Uphill at 60?

Thanks to my brother Rick's interest in the recent big bass, I realized I underestimated myself in that post. This is my fourth consecutive year of bass 20 inches or longer. I probably have caught a number of bass over 19 inches every year of the past 12, too. Caught a 20-incher in 2014, also. That one from shore at Round Valley Reservoir. 

Which makes me wonder. Am I on an uphill curve at age 60?

Better not to hope. But who knows. No hubris here. There are guys in Jersey who do a lot better than me. I just want to go on, that's all.

The One-Pound Test

I had the good sense to leave my camera bag home, though I did wear my GoPro on my head, in a non-waterproof case designed to allow for an external mic. (Talking to nobody there in the woods....hmmm.) But I paid $325.00 for the GoPro almost 10 years ago, which compares little to the 10K or so the bag is worth.

I crossed a current that threatened to drown me; well, which would at least cost me, had I carried that bag...all the more likely my foot would have slipped on those algae-covered rocks. I went underneath a low deadfall over the river. I waded up to my waist at the edge of a deep hole. I climbed a steep and rather unstable bank. 

In general, I joyfully risked my life as I like to do.

I also knew better than to bring Sadie. I would still be back there as it's getting dark now. In protest, Trish took her on a long walk. I'll tell her why, and she'll feel for my safety. Better the dog not get in trouble. 

It's been almost 10 years--October 6, 2011--since I've fished that stretch of river. "And then one day you find...." as Pink Floyd puts it. Shocked to realize it's been that long, I nevertheless saw the river has changed drastically. 

I was a long way downstream of the stocking point and miles upstream of the next. Using my one-pound test and tiny spinning rod & reel, I hooked a trout on my first cast, lost it, figuring "here we go." Turns out there aren't so many there. And others have had the same idea. Boot prints. I caught one, which did not die of lactic acid poisoning. I was recently criticized on a trout forum for using line so light. No, I get the trout in plenty fast. After all, they're just 10- and 12-inch hatchery fish. If you can't handle them on one-pound test, then go ahead. Use heavier as everyone else does.

I doubt anyone else in the entire nation uses one-pound test.

October 6, 2011

Big Bass and Pickerel Early Season

The past five years on the job have been tough; yesterday was one of the more tough days at meeting customer demand, but before I was on the road for home, unsolicited, I exclaimed to my boss, "All's under control!"

"I wouldn't doubt it for a second."

Gives the backbone some steel to have heard it form him. 

I got home, made some further arrangements with Brian, got sleep, got up at 4:30. I had been hoping, low key, that today I would begin my yearly tally of 18-inch largemouths. Every season, I catch a number of them, usually some 19-inchers, and last year I caught two 20-inchers. The bass in the photo struck an inline Mepp's Aglia as if nothing was going to stop it from going. I measured it at 21 1/2 inches. That's difficult to do in the canoe and the measurement might have been a little off, but not by much.

Brian had said, "Nice one?"

"Big," I said. 

I got it to the net swiftly, Brian not having yet seen it, me feeling as if the connection to the treble hook might be weak. The bass seemed to carry with it an ominous shadow the size of a small hippopotamus, which seemed to be no mere physical attribute, but an intelligent presence--if on the dark side--that told me I better not lose it. And if I had, I take it all of my life hereon would have sunk a little deeper into such shadow. So unnecessarily. As if the necessary thing was to boat the bass, though it had been a gamble from the beginning. 

He lifted, and exclaimed, "It's a six-pounder! Twenty-two, twenty-three inches!"

"It's not 23," I said, experiencing a clear image of how massive my 23 1/4-incher from Merrill Creek Reservoir appeared. But I did think it might be 22. 

I think it was a half inch shorter, but in any event, the bass was bigger than my 20's last year. How much it weighed, we don't know, more concerned with releasing the fish safely. I felt certain it wasn't six, but surely a smidgen over five.

Brian nailed one a minute later on a Chatterbait I thought was 19 inches, though we didn't measure it. Later, he caught one about 18, another about 15, and four pickerel, including one I thought was 24 inches, though skinny. His other pickerel were nice fish, but it's the one he lost--and by the feel he thinks it was a pickerel--I wanted to know about. I saw how the 24-incher put a bend in his rod and fought. And I saw how the bigger fish did the same by a deeper bend. Brian couldn't move it. It went deep and stayed in place, the rod twitching at its thrusts.

There probably are pickerel in this lake slightly over 30 inches.

I ended the day with the single bass, two pickerel, two perch a foot long, and a bluegill almost that long. I also lost a big pickerel, which might have been 26 inches but not nearly 30. The head came out of the water and impressed me as massive. The spinner shook free, and like Brian and his loss, all that remained was a moment of longing as large as the lake. 

It's a privilege to fish that lake, and I thank Brian and Sam. We treat the fish well, trying to release them as if the worst consequence is an improved education. We all know how that can hurt, but maybe it makes us a little wiser.  

