Van Syckel's Road Largemouths and Pike Recalled

We bought extra-large shiners at Zach Merchant's Round Valley Bait and Tackle when it opened for the very first time at 6:00 a.m. this morning, arriving at Van Syckel's Road and the mouth of Spruce Run Creek, where it becomes reservoir, well before sunup, beginning our northern pike fishing along the jetty. I haven't done this in what seems a very long time, though only five years ago my son and I came on a cold April evening and tried. Since 2005, we had come at least once a year, catching a number of pike as large as nine pounds, some largemouths as long as 20 1/8 inches, and crappies weighing as much as 2 1/4 pounds. There was a real life to the fishing here, thanks to my son who motivated me to get started, though the fishing took care of itself after that.

When Jorge Hildago and I began fishing this morning, I couldn't catch the feeling, but by the end of three hours on the water, I recognized where I had left off with this form of live-lining shiners and my expecting attention on the fishes' end of the line, feeling returning to me as our outing's end neared, though no fish hit my offerings. But that expectation of eventually hooking up transforms what would be an empty throw-the-bait-out-there and sort-of-reel-it-painfully-slow-back sling-along into a meditative habit that actually had sustained interested focus for years. Dependable on the first try every early spring. Usually we fished a couple of hours or so at most, sometimes longer, always with a line that mattered, despite how meaningless this kind of activity can seem without the vital feel you can really only know from within, although outward graces one may observe of an angler can offer a clue.

It does depend on catching some fish.  And perhaps this begs a question. Could anyone catch fish forever and not get bored with the activity? I was definitely interested in hooking up this morning, but I fished nearly every day during my teens, and then gave up the pursuit. Not entirely, but enough to quit keeping my handwritten fishing log for nine years. And when I began keeping it again, I didn't fish nearly as many days to keep note of over the course of any given year. Above all, it took my four-year-old son's intervention to really get me interested again.

Jorge got his first bass before sunup. I didn't give up when intense light began playing on the water, temperature rising above 70, but I had my doubts anything else would hit. We've never fished pike early in the morning before today. It was always an afternoon and evening affair, and usually, we caught the fish from the time the sun went behind the hill, to dark. But Jorge switched to a Senko plastic worm and caught another bass. So hats off to him. This is his fourth try at Spruce and his first fish here.

http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2014/03/spring-crappies-at-spruce-run-reservoir.html

Average River Level, Cold, Catching Trout

Familiar scenes from about a month ago, when Matt and I fly fished minus the trout. This afternoon Mike and I found the favored hole crowded, so we drove on downstream to the second favorite, meeting a couple of older gentlemen leaving a spot just below, reporting few fish in the river, despite the state having stocked spots of these stretches yesterday. Words exchanged pleasing, instead of pocked by rough resentment and obscenity, none out of the ordinary in the healthy respect, they did get us on to the put and take stocking mentality I typically avoid. Trout always swim these stretches near Califon, and though Matt and I caught none in March, big trout stocked last fall are still there.

I caught a little nine-incher I tossed back, and since no more hits came on my salmon eggs and the drifts seemed too fast, I crimped on a BB split shot to navigate that strong current by tighter control, the river not flowing high, a little below average, actually, according to the graph Mike accessed on the way over, but this spot is a sluiceway concentrating flow on a pretty sharp slope of the bottom. The BB shot made no difference besides better performance.

We hadn't stayed long before driving back upstream, finding the favorite spot abandoned. After his first cast, Mike had one on. I drifted an egg twice with the shot still on the line, finding, as expected, drift not right in slower current, but thinking maybe with the added casting range I could provoke a hit anyhow, though a moment later I sat on the bench provided by someone or other, cutting the line and retying. Split shot without the flanges to undo the lead crimped on line are one-use only.

Mike got a trout to the pebbles, after losing that first fish, and released it. Within a minute or two, he caught another, then a third. The deeper and slower water immediately above, where we did so well last year, wasn't producing, but I feel sure a big trout or two hangs there among the rocks.

I repositioned where the trout lay and started catching, Mike going upstream to fish that wider water and getting in too deep, over one of his hip boots. "It's cold!" Within seconds, his foot and leg were numb. That was all for him.

Filling out my limit of six in little time, missing too many hits as I often do, getting involved at trying to improve the ratio of hits to fish on in my favor, I got into the familiar springtime feel of connection with life in the form of trout, which struggle on the line--as if resistance might not be desirable though anyone who fishes would disagree. My appreciations for life include painstaking effort while caught on a hook of sorts. Anyone fascinated by a worthy goal is more than willing to struggle for it, doing his or her best to stay vitally connected to the end sought.

