Feeder Creeks Make Low Water an Opportunity

Nine-inch pike hit large Smithwick plug.

Yesterday, on the way to Round Valley Reservoir for a dog walk and photo shoot with my wife and black Lab Loki, and on the way back home from the same and ice cream at Polar Cub, I thought hard on what to do about fishing today. When we drove the bridge over Rockaway Creek, I took a good look at that stream's low level and knew exactly where I wanted to fish. Somewhere along the Passaic River by walking the bank. 

After we got home, I texted Brenden Kuprel, asking him if he'd been fishing it. He got back in minutes, saying he'd caught a small pickerel and had a blowup on a Whopper Plopper. I told him I'd be fishing it tomorrow and that he's welcome to meet me there if he wants. He told me he wasn't sure what he was doing tomorrow, but one thing and another happened, and today we decided on meeting at a bridge over the river. 

The river gets some pressure there, but as Brenden put it, mostly "within a hundred yards of the bridge." We headed downstream, and our passage was probably possible only because of the low water. A lot of little creeks feed into the river, and getting across them is probably impossible when water is higher. With us included in the river's ecology, those creeks protect the resource, and make low water an opportunity. 

But what happened to make today opportune? Well, it was the fish Brenden didn't hook. The one that went after his spinner with more than a little drama. He cast a big Colorado-bladed inline spinner, and I saw the blowup on it, too. I think the fish had to have been at least five pounds. Likely more than that. We fished the area thoroughly, catching a few little nine-inch pike apparently stocked recently, and made a mental note to fish the spot on the way back. 

We must have worked our way downstream a half mile or more, before we turned back. That involved crossing at least a half dozen little feeder creeks. Avoiding deep mud in the process. Once, I stepped onto a log  in the mud, then tried to leap up a bank, falling instead, so that my face got planted where my feet would have gained traction, Loki the black Lab licking it profusely.

Good dog! I got up as if it were nothing, because I could walk straight, nothing turned in the wrong direction. Other little creeks I cleared as if I have decades of good balance left. 

Before we began making the march back out, I had almost hooked a pike that impressed me as being about 18 inches long. I had my drag set light. I loosen drags at home to take the stress off them. Perhaps they'll last longer. But then I have to remember to tighten them down, or something like today's lost pike happens. I tried to set the hooks and my drag screeched, rather than the hooks actually getting set. 

Back at the spot where Brenden got hit by the big one, I caught yet another little pike, about a foot long. Brenden had caught another little nine-incher and a couple of little yellow perch back along the way. 

It wasn't an outright skunker. The pike we caught were too little, but at least they made their presence known. Above all, the big one that blew up on Brenden's spinner. And the one I had one for a second would have been OK catch, too. I've never caught a pike bigger than 20 inches from the Passaic, but I always find the river compelling. So does Brenden, who lives near the river, and has caught four pike better than 10 pounds, so far.    

Large tree virtually growing out of the river.

 

Passaic Pike

Lake Wallenpaupack From Shore: Schuman Point and Other Spots

Lake Wallenpaupack is like any other lake where you can find shoreline access: Chances are good some of what you can get to will hold bass and other gamefish. I didn't know it for a fact before I got up there and tried a few spots, but it didn't surprise me that I caught a couple of fish. We stayed at the lake region for a few days beginning on my wife's birthday, and instead of blowing 500 bucks on a charter, I got a three-day license and fished a little for two days while Trish sat comfortably and read. If I want to get serious about smallmouths, I can rent a Stumpknocker from Dow's on Lake Hopatcong. I just felt curious about what I might catch where probably just about everyone else gets skunked.

When I began fishing late Sunday afternoon in a little cove commandeered by a marina, a couple of other guys had been fishing, and as they left, they told me they'd caught nothing. I like to piece things apart as if I'm looking in every corner for an old coin. That dock in the lower left of the photo, below, was the object of my deconstruction, and if I fished with the lackluster gusto of most fishermen, I wouldn't have engaged in a process of covering every inch in the attempt to get whatever bass that might hide underneath docks and boats interested. Most fishermen fish as if they don't believe any fish exist. 

I caught the bass photographed above on a Yum Dinger rigged Wacky. Little bass. But a bass. I also tried to set the hook into another one that took the same worm, but missed that hit. Hooking a three-pound largemouth didn't seem out of the realm of possibility to me.

On Monday, we planned on hiking the Schuman Point Hiking Trail, but decided to wait until Tuesday morning to hike it entirely. Instead, we hiked directly to the lake from the parking lot, where I did more thorough fishing and Trish read her book. As you can see in the photo, the reservoir's water level is down three or four feet, and many of the rocks are good material for holding smallmouth bass, easy to assume more of the same exists under the water. Judging by my losing two Yum Dingers to snags, I would say so. 

I used crayfish-colored worms. I saw more than a few dead crayfish. Apparently, there were thousands of them among the rocks.

Having switched to a Husky Jerk, I covered range a lot quicker than I had been doing with the Wacky rig. I worked my way down to the deadfall you can barely see in the middle of the photo, where I caught a small northern pike I didn't photograph. Taking it all the way back to the camera I left behind might have killed it. Only about a foot long, the fish seemed really delicate. 

Before I fished the next spot Monday afternoon, Mangan Cove, I had already imagined most of the bass are deep. In close to shore where my casts might have reached 10-foot depths at most, the fishing will probably be a lot better in October. It's probably good in May, too. At Mangan Cove, the situation was similar, with rocks and rather shallow water. I got three pulls on my Yum Dinger from sunfish, rock bass, or tiny little smallmouths. 

The water might be clearer in October, too. Its green hue seems to be caused by algae, which gives it a rather cloudy appearance. Also, unlike in the finger lakes we visited three years ago, we found no weedbeds. I would have felt very confident in finding some largemouths had we found weeds. From what I've read, though, smallmouths outnumber largemouths here seven to one. Given the amount of rock we observed, it's no mystery as to why. 

