I Still Believed Fish are at a Premium in this Lake

Brian Cronk and I fished yesterday late afternoon and evening, but the post is coming only now because I got up this morning and did a South Branch Raritan float trip with Brenden Kuprel. (The story of that pretty much all-day trip should be out tomorrow.) 

Yesterday, we fished about three and a quarter hours. The weather beautiful, we nevertheless found the fish pretty deep. The lake is about 30 feet deep at best, by what we can tell, having given it a pretty good scan. Brian felt enthused yesterday about the possibility of the lake's getting stocked with trout, but of all the holdover lakes, I think White Lake in Sussex County is the shallowest at--I believe--40 feet. Shepherd Lake in Passaic County is--I believe--45 feet, and is also listed by the state as a holdover lake. 

I'm not so sure trout would holdover in 30 feet of water, but Brian might be correct. I can cite some evidence in his favor. Ever read Round Valley Reservoir reports in The Fisherman during summer? How deep are the rainbow trout? About 30 feet. 

So, maybe.

There is abundant evidence of herring here. The lake's 40 surface acres or so were dappled by nervous schools of them yesterday evening. 

And like last time, we worked shorelines. At least we did at first. I had just a few hits, and Brian might have got his Chatterbait knocked. I fished a Chompers worm on an inset hook. No weight added. For any of you not familiar with my technique, I like to let the worm sink slowly. Most hits come on that initial drop. A fast-sinking worm is just another thing to chase down when bass take it easy during summer. But from yesterday, the hit that stands out in memory came when I slowly began retrieving the worm back to Brian's boat. A distinct knock I believed came from a pickerel. I stopped retrieving, felt the fish on, allowed slack, tightened--and set the hook into nothing!

"Son-of-a-bitch!"

I still believed fish are at a premium in this lake. That's especially why the loss burned. But as things turned out, we fished too shallow, anyway. The worm was getting down 10 feet some of the time, but even that. 

As I say, the weather was beautiful, but we found fish deep despite the moderation in temperature. By trolling. Right when we got started, by departing from a corner to proceed down lake along a weedline, I got hit about 12 feet down. The fish shook off. I caught the 19-incher photographed below further down lake and maybe 14 feet down. Brian hooked a bass I guess would've weighed nearly three pounds. The fish had suspended under a dock floating above 14 feet of water. It gave a clear account of itself by leaping...and throwing the hooks. Brian had tied on a lipless crankbait. I used the standard. A Hot 'n Tot by Storm. That plug gets down 15 feet, probably deeper with enough line out. I missed a couple of other hits about 15 feet down, and had a smallish pickerel--maybe 17 inches--on until it shook off in view along the boat. (The water is pretty clear.)

We had worked that weedline up and down a few times when I said to Brian that perhaps we should work where he wanted to fish next. He said we could follow the shoreline back to the ramp. It's steeper than the side with the weeds, although for less than a hundred yards, there's another weedbed, but the water drops off quicker. Most of the way back towards the ramp, the water drops as quickly to 20 feet as does at Tilcon Lake. 

Brian believes the lake must have once been a sand pit. Makes sense. There's concrete production within earshot. 

So I tried to maneuver us close enough to shore to get our plugs about 14 or 15 feet down, but I couldn't get too close without hanging up on deadfalls. I think I could have been running my plug over bottom 20 feet down, when, approaching another corner, I felt the kind of thump I don't associate with knocking stuff on bottom. I set the hook. The fish started moving--heavy--towards deeper water, and I believed I had hooked a bass that might go five pounds. It was give and take to the boat, some pretty serious weight feeling like a tow, but it proved not to be too serious. At 24 1/2 inches, the pickerel weighed three pounds and something or other. 

I did measure the length. 

We got to Brian's favorite spot with just enough sunlight to make it all possible. Brian had told me they want you out of there at sunset. I took that to mean trailering up.

I had completely forgotten that the particular shoreline does not drop off quickly compared to others, and we had some trouble catching weeds. When we managed to get the right depth, it wasn't a minute before, once again, I hooked a big one. (Three pounds and some.) A pickerel right at 24 inches. I just can't seem to get beyond the vicinity of approaching four pounds with a way to go yet. 

Brian switched to a Hot 'n Tot. He's bought some. 

I've been using the same two for over a decade and have caught on them countless pickerel and bass trolling. I make friends with my plugs. Why not? Starting to look like others are making friends with AI. (I make friends with AI, too, but I think I got off topic...hint, hint.)

Brian hooked up within minutes. A pickerel of about 19 inches leapt, throwing the hooks.

The sun set. The boat's bow met sand. A police vehicle had driven off, but I said, "You never know, it could come back." 

Nineteen or so Inches

Twenty Four Inches

Painted Turtle

Last Time

 

How Catching a Fish Can Make Such a Difference

Brian Cronk and I explored a new lake, apparently a former sandpit from long ago. A concrete operation exists nearby, so it makes sense it would have been a sandpit. Shorelines quickly drop off to 20 feet and deeper. Sound familiar? 

