I had only an hour or so to get on the water, so I grabbed some stuff quickly and headed out. I noticed that my favorite lure wasn't in the box but I thought I must be missing it since I always have a small Rebel floating minnow with me. It's a strange lure that's presumably on its way out. It's similar to the standard Rapala, but no one's ever given it respect. Even so, it's been my confidence lure for nearly two decades now. I've caught about as many species of fish as I've fished for on it, often pulling in more and bigger fish than I'd have expected. As long as I have it with me, I feel like I'll have some success.
So when I get lakeside and it's not there, I'm not sure what to do. It's my default lure for this situation, trying to catch small bass, bream, and crappies over and between some vegetation, near a fallen log that's eaten more than a few hooks. I suddenly feel that, despite the nice weather, my time would have been better spent tying flies or taken a nap. It's a silly proposition, of course – that only one lure will catch fish – but it's one anglers often face. We all have our go-to flies, baits, and lures. Sometimes something will work its way into or out of this category, but it takes time. And lots of fish.
Years of experience, countless books read, obscure resources consulted, etc. And here I am, convinced of failure and unable to pick out even one of the 20 or so little lures on me that I think will work. Even fishing for 'gills. I make a careful selection. A few casts later, a swirl. A few casts after that, a bass. That's all it takes, and I've got a new back-up lure in the arsenal. The rest of the day doesn't go so well, but I'm not surprised. Leaving, though, I don't have to blame it on the missing lure, but on the weather, the early season, the choppy waters, the preponderance of disc golfers, and the like.
It's that simple to becomes satisfied with a new lure, though, because we want to scam ourselves. We want to attribute both more and less to our lure selection than necessary. Less, in thinking that our magic gimmick will work, and more, by thinking that there's something more elevated to the whole process than simply matching a lure to prey and conditions.
In buying into this system, though, we eliminate the rewards of experimentation. When we fish a bit and catch 10 fish on a lure, we stick with it, never knowing what we'd have caught had we switched lures early on. Could we have caught a dozen? Bigger fish? A different species. We don't know because we like to keep our assurance of success during that outing, even at the cost of discovery. We want to feel right about thing. Lure selection, after all, is largely a confidence game.
Showing posts with label bass fishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bass fishing. Show all posts
Monday, May 20, 2013
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Early Season
It's a 70-degree day on mid-March, and I'm frustrated. It couldn't be nicer outside, but I'm too sick to go fishing, so I might as well use that as an excuse to catch up on this year so far.
Which hasn't been much. I've been out four times and managed just one fish. I'll give myself credit for some tough conditions, particularly since this winter has been extremely snowy (making much of the water around here either inaccessible or blown out). The first time I hit a local lake with fly rod looking for some early season 'gills. The lake was still partially iced over, and I wasn't expecting much -- I just wanted to get out on a nice day.
A week or so later I hit the George Washington Forest for some brookie action. It was sub-freezing when I started. I was missing one glove and discovered a leak in my waders. It was cold enough that when I climbed out of the river and walked to a new spot, the line on my reel froze up, locking up everything. I pushed through, rewarded with one native brookie four or five inches long. That was an "eh" day. I didn't know whether to expect anything at all.
I hit a nearby DH a few weeks ago. Thinking it had been stocked, I got there early (and was wise to do so -- when I left around lunchtime, there were 4 anglers fishing a 100-yard stretch of water) and dealt with the cold, the iced-up guides, etc. Nothing. The upstream portion had changed enough that I wasn't even able to find the weird fish I've only ever caught in this stream. I later found out an entirely different stretched had been stocked, which meant I'd spent the day fishing high, cold, heavily poached water. I'm not too disconcerted.
Last weekend was bad, but I couldn't resist going out to the lake. I was hoping crappie might be in a little, but it was cold and raining, and the water was considerably off-color. I would like to have been in a boat -- retreiving into deeper water and away from the already problematic vegetation -- but I made do. No strikes at all, aside from one little chub in the outflow.