If, for whatever, reason, you're interested in fishing a lake from shore, you can catch some fish if you persist at it. During the spring and fall, you'll probably do better. Just before my wife and I headed home, we hiked the entire Schuman Point Trail. About a half mile down lake from where I had caught the northern, we took a break by the water. A guy in a bass rig was casting a jerkbait about as far out as I could cast one from the shore edge, which gave me the impression that the water might be shallower than 10 feet. Otherwise, he might have been casting a diving plug. I watched him as he made his way with a bow-mount electric, and I watched him as he hooked up, caught, and released a smallmouth of about 13 inches. I hadn't brought my rod, even though my license was still good. I just wanted to hike the three miles and get on the road. But, yeah, I kinda wished I had.  

Bottom was less rocky in the little cove.

Schuman Point Trail straight down from the parking lot.

Mangan Cove

My New Website

 

Don't Get Stuck Judging an Issue

Brenden fishes wood in the water.

What began for me as a grind I feared would reduce me to a quivering mass of pain and nerves, turned out to be an interesting outing. I had no seat cushion and my upper and lower back tightened, paining me. Problems like that tend to find resolution if you keep at it. I wasn't going to give up, but early on I believed I was stuck, though we would motor at least two miles upriver. Some people feel that after retiring, it's time to back off from active living and wind down, but I still feel youthful within. You can tell I do from the way I talk and write. So long as I'm lively where it matters first and foremost, I'm able to express that physically, too. 

As we progressed through the first hour or two, most of my casts disappointed me, too, which felt alienating, as if I had lost an important part of myself. It was just misplaced. I place a lot of pride in casting accuracy and I wasn't hitting targets. Getting snagged a lot, too.

That proved to be the way out of my malaise. The work it took to keep getting unsnagged began to feel like play, and not only did my back loosen up and begin to feel a hundred percent more comfortable than it had felt, my casting accuracy got right on target. Both rods. The Yum Dinger and the Chatterbait.

I had even feared I wouldn't be using the squareback much longer, which impresses me now as just laughable. Back when we met at Cronk's house, we secured the front of the canoe with a rope. We had the hood of my car opened, having tied the rope at two ends to metal inside; we let that rope go loose, and I dropped the hood on it, which made it tight at both ends. 

"When you stand back from a problem, it can seem unsolvable," I said, commenting on how loosening the rope had seemed hit or miss regarding how dropping the hood on it would turn out. "But proceed with it concretely, and it can be easy."

Same with my back and casting accuracy. Just took longer. But the point is, the mind can play all sorts of tricks on you, and if you don't persist at a problem by getting closer to the substance of it, rather than standing back and playing the judge, you can fail to solve it. It's always substance that frees you. You get into it, and then it's as if the problem solves itself. 

It's the same with writing, too. If my blog posts served as no more than generic recaps of fishing outings, no one would bother reading such thin gruel. It's easy to say, "We got skunked on the Passaic," and pretty much leave it at that. But besides using that state of affairs to make a point of the issue, I wouldn't otherwise have even needed to say we got skunked in this post. 

By digging in, stuff emerges on its own that makes my time worthwhile as well as yours. It's interesting because engagement results from reading a writer who messes around with a text until it flows together as a single unit. There might be a few glitches, but then again, I usually go back and read them, making any corrections where I see need. 

There's a chemistry involved in writing. Just as there is in fishing. It's always a little different as the subject matter or situation varies, but it gets switched on by making the effort. Or just loosened up and allowed to react.

   

On the way upstream, Brenden did get a swipe from a pickerel. I saw the boil. The two of us after big pike, that feels a little presumptuous now as twice we've motored (electric) upstream for them and have seen only a rather small one follow a plug to the squareback. I caught three largemouths and Brenden caught a pickerel and a perch when we fished here in September. I've caught pike from shore elsewhere along the river on multiple occasions, but my biggest so far is only about 22 inches. Brenden's caught them 34 1/2 inches and 36 inches from shore. Lots of smaller from his kayak.

We didn't only fish tight to visible cover. (We fished wood in the water. Pads. I used a weedless mouse.) But because the current cuts against the bank in many places, some of which involve slack and eddies with some depth, I believed I fished possible holding water there. The current, by the way, flowed considerably heavier than I remember from September last year, and I didn't like that, though I adjusted to it, including my ability to position the canoe. 

We also checked muddy shallows. For example, where the river bends in various places, there's a shallow flat like a wide point where the current is slack. I really wonder where bass spawn, there's so much soft mud. Water temperature was 64, 65. The main river channel here is generally 10 or 12 feet deep.  

Watching and listening to birds got interesting. I don't say that only as humorous irony. Lots of wood ducks. A redtail hawk examining the river by flying in tight circles just over our heads. Red-bellied woodpecker. The call of either a pileated woodpecker or flicker. Blue jays. Mallards. A species I don't remember having seen before and couldn't identify. We saw five or six muskrats. A beaver. 

The trees are light green, except for a very few still displaying red florets. Loads of pollen in the air, and lots of stuff on the river surface, even though, at least when we began, the breeze was very light.   

Home sweet home.

I keep noticing loss of access. The sign wasn't there when we came here in September last year. I don't believe it's constitutional to hamper access to public water. Unless, of course, it's an issue of private land. The Passaic River is not owned by a township, lol.

September

Natural Surroundings Begin to Take Us Back

On the ice first time this season. Oliver Round had gone out a couple of times and caught a channel cat, perch, and pickerel. He had already pretty much set up when I got there yesterday, and for me, the transition from indoors to the pleasure of standing on a frozen lake wasn't quickly complete. I think a lot of people who would ice fish don't do it because they can't see beyond discomfort to the fulfillment ice fishing offers.