Right there at the ramp we cast topwaters over a very appealing weedbed at about 8:00 a.m. under cloud cover and some raindrops, but we failed to raise any action. I began to feel it would be a tough morning. 

Pretty soon we motored across the lake (maybe 50 acres total) over depths as great as 27 feet. Brian phoned a friend who fishes here with shiners and live herring. He wanted any help. Told to fish to the left of the concreate company and an "inlet," we happened to find the little creek leading in he mentioned, right away. I started a process of picking apart weeds and shoreline cover with a Yum Dinger rigged Wacky, soon switching out the color in case that would help, but I came to the realization pretty quickly that I needed to use a Chompers rigged on an inset hook to manage those weeds. 

Meanwhile, a nice pickerel had followed Brian's Chatterbait to the boat. 

Neither of us had had a hit.

Sunfish like to play with my Chompers. Maybe it's the garlic. Any case, they're signs of life but can be a little annoying. Soon, though, I saw my line moving towards deeper water with authority in the motion, so I tightened up, set the hook, and then I saw I played a fairly good sized pickerel. (The one photographed below.)

One would have thought bass, but it was a pretty fish. 

Deliverance! I struggle with getting skunked. When it happens, I struggle to feel good about the outing. I wonder about how catching a fish can make such a difference in life, but catching them really does amount to a whole other quality. It can't all be in the numbers, because that's quantity. It's like the difference between being lonely and left out, and being a member of the community. 

You can fish an entire outing and never get hit. That happened to me at Furnace Lake this spring, although Brian lost a musky. And it happened at Aeroflex four years ago with Jorge Hildago in June. Neither of us got a hit. Cloudy, not too warm. I usually do well at both places. On one occasion, I caught 15 largemouths, just about all of them good sized, at Furnace. 

So you can't just say the lake sucks the first time you try it--if it goes sour on you--and be entirely certain that's true.

Brian had wanted to stop at noon and I agreed. Possibility of thunderstorms, though since I've come home, none have showed up at least in my corner of the state. We situated in the back of the lake, and Brian suggested we troll Hot 'n Tots from there to the ramp.

We had a clean run--no weeds on hooks, no snags--all the way back to that original weedbed, and that's where hell broke loose. I felt like a pilot. Managing the troll along that weedline edge. It seemed as if weed clusters rose almost right beside the boat. If I wasn't going to foul that deep-diver of mine, that would be something. Brian was fishing the deeper side of the boat. My skill in getting that plug of mine right in the zone made all the difference. I did feel the fish when it hit, but I couldn't help but think weeds, just too good to be true otherwise. Now that fish was taking drag.  

I've never measured a pickerel I've caught longer: 24 3/4 inches. I've caught more just about that size than I can count, having measured another 24 1/4 inches once, and maybe having caught one longer through the ice. I released it quickly to avoid exposure. I called it 24 inches, but it might have been 25. Even if not, it was a very hefty fish and probably weighed more than the one I caught today. 

We made two more passes along those weeds. Up and back twice. On the first of those last passes, I hooked something that felt just like a hybrid. Pickerel kind of lug. Largemouths bulldog. Neither species gives those hard and very quick jabs--altogether distinct--that a hybrid does, or otherwise a salmon. No possibility exists of salmon in this lake, but Brian told me hybrids got caught last year. My fish got off the hook, unfortunately. 

We did see what looked like herring dimpling and leaping at the surface when we arrived. 

 

Furnace Last Year

Big Pickerel Go Deep in Summer

Brian's 22-inch Pickerel

Clinton Reservoir doesn't always produce much for us. I did better in April when the water was in the 40's, trolling a Mepps Aglia, but Brian caught the 22-inch pickerel photographed above, while trolling a chrome Storm Hot 'n Tot. I had a smaller one rush my Wacky rig as I retrieved it for another cast, a fish hanging out in shallower water. We find the larger pickerel are in depths of about 12 feet and deeper from early June onward through the summer. I recall fishing with Brenden Kuprel a couple of years ago when I was catching 18- and 19-inchers on the deep edges of weedlines in 20 feet of water on little 1/16th ounce jig and paddletail combinations. I've caught pickerel 20 inches and better while trolling 15-foot depths of Tilcon Lake in the summer, too. To the best of Brian's recollection, his pickerel yesterday came from 15 feet of water. He had more line out than I did, so it's possible his plug was just about right on bottom. The plugs always gathered weeds when we got as shallow as 10 feet. 

