous water, a flash of color, a tail, or a mud cloud in the distance. How I approach that fish can determine the outcome long before my fly ever hits the water.

The list my brain runs through when I spot a carp is longer than I’d like to admit.

But that’s part of what makes it fun.

It is much closer to hunting than traditional trout fishing. I often equate it to spot and stalk archery hunting. You find your target, read its behavior, work into position, and wait for your opportunity.

Then you get one shot.

For a fish that gets called trash, they certainly don’t behave like it.

Once I know how I want to present the fly, or at least think I know, it’s time to take the shot.

Presentation is everything. I want the fly to land softly while still getting into the fish’s feeding zone quickly enough to be noticed. Ideally, the fish sees the fly enter its field of vision naturally rather than it searching and milling for my fly as it rests on the bottom. I want to see them actively trying to eat my fly as it moves into their feeding zone.

One of the biggest factors in my carp fishing is using a fly I can see.

Carp have a nasty tendency to inhale and spit out a fly incredibly quickly. The entire eat can happen without the angler ever feeling much through the line. Because of that, relying solely on feel will cost you fish.

Instead, I want to watch the fly and, more importantly, watch the carp.

If I drop the fly and see the fish turn, move toward it, tip down, or otherwise react, I’m ready.

If I feel any weight, tick, hesitation, or mushy load through the line, I’m setting the hook.

Most of the time, that means a firm strip set to drive the hook home. The exception is when I’m drag and dropping to fish extremely close, usually within a couple of rod lengths. At that distance, there is so little line between you and the fish that a hard trout set can bury the hook just fine.

Then hold on. Because that ugly trash fish you just fooled is about to remind you why you spent the last few hours creeping around a shoreline or mud flat trying to catch it.

With runs into your backing being commonplace and larger fish over 20 pounds in reservoirs throughout the state, carp often require an 8 weight paired with a reel that has a strong drag and can handle the power and long runs. I’ve had a few reels fail me on big carp and a rod or two that came back in more than 4 pieces. These fish truly bring the feel of saltwater fishing to the freshwater flats we have right at our disposal.

Again, carp fishing on the fly is not for everyone. It’s a game that requires patience, trial and error, and an understanding that it isn’t always just about catching fish. One wrong step, a fly hitting the water too hard, or a poorly placed cast can end an opportunity in an instant. Every little detail comes into play while chasing carp.

For those who choose to take the “higher” ground and fish for trout exclusively or turn their nose up at the mere mention of carp, that’s just fine by me. I’ll keep picking up their trash with a grin on my face and listening to my drag peel.