Even when we get skunked, and we got skunked yesterday probably in part because people have been fishing regularly there, the natural surroundings begin to take us back. All of what we do behind walls in heated rooms is protected against that very will of nature to claim us as its own. We might think that would be a horrible, bestial demise, but not necessarily. Just because exposure will make us more animate, doesn't mean reason gets lost, though it can if the mind is weak. 

I remember one occasion. I think during 1977. I wasn't ice fishing, but I fished in the rain at 50 degrees--the temperature right at the mark where hypothermia is a real danger--and got soaked to the bone. I had an eight-mile bicycle ride home ahead of me in the dark, and I seem to vaguely remember how delirium felt as if light somehow blended seamlessly into dark as one thing. As if light and dark flow together rather being exclusive. I got home in a very delirious state of mind, and it occurred to me that despite delirium's being a mental impairment, I was handling it well. I had no regrets for pushing the day beyond limits, no fear, and instead of feeling any kind of rejection of my own state of mind, I felt openly curious about it and paid attention.

Again, reason can persist, even when it is, in fact, challenged. It's a matter of putting value emphasis on reason instead of fearing the impairment. 

We fished more than three hours today. Oliver's toes got cold, but not too badly. I did notice that in the wind my XL parka allowed just a little updraft that was uncomfortable. I still think that once I put on the bib, I'll be glad I did get XL. These Beyond Allta L8 parkas are designed to have four layers of clothing on you underneath. I had only a thin wool base layer and two Woolrich shirts on underneath yesterday, so considering that, I wasn't doing badly. Temperature was 24; I stood on ice for more than three hours and never got chilled besides my face. The fingers on my gloves didn't stay as warm as I would have liked, either, and in the future, I may invest in mitts. Don't know what the wind chill was but had to be pretty low.

And it snowed, which was nice. 

Something did trip one of Oliver's devices, but the baitfish seemed untouched. Could have been a sunfish for all we know. Oliver made a holding tank he keeps in his garage where it's chilly. He managed to save some shiners from the previous outings but very few. He went to a creek in a park near his house. I believe with his splitting bar, because he did break ice. He brought a dip net and caught a couple chub-sized dace and little ones. I thought it was interesting using little ones that did stay alive on the hook, even though as any habit, I would certainly stick to large shiners, medium only if large not available. 

When I had got there, it looked like three parties were on the ice. On a Thursday. Actually, one of them was Oliver, and the others were all in the same party of non-English speaking foreigners. Oliver had asked about catches, and they couldn't communicate what the big one was they caught, but Oliver told me they were very excited about it. Apparently, a good-sized northern pike. I saw them catch a very nice-sized pickerel. 

Caught Three Pickerel Last Year  

Couple Last Shots at Big Ones Before Cold Comes

With the warm weather, I didn't want to pass up on giving the river near work a shot. I fished only half an hour, and got hit only by some panfish or other. Decided that with the water temperature up, I'd use a floating Rapala rather than a Husky Jerk. Amazes me how fast that #9 Floater rises to the surface with a wire leader attached. 

Water level is very low, of course. I did manage to get the plug next to a lot of wood in the water, but apparently no pike or pickerel were on the stuff. 

Water color was a little off as usual. Not clear as Brenden and I found it far downstream closer to Little Falls. Plenty of carp seem to swim in the area. I remember Kevin Murphy, who worked as seafood manager at Stirling Shop Rite for years, telling me that during a great flood when water covered the parking lot, he stood at one of the doors, watching a big carp hugging the asphalt. 

Getting up at 5:30 a.m. tomorrow to fish bass with Brian Cronk. One last shot at a big one before cold weather descends. 

River Trout Soon

 

Something More than Us Creates Our Connection

I'm temperamentally suited to using a Senko-type worm. That paid off yesterday, as I caught three bass, two of them pretty nice ones. No northern pike caught, though one about 22 to 24 inches followed my plug to the squareback on my first cast. Brenden caught two yellow perch and a small pickerel. 

It's odd to favor Senkos here. I've never had any discomfort pitching a jerkbait the entire outing on other occasions while on foot, but from the low vantage of being seated in the canoe, it got tedious and awkward for me. Brenden threw a large spinner for the most part.

The invisibility of pike impressed us as strange. Wood in the water, some pads--cover wasn't everywhere, though common. You'd think we'd see some nervous water and fish. Brenden theorized that for whatever reason, the pike were down in the eight- to 12-foot depths. He thought that would more likely be the case in the summer, though. Water was 69 degrees. Besides, on the way in after sundown, I trolled a sinking jerkbait through that deep water and never got hit.

I described the smallest as an "average stream bass," the first one I caught, which hit next to some sticks in the water, shallow. The second one, maybe 14 inches but very heavy-bodied, hit hard & fast next to a fallen tree's shallow end. Once hooked, it ran so fast out into the depths that I thought it was a pike. The third came when 60 feet or so of muddy bank between cover interested me, as if a bass would move along it. My third or fourth cast, I felt my Yum Dinger get picked up in the usual way on a slow, deep retrieve. It leapt twice, maybe 15 inches or so. 

The Passaic stretches some eight-and-a-half miles between access points, but Brenden later pointed out that had we gone far enough, we might have come to trees in the water forbidding passage. Not only that. From the other side, there could be trees blocking passage further upriver yet, effectively creating an inaccessible flow. Unless you were to bushwhack, perhaps necessarily with a machete, or when the river is low enough, hike the mud at the edge you might sink into. 

