Renaming of Species Takes Out the Honor

Renamed 

Ridiculous. Remember Indian pipes? Now they’re ghost pipes. When I thought of Indian pipes, I felt they did Indians honor. Same with Asian carp.

Take away “racism,” take away identity. Even though Asian carp are hated, as such they’re a species and a name with dignity, beyond their particular problem here. That’s the problem with these euphemisms. Fundamentally, they’re an attack on the mind. The world has different regions and peoples. That’s the fact. Independently of our sentiments.

 

Began work on my trout book again. It’s so good I’m surprised I doubted it.

 

Home Water

Eddie Prozer points to a rock and memories of fish caught come to him, He knows Culver Lake more thoroughly than most of seem to know any of our home water. And since he has lived on the lake for 20 years, home water lends a special appropriateness to the phrase.

I pulled into his driveway shortly after first light, grabbed my things, and a minute later, boarded his Ranger bassboat. It's in his back yard. An electric device holds the boat suspended over the water, which he lowered within another minute. We didn't race across the lake--that would come later--because curtesy given to sleeping homeowners is the rule. The lake, of course, is private and everyone is very mindful of the fact.

Not that the shorelines are really all that crowded with houses. It seems a little sparse compared to Lake Hopatcong. The pressure on the fish is less here, too, though today we didn't catch all that many. Eddie caught the smallmouth photographed, a nice crappie, and a pickerel of about 24 inches. I caught a 10-inch pickerel, another pickerel of 17 or 18 inches, and a largemouth of nearly 18 inches. 

Eddie estimated that bass at two-and-a-half to three pounds; I said maybe two-and-three-quarters. He guesses the weight of bass accurately, because he fished tournaments for decades, hundreds of his bass weighed in. So many fishermen wouldn't hesitate to claim my fish was well over three

While we fished the far side of the lake where I caught my two pickerel on a Senko near pads, I wondered about the hybrid stripers. They seemed somewhere far off, never to be encountered, but back on the near side where we got out of the wind, we saw a great splash-rise, and then another yards away. We cast thoroughly for nothing.

"They're gone a moment later," Eddie said.

Not long after, I heard that glorious sound of horse hooves on cobblestones. We saw a whole school breaking in the distance but near to shore. Shortly before I caught my largemouth, also on a Senko, surface erupted in casting range from the boat. I had another rod with a Chatterbait attached. Eddie threw a spinnerbait. A hybrid grabbed my Chatterbait, but with that same tentativeness I observe when trolling for them. More often than not, when a hybrid bumps a trolled plug, it nips it once again, and then absolutely slams it. My fish today didn't follow through. 

Eddie hooked up, though. The fish leapt, so I knew it was no hybrid but felt confused. Apparently, the smallmouth was cruising with the hybrids. In any event, it was on the herring they fed on. 

"The lake is like a bowl," Eddie said of its structure. Or lack of it. Maximum depth is 64 feet. There are some drops not as steep as Lake Hopatcong's. We fished a hump. "It's a quarter acre," Eddie said. "As big as a yard." And it rises to five-foot depths. A nice flat with some weeds. I asked if he's caught many fish on it. "Some," he said, scowling subtly. Another spot, the first section of shoreline we fished, he expects to catch five bass from on any visit. We did visit an extensive pad field. Eddie didn't want to get in close and work pockets because of the pickerel, though he was happy to catch his nice one and carries the attitude of enjoying the catch of any species, rather than none. Otherwise, weeds are rather sparse in the lake except all the way back beyond the bridge in the swamp. Water color today was on the dingy side. 

I'll be back. Maybe in the fall. Maybe next year. It all depends on scheduling. 

Word is, my son's visiting next week. He moves to Los Angeles next month. My wife and I are very excited. He began work yesterday for a company developing nuclear fusion. This is clean energy, if it works. The company claims it will within 10 years. Matt did critical work in the effort to better understand the Higg's boson, the "God particle." In the process, he developed his skills at artificial intelligence. I think he's working in a similar capacity, but don't clearly remember how he described it. Look's like Matt and I will fish Tilcon next week. 

Long ago, I described in this blog how I fall in love with places...then eventually abandon them. Tilcon may be falling by the wayside now. I bought the squareback canoe especially so Matt and I could fish the lake, and we did fish it plenty. Eddie tells me today was a very slow outing on Culver even for the summer, and that the fall is better. It will be interesting if I can make it. 

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From the Dock

 

Big Bass

Brian contacted me on Messenger after the trip, telling me I should have some interesting dialogue in this post after his shenanigans, but I think the stress level at work this week was too high for my memory to work. I do remember him doubting "Magic Bluegill" (right?) would work, then catching three or four bass on the trailer, showing that it does. He caught seven or eight bass, a pickerel, and a crappie. I caught four bass, a pickerel, a yellow perch. As for magic bluegills, I would stick to mushrooms if I weren't fishing.

(One of my posts stretches logic to show how a fisherman never stops fishing, but that was back when I had more time on the water.)

I caught two bass slightly longer than 20 inches. Brian got one my scale registered as four-and-a-half pounds, but that fish was longer than 20 inches and fat. I might test my scale on a bag of sugar again. Maybe it's inaccurate now. I would leave the lake after the fishing was done feeling a little awed by the number of 20-plus-inch bass that must occupy it.

Before we began, we met a heavy breeze when we got out of our vehicles; in low, gray light we saw cloud cover, and it seemed as if a storm approached. I said, "Check your mobile." I don't own one of those, so Brian scrolled through his and said, "There's a heat advisory, but no chance of rain." So we carried the sqaureback and all the stuff to the water and paddled out. 

I caught the first bass, a hard-fighting 20-inches that