Big Fish in the Big Apple: Fly Fishing for Carp in Central Park

Admittedly, even as a dedicated fly fisher, I never thought I'd find myself flinging hand-tied flies among tourists for what many anglers consider “trash fish” species. But the story seemed to fun to pass up—plus I've heard carp fight like hell. So, putting aside my own bias for fish commonly held in higher regard and on my journalist cap, I exchanged a handful of emails and texts and set up a guided session with Dr. Dale to experience his carp in the park program first hand.

At the shoreside plaza in the heart of the park we waited, photo and video crew in tow, amid a hum of tourist groups in matching t-shirts, competing musical loudspeakers, and a healthy summer heat. Before long I spotted Dr. Dale as a bundle of fly rods protruded above the mob, his grinning face soon unveiled as he navigated to my own 9-foot-8-weight beacon.

While we rigged up our rods, we talked about what makes carp fishing in Central Park unique, discovering his clientele is as varied as New York City. "All of my clients are completely different, from artists who make their living on incredible showcases of paintings to investment bankers," explains Dr. Dale. "I also guide scientists, med students, grad students, people who drive Ubers.”

Access to fly fishing opportunities is a major through line of Dr. Dale’s guiding ethos, to “create an opportunity for people to fish all the time in a place they don’t have to take a train two hours away. [Where] they can build very strong technical skills in fly fishing that they can take wherever they want.”

After a quick rundown of our tactical approach and rigging of flies onto lines, we looked for an opening at the water’s edge. Immediately we began spotting carp mouths pushing through the dark, algae-bloomed surface to suck in sustenance. With sightseeing neighbors at my shoulders and behind my back, I was a little nervous following Brandon’s direction to cast for the surfacing carp–hooking an innocent bystander would be really bad for all parties involved. This is where the technique comes in.

Stripping line off the reel and the lead fly in my hand, I employed a quick-casting method favored by sight-fishing saltwater anglers to avoid making anything that resembled a backcast (the long aerial dance a fly line known to any great fly fishing photo and every movie scene cameo). Within only a few casts, an agape feeder slurped my surface fly.

Shit!

Successfully catching a fish this early in an outing is commonly known to doom every following cast. Thanks to an unprepared mindset though, my uncertain hook set didn’t hold, and after a quick fight my first carp got away.

Pushing onward, we circumnavigated the lake and cut through side trails decorated by droppings from both two and four-legged creatures. From openings in the brush, we inspected the water for the surfacing backs and mouths of feeding carp. The tree coverage was so thick, we rarely had enough space to lay out a proper cast. Instead, we had to opt for a bow-and-arrow cast I usually only employ when searching for brook trout in narrow mountain streams.

From a small bridge, we were able to observe several carp feeding in the murky still water below. Navigating off-path, we ducked under the bridge to cast into the shallow pool where several carp were feeding. An early cast landed my fly just inches from an awaiting mouth, and in a flash, I had just my second successful take of the day. The oily water erupted as the sizable common carp thrashed around until I could reel it in close enough for Dr. Dale to net it.

A wave of relief washed in as the pressure of getting skunked faded—even if the smell of one only intensified. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve ended a day without fish to net, but certainly the first with several pals in tow documenting the outing. Hoisting the fat fish out of the net for a photo, it was hard to ignore the pungency of its odor. Yes, all fish smell, but boy, do carp stink on a whole new level. Add in some generally gnarly NYC lake water and you've got one nasty cocktail.

Odor aside, the Cyprinus carpio was massively fun to pursue and put up a strong fight once hooked. While carp fishing may not take over as my go-to species to chase after with a fly, the experience gave me a new appreciation for the species—and for fishing in city centers at that. If nothing else, fishing in Central Park provided a healthy reminder that a dose of nature and a hint of adventure are often more within reach than we might think. You just gotta know where to look.

If you're interested in learning more about NYC fly fishing with Dr. Brandon Dale, reach out directly through Instagram or his website, Carp in the Park. Tell him Bob sent ya!