There's bass back there for sure. And pike. We got well beyond the sound of traffic on I-80. I felt the weight of my concerns back home lifted off me. The surroundings fascinated me as a whole other system of shared interaction. The yellow of turning leaves signaling the inevitable passage coming of the rest of them. A flock of grackles fed themselves along the bank to our left, while an American egret alighted high up on the dead branch of a tree in the water, overlooking us and the flock I had just equated with Hitchcock. 

"The devil to the left of us and an angel giving us guard," Brenden said the like.

"Yeah," I said.

His words gave the scene transcendence. Even if we alone bestow such power on an environment, it no less moves us as something other. How can it be "we" without implying that something more than us creates our connection?

September Pike

 

Could Have Put the Fish Off

According to the U.S. Geological Survey gauge, the Passaic River level rose only a foot or so where we were going, and when we got there, Oliver Round and I found the current was heavy and the water stained but not muddy. Oliver tried topwater and I fished a jerkbait, before Oliver switched out to a Senko and then buzzbait, and I took the jerkbait off and snapped on a white spinnerbait. 

We hiked way back there, seeing some frogs along the way, listening to insects, probably footing a total of three miles or so round trip. I put casts where I wanted them to go. Very persistently, I fished along the bank where usually there was several feet of water or so, right into and next to any wood I could see in the water, behind other current breaks, shallows created by the river's high level, and even mid-river I found there's a lot of stuff on the bottom that can serve as cover. Oliver hit his targets, too, but neither of us got hit once. 

"You don't think it's because it's fished out?" Oliver asked.

"No. The fish are there."

I had no answer at the time as to why they weren't hitting. Earlier on, I'd pointed out that the water can't be colder than the 50's. We just got through a heat wave with temps in the 80's, and since then, it's still been in the upper 50's afternoons and low 50's at night. But from the perspective of having lain back to take a mental snapshot of that whole situation, it was easy to see the water temp--especially with the heavy rain overnight being on the chilly side--must have taken a sudden dip. It could have put the fish off.

Round Valley Reservoir Eels  

Caught Largemouths and Pike

Fred Matero wanted to catch smallmouth bass today, and so did I. We did succeed in making our way downstream along the Raritan to the railroad bridges. First, though, Fred showed me the Millstone River boat launch. It's functional. Fred told me he witnessed a 17-foot boat getting put in there. We cast for 10 minutes or so. I caught the longear photographed above on a #9 Rapala floater. 

From there, we found a park Fred knew about, hoping to access a trail back to the bridges. This would be a lot easier than walking down from the Manville Bridge. We found the park, but where we would park Fred's SUV and take the trail, it was posted No Trespassing. 

We parked at the bridge. I waded upstream to try a hole I knew about from 2006. My son found it by falling in. He was wading, sauntering along, and suddenly was in over his head. Like that day, also, I caught nothing. 

And on down below, we were able to fish at the first two bridges. (We didn't go down to the third.) Both had deep water we plumbed with jigs and Senkos. I cast a Rapala, too, but all that happened for me were sunfish taps on the Senkos. Fred caught a couple of sunfish, and that was it.

So I forwarded to him the idea of fishing the Passaic for pike. I guess after the two fairly recent trips there, I had bass in mind, too. I didn't express my feeling, but I felt firmly confident that we would catch fish. We just had to get there, do it, and see if my feeling would pay off.

We got swiped by a couple of little pike not far from the bridge. On further down, where Oliver and I have done well, nothing happened besides a 10 1/2-inch largemouth for me on a five-inch Rapala Minnow. It wasn't until we got further down yet that the fishing broke lose, and my feeling that the river must be overfished lifted. On a Senko, Fred hooked a pike of at least 24 inches, I got a good look at the fish. It came off and went for the Senko a second time, Fred missing that hit as well. I caught a little 12-inch pike, and then for 10 minutes or so, I caught fish left and right, ending at a total of four bass and three pike. None of the bass were better than 10 1/2 inches, and the two other pike were 15 and 16 inches. Fred caught one of the  bass of about 10 1/2 inches. 

We had to go, after fishing maybe two hours. 

 

Pike Action

Frist cast resulted in a 10-inch northern pike. Interesting, because if my information is correct, the first stocking point is many miles downstream below Chatham. I was in Long Hill Township, pretty close to Basking Ridge. Another pike maybe 18 inches long took a swipe at the plug, next cast. I was using a #11 Rapala floater. 

Upstream ust a little way, I winged a cast across the river, trying to get the plug near some wood. Mid-river a big pike rushed it, and though I could somehow feel the force of the fish's pass, hooks never got grab. The surface bulged more than a yard across. 

All of the action was right near the bridge where I parked. 

Further downstream, I hooked another 18-incher, but it got off. 

Thirty-eight minutes culminating after sunset. 

Charter Cancelled

It did rain hard around 3:00 a.m., but it's not raining now after 5:00, and I feel disappointed that our Lake Hopatcong charter is cancelled. I was going to meet Brian Cronk just before 6 for some hybrid striper action. I would like to beat my six-pound best.

I did get out the other day. I don't always post after I go fishing, although usually I do, and in any case, every outing is marked in my private log. Fished the Passaic just after work before I drove home. Missed a pike up top, then after a few more pitches to the spot next to wood in the water, went on down below but not far from the bridge. When I came back, I twitched the #11 Rapala on top at the same spot again, and a little pike about 12 inches long leapt over it. Before I finished that retrieve, twitching it hard, a bigger one slammed it but I didn't get hooks set. Not a large pike but at least 18 inches. 

Saw a Big Pike

I walked the trail directly to that nice hole I fished last time when wondered why it didn't produce. My first cast resulted in a small pike hitting the plug when I paused it--as it floated towards the surface. Missed it, and the fish wouldn't come back. I decided to keep with that #11 Rapala, because with the river so low, using a plug I can float over sticks in relatively shallow water makes sense. It casts well enough where the river is so small. In the same stretch, a bass whacked it on the retrieve, felt hook, and was gone. 