I found a protected cove and kept twitching a minnow lure over the grass. Finally I had a big bass hit. And come off within seconds. A few casts later, something big swirled at it and missed. That was the only excitement of the day (unless you count losing a lure in the brush).
I'm pretty sure that's more skunkings already this year than I had all last year (and maybe as many as the last two years combined). Normally I wouldn't mind too much -- conditions have been bad and everyone can have a bad streak -- but I know it's unlikely I'll get out anytime in the next few weeks. So for now, it's blogging, shopping for equipment online, and -- if the Vitamin C kicks in -- learning to tie my own poppers.
Wish me sanity.
Which hasn't been much. I've been out four times and managed just one fish. I'll give myself credit for some tough conditions, particularly since this winter has been extremely snowy (making much of the water around here either inaccessible or blown out). The first time I hit a local lake with fly rod looking for some early season 'gills. The lake was still partially iced over, and I wasn't expecting much -- I just wanted to get out on a nice day.
A week or so later I hit the George Washington Forest for some brookie action. It was sub-freezing when I started. I was missing one glove and discovered a leak in my waders. It was cold enough that when I climbed out of the river and walked to a new spot, the line on my reel froze up, locking up everything. I pushed through, rewarded with one native brookie four or five inches long. That was an "eh" day. I didn't know whether to expect anything at all.
I hit a nearby DH a few weeks ago. Thinking it had been stocked, I got there early (and was wise to do so -- when I left around lunchtime, there were 4 anglers fishing a 100-yard stretch of water) and dealt with the cold, the iced-up guides, etc. Nothing. The upstream portion had changed enough that I wasn't even able to find the weird fish I've only ever caught in this stream. I later found out an entirely different stretched had been stocked, which meant I'd spent the day fishing high, cold, heavily poached water. I'm not too disconcerted.
Last weekend was bad, but I couldn't resist going out to the lake. I was hoping crappie might be in a little, but it was cold and raining, and the water was considerably off-color. I would like to have been in a boat -- retreiving into deeper water and away from the already problematic vegetation -- but I made do. No strikes at all, aside from one little chub in the outflow.
I found a protected cove and kept twitching a minnow lure over the grass. Finally I had a big bass hit. And come off within seconds. A few casts later, something big swirled at it and missed. That was the only excitement of the day (unless you count losing a lure in the brush).
I'm pretty sure that's more skunkings already this year than I had all last year (and maybe as many as the last two years combined). Normally I wouldn't mind too much -- conditions have been bad and everyone can have a bad streak -- but I know it's unlikely I'll get out anytime in the next few weeks. So for now, it's blogging, shopping for equipment online, and -- if the Vitamin C kicks in -- learning to tie my own poppers.
Wish me sanity.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Of all days to forget the camera...
You can probably tell by the big gaps in post that I haven't any outings ridiculously good, ridiculously bad, or just ridiculous lately (though I do have a few more reports to get up this year). Today, though, was a very strange one, and of course I managed to forget my camera when I could have used it a few times.
They stocked the "lakes" (and I use this term rather than "ponds" because that's technically the name) in an area park this week. I'd rather be somewhere more exciting, but you take what you can get, so I figured I'd head out for a couple hours in the rain this morning, and just throw some nightcrawlers to see if I can get into bass, panfish, or catfish, if the trout weren't biting.
I walked past the three people already fishing who probably had the energy to set their alarms last night (presumably not Red Sox or Angels fans). No luck, so I took the trail around the lake through a bit of woods. I came to a snake on the trail, who seemed to have no interest in moving for me. I thought at first that it was a black snake, but it had these bands around it, and a troublingly triangular head. Still, it was in my way, so I did what any thinking person would do: I poked it with my rod.
It didn't flinch. Was it dead. I tried to roll it over, at which point it raised its head and gave me a really dirty look. Given the slitty eyes and the white underbelly, this thing was looking like a cottonmouth, and despite all scientific evidence that they don't live in Albemarle County, it looked like one, so I left.* With no photo.
