An Angler’s Dilemma on the Deer River Flow

You know that old saying, “The best time to go fishing is whenever you can?” Yeah, well, add “unless it’s raining” to that. I mean, everyone knows the fish are more active when it’s dreary, right? All those juicy worms getting washed into the water, the lack of pesky boat traffic—it’s practically a recipe for a fin-tastic feast. But me? I’m a fair-weather fisher through and through.

So, you can imagine my internal struggle when my husband, Jack, announced his buddy John had invited us on a fishing trip to the Deer River Flow. In the Adirondacks. During the spring. Where rain is basically a personality trait. See my problem?

A Leap of Faith and a Crash Course in Adirondack Geography

Despite the ominous forecast (did I mention the rain?), we packed up the car, wrangled my stepson, Micah, and set off. Micah, bless his cotton socks, was stoked. At twelve, he’s at that age where the mere mention of fishing is enough to send him into a frenzy of excitement. Me, I was channeling my inner sunshine and hoping for the best.

As we drove, Micah, ever the inquisitive one, piped up from the back seat. “Hey, why do they call it a ‘flow,’ anyway?” Jack, ever the patient teacher (and maybe a tad relieved I wasn’t the one fielding the geography lesson), launched into an explanation.

Turns out, “flow” is a unique term you only really hear in the Adirondacks. It describes a body of water that’s basically a wide, shallow, slow-moving river connecting two larger bodies of water, like lakes or ponds. Think of it as a lazy river for fish. And the Deer River Flow? Well, it’s one of the best. Famous for its smallmouth bass and the occasional feisty pike.

Tranquility, at Least for Now

We finally arrived at the put-in, a small, secluded clearing tucked away off a dirt road. John, a seasoned Adirondack angler with a permanent grin and a seemingly bottomless tackle box, was already there, his canoe bobbing gently in the water.

The air was still and surprisingly warm for spring, the silence broken only by the chirping of birds and the occasional splash of a fish. Even I had to admit, it was pretty darn peaceful. We unloaded the gear, launched the canoes (yes, plural—Micah was beyond thrilled to have his own vessel), and set off to explore the Deer River Flow.

First Casts and Gathering Clouds

The flow was everything John had promised. We glided through channels carved through dense reeds, the sun dappling the water through the trees. Jack, of course, got right down to business. It wasn’t long before he landed a decent-sized smallmouth bass, followed shortly by a toothy Northern pike that elicited a few choice words when it nearly took his lure. Micah, armed with his trusty spinning rod and a bucket full of enthusiasm, was determined to catch something, anything.

But the clouds, like a bad omen, were gathering. The gentle breeze we’d enjoyed earlier picked up, and the first fat raindrops began to fall. We paddled back towards each other, just in time to see Jack reel in another bass. “Looks like the rain’s bringing out the fish,” he said with a grin, holding up his catch. I rolled my eyes, but even I had to admit, the fishing was good.

Just as I was mentally preparing myself for a soggy afternoon, my phone buzzed. It was John. “Guys, you gotta get over here! The pike are going nuts!” His voice was practically vibrating with excitement.

A Decision, Perhaps Too Quickly Made?

But “over there” was a good twenty minutes of paddling against a now steady headwind and increasingly heavy rain. Micah, bless his heart, was soaked but still optimistic. “Maybe I can catch a pike now!” he called out, his voice barely audible over the wind.

I, on the other hand, was reaching my limit. My rain jacket was doing a piss-poor job, I was pretty sure my boots were waterlogged, and frankly, a hot cup of tea and a good book were sounding way more appealing than battling the elements and a potential face full of fish hooks.

“Let’s head back,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. Micah opened his mouth to protest, but one look at my face and he thought better of it. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, though, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. We radioed John, telling him we were calling it a day. He sounded almost giddy as he wished us well, clearly too caught up in the feeding frenzy to notice (or care) about our retreat.

The One That Got Away (Maybe) and Lessons Learned

Back at the put-in, as we loaded the soggy gear into the car, John called again. “You will not believe this,” he practically yelled into the phone, “I just landed a monster pike! Over forty inches, easy! I told ya the rain brings ’em out!”

Micah’s head snapped up. “Forty inches? Dang it!” he muttered under his breath. Even I had to admit, a twinge of regret stabbed at me. Maybe I had been a little hasty in my decision to leave.

But as we drove away, the rain still coming down in sheets, I reminded myself that it wasn’t just about the fish. It was about the experience. And while mine might have been a little wetter and less “fish-filled” than I’d hoped, it was still an adventure. Besides, there’s always next time. And next time, we’re coming back to the Deer River Flow on a sunny day. Maybe.

Finding Your Own Adirondack Flow

Intrigued by the idea of fishing the Deer River Flow? You’ll find the put-in off County Route (check local maps for the most up-to-date directions), a scenic drive in itself. Remember to bring your fishing license and be prepared for all types of weather – you never know when those Adirondack showers might roll in!