I did catch a bluegill on a jig and twister, a 10-inch smallmouth bass, "if that," Brian said, on a 1/4-ounce Rebel Pop-R, and another sunfish of a different species on that same plug. Unfortunately, I lost a better bass that felt the hooks, and missed other hits. Brian's Whopper Plopper got hit twice under the same pine tree where he caught one almost 18 inches long on a Zara Spook two years ago. He ended up using a Zara Puppy yesterday, as I was drawing more hits on my smaller plug, and he got more hits on that Puppy, too, including one from a sizeable bass I witnessed. He had another bass boatside when it threw the hooks of the same plug. 

And the big bluegill photographed below. 

Most of the action came from an area I'd rather not disclose, and though we've had action there before and set getting there as a goal, when we came into view of it, there were a couple of guys in a Bass Tracker working it over. Given that added pressure on the fish, I think we did pretty well in terms of the interest we got from them, even though we pulled only a few over the gunwale. 

It's not the first time we've trolled big pickerel deep from Clinton Reservoir. On other occasions, a chrome Hot 'n Tot has produced pickerel of about 21 inches for me here. About the same depth. Twelve, maybe 15 feet. Once I hooked something enormous. Brian tells me there are 30-inchers here. That might have been what I had on. I had just caught a 21-inch largemouth, and whatever it was I hooked felt bigger, taking off on a lightning-quick run, just like a northern pike would for short duration, only I think I might have hooked a pike-sized pickerel. Trolled. The Hot 'n Tot, but it threw the hooks. 

Big Bluegill on Topwater Plug

The way the light illumined the rocks mesmerized me.

Clinton

 

Could the Full Moon Have Meant More?

Yesterday the third year Brenden and I have fished the lake on the second Thursday of the month, the only thing that put a shadow over our hopes of doing even better than last year was the full moon's later arrival. The last couple of years, we've been off by a day. This year, three. The solunar hypothesis was an unproven theory 50 years ago when I used to read about it, I believe, in Bassmaster Magazine. It still is. I do understand the moon's pull on the tides directly affects marine and estuarine ecosystems, but besides increased light during clear nights when the moon is full, I don't understand how the moon affects a freshwater lake during the day, although I may simply not know. The truth is, when Brenden told me the full moon would be three days later, I felt we might not do as well as we had the past two years.  

We caught 46 fish in 2023, 61 in 2024, and 40 yesterday. Before I began working on the post you're reading now, I posted on the NJ Multispecies Facebook site a couple of photos and that we caught 39 fish, my having forgotten the 21-inch pickerel I caught. Most of what we catch here have always been largemouth bass, and most of the rest, pickerel. I wound up with 14 largemouths, three pickerel, and a rock bass yesterday; Brenden caught 13 largemouths, nine pickerel. His biggest bass measured slightly under 20 inches. We fished six and a half hours. Needless to say, it's a liberation from so many recent days getting skunked or catching one fish. Brenden hasn't been doing badly down the shore, catching stripers and bluefish. 

I always do well on the lake, but it doesn't always fish fast. When three fish get caught over the course of a six-hour outing in September, patience is tested, but even then the same essential connection is made. The bass are almost always good sized.

Through the summer, I'm usually throwing a Chompers Shaky Head Worm, but we've made some great catches on topwaters. We also troll deep divers, and though we usually catch pickerel, we've also caught largemouths and even a smallmouth. Once we caught bass on Chompers as deep as 32 feet, weighting the worms with slip sinkers under a bluebird sky, but usually I'm fishing 15 feet or shallower, throwing the worm unweighted on a an inset hook.

The weeds weren't as grown in yesterday as they will be, so I threw a Wacky worm. Caught all my largemouths, the rock bass, and the big pickerel on purple and brown; my other two pickerel hit a Bogosian jerk bait. Went through a whole pack of purple Yum Dingers. Fish kept pulling them off the O-ring and hook. Fish I didn't catch. Fish I did catch. Looks like I'm headed to the Blue Star Shopping Center in Watchung to do my grocery shopping at the new Shop Rite. I can pick up a few packs of Dingers on the way home. 

It's not an entirely predictable situation, although for all I know, if we fished nearer the full moon, it would have been more so. Maybe not. We saw herring dimpling the surface on nine or 10 occasions, but never encountered the great bait balls of last year where bass and pickerel hit jerk baits left and right. Brenden caught a few on the Bogosian yesterday, but I started doing so well with the Wacky worm that he switched and pretty much stuck to that presentation.

Although we caught some on a weedy flat--enough to tell us we probably could have caught more there--a definite pattern emerged yesterday. We found most of the bass staging along steep shorelines and often right up against the bank. Last year, most of the fish came from seven or eight feet of flatwater where the bait balls swayed back and forth, although all three years, we have caught some of the fish where we found most of them yesterday. 

I had forgotten my sonar unit, so we never got a water temperature, though I suspect it was in the upper 60's. For all I know, Brenden's 20-incher could have been a male, but I doubt it. Probably a spawned-out female. He also caught an 18 1/2-incher that had a concave belly as if it had just lost weight. Maybe that fish was a male? He fished the same lake two weeks ago and caught a 19 1/4-incher like that. So who knows? The water temp two weeks ago was as low as 57 and as high as 61. 