I began marching further downstream until, finally, the trail veered sharply right and away. I followed it awhile, then decided to go back and bushwhack, which began more of that than I enjoyed. 

When I began feeling dizzy, uncertainty came on. I don't know if it's true, but all I could think is my recent blood pressure medicine wasn't allowing a pressure high enough to match how strenuous the effort. Will speak to my doctor (who might think me a nut for doing it).

I got pretty deep back there, fighting off thick stuff, making sure the plastic bag I used as satchel didn't get ripped to shreds by thorns that made my left arm and hand a bloody mess. I didn't care about the blood; I didn't want to have to try and carry my things without a bag! Next time, I'll wear a backpack.  Along the way, I tried a few nice looking spots--nothing but the missed hit from a smaller pike yet, and a bass, that last fish up top.

Suddenly, I knew it was time to turn and go back. I wasn't thinking of the time, but the situation would prove it had seemed an inner alarm clock went off, when I thought it was just frustration. The sole of my left boot was coming off. My jeans were too damn tight. I would feel, on the way back, as if a hernia was developing just below my crotch on the right side. 

One spot appeared to try yet. I sat down on a rock to relax and take the day in as I cast leisurely and retrieved. And then I told myself I would leave. Aha, I saw opportunity for one last cast. The water looked a little shadowy towards the other side at an angle downstream. Plug touched down. I twitched, retrieved, and then before it came all the way back, I saw a great disturbance where it had touched down. Then I saw, where I could otherwise see bottom, a pike of at least 36 inches, maybe 40--stunning to see in that little river. I immediately inferred that this fish had been alerted from the fallen tree it hurried back to--by that plug. If only I had just twitched it in place a little. It had snuck up stealthily, and seemed to create a roll and shoot back having seen me some 14 or 15 yards away. 

I knew--because there was another fallen tree sticking out into the river immediately to my right--that had I hooked that pike, there was about zero chance of winning the fight. But what the hell. I kept trying to get my plug close to the tree it skooted under, and even worked out a miracle cast when I neither got hung on that tree nor the one close to me.

I got to my car at 7:54 and felt OK. Dusk had come on pretty deep but not too deep. Another 20 minutes, and I'd have been walking the woods in near-darkness. 

Two trips back into the thick, two consecutive Tuesdays, and to think I haven't lost that plug.

 

Passaic River Lowest I've Ever Seen

Never saw the Passaic at lower level before. Hiking in, I thought I heard thunder. I got about seven minutes deep into the woods, when I took my first cast and a bass hit. Missed it. Further in, I found nice, deep water but didn't get any interest. I fished a #11 Rapala and had some difficulty casting balsa, compared to other plugs I've used like Smithwick. Had I more time, I would have switched out. It soon became clear a storm approached.

I never had time to settle in. Did catch a little bass before I got about 15 minutes deep, into the woods. Where I last stood, I missed two strikes from the same pike almost at my feet.  A small one but bigger than the bass.

Hiking out briskly, I realized I might have forgotten to stash a plastic bag in the little camera bag I keep my D7100 in. Did make sure to put one in there immediately after getting home.

As you can see, I got to my car in a nick of time. Always good to get out.

 

You're not Living Somewhere Else

My brother Rick's a true Republican and yet idealist. Occurs to me tonight why. Some years ago now, I can't remember if 2011, but fairly certain then at Thanksgiving or Christmas, he remarked that New Jersey freshwater fishing offers really slim hopes. Obviously, he has an ideal in mind, and he has fished out-of-state. The Green River in Utah, for one example.

Bloomin' onion that I am, I countered his opinion, saying something about New Jersey's freshwater offering flourishing fishing now and in the future. Both of our opinions judgments, the attitudes are relative to the facts. It's more about how the quantity gets colored, than just counting, measuring, and weighing the flesh.

Ever since I posted about pike the other day, I've had hopes that post would rank online on the national level. Some of my posts have--very well--such as "Catching Smallmouth Bass in Streams and Small Rivers" and another on salmon eggs and trout. Yes, trout get stocked nationwide. So....I began to compare that little 31-inch pike photographed in the recent post to video and photo accounts of numerous pike five and six times heavier caught on single outings elsewhere in this country and Canada. Besides, any one of us might fish numerous outings for five or six years...to catch one 31-inch pike in our state. I know. Go on NJ Fishing.com and you can see a lot of 36-inchers, some bigger. And my son and I have done a little better than I've exemplified of "anyone." But NJ. Fishing.com suggests that there are guys who really have it knocked. But not like Manitoba.

This is New Jersey. And if you live here, well, that's that. You're not living somewhere else. Maybe you can go on vacation and meet with higher ideals, but here's an example of what once happened in accord with what I said in response to my brother.

We went to Maine. We fished smallmouth bass all week. We did OK. But I've had the dream of a five-pounder for years. Naturally, hopes peaked. Matt did hook one we think was at least four, judging the steady freight of its run, hook pulling free. The biggest--about two-and-a-half. But at least we caught maybe half a dozen nearly that.

We came home. Had another day off work. We ride up north and fish a crick. In one afternoon, we caught and released about a dozen-and-a-half smallmouths, some of these over a pound, but two of them--way over that weight. One of mine, nearly 20 inches long, weighed over four pounds. Next spot down the road, Matt caught one that weighed at least three-and-a-half.

We laughed like dogs. Hours before, we're up in Maine for the ideal fishing. We come back to Jersey, fish a crick, and beat Maine by a long shot.




http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2013/01/early-season-northern-pike-new-jersey.html

How Where: Catch Pike Peak Season

Tom Slota's 31-inch Spruce Run Reservoir northern.