I knew my wife would be pleased with what have proven to be orange-fleshed fish for dinner, and I caught a couple more, giving the wider water a thorough try for a possible big trout, drifting the eggs by two differences of weight added to the line: a couple of barrel swivels snapped on, and then just one. I got one solid strike and that was all. A fly fisherman arrived and the swishing and whipping of his line, the loud cricketing of his reel, made me ironically compare sleek microlight spinning to fly fishing. The latter a noisy and somewhat awkward affair.

Which way to go home. Right or left? With a vague notion of seeing more trout territory on the way, I wheeled left, and we wound up following along the river well north, stopping at the bridge dividing public water from Shannon's private club stretch. I got out and tried the seams, runs, eddies, and depressions, getting no hits, though we caught a few here last spring.

We rode over that bridge, me telling Mike about big trout Jim Holland, owner of Shannon's Fly shop and columnist for The Black River Journal, posts on Facebook all year. We rounded a curve, and sighting the Musky Fish Hatchery truck in action, slowed. I recognized the guy on the road there as Jim himself, pausing the car as we greeted each other, shaking hands through the opened passenger window.

"I've got to let this guy through," I said, an SUV waiting in the opposite lane I occupied halfway, "Good to see you, Jim!"

What a service Shannon's does for this river. I can't get over it. It would cost me a big chunk of my yearly wage to join the club, but the numerous big trout that get stocked in the private stretch don't all stay there, and besides, according to Mike, Shannon's stocks public spots all year, me having interpreted this as meaning spring and fall, in addition to the winter stocking I know they provide.

We drove on past public stretches in Long Valley, where I know a very significant percentage of the trout are wild browns. I'm told wild fish occupy the Califon regions, too, and I don't see why not. I just haven't witnessed any as yet.

Suiceway

http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2017/05/bedminster-new-jerseys-super-centrality.html

Best or Worst

I guess you could say I got out on Opening Day, just not by such involvement as to post a photo true-to-color, though actually this wide-open contrast looks kind of cool here.

I just drove into AT&T, pulled over on the bridge, prepared my camera, got out, and shot. Then I drove on to my job and an eight-and-a-half-hour shift, feeling a little disappointed that The Zoo hadn't lived up to its name, having hoped for a thick crowd, sort of needing a shoulder-to-shoulder Opening Day shot for my book, but if I really need that photo, I can drive to Saxton Falls next year on April 6th. And hope for the best there.

Or the worst, you might say.

Headed to Califon on Wednesday! Looking forward to getting out. And Then Spruce Run Reservoir with Jorge on Saturday at dawn. Pike.

Comparison

Wife and I went to the shore, visiting a brother of mine and other family members, getting back to Bedminster sooner than expected, but since the sun would be down behind trees before I could cast Bedminster Pond again, I decided to try over at the pond behind the development here, rather than compromise on yesterday, when the sun was still just in sight when I had arrived. A couple of years ago on a very warm April evening with some ominous cloud action above, I caught bass after bass on a spinnerbait, one of them about three pounds, others at least half that, despite that yet fairly recent fish kill resulting from ice frozen to bottom throughout much of the two or three acres.

Action this evening really slow for at least 25 minutes in total, my missing four or five hits from small bass, and then finally catching one not even 10 inches long, did at least bring a little resolution, although after fishing the wilder surroundings yesterday up the highway, I was acutely conscious today of that domestic grass I walked on, and the buildings filling out surroundings. Even so, I got over resistance enough to find meaning in working a Johnson spinner, having got curious about trying something different.

18-Inch Largemouth

So I got the mild afternoon I hoped for, slipping out the front door without thought of anyone or anything else, driving up the highway to Bedminster Pond. Once again, a bass hit the Savko Bucktail Spinner on the first cast, small like most of the eight I caught, not quite nine inches, but the big one felt like a snag at first, then rolling towards the surface, roiling outward a big boil, me a little nervous about my drag setting for a moment, but then reassured that the cold water made the fish lethargic enough not to break the six-pound test, feeling how good it is to begin the year with a largemouth over three pounds.

There's a lot of bass in that pond, which becomes thoroughly weeded-in by May. I missed hits from other small fish, all of them I pulled in would have measured nine inches or a little less, besides one about 10 1/2 inches, but the big one goes to show there's probably a real lunker or two under the surface of these five or six acres.

No one else fished, but when I pulled up, a conservation officer underwent the process of busting a party with fishing rods and no licenses.

I lowered my window and interrupted him, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Would I be fishing too close to the river in that far corner?"