We did see a male definitely guarding a bed. And further along our course nearly all the way around the lake, saw another that I couldn't help but tempt. (I don't seek out the bothering of bucks on beds.) I had already cast, and my retrieve brought my fluttering worm right in front of the fish by a few feet. It promptly punched forward and sucked--I set the hook. I measured it at 17 inches and quickly got it back in the water to return to its defenses, although I hadn't witnessed any such action. Just a bass sitting still over a clear space on the bottom. On another occasion a couple of decades ago, my son watched a bass fend off intruders at its nest, put a worm down, and came up with a 17 1/4-inch male. But just how big males get in New Jersey, I don't know. My reading goes back almost six decades, and I've been informed for five of them that males are smaller. 

Brenden also saw two bass swimming in a circle and exposing their flanks, probably spawning behavior he's seen elsewhere this time of year. (Some would simply assert that they're spawning, but critical thinking is so much more fun than making assumptions--unless you're playing at "making an ass of u and me," as one would ass-u-me.)

When Brenden told me 1 p.m. had passed, I felt shocked. The time had passed very swiftly. We did almost get all the way around the lake, but we still had a few hundred yards to go. I almost could have stayed out and completed the course; the fish had never stopped hitting. But I had told my wife we would go to New Hope in the evening. Since our bathroom is getting remodeled, we stayed in Lambertville. 

We did go to New Hope. Visited Farley's Books. Ate dinner at River Salt. At Farley's I went directly to the philosophy section and first came upon Robert Pirsig's unpublished writings, now published under the title On Quality. Brian Cronk had recently finished reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Brian told me--a couple of weeks before I began studies of Nietzsche and Goethe--that Pirsig unites the Romantic and the Classical, which is exactly what I need to follow up on after those studies. I did read Pirsig's classic decades ago, and it will help to read it again soon. 

I also came upon John Dewey's Experience and Nature. The 400-page work will be worth reading, I think. 

More fishing yet to come this year. Looking forward to letting all else go.

Most of the pickerel we caught were small.

Over reached, but yeah, fat pickerel.

Rock Bass

Slightly under 20 inches.

Nice 18-plus inches.

61 Fish

 

The Guessing Game: Let the Unconscious Pinpoint Fish

My apprehensions about water temperature quickly dispelled, because I wisely decided to bring along my portable sonar unit again. Last I did that, I learned a lot about the lake's depths, but today that temperature concerned me, and Brian and I found in short order that it was 53. Not bad. 

Of course, with the air temp never getting out of the low 50's--when we drove off at 6:03 p.m. it was 49, and an hour or more before that, I plainly saw my breath--that water was cooling. I've known early season bass to turn on when it's warming. Conditions such as Wednesday's with the high temp just about 70. Brian was out there on the same lake with Mark Licht that day, and they did great, Brian's biggest largemouth about 6 pounds, five of his six bass over four pounds, but in total, they caught 11 fish, compared to our 13 fish in the cold yesterday. 

That might be a photo of the biggest, above. I'm not sure, because I caught two bass well over four pounds--4.87 pounds, and 4.32 pounds. Another one of mine might have been only a quarter pound under four, another about three-and-a-half, a two and something 17-incher, a smallish bass of about two pounds, and another bass of about two-and-a-half. The crappie in the photo below hit a MiniKing spinnerbait and put up a real good fight on a light rod. My pickerel came off the hook when I was lifting it into the boat, falling against the gunwale, then into the water, not into the boat, so you decide if that was really a catch. 

Brian called it a cigar. 

Suffice it to say not every fish is photographed. Brian did catch three nice bass; possibly every one of them was over three pounds. His pickerel was a nice one, too. 

Brian is committed to the Chatterbait. I like to use different lures. I started with a Chatterbait. Who would argue against its success the day before? I wasn't sure at first if I wanted to bring my light rod, but that MiniKing spinnerbait was looking good, and I did not deny it. Nor once we had cast Chatterbaits for three or four minutes to no takers among residual weedbeds. The MiniKing got hit after five or 10 minutes. I repeated the same cast and hooked up. At first I thought pickerel, then it felt like a nice bass, but it turned out to be a crappie only about 13 inches long! Partly, it was that light rod. One I built from a St. Croix blank that cost me $70.00 in 2005. 

The wind was about right but a little catty-cornered. It generally blew us up towards the back of the lake but at about a 45-degree angle. Again & again, we had to paddle away from shore. For a fairly long while--altogether we fished maybe four-and-a-half hours--I cast that spinnerbait, catching the pickerel and the smallest bass. A pickerel that small never would have hit a Chatterbait. Those are big lures for big fish. The bass might have hit it. And might not have. It was only about 16 inches long. Didn't even fight as hard as the crappie. It got me thinking about small lures for small fish. I have nothing against catching smaller ones, and I caught plenty of big ones yesterday. It was nice catching small ones, too. I also caught a 19-inch largemouth on that little spinnerbait. 