On my way back around the lake, I saw something stirring on the surface of the lake. I got closer and saw it was a turtle taking bites out of a chunk of fishing floating there. No camera (though I'm not sure I needed that shot).
I took a little bluegill and was trying to figure out what to do about the bum fishing, when it suddenly turned on. I took 4 bass up to about 11 inches and one decent 'gill over the next 30-40 minutes, and I lost a monster bluegill near the bank. Suddenly it stopped.
I don't think it was related, but a group of six, mostly kids, had showed up and marked their spots all along the bank. One did catch a bluegill, which they called a "perch".** It was a nice group, but I needed some space. I was ready for new tactics, so I tied on my floating minnow and headed for the lower lake.
Shortly after, I heard a big commotion in the woods behind me. I turned and saw a huge buck running between the trees. I couldn't count, but I'm sure he had at least 8 points, and I'd believe 10 or 12, on a wonderfully symmetrical rack. No camera.
Then back to the upper lake, where I quickly snagged someone's fishing line. I could feel a light throb as I reeled in, so once I got my lure to the bank, I grabbed the other line by hand and pulled it -- and the 13-inch rainbow trout attached -- to shore. The fish had been hooked deep with a bait hook and was bleeding, and he had apparently broken off an angler's line, but not at the hook or the swivel -- the line must have somehow broken near the reel, because there was a long distance out. I gave the trout to the family, and after a few casts with my Pcola spoon went home.
So it was an odd day, with lots to report on considering I only caught six of my own fish. Despite the fun, I remembered why that's not my preferred fishing. I listened to other people talk about where the stocking truck had dumped the fish (coincidentally right next to where nearly all the trout I saw had been caught), about following the trucks around and then catching a limit, about snagging carp with big lures. Not really my scene.
Still, I wish I'd had my camera.
*If anyone can convince me that this was something else, I'd love to hear it. I hate to be someone wildly reporting a dangerous animal where it's not supposed to live, but I really can't find anything else that had that combination of viper head and eyes, black-on-black banding, and white belly.
**This is apparently a regional thing, as it's not the first time I've encountered it. Before I realized this usage, I was looked at like I was an idiot when I once expressed surprise that there were "perch" in a pond.
They stocked the "lakes" (and I use this term rather than "ponds" because that's technically the name) in an area park this week. I'd rather be somewhere more exciting, but you take what you can get, so I figured I'd head out for a couple hours in the rain this morning, and just throw some nightcrawlers to see if I can get into bass, panfish, or catfish, if the trout weren't biting.
I walked past the three people already fishing who probably had the energy to set their alarms last night (presumably not Red Sox or Angels fans). No luck, so I took the trail around the lake through a bit of woods. I came to a snake on the trail, who seemed to have no interest in moving for me. I thought at first that it was a black snake, but it had these bands around it, and a troublingly triangular head. Still, it was in my way, so I did what any thinking person would do: I poked it with my rod.
It didn't flinch. Was it dead. I tried to roll it over, at which point it raised its head and gave me a really dirty look. Given the slitty eyes and the white underbelly, this thing was looking like a cottonmouth, and despite all scientific evidence that they don't live in Albemarle County, it looked like one, so I left.* With no photo.
On my way back around the lake, I saw something stirring on the surface of the lake. I got closer and saw it was a turtle taking bites out of a chunk of fishing floating there. No camera (though I'm not sure I needed that shot).
I took a little bluegill and was trying to figure out what to do about the bum fishing, when it suddenly turned on. I took 4 bass up to about 11 inches and one decent 'gill over the next 30-40 minutes, and I lost a monster bluegill near the bank. Suddenly it stopped.
I don't think it was related, but a group of six, mostly kids, had showed up and marked their spots all along the bank. One did catch a bluegill, which they called a "perch".** It was a nice group, but I needed some space. I was ready for new tactics, so I tied on my floating minnow and headed for the lower lake.