Northern Pike: Peak Season

By Bruce Edward Litton

          More than a decade ago, I took my young son to Lebanon Bait & Sport, bought live herring, and drove the short distance to New Jersey’s Spruce Run Reservoir. Herring had just become available in late April, awkwardly cast by the lighter of our surf rods, eight-foot sticks we use for striped bass and Spanish mackerel. I remembered from my teens the breaking news of Herb Hepler’s 30-pound, two-ounce state record pike from the reservoir, and felt powerfully prepared with big tackle. The state record got broken in Pompton Lakes by a 30-pound, 8.5-ounce pike in 2009, during years when we came to Spruce Run beginning in March, having scaled back drastically on the means of rods and reels, although catching plenty of pike on large shiners.

          I’ve met some who use seven-inch trout for bait, bought at the Musky Fish Hatchery. And before Lebanon Bait & Sport closed its doors after the death of proprietor Steve Welgoss, the shop carried extra-large shiners I never felt needed. We catch plenty of three to nine-pound pike on medium power, 5 ½-foot spinning rods, reels loaded with six-pound test monofilament. For those large live shiners, a barrel swivel provides minimal weight, besides a size 6 hook and sinking 15-pound test fluorocarbon leader. Pike weighing more than 15 pounds get caught fairly frequently in New Jersey, especially in the Passaic River, but an average pike is closer to five pounds, packing plenty of power to load light gear.

          Pugnacious predators coiling like springs before striking, pike also hit a variety of lures in cold water. My favorite is the suspending Rapala Husky Jerk. Take advantage of the pike’s habit of halting before its body twists to explode on prey or a lure: Pause a lure or shiner during retrieve. Any brand of suspending jerkbaits represent this deadly technique. By short, intense twitches, the jerkbait creates commotion to attract the curiosity of any pike nearby. If you follow the habits of most fishermen, you may notice they don’t twitch the plug enough. Most jerk it a few times and pause, or retrieve constantly while bouncing the rod tip, as if the number of casts makes more of a difference than the presentation. Rather than focus on retrieve, focus on tantalizing any nearby pike by keeping the plug shaking in place as much as possible. The plug will move forward, but slowly. You can twitch for as long as 20 seconds to a full minute to draw any fish from a distance, and then cease all action. That pause can trigger a strike, as if a pike’s mesmerized attention suddenly transforms into action, the target plainly visible and vulnerable. A fast action rod is a must, and I recommend the same for all pike techniques but bobber fishing, when any rod suffices.

          With spinnerbaits, kill the action. Let a Colorado blade flutter relatively lame as the lure descends a few feet to bottom, and if no strike occurs, let it sit there a good five seconds. Pike are just as focused as fierce, apt to stare at a lure until you snap it off bottom to rev the motor. Chartreuse is a good color choice, as is any bright color or combination of color during sunny conditions. And brightly colored lure paused on bottom will help fixate a pike’s attention on it.

          In-line spinners can be fished the same way if no residual weeds complicate matters, but I prefer short pauses, just enough to make a regular retrieve interesting. Many times, pike will follow. Pausing a spinner the first two or three times may not provoke a take, but by pausing in quicker succession thereafter, a pike may get irritated enough to turn interest into action. A moderately slow retrieve interrupted by increased pace can also provoke a charge.

          A long American tradition associates lots of flash with the fierce reactions of pike. Spinners work. And they don’t have to be outsized. A 3/8^th ounce, size 6 variety fits the need, but if you can’t find a spinner to your liking with reflective tape on the blade, you can buy tape and put it on yourself. The red tubing on the treble hook shaft of the Mepp’s Aglia Long serves the function of capturing that visual focus of pike and may make the difference, as bucktail offers possibility also—especially in red, chartreuse and white.

         New Jersey has lots of where-to-go options. The Passaic River, Pompton River, Millstone River, Spruce Run Reservoir, Pompton Lakes, Budd Lake, Cranberry Lake, Deal Lake and even the Raritan River all have benefitted from the state’s stocking program, although it is the Millstone, not Raritan River, that actually gets stocked, pike working their way into the larger river system. Pike also get caught in the South Branch Raritan River on seldom occasion, since Spruce Run Reservoir and Budd Lake feed its flow. All of these waters involve pike spawning behavior in March and April. Regardless of any marginal reproductive success, the fish seek areas of residual weeds in lake and reservoir coves especially associated with feeder streams. The rivers congregate pike at any dams, or otherwise at the mouths of tributaries. Passaic River veteran Steve Slota Jr. told me about sighting a three-foot pike well upstream of the river in a tiny tributary creek in Verona’s city limits.

          Until May warmth breaks the pattern of cool water shallows, pike remain vulnerable like no other time of year. However, during the cold water period of March, when pike first get interested in congregating on spawning grounds, they won’t chase after jerkbaits cranked fast or smash topwater plugs chugged along as if powered by a diesel engine.

          Remember that pausing a lure is key to success with it, but if you like using live shiners, possibly this bait is never more appropriate, except for ice fishing. I always set out a couple of bobbers on whatever rods I don’t care to manually fish. Usually, I fish pike with guests, so as many as half-a-dozen get set. Predictably, no matter how well placed the bobbers, most of the pike get caught by live-lining technique, however. A bobber means waiting on fish; it puts you in a dependent position. Live-lining is proactive and will always better produce, at least over time, in the hands of anglers who know how to do it.

          Where exactly do the pike in a given cove hang out? They move about, but going after them involves not only your senses, muscles, and judgement based on outward observation of branch stickups, perhaps, or a belly of deeper water or creek channel in a cove. Any and all structure is important, but there’s more to finding fish. Pay attention to your own internal promptings. Urges and ideas never just happen randomly, unrelated to what you’re doing and where you are. They may indicate where a fish is, so long as you are truly intent on discovery.