I tried the Chatterbait repeatedly but nothing would hit. But I like to think I'm good at guessing where to place a Senko-type worm rigged Wacky. If you're casting to the water, you're not doing it right. Out in front of you is a lot of water. In this lake we fish, for example, it's mostly about six or seven feet deep. There's weeds, but interspersed, and much of the time you can't tell where. All that water will only blind you if you don't create a spatial abstract of it and zero in on where your mind tells you to cast. Otherwise, it's just random and will only wear you down. It's not magic, but by using the mind, you create energy rather than lose it. The argument is simple. If you're interesting yourself at a guessing game, by which you convert the raw mass of water into a grid that tells you where to pinpoint the cast, you might rise to the occasion. You will, if results begin to suggest--as they have for me--that the unconscious mind is capable of putting you on fish. 

I had a rod at the ready. Pre-rigged with a brown Shim-E-Stick, good color for the overcast conditions. I picked it up and began my guessing game, which soon paid off with the 17-incher. Brian had caught one or two on his Chatterbait. Soon we positioned behind an island, and a bass picked up that Shim-E-Stick as I let it rest on bottom. It weighed 4.87 pounds, 20 1/2 inches. I caught another one of about 18 1/2 inches after I put my rod in a rod holder, letting the worm kind of deadstick. (The canoe drifted very slowly in the calm behind that island.) The bass took drag as the rod bent in the holder. As we began heading back to Brian's truck, I caught one about 16 1/2 inches on the brown worm nearly against the bank. Brian had caught his pickerel and his last bass. Before we really began the long paddle back, I gave that Chatterbait one last try. 

I had caught fish on both of my lighter rods. I wanted to even the score. Along that island shoreline, we've caught a lot of fish. I began by casting pretty close and parallel, and intended to progressively work my way out, not getting very far when I got whomped. The bass weighed 4.32 pounds, 20 inches.   

 

I thought this one was about 16 1/2 inches. Maybe it was a little better than that.

Artificial Intelligence and Fishing 

Bass from the Cold Delaware and Raritan Canal

The bottommost photo is of the flooded Raritan River. I believed the canal might be clear enough to fish. If not, my idea was to fish Round Valley Pond, which Oliver corrected me on. The park closes at 4 p.m. We'd have no time. 

We met at my house, then rode over to the Sporting Life in my car. Me, Oliver, Brian. Bought a dozen large shiners. Dead ones work, too. 

Brian said he wanted to throw paddletails. (At the end of the outing, he was throwing a Chatterbait.) 

Driving over really wasn't bad. We took 22 East, cut over to 28, went through Somerville Circle, connected to 206. Over to Manville. Onto Wilhousky. Soon we saw the canal. 

Normal color.

It takes a while before muddy water from the Delaware gets over here. I love fishing that canal so much, I want to do it again tomorrow, but it's possible muddy water is on the way. If I get there and that's the case, I'll go over to Round Valley Pond, unless the thought of something else crops up. A really interesting option is Baker's Basin Pond, but Lawrence Township is fully an hour away.

Besides, when I last visited there, trails had some pretty heavy overgrowth, so it's possible those trails no longer exist and the pond is just a safe haven for gamefish that is no longer fished. 

We can't "go back to the 70's." If no one's fishing Baker's Basin, it's not the 70's. The place was hit every day back then. 

It produced, too.

Do you believe for a moment a pond that's been abandoned, possibly even the extensive parking lot grown-in, is going to become the place again, fished every day by local residents? If we're going to fish in the future, we need to embrace the technology of the future, not attempt to escape it into the past.  

It was so nice to forget about all that for a while today. 

I've caught a lot of winter pickerel on crappie jigs around brush, wood, stuff in the water. That's fun, because you see the pickerel bolt out of the sticks and hit. Oliver saw the like today, when he fished a paddletail and got the paddletail bit off.

I prefer live-lining shiners. This time of year. During the summers in recent decades, I've fished Yum Dingers. But I love the cold and cooler weather of the canal, because I like the feel of pickerel taking a shiner sidewise and bolting a few yards. Today, the pickerel that hit one of my shiners bolted from a couple feet away from the bank, directly to the bank, underneath some stuff. I got to feel the fish turning the shiner around in its mouth, but I was sure it was a really small fish, like a 10-inch pickerel. (Little ones like that are common in the canal.) I didn't let it take the shiner too long, afraid of gut-hooking it, and when I set the hook, I simply pulled the hook from that shiner in its mouth.

Brian and Oliver didn't quite dress for the weather. Especially with a heavy wind barreling down the big river, it was especially cold out there. Forty-four degrees felt much worse; it was miserable, but especially after I encountered the pickerel, I felt motivated and happy. 