"It's no issue to me."

"Thanks."

Sunlight still fell on it when I began, a chop on the surface at the northeast end taking most of the afternoon's warming. On down the shoreline, fishing was good, too.

I tried the northwestern corner, too, on my way out, though it seemed too deep and cold to harbor any bass, but this is when I best felt my usual defenses coming down, and the wild world breaking back through to me, which it never fails to do when I give it a chance. All of our hopes and possibilities begin in nature.

http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2013/09/four-pound-smallmouth-bass-south-branch.html

Warbling

This post comes quickly on the heels of the former I posted earlier in the day. It's very early in the morning now. About Bedminster Pond, there's another pond up the highway further I've never been to, though I'm told the hike into it is pretty far and the fishing declining steeply compared to former years. I wanted to fish there with Mike Maxwell last spring, who had fished it a year or two before, and Fred chimed in about the place, fishing it during the fall for one bass, if I recall rightly (he can fill me in), but I'm still curious about it.

Ancillary to this fishery going south, apparently, I hear the Paulinskill Lake, not the lake closer to Newton, the lake close to the Delaware River, may vanish entirely, as the Columbia Dam is targeted for removal. I'm thinking of fishing that lake this summer, putting the squareback on it. Someone told me about a six-pound largemouth caught there; Fred knows where to launch, I'm sure I recall rightly. Big bass like that... Every year, I hope for a largemouth as big or bigger than the lunker I caught at Round Valley four years ago, slightly better than five pounds, but I don't hope too much, because it never seems to happen, although I lost one two years ago of about five pounds on Spruce Run Reservoir.

Steve Vullo says he and I will fish late in April, and I have my hopes this will work out. Vullo certainly does offer me the chance, if indeed we go, of boating a really big bass, because this man knows where to find them. Notice that the small lakes and large ponds I report on result in plenty of largemouths better than three pounds, but these two lunkers I just told you about came from reservoirs. That's where Vullo fishes too, the big reservoirs especially.

Spring is here, despite this wintry weather. I felt surprised at warbler calls--worm eating warblers, I think, first to arrive each year--in a tree canopy while walking Sadie this afternoon. Then I looked at the pond and saw some brown algae scum on the surface. Water temperature, however, has not been out of the 40's. Just as if spring changes happen anyway, despite this cold. Maple buds are big and red, too.

Checked on a post...was it 2013 or 2012? Pretty sure 2012. Yes. Proves I've known Fred going on six years, not five; wow, time does move along. That initiating event in Lakehurst was a whalloping good time, involving no less than mystical connection at nighttime success with largemouths on topwater plugs. Two of those bass almost seemed to leap into my kayak, they were so revved at chasing my plug, clear out of the water.

Hankering to Get Out

Another day off and this wintry weather still persists. Not only is it chilly today, besides some days forecast for the mid 50's, the 10-day forecast well into April offers no relief. At least trout will hit, but I wouldn't mind trying Bedminster Pond, and I went online inquiring about Pompton Lake last night, as its northern pike have me a little fascinated. I've been up there, but never fished it before. Other possibilities came to mind last night, too. Over the course of the past decade, my son and I together, especially, have hit a lot of the waters here in the state's northern tier, some places to the south, too, but a lot remains yet to explore, and I don't want to die feeling I didn't get around to more. I recalled Mike Maxwell and I going to Mountain Lake last June, a new place for both of us, and the memory of pulling into lake view and circling the 138 acres, I believe is the amount, is very, very appealing. We caught nice bass, too, sighted a musky.

It's a real world out there I haven't visited in a while.

Fred Matero and I have kept a running dialogue for what, five years now, about places to fish in this northern tier. He's gone where I haven't yet, and vice versa. I never forget telling him about Hoffman Park and giving the pond a thumbs down, but he went and tried it anyway, catching a four-pound largemouth! Noel Sell and I do the same, and Oliver Round has secrets plenty about little wild trout streams.

The world is Nada without engaging its geography. And so, we do.

I got word from https://www.raritanheadwaters.org/  Raritan Headwaters Association by email, had forgotten the spring river and stream cleanup. I participated a few years ago, which proved to be a very nice morning, encourage any of you to do the same, or become citizen scientists through the stream monitoring program. Though I haven't done that, I do know it involves the side benefit of discovering macro-invertebrates, which fish feed on. Many of the streams have wild trout. In the email sent, there's an excellent photo of a spring peeper frog, mention of which I read before viewing, reminding me that I haven't heard a single one yet this early season, making this year the latest in all my New Jersey life to have heard any. And as I said--not yet!