The Confidence Lure

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.

Fishin' in the Wind

A week or so ago I headed out to a local park with a couple ponds. I'd heard there were trout, bass, bluegill, and catfish in it, and I later learned that there are crappie as well (and possibly perch, although that term can mean different things to different people, and I've seen no signs of actual yellow perch).

Partly I wanted to catch fish, and partly I wanted to scope it out as a place to bring the kids (more on that in another post), so I just took my light spinning rod and a box of nightcrawlers. The day was rough, cold from the start, and I got hit by a slight shower.

I took an 11-inch bass and a reasonable sunfish pretty quickly. Both of these followed a slight disappointment. I already had my floating minnow tied on in the morning, so I started with that. I saw a silver flash come at it twice. I cast again, saw the same flash and paused the lure (sometimes a fish will come back to see why its prey stopped). A decent rainbow trout nosed up to lure and swam away quickly. It was the last sign I'd have of a trout all day.

The rain started and the fishing stopped, after such an optimistic start. After the rain, the wind picked up, probably the hardest I've ever fished in, and I knew I'd have to earn fish that day. I ended up with about 8 bluegill and 2 largemouths, not bad for just a few hours, considering the conditions.

The bluegill were of much bigger average size than I've seen around here, and the biggest was about 8 inches and fat. I caught him in a little cove, out of the wind, but on the side of the pond it was blowing into (the second bass came out of the same spot).

I checked the other pond in the park, which seemed to have fewer noticeable features, less accessibility, and more algae. However, I've sinced noticed that more people seem to fish that one. I'm not sure why.

Eventually I got out of the wooded area for fear of trees blowing down on me, but in the open it was hard. Without being able to simply pitch to structure, I had trouble casting, sometimes even letting the wind shoot my bait downwind, while I walked after it to take up the slack. Before long, it was too much work for too little expected reward (especially given that I was already pleased with the outing).

I was primarily happy for finding a place to take the kids, esp. my daughter, who's just becoming old enough to fish. There's lots of fishable water and plenty of panfish (with the chance of other species), so I think she can have some fun here. Today I proved myself right, but that's a post for another time...

Lefty Kreh -- Fly Fishing for Bass: Smallmouth, Largemouth, and Exotics

Fly Fishing for Bass: Smallmouth, Largemouth, and Exotics by Lefty Kreh

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
Excellent at what it is, a quick look at what you need to know to chase bass with a fly rod. It's heavy on the instruction, with spare storytelling and few wasted words. It's simple enough for a beginner (but you'll have to go elsewhere for knots and other true intro stuff), but even more experienced anglers should find useful material here, even if it's just a necessary refresher.



The book's worth at least a library grab for the last chapter alone, where Kreh talks about chasing the exotics. The peacock bass isn't that odd these days, but the New Guinea fish (black and spot-tail bass) are pretty amazing, and Kreh's depictions of his adventures with these monster fish are the book's high point.


View all my reviews.

The Pond, The Bass, The End

We simply called it The Pond, and it was one of my favorite places to fish as a kid. You'll probably hear plenty about it in this blog.

The Pond was most notable for the absurd variety of fish it contained. I've caught at least nine species of fish out of it, and I know at least one more -- carp -- swims in it. It's quantity and variety of fish made it a great place to learn to fly fish, with fish taking on most casts, and a surprise result always possible.

What The Pond wasn't especially notable for was the size of its fish. Bass ten inches long were rare, and even though I once took a foot-long perch out of it, I never expected anything too exciting (unless, of course, I could ever tie into one of the carp cruising by without ever seeming to eat).

Of course all such places have their mysterious depths, and we were certain big fish must lurk in them. We'd try various tactics at night for catfish, always with no luck. We also tried some big bass lures, thinking that hours of casting for one monster fish would pay off, and that these guys had probably never seen such gargantuan lures. Nothing ever took. Then one summer I had a pair of encounters that would change how we viewed The Pond.

I was out with my fly rod, content to catch some panfish and whatever might bite. I set the hook on a small sunnie and started bringing it in. Suddenly, not more than 10 feet away, a monster bass came up and engulfed the little fish, completely. My rod bent in half and my body quit functioning. Then, just as quickly the bass was gone. I dragged in the sunnie and took a good look at it. Scales had been knocked off and it looked, well, chomped on. I don't think it was just my imagination that it was a little unnerved. Never has a fish been so happy to have been landed by an angler.

After that, I repeatedly plied the same area with flies (never once thinking to toss something that looked like a sunfish). I also threw nightcrawlers and typical bass lures, but it seemed like the fly rod was the way to go, and a little fly of my own design with elk hair and black dubbing was my primary choice. Eventually, the persistence paid off.

The tug on the end of my line wasn't anything special, but the immediate response was. I'd never had a fish this big on a fly rod before, and I'm not sure that I have since. Several times I got him in close enough to shore to get glimpses of a staggeringly big fish, and my friends were almost as overcome as I was. Twice he made long runs into the middle of The Pond, and twice I turned him back, thinking I had worn him out (as he had me), only to be disappointed. The third time, he headed for a brushpile more than halfway across the water. I knew if he reached that, I'd lose him.

When I tried to turn him away, my line went slack, and I was done for. I reeled in my line, with the fly still on. I was too rattled to think clearly, but, ever the optimist, promptly made plans to meet my cousin at dawn the next morning to try again. My brilliant plan: casting the same fly in the same spot less than 15 hours after this encounter.

Unfortunately, the next morning was one of the worst fishing experiences I've had. After trying unsuccessfully to rouse my cousin with the old pebbles-thrown-at-the-window trick, I reached The Pond while the mist was still heavy on it. I made a couple casts, when a man appeared at the dock to my right, drinking his morning coffee. The short version of the short conversation was that he -- and not the person we had asked permission for to access this side of the pond -- was the rightful landowner, and we were only allowed to stay on the other side of the pond.

I had no legal ground, I think, but I was frustrated. We had done what we thought was right by asking the resident of the house nearest The Pond, the one whose lawn bordered The Pond, if we could fish. We always could, and had discovered that we even knew the lady's grandson, so we would occasionally stop to chat (for teenagers anxious to fish, this was a kindness, but also a pleasant part of the experience). Throughout several summers of fishing we'd never had an incident, and I still suspect if the doctor hadn't seen an idiot in an saltwater hat interrupting his morning, the arrangement would have lasted.

I still don't know the full story concerning ownership and access rights. I assume the doctor who owned the land rented the house to the lady. I should think that would still mean she had the right to say who did or didn't use her ground, but maybe they had some sort of agreement about pond usage. At any rate, it killed our enthusiasm for the place, restricting our access to maybe half of what it had previously been (and making us generally uncomfortable to be there, even legally).

Starting the following summer, people began decorating the side of The Pond we did have access to, limiting fishing even further. The last time I was by, it looked as if it might now be impossible to get to the water, and certainly the intent is that no one walk near it. I can't help but think that, restricted to solely aesthetic value and given what feels like an aggressive stamp of ownership, a once great place has gone to waste. All I needed was one more morning, but I could have done with a few more years.