It was time to go. Brian has Raynaud's disease, and even though he never dipped (Oliver and I did barehanded) into the minnow bucket, his numb hands turned purple without gloves. 

I understood the fishing wasn't going to go further. I would cast some more but not much more, and before I could tell myself to stop, I saw green gills flush and my shiner disappear.

I was standing beside Brian and Oliver. "I've got a nice one on," I said. I felt the fish pulling line out into the canal, tightened up on that line, and set the hook, expecting some fun from a pickerel about 18 inches long, a nice one for the canal. 

Turned out to be a little bass of about 10 1/2 inches. It's always a blessing to catch a bass in the cold canal.    

Brian Cronk fishing for walleye

Raritan River

Romp

 

 

About a Couple of Good Ones and Other Ice Action

My 18-inch largemouth came from beyond the edge of three-foot weeds but relatively near the bank. Pretty close to where I had fished in 2021.

Lake Aeroflex felt like nemesis, but I got over the feeling straight away, because that's not how Oliver felt about ice fishing there. I tried ice fishing it in March 2021. A full four years ago, and I remember it so clearly it seems recent.

You might think that since I remember it so well...but that really has nothing to do with how good the fishing was. It has to do, in general, with the awe I felt for how pressured the fish had been. Untold dozens of ice fishermen on that ice over the course of a couple months. It had nothing to do with how good the fishing was, besides my witnessing a trout caught by another party. That surprised me. I got skunked. And that did leave a bad taste in my mouth. 

Oliver's caught pickerel through the ice here before, though.

Aeroflex didn't seem as busy yesterday as four years ago. I called my blog post on that outing "Aeroflex Pounded," as my impression was of very pressured fish. Naturally, I felt yesterday that setting up in the far back of the lake might have been better, but things got interesting, instead, when I wholeheartedly agreed with Oliver that walking in that far might belong to an all-day outing. (Hamburgers and hotdogs might, too.)  

We had set up and endured a long wait. Before we had our first fish--my 18-inch largemouth--the guy who either owns the red ice tent in the photo above, or who was the partner of the owner, hooked a salmon that hit a medium shiner four feet under a tip-up. Oliver watched the dramatic struggle and told me--I was using the nearby restroom--the salmon was a big one. Two minutes later, the guy's partner caught a small salmon by jigging. (Apparently a school had moved in.) 

Afterwards, Oliver cut a new hole with his old style spoon hand auger. The ice was a foot thick, and though he sharpens the blade after almost every outing, it takes him an effort. That thing works, though, and he cuts holes faster than my gas auger is cutting now. I very much appreciate his cutting holes as my beloved gas auger is not well. I did manage to cut four or five holes, but that used up a lot of fuel. There's not much left in the tank, and only two thirds of a quart in the bottle. It used to be that the auger cut right through without using much gas at all. I sharpened the blades to no end before yesterday's outing, so it might have to do with the blades' pitch. I have to look into that yet. Besides the blades, the engine doesn't run smoothly. And mostly it runs at a slower rpm than it used to. What holds me back from buying a lithium ion auger is price and the possibility that we won't have ice in the future. Or maybe only four inches of it. Which I can cut with my splitting bar. I'm going to look into drill options. A drill mounted on an auger. 

Oliver put one of his Jaw Jackers into the hole he cut, closest to the boat ramp. It piqued my interest. In other posts I've written about my intuition. After Oliver caught his 22-inch pickerel from that hole, I said, "I had a feeling about that hole!" Oliver and Brian Cronk laughed. I understand. And it can seem odd to have such fixations, but they really just make life more interesting. When you "know" something in advance, you don't really. Nothing confirms knowledge but physical evidence unless it's introspection, but the feeling about the Jaw Jacker's potential can't be knowledge until the fish is on. And then the former feeling is, at least somewhat, confirmed. I've never spent the time to try to figure out to what degree knowledge is attained. It's interesting to ask why you would get intuitions about the possibilities of certain fishing situations for "no reason." I, for one, don't believe they happen for no reason. By listing every incident and providing additional descriptions of environments, I think one should be able to prove such intuitions do not happen randomly. 

The deeper question is: How does the human mind sense a fish coming? I could write all night if my mood was dialed in, but it's pretty simple. It has to do with having enough experience. I had to know something about the water Oliver set that Jaw Jacker in. Oooh...an interesting spot. That's all it is. It's not like I used to fish there when the water was open, but I knew enough about the weeds and the water being a little deeper there. Not that I had thought about it myself and set one of my tip-ups there before Oliver got to it, but once he did, I was immediately able to appreciate it. 

And it paid off--   

Oliver's 22-incher wasn't our only pickerel action. I had set a tip up over weeds three feet down, and though the flag failed to spring, the pickerel--I believe it was--took some 20 yards or more of line and came off during the fight. We also had two small pickerel take fatheads three feet under tip-ups set out for salmon and cut the line.