Shortly after, I heard a big commotion in the woods behind me. I turned and saw a huge buck running between the trees. I couldn't count, but I'm sure he had at least 8 points, and I'd believe 10 or 12, on a wonderfully symmetrical rack. No camera.
Then back to the upper lake, where I quickly snagged someone's fishing line. I could feel a light throb as I reeled in, so once I got my lure to the bank, I grabbed the other line by hand and pulled it -- and the 13-inch rainbow trout attached -- to shore. The fish had been hooked deep with a bait hook and was bleeding, and he had apparently broken off an angler's line, but not at the hook or the swivel -- the line must have somehow broken near the reel, because there was a long distance out. I gave the trout to the family, and after a few casts with my Pcola spoon went home.
So it was an odd day, with lots to report on considering I only caught six of my own fish. Despite the fun, I remembered why that's not my preferred fishing. I listened to other people talk about where the stocking truck had dumped the fish (coincidentally right next to where nearly all the trout I saw had been caught), about following the trucks around and then catching a limit, about snagging carp with big lures. Not really my scene.
Still, I wish I'd had my camera.
*If anyone can convince me that this was something else, I'd love to hear it. I hate to be someone wildly reporting a dangerous animal where it's not supposed to live, but I really can't find anything else that had that combination of viper head and eyes, black-on-black banding, and white belly.
**This is apparently a regional thing, as it's not the first time I've encountered it. Before I realized this usage, I was looked at like I was an idiot when I once expressed surprise that there were "perch" in a pond.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
New Looks at an Old Site
There's a park in town I've fished a few times, and I haven't made up my mind what I think of it. I've never been skunked, and I did have one of the best outings of my life there last summer. Other than that day, though, I've never really done great. I usually manage a handful of fish, none too big.
But I go there because it's accessible and fits my schedule, and because I know that great outings are possible. The only downside is that the hike on the trail is like walking on the beach, which is a little annoying.
I was there a few weeks ago with pretty good luck, catching a few bass, losing a decent one, and getting into some big 'gills. The highlight of the trip was seeing a bald eagle, something I've only done once or twice before. The big bird even landed on a tree branch for a few seconds so I could get a good look.
More recently, I headed back when I had a short window. I took a chub and a little smallie on 2 of my first 5 casts with a floating minnow lure, so I thought the day would be a busy one. Then it cooled. I watched a 2-foot longnose gar twice look at and refuse my bait, and then I spooked a largemouth.
Heading out of the water was the key, though. I decided to try to find a way through the woods to a paved trail, which would save me plenty of time fishing this spot. I saw some people who'd been picking plants heading through the trees, so I chased after them, and discovered they were using a trail. I went up the trail and discovered...a cricket game? I've seen some strange things in the wild, but people playing cricket might be the oddest.
I backtracked, followed an alternate path, and came out at a parking lot. Even better than just coming out at the trail. I took the paved road back to where I'd parked and decided to try downstream. To my great joy, there was a path I'd never seen (more like a clearing, really) that led to a nice pool downstream. I fished that pool, and the calm water just downstream from it and took maybe a dozen or so fish, including largemouths, bluegill, and even a crappie. I didn't have time to explore further downstream, but it looks like there's some good water that way, too.
There was even one moment of excitement in there, when something huge struck my minnow. I never got a good hookset, but I saw a flash of fish, seemingly too long to be smallie, but to thick to be a musky or a gar. With the visible vertical markings, I suspect it was an unusually big smallmouth. Which means I'll be back.
Sometimes fishing is about getting away from it, but sometimes you just don't have time for that, and I'm happy to find a place that's manageable with only a couple hours free.
But I go there because it's accessible and fits my schedule, and because I know that great outings are possible. The only downside is that the hike on the trail is like walking on the beach, which is a little annoying.
I was there a few weeks ago with pretty good luck, catching a few bass, losing a decent one, and getting into some big 'gills. The highlight of the trip was seeing a bald eagle, something I've only done once or twice before. The big bird even landed on a tree branch for a few seconds so I could get a good look.