Big Bass

 

Did Some Fishing and a Photo Shoot

Showers changed my mind at first. Instead of a Round Valley photo shoot, I would fish Bedminster Pond for a short while, then the North Branch Raritan nearly a mile below the stocking point. I caught nothing at Bedminster Pond, but did have probably a sunfish play with my worm, and something else pick it up, though I never quite felt the weight of a bass. 

I began with a large spinner. I expected either quick result or that nothing would happen, so I began worming close cover. I fished nearly 40 minutes. That place sometimes fishes well in March, and then it seems the water's got to be really warm and you catch a few just before the algae is too thick. 

It's already got free-floating algae. Some.

At Round Valley, spritzers of rain fell, and I finally decided I would subject my lens to no more. The camera itself is pretty rain resistant. (How much, though, is a guess.) I got about 35 shots and deleted more than half, but a handful are interesting. 

Still want to try for trout far from the dump spot. I spoke to one guy at the pond who had been fishing far from the stocking points. He said he's limited out every day since the 10th.

 

Beautiful Afternoon at Stockers

Ever since my brother Rick and Dennis Fairburn went to the Hunterdon streams Monday, I've wanted to go. Not for the outrageous numbers of trout they caught: 120 for Rick, 96 Dennis. No, Dennis posted a couple of photos and I felt drawn to these streams, some of my very favorite, despite the fact that they're spring fed little and trout don't reproduce. 

Saturday came very quickly, and I didn't feel prepared to go. I waffled around during the morning, going to the bank and seeing dozens of cars at the North Branch, working on an essay I've worked on for more than a month and can't seem to finish. I sure wasn't headed over to the North Branch and hoped that in the afternoon, the Hunterdon streams wouldn't be crowded. 

I deeply considered just canceling on my plan and going to Round Valley to walk with my wife and dog. Shooting a few photos, yes, but not a photo shoot proper. I very much enjoy outings with her. She kept telling me to go fishing, as if she knew that would be best. I told her I should give up fishing and for now on, she and I will go on outings together. She just laughed. "Go fishing." And she was out the door before I left with Sadie the Black Lab to walk Natirar.

Life can be like that. She has better judgment than I do. I get lost in my sensitivity easily. She certainly knew better than to get sucked into some nonsense about me not fishing anymore. Like that's really going to happen. I drove away from Bedminster wistfully remembering when she was about 25 and me 32.

And things got bad. I was driving U.S. 202 towards Pennsylvania, and I don't believe I have driven it in that direction for about five years. We used to all of the time, to visit family in New Hope. 

All sorts of landmarks seemed ragged and torn, ripped through by the struggle for nickels and dimes they represented, and to cap it all off, I saw the Stewart's Root Beer we stopped at a couple of times, out of business and coming undone. I had gone deep south by the time I arrived at Alexauken Creek, imagining the residents along the border as malevolent and to be avoided. I stopped at one spot, then decided the stocking crew probably didn't carry trout a hundred yards, despite the Fish & Wildlife sign. 

I drove on.

I scouted Wikicheoche Creek, and decided it, too, wasn't to fish. I knew I was headed for the Lockatong, but driving along the Wik raised my mood quite a lot. Where I put boots down at the Lockatong, I caught a trout on my first cast, the crowds gone. I persisted there awhile, catching seven more and coming back to myself. I sometimes wonder if other people go south and turn around, quit before they make the journey in full. Never compromise on your happiness. Do whatever it requires, even if getting there feels like it might do you in. 

I was at Kingwood. On a plateau. Farmland. As you can see in the photo above, the creek has a pastoral quality. I followed roads down into my favorite gorge. It gets no respect as the Ken Lockwood does, but it's beautiful. I came completely out of the struggle by the time I reached Strimple's Mill, fully happy to be there. Trout were there, and I caught three more, but I wasn't out for excessive numbers; I was meeting my favorite place--Planet Earth--on its own terms, rather than as a resource to scrape together loose change.

 

 

Hunterdon Streams

Trout Seem Spread Out

On Monday, I got ready to over here to the North Branch, and found my wife had thrown out all of my salmon eggs. I told her I had $40.00 worth in the fridge. She said, "Go to Kings, buy caviar, and use that." 

An order from Dicks should arrive today.

So I went to the North Branch with Trout Magnets this morning. Nobody there, no trout seemed to be, either. I saw none in the dump spot or upstream of it. I fished 10 minutes. Nothing hit. I did feel I might have done a little better with eggs. Mainly, I'm impressed by how they've spread out, unless they haven't been stocked.

If they've spread out, that's good for wading the stream up and down. If they stocked, they must have stocked a heavy load.

I'm off to work in minutes. I must say it feels good to have broken the routine a little.

Mercer Meadows

Had to get a shot of the Iron Bridge over Stony Brook, and I thought of Mercer Meadows nearby as a good place for a walk with my wife and Sadie the black Lab.

It was real good to stand at the edge of Stony Brook. My home stream. 

I grew up in Lawrence where the Meadows stretch around for miles, and I was familiar with them growing up, though most of it was farmland then. Now 1600 acres comprise the park. The Mercer County Park Commission has done a great job making and maintaining trails, preserving farm buildings and equipment, and maintaining the wild spaces for wildlife, especially birds.

 

North Jersey Recreation