2021

 

What Britain Lacks is Public Fisheries

Oliver Round's pickerel.

In a text, I told Oliver the fish are out there. Yes, I was thinking of salmon, especially, but after Monday, which was a great time alone but without fish, I'm happy to see we broke the silence with a number of live flags sounding off on those springy metal strips. Not that we could hear them above the wind and the conversation. A second fish on for me took a shiner but dropped it. Probably a perch. Oliver lost a couple. Each of us caught a pickerel.

Hearing the Gallup pole results at present, after kind of meeting George Gallup when I was a boy. He was a parishioner at Trinity Church, Princeton, which I attended with my family, and he might have sung in the Adult Choir, which my father led as the churches' music director. As much as choral and organ music as an American cultural influence has declined, it's not dead. I think it will always echo Britain's lead, and I don't believe that a relative lack in American church attendance will end the institution here, partly because of that lead the British world takes. What Britain lacks is public fisheries.   

Out there on the ice I was more aware of I-80 traffic than usual. It's not visible during the summer. 

Less of the sense of being out there. But still...

I had had us walk all the way to the drop-off beyond the shallow flat. That reflected my sense of possibility. I had to pick Oliver up at his house, and on the way to the lake, I did agree with him that right beyond the kayak launch is good. I was actually thinking of closer to shore than where we caught up to him, but in any case, what grabbed hold of me is that we might catch some fish further on. 

One of Oliver's Jaw Jackers did get hit with the fathead suspended about 10 feet over bottom in 35 feet of water, so rather than having been a yellow perch, that fish might have been one of the coveted salmon. I had five tip-ups rigged for salmon set out over such depth, but I didn't do any jigging today, even though I had 1/32-ounce jigs to tip with fatheads. 

Instead, I looked at salmon over my shoulder, figuring that some other time I might focus harder on catching one. Or some. One of Oliver's Jaw Jackers rigged with a large shiner got hit, and he caught the pickerel of about 17 inches. That got me thinking, after something had hit only some 15 minutes before in the same hole, and I got my power auger and began cutting more holes, after suffering that (gas) auger's temperamentality. I knew I set the bait suspended over weeds about 12 feet down, which, I had the hunch, was going to produce. While I cut those holes I watched a flag go up near the roaring powerhead. Obviously, working on the ice hadn't spooked that fish. That flag resulted in a pickerel of about 15 inches for me. The final product of my operation was a short row of tip-ups baited with large shiners on a weedy drop-off but nearer the shallow flat than to the 35-foot deep flat bottom. After we saw the tip-up in the middle of that row displaying a high flag, Brian soon had the pickerel I measured at about 22 inches on the ice.

A friend of Brian's, Mike, had showed up before we started catching the pickerel. He hung out awhile, and his cocker spaniel never seemed averse to the granular wetness and patches of shallow ice water up on top of the ice. Temps might have hit 53 degrees. I say that because my car thermometer had registered 50, and it felt warmer out there after a couple of hours, not because of my heavy clothing. Wind probably gusted to 40 miles per hour, and we had to reset some wind flags but not too many. Ice was about 8 inches thick in most places, probably 10 inches where I set that short row of tip-ups. 

All equipment in Brian's Jet Sled for the haul home, the ice had already firmed up significantly, meaning the temperature was 32 or colder at our feet, though it was 41 driving east on I-80.

  

 

Brian Cronk's slightly less than 22-incher.

Nice Pickerel

 

As for Friedrich Nietzsche and Prime Meat

I suffered so much unconscious (and semi-conscious or I wouldn't know it) resistance to this outing, I was afraid something would go seriously wrong. I might have fractured my upper arm or elbow, but if so, it's a hairline break I'll just let heal. 

Last time I was hospitalized, it was a fiasco.

It was near the end after sunset when I had all but completely relaxed. Yes, enough to have lost just enough attention to slip. If the arm's broken, it might be why my camera isn't, as, without thinking, I went down in a way to lessen the impact. It hit hard. I had hung it loosely around my neck. Now I know better than ever why they say Nikon's D7100 is a beast. 

Victim of a high-speed motorcycle accident when I was 20, I decided to be less the victim by just letting my cracked rib heal. That time I had no doubt there was a break, but I can't remember exactly how I felt that break. 

I took two Tylenol for this one.

Now about the fishing. Skunked. Like on Cranberry with Oliver, not a hit. Oliver wasn't able to come today, and that got me bummin', because we had had such a great time on the pond recently, and naturally, I wanted another great time. I didn't realize I would go into nature alone and move from real unease into greatly confident self-renewal like I haven't felt in years. Go work at a supermarket if you want to be with people--like they'll tell you you need. That will rob you of self like nothing else will. 

I read Nietzsche on my breaks from cutting meat. 

In my car. 

Puts things in balance.

I'm given a black uniform, so the supermarket must be in on it.