More recently, I headed back when I had a short window. I took a chub and a little smallie on 2 of my first 5 casts with a floating minnow lure, so I thought the day would be a busy one. Then it cooled. I watched a 2-foot longnose gar twice look at and refuse my bait, and then I spooked a largemouth.
Heading out of the water was the key, though. I decided to try to find a way through the woods to a paved trail, which would save me plenty of time fishing this spot. I saw some people who'd been picking plants heading through the trees, so I chased after them, and discovered they were using a trail. I went up the trail and discovered...a cricket game? I've seen some strange things in the wild, but people playing cricket might be the oddest.
I backtracked, followed an alternate path, and came out at a parking lot. Even better than just coming out at the trail. I took the paved road back to where I'd parked and decided to try downstream. To my great joy, there was a path I'd never seen (more like a clearing, really) that led to a nice pool downstream. I fished that pool, and the calm water just downstream from it and took maybe a dozen or so fish, including largemouths, bluegill, and even a crappie. I didn't have time to explore further downstream, but it looks like there's some good water that way, too.
There was even one moment of excitement in there, when something huge struck my minnow. I never got a good hookset, but I saw a flash of fish, seemingly too long to be smallie, but to thick to be a musky or a gar. With the visible vertical markings, I suspect it was an unusually big smallmouth. Which means I'll be back.
Sometimes fishing is about getting away from it, but sometimes you just don't have time for that, and I'm happy to find a place that's manageable with only a couple hours free.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Big Day
Saturday was Jasper's birthday, so we headed out for what a friend accurately described as an "epic" day. The day involved a picnic; feeding ducks, geese, and koi; a very exciting train ride; and, of course, fishing.
We were using nightcrawlers on circle hooks. My dad was helping Ava, and they were fishing theirs under a bobber. I initially was throwing mine with split shot and getting it on the bottom. I got heavily outfished, so I switched to the bobber and got my only hit of the day.
Ava dominated the day, landing 2 bluegill, which would have been fun enough. The first treasure was that fish number one was a catfish. She said weeks ago she really wanted to catch a catfish, so I was thrilled when I saw the silvery form coming in. It was maybe 10 inches or so, hefty for a 2-foot-long Dora rod, and Ava was thrilled to touch its whiskers (and she's now caught the same number of channel catfish in her life as I have). Unfortunately, the camera was busy taking Jasper and his mom for a walk that day.
Ava's other fish was a legitimate trophy, all things considered, a largemouth bass that, measured against my rod, went between 12 and 12.5 inches. It was all Ava and Pappy could do to reel it in. Here's the monster fish:
And here's Ava, unprompted, doing her best Jimmy Houston impression:
All in all, a pretty amazing day. And it may be that the kid is outfishing me already...
We were using nightcrawlers on circle hooks. My dad was helping Ava, and they were fishing theirs under a bobber. I initially was throwing mine with split shot and getting it on the bottom. I got heavily outfished, so I switched to the bobber and got my only hit of the day.
Ava dominated the day, landing 2 bluegill, which would have been fun enough. The first treasure was that fish number one was a catfish. She said weeks ago she really wanted to catch a catfish, so I was thrilled when I saw the silvery form coming in. It was maybe 10 inches or so, hefty for a 2-foot-long Dora rod, and Ava was thrilled to touch its whiskers (and she's now caught the same number of channel catfish in her life as I have). Unfortunately, the camera was busy taking Jasper and his mom for a walk that day.
Ava's other fish was a legitimate trophy, all things considered, a largemouth bass that, measured against my rod, went between 12 and 12.5 inches. It was all Ava and Pappy could do to reel it in. Here's the monster fish:
And here's Ava, unprompted, doing her best Jimmy Houston impression:
All in all, a pretty amazing day. And it may be that the kid is outfishing me already...