          Why make a cast unless believed in? At the least, let every cast be your best guess, and you may be surprised when something tells you this is the cast that really counts—and it comes true.


http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2013/01/early-season-northern-pike-new-jersey.html

Will Ice Fishing Last into March?

On Friday, we departed from the Newark terminal at 7:00 a.m. Perceptions the likes of which otherwise I pass on as significant, at the right time and place, they become lifelong memories. The way the sun appeared on the horizon, as the Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 backed out, impressed me as the very source of uplift, which around here, on Planet Earth, it is. And within minutes, the jet roared down the runway and took wing for Texas.

That Friday morning was the beginning of something here in New Jersey, which me and my family were happy to escape for a long weekend. Leaving Hobby Airport in Houston, we drove directly to Johnson Space Center. I chose to rent a little hatchback, since we wouldn't drive much, and the AAA discount saved us more money than my Outdoor Writers Association of America discount would have. It's a funny thing about writers. They get left out in the cold. Penniless or close to it, that is. Eighty Five degree warmth felt almost hot. We had shot southward just as the arctic air mass kissed our tail.

And here I am on Wednesday, unable to get out and fish yesterday, because torrents of rain came down in the morning, and I usually don't go out in such this time of year. In the afternoon I worked. But after missing out on the fantastic ice fishing earlier in the season, I felt happy to get a phone call from Landolfi, telling me to forget the rain and near 60 degrees, there's 12 inches of ice on Hopatcong. I doubt that much, but there's about seven.

Dead. That's the lake I know. Four of us in my purview altogether, each of us after northern pike, sunfish and a couple of crappies got caught jigging, but not a single flag rose to honor what we really wanted most.

The fishing a month ago or so impressed me as verging on insanity, it was so good, judging the faithful photographs in the reports, and especially the numbers, but the size: Out of sight. You had to be there, and I was so caught up in things, I missed the part I like best. First ice.

One of the guys is wondering if it's all over. Not the ice. He feels assured we have a solid season now, which could mean it lasts into March, who knows, but he's fished the lake for many years persistently and knows how it slumps. Nevertheless, there's pike to be caught, and since they have to eat, some will get pulled through. If ice remains.

Back in late December, with weather like April, some people seriously believed there may not be an ice season this year. Never judge things by the nonce. Always include a larger picture supported by evidence, because if you plan by what the moment seems to tell you, you get fooled in the next.

That's not why I missed out on the pike action, because I held a consistent opinion to the contrary of no ice this year. I can't think of any year when here in New Jersey no ice came at all. Maybe it was 2008 when we had a week of ice fishing, but that's not nothing. And perhaps one or two of my earlier blog posts from 2011 or 2012 aren't grounded in such statistics, if indeed I questioned whether we would have any ice, rather than a short season. You can read them and find out if you want, I'm taking a lazy approach to the question.

It's too easy to lose proper sensibility to the sky and imagine things like a winter without ice in New Jersey.    

Millstone River for Smallmouth Bass, Northern Pike

Millstone River for smallmouth bass, northern pike

          The Millstone River originates in western Monmouth County, flows through a section of Middlesex County into Mercer County and Princeton, and enters Carnegie Lake near the mid-point. The water spilling over the lake’s dam and flowing north and east is the Millstone River, although Stony Brook is a sizeable small river where it enters the lake’s head. The Millstone begins and ends as a Piedmont Plain, mostly mud bottomed river, but Stony Brook is the state’s southernmost predominantly freestone stream. Three miles further south, the Shipietaukin Creek runs over gravelly slates and broken rock for a mile or two of its longer length, yet most of Stony Brook flows through the hilly region of Mercer, and the swift water flowing over rocks at least used to hold excellent smallmouth bass populations.

          Virtually none of these bass make their way into Carnegie Lake (good for largemouths). But the Millstone has smallmouths despite lack of many rocks and gravel. The bass both run upstream from the Raritan River and make their way from Beden’s Brook—another Mercer County freestone stream—which flows into the Millstone at Rocky Hill. From what I understand years after I posted this article, northern pike are no longer stocked by the state, but pickerel may seem more common than smallmouths, largemouths too, but one spot in particular used to hold a number of smallmouths willing to hit on a given afternoon.

          This is the first time I’ve divulged a very specific location in more than three years’ column writing. I hope I didn't burn anyone else’s favorite spot and don’t believe I did, since I passed over the Wilhousky Street Bridge every other day for almost six years. In all that time, I never saw anyone fishing the Weston Causeway Dam race in clear view as I passed over. Since those years of working as a courier, the Weston Causeway Dam was removed.

          My son, Matt, was seven when we parked near the Manville bridge in Somerset County to fish the area of the dam. That was August 2006, and for a couple of months Matt had been excited about fishing this piece of the Millstone for muskies. I had read and discussed with him a peculiar article I liked in The Fisherman magazine which recommends this spot for just that species, and while it isn’t impossible—muskies are stocked in the Delaware and Raritan Canal and find their way into the Raritan River and then into the Millstone—northern pike are much more likely caught, since thousands have been stocked in the Millstone by the state over the years. Oddly though, I've heard of no one actually catching pike in the Millstone. By comparison, Passaic River pike thrive, but I don't know why a discrepancy has existed. I have heard of a pike caught in the Raritan River, obviously having washed down, and a pike caught in the canal, possibly because of a floodwater transfer from the Millstone. One other unlikely catch is walleye. The same article featured a photograph of a walleye apparently caught in the Millstone at Wilhousky. They’re not stocked in the canal or the river. They make their way into the Raritan from the Delaware, by way of the canal. State Department of Environmental Protection Division of Fish and Game personnel reportedly tallied electroshock recovery samples from the Millstone last year, and these included one large walleye.