Today at Dow's, Laurie got my shiners...and fatheads. It's the first time in 49 years of ice fishing that I've bought fatheads. I have bought them in the past from Dover Sports Shop (another one bites the dust), to use for stocked brown trout before dawn (and another one down, and another one down, and another one bites the dust, yeah!). 

Fatheads for salmon. The setup was right. But for only two tip-ups. I also jigged a small Kastmaster and set tip-ups with really big large shiners for pickerel. You never know, one of the many bass might hit, too, but nothing hit at all today.

I know fish have been caught, because I saw blood stains at two holes from as long ago as a week, can't tell for sure. 

Fish are out there. 

Another thing I'm pretty sure about. Fish get clued in to what's going on, in their own way. It's why I joked to Kevin Glenn that the flat at Lake Hopatcong State Park is a strip mine operation. Every year the pickerel and perch populations get rejuvenated but within days the action through the ice seems to freeze...not because all the fish get taken home. Only enough for need of good spawning get taken, but the fish that remain, they shun what gets set out for them. 

They laugh at little jiggy-wit-it, too.

As for Friedrich Nietzsche and prime meat, the man had a weak spot. 

He never understood women.  

 

State Park

 

Circle Hooks for Ice Fishing

Today I played out a fish better than many in this pond, and I thoroughly enjoyed the give-and-take on the Dacron, not having played one on it for three years. Just minutes ago, I uploaded an ice fishing video to my Litton's Fishing Lines YouTube channel, and I checked the date. February 14, 2021. I remember it crystal clear. My wife and I had just bought the Honda I drive. I made an issue of my spending Valentine's Day ice fishing, and she made an issue of making sure I went.

That fish, not surprisingly, turned out to be a pickerel of just slightly under 18 inches. I know that, because I took it home. The moment it came through the hole, it came through dripping blood. That pissed me off, and I immediately vowed to stop at Dick's on the way home for circle hooks.

Recently, I read a Chris Pierra post on Facebook, and his persuasion of the use of circle hooks ice fishing all but convinced me. Old habits die hard, and I've used plain shank size 6 Mustad  hooks since I used to buy them by the loose dozens at Brunswick Sports and Hardware of Trenton in 1975. I went online and saw expensive options as expected, but really, size 6 circles hooks for 90 cents apiece? It's obscene.

What convinced me was seeing the blood on the fish as I lifted it out of the pond. Yes, my wife wants me to bring home more fish. I don't have to remind her about the Y bones until later. Maybe I'll divulge in a later post whether or not I was able to remove them. Patience, patience. A lot on my plate and the pickerel won't be much!

Pickerel have white flesh and a mild flavor. Old Bay seasoning will be interesting cooked into it. But I release almost all the fish I catch. All I can say in favor of taking a fairly nice pickerel is two things. For one, most of the pickerel here are smaller. They might be stunted. Harvesting some might help the size increase. And secondly, there's less competition against the bass population.

Oliver out-fished me again. When we fished with Cronk and Kevin Glenn the other day, Oliver caught the most fish, though Kevin caught the larger pickerel and perhaps the larger perch. Today Oliver caught three pickerel, his biggest slightly shorter than mine perhaps, lost a hook to another, while I missed a hit and had fish take four shiners and fatheads from me.

What happened that's very interesting is that on two or three tip-ups, Oliver set fatheads only two feet under the ice on his beloved Jaw Jackers. Something got one of them. It could have been a perch, but then again, maybe it really was a trout.

Why pickerel cruise around out in the middle of the pond, far from the bottom of the sharp shoreline drop-offs down to 15 feet, beats me. But they did exactly the same in the Princeton Day School pond I fished during my youth. 

I got to Dick's, where the smallest circle hooks are size 1/0 and a little more than 50 cents each, which is really expensive. Why someone doesn't compete by producing cheaper bronzed hooks that will rust out easily if they DO gut hook, which is possible, when they would be sharp enough...they don't have to be chemically sharpened and all that expensive jazz...beats me. 

At first, I figured 1/0 is way too big. But I gave two different brands of the hooks a careful look, and decided the ones that are a dollar less expensive per pack will do fine on large shiners, and they'll work for Yum Dingers during summer, too. A 1/0 J hook would be too big and heavy for shiners, and for Yum Dinger's I've been using size 2 plain shanks that look bigger than the 1/0 circles at Dick's. Oliver's using circle hooks of about 1/0 on his Jaw Jackers, and he has no trouble catching pickerel as little as 12 inches. That said, I do want to find smaller ones of size 6 or at least size 4. And I really would like to find a reasonable price, but tonight I didn't feel bad when I squandered 10 dollars of my very hard-earned money.  

Smaller Pickerel

Another Smaller Pickerel

Preparing to Set the J-Hook

Tightening Up with Loki

Slightly Under 18 inches

Nice Bass Through Ice

Mount Hope 2025