Sunday, April 26, 2009
First Fish
A week ago we took the kids out for their first real fishing trip ever. Last year we went out briefly, caught a bluegill and then looked for frogs while keeping Jasper from cannonballing into the lake.
This time around, Ava was excited to be fishing, so I took her to the place I mentioned a while back that I hoped would work out for them. We had a Dora rod, a little tackle box, a bobber, and some nightcrawlers -- a perfect set-up for a three and a half year old. I had to do the casting (and provide varying degrees of hooksetting help), but it didn't take long until we brought the first fish (ever!) to hand:
The kids, happily, were thrilled. I didn't know how they'd respond, but they were both fascinated. Of course, some of us were equally interested in the bait as we were in the fish, but that's fine.
The kids took a break to go to the playground (and look at the mating frogs -- without explanation -- on the way), and after looking at some turtles, I started fishing. I had seen a huge bass earlier and was optimistic. The crappies were spawning, so I didn't go after them, but was hoping there were some post-spawners about.
I quickly took a decent bluegill and bass in the little cove. I moved back to the open area and switched to a topwater plug just to see what would happened. I had a strike from a huge crappie (hooked just enough to turn him and see the size) and then took a crappie and big 'gill.
Nicole and the kids came back, so I grabbed the Dora rod and went back to kid mode (mostly). Ava soon caught a blugill and a hefty 8-inch crappie, which put up quite a fight on the little rod. Unfortunately I didn't bring the camera to this part of the outing (although if I had I could also have photographed the northern watersnake the grown-ups saw). Then we hooked and lost a few. According to Ava, these fish wanted to eat the worm without trying to come up to say hi. Jasper started to get bored, and it seemed like a good idea to stop before Ava did, too. So even though she was still fishing intently. We stopped for ice cream on the way home, which was a perfect way to end a perfect day.
This time around, Ava was excited to be fishing, so I took her to the place I mentioned a while back that I hoped would work out for them. We had a Dora rod, a little tackle box, a bobber, and some nightcrawlers -- a perfect set-up for a three and a half year old. I had to do the casting (and provide varying degrees of hooksetting help), but it didn't take long until we brought the first fish (ever!) to hand:
The kids, happily, were thrilled. I didn't know how they'd respond, but they were both fascinated. Of course, some of us were equally interested in the bait as we were in the fish, but that's fine.
The kids took a break to go to the playground (and look at the mating frogs -- without explanation -- on the way), and after looking at some turtles, I started fishing. I had seen a huge bass earlier and was optimistic. The crappies were spawning, so I didn't go after them, but was hoping there were some post-spawners about.
I quickly took a decent bluegill and bass in the little cove. I moved back to the open area and switched to a topwater plug just to see what would happened. I had a strike from a huge crappie (hooked just enough to turn him and see the size) and then took a crappie and big 'gill.
Nicole and the kids came back, so I grabbed the Dora rod and went back to kid mode (mostly). Ava soon caught a blugill and a hefty 8-inch crappie, which put up quite a fight on the little rod. Unfortunately I didn't bring the camera to this part of the outing (although if I had I could also have photographed the northern watersnake the grown-ups saw). Then we hooked and lost a few. According to Ava, these fish wanted to eat the worm without trying to come up to say hi. Jasper started to get bored, and it seemed like a good idea to stop before Ava did, too. So even though she was still fishing intently. We stopped for ice cream on the way home, which was a perfect way to end a perfect day.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Jack Ellis -- The Sunfishes
The Sunfishes: A Fly Fishing Journey of Discovery by Jack EllisMy review
rating: 2 of 5 stars
The strength of Ellis's book is also its failing. Rather than focus on technique, flies, etc. (which he does well), he essentially constructs an argument for a particular approach to fishing, and the approach just isn't that appealing.
Ellis is a fly and trout snob. When he's forced to learn warmwater fishing, it doesn't breakdown his elitism, it just gives him one more thing to be elitist about. A fair bit of the time he's actually self-effacing, but when he mocks his snobbishness, there's no hint of regret that it's there. He's critical of boats, bass fisherman, plastic worms (which, oddly, he uses to find fish and then rationalizes -- I'll throw a live worm, but I won't apologize for it).