          Of course, Matt and I caught no muskies or walleyes. We caught no northern pike or largemouth bass either, but I was pleasantly surprised to experience catching three smallmouth bass, which slammed our small spinnerbaits as the blades pulsed through the fast water below the dam. Two bass were very good size, weighing more than a pound-and-a-half. Obviously, a little fast water combined with rock-like concrete is a smallmouth bass magnet. I suppose any walleye in the area would frequent the fast water also. Walleye have been caught on occasion in the canal for decades—always at any one of the nine locks in fast water. You may have to fish all nine locks at least nine times each to hook a walleye, but these are the places where they take residence. Smallmouths at Wilhousky are an easier catch.

          They won’t be for long, since the Weston Causeway Dam is slated for removal soon, probably next summer. This is why I can tell you about this spot in good conscience. It deserves some honor.

          Dams are removed for good reason, since rivers liberated improve ecologically and fisheries increase. Once the two Millstone dams go, shad and herring may swim as far upstream as Carnegie Lake dam. More smallmouth bass will rise from the Raritan too, since at present the Weston Causeway Dam stops bass from swimming further, although some fishermen surely release bass on the upstream side.

          I guess an interesting project for the Millstone would be the introduction of tons of rock and gravel on the stream bed, but I’m only dreaming. Besides, it’s got current sluices, eddies, and especially downed trees and brush making excellent pike, pickerel, and largemouth habitat. It’s a river for kayakers and canoers, and will be safer without temptation to go over a dam and get submerged in the circular current below.  

Fishing the South Branch Raritan       

I'm writing The Microlight Quest: Trout, Adventure, Renewal, a memoir I intend to get published.

Ramapo State Forest Hike and Bass at Ramapo Lake

Set out for new range in the New Jersey Highlands, easy to access Ramapo State Forest in Passaic County by hopping on Interstate 287 tenths of a mile from home, then cruising 35 miles, parking in the lot about two tenths of a mile beyond the exit. About a half hour away. We've driven by that lot many times, but this was the first we took a trail to Ramapo Lake.

The hike easy, not without some climbing, couldn't have been much more than a half mile to the dam. We spent most of our time just beyond. I had cast to floating weeds along concrete very carefully. Water quality is good, tannic and pretty clear. I spoke to another fisherman who said it's best in the spring, although I sometimes think people who make this claim don't know how to slow down for summer bass. He cast a Rat-L-Trap. At any rate, he said he once witnessed a northern pike caught. If they're there, whoever put them in probably got a reproducing population going, but I don't know. The lake is large, 120 acres. Water's at least 15 feet deep near the dam. Pickerel rather abundant from what I gathered, black crappie and yellow perch get caught also.

I worked close to weed edges, attempting the method that works best for me at Sunrise Lake in Washington Township. Bass lie under floating vegetation. Cast right to the edge--casts have to be perfect or close to it--and the bass rushes out to take a weightless plastic worm. I couldn't buy a hit and finally gave up on this today. I sat on rocks and cast deep to slowly twitch the worm back. I got a hit on my first cast. The take happened about 10 feet down. The bass not big, nevertheless I felt very happy to throw the skunk off. I tried for another hour and got no more hits, but I learned in the process that a fair amount of vegetation grows off bottom pretty deep. It's a matter of pulling the worm with an inset snagless hook through without making a mess of the retrieve. Loads of schist glacier-broken along the lake and trails, plenty must be down on the bottom too. I had asked the fisherman I spoke too about smallmouths. He said he's never seen any.

Just made sure. I didn't really think so.

We got back on the trail, following a gravel roadway along the lake. Many opportunities for shore casting exist. And it's clearly evident these opportunities get taken routinely. The lot was all but full when we arrived before 2:00 p.m. We encountered nearly a dozen other fishermen and at least 150 people otherwise. Nevertheless, the size of the lake means it can take pressure. Little three-acre Sunrise Lake, for example, gets loads of pressure, and some bass get taken home, too, yet every time I've fished it, I've caught at least one bass, usually at least a few. Haven't been there for more than a year, but I fished it every year for many while it got hit hard.

We ate dinner in Montville afterwards and agreed that next summer might be a good time to revisit Apshawa Preserve and the old Butler Reservoir. Particularly since I lost a 2 1/2-pounder last summer, the idea felt very appropriate. There are other places to try we haven't been to, but for these Highlands outings, I tend to go the way my wife enjoys. I have places to go besides I'm interested in really getting to know better, and which have more fish than such large attractions as Ramapo and other high profile places that get a real load of recreational traffic. It is true that Ramapo Lake can take pressure, but that involves a relative comparison. Nevertheless, a great day enjoyed by all and we always engage in exploring places new to us.

On the way out of the forest, I had us stop and take in ruins from New Jersey's Iron Age, all of these forests once utterly decimated for the iron furnaces. I would really research New Jersey history deeply if I had more time. But not only that--getting out and actually hanging out with historical ruins informs consciousness in ways books or the web can't. You can't deny you feel the mystery, and this feeling persists and motivates you to learn more. More important, the experience is more than would seem, because while it seems only to be the feeling received at present, much more is involved and ultimately learned than realized while you're there, let alone from any incentive acted upon to read further later. You always forget some of what you experienced when at any given place, and yet not only can more be understood later, experiences taken together add up and inform a pool of knowledge much more than any concrete reckoning with things.

We drove into Pompton Lakes looking for a restaurant, and though we found none we wanted to invest our time in patronizing, the business district fascinated us deeply. Patricia said many of the buildings have stood since the early 20th century. What sort of commerce supported this town then? I don't know, but years before, most of the towns in the Highlands had the iron industry's support.

 Matt

 Blueberries, unripe for the most part.

 Don't try eating these.

 Sadie

 Patricia

Ruins