It is interesting to see someone developing an approach, and 15 years ago this might have been novel stuff. Oddly, he shifts focus from panfish (a word he loathes) to bass, which are technically sunfish, but not the focus for most of the book, nor what most people would expect.
Also, and this is minor gripe that just got to me because it happens twice, I'm pretty sure that a spotted bass isn't a type of smallmouth. Each are distinct species, and while a spot has a smaller mouth than a largemouth, that doesn't make it a type of smallmouth.
Recommendation: read the Wilsons' book on bluegill first, and if you're really hungry for more, then come to this one.
View all my reviews.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
A Semi-Perfect Day
A few weeks ago, I went out for what might be my last warmwater fishing outing of the year. I headed again to the lake, and I can't tell if I had a good trip or a disappointing one.
Here's the thing: this time of year, I don't expect to catch many fish. What I was hoping to get into was some really big bluegill. They fatten up this time of year, and some of my biggest sunfish have come in Octobers past. So I was only hoping to catch one or two fish, but of a quality sort. My day turned out a little differently.
I went to my favorite spot, and before long a massive 'gill hit just a few feet out from the bank. It easily would have been my biggest of the year, but (as my grammar gives away) the fish came off. I was fishing a tiny crankbait, and those little hooks are prone to pulling out.
No big deal, especially when a little while later, I started seeing bass strike at my lure. They wanted an exact angle and depth of retrieve, and when I could replicate that path, I'd get a strike. Finally a big one hit, maybe 15 inches. He didn't fight at all and I gave him a slow pump. Then he came up and didn't even shake his head, but just gave a real slow back-and-forth motion. The lure popped out.
I was a little disheartened, but I persisted in that spot until I was convinced that nothing else was going to hit. I moved to the spillway and finished the tiny pool between the lake and the creek. Remarkably, I started getting hits on nearly every cast. I took six or seven fish, including one little bass and one chub. The rest were typical undersized sunnies.
Now, had I known before arriving that I'd catch six or seven fish, I'd have been pleased with that prospect, but to have missed the two I was after was disappointing. While the brief flurry in the pool was fun, it also meant that all my catching over the course of a couple hours happened within a span of maybe 15 minutes. Had I been able to throw those first two fish that came off into the mix, I'd have called it a perfect outing, especially for October. Instead, I'm not sure how to feel.
The good thing, at least, is that catching the chub allowed me to figure out what the silver-flashing fish I had hooked and lost earlier in the spring were. I wouldn't have thought there were chubs in that lake, so I never considered it.
Okay, how I feel: I caught fish. That never feels bad. Let's take it at that and head into fly-tying season (minus cold-weather brookie fishing as soon as the spawn's over, of course).
Here's the thing: this time of year, I don't expect to catch many fish. What I was hoping to get into was some really big bluegill. They fatten up this time of year, and some of my biggest sunfish have come in Octobers past. So I was only hoping to catch one or two fish, but of a quality sort. My day turned out a little differently.
I went to my favorite spot, and before long a massive 'gill hit just a few feet out from the bank. It easily would have been my biggest of the year, but (as my grammar gives away) the fish came off. I was fishing a tiny crankbait, and those little hooks are prone to pulling out.
No big deal, especially when a little while later, I started seeing bass strike at my lure. They wanted an exact angle and depth of retrieve, and when I could replicate that path, I'd get a strike. Finally a big one hit, maybe 15 inches. He didn't fight at all and I gave him a slow pump. Then he came up and didn't even shake his head, but just gave a real slow back-and-forth motion. The lure popped out.
I was a little disheartened, but I persisted in that spot until I was convinced that nothing else was going to hit. I moved to the spillway and finished the tiny pool between the lake and the creek. Remarkably, I started getting hits on nearly every cast. I took six or seven fish, including one little bass and one chub. The rest were typical undersized sunnies.
Now, had I known before arriving that I'd catch six or seven fish, I'd have been pleased with that prospect, but to have missed the two I was after was disappointing. While the brief flurry in the pool was fun, it also meant that all my catching over the course of a couple hours happened within a span of maybe 15 minutes. Had I been able to throw those first two fish that came off into the mix, I'd have called it a perfect outing, especially for October. Instead, I'm not sure how to feel.
The good thing, at least, is that catching the chub allowed me to figure out what the silver-flashing fish I had hooked and lost earlier in the spring were. I wouldn't have thought there were chubs in that lake, so I never considered it.
Okay, how I feel: I caught fish. That never feels bad. Let's take it at that and head into fly-tying season (minus cold-weather brookie fishing as soon as the spawn's over, of course).
Saturday, June 28, 2008
A Team Effort
I took a day off work so my wife and I could go canoeing up in this mountain lake. I took along a spinning rod and a small amount of tackle, but I didn't have plans to fish properly -- to work structure diligently, to key in on certain areas. I just figured as long as I was on the water, I might as well fling some lures about. The lake is supposed to have brookies, rainbows, largemouths, catfish, and bluegill in it, so I took some general stuff and figured something would hit.
No luck early on, so I tied on one of my favorite crankbaits, a little blue-and-silver job that has teeth marks all over it from Pennsylvania pike. Still no luck, so I suggested to Nicole that we try a little trolling. She could row as fast as she could, and I'd let out about 30 or 40 feet of line and drag the crankbait behind us. I didn't feel very optimistic as I'd never done this from a canoe, but we set off across the lake. When the lure reached the middle of the lake, I felt a hit, and we slammed on the brakes. Or, rather, we coasted, then spun a funny way, and the bass politely hung on.
Fishing from a canoe is a fun way to go about it. It's not easy, but when you're bringing in a fish, you feel as if you're at eye level with it. Nicole was thrilled to see the fair-sized bass coming up. I boated him and turned him loose, and we resumed cruising about the lake. We didn't have a single hit the rest of the day, but I didn't care that much.
I hadn't ever caught a fish that had been so much a team effort. The closest I can remember is working the trolling motor while a friend threw bait against a bank in a bass tournament. The weather was lousy, and the fish only wanted to hit if we were moving the right speed at the right angle. The fish we took that day (none big enough to enter in the tournament) felt like a team effort, but the catching wasn't nearly as fun as this one fish, taken high in the mountains with my wife as captain. I think she's hooked, and I couldn't imagine a better way to spend the day.
Unless I had used a little more sunscreen on my knees...
No luck early on, so I tied on one of my favorite crankbaits, a little blue-and-silver job that has teeth marks all over it from Pennsylvania pike. Still no luck, so I suggested to Nicole that we try a little trolling. She could row as fast as she could, and I'd let out about 30 or 40 feet of line and drag the crankbait behind us. I didn't feel very optimistic as I'd never done this from a canoe, but we set off across the lake. When the lure reached the middle of the lake, I felt a hit, and we slammed on the brakes. Or, rather, we coasted, then spun a funny way, and the bass politely hung on.
Fishing from a canoe is a fun way to go about it. It's not easy, but when you're bringing in a fish, you feel as if you're at eye level with it. Nicole was thrilled to see the fair-sized bass coming up. I boated him and turned him loose, and we resumed cruising about the lake. We didn't have a single hit the rest of the day, but I didn't care that much.
I hadn't ever caught a fish that had been so much a team effort. The closest I can remember is working the trolling motor while a friend threw bait against a bank in a bass tournament. The weather was lousy, and the fish only wanted to hit if we were moving the right speed at the right angle. The fish we took that day (none big enough to enter in the tournament) felt like a team effort, but the catching wasn't nearly as fun as this one fish, taken high in the mountains with my wife as captain. I think she's hooked, and I couldn't imagine a better way to spend the day.
Unless I had used a little more sunscreen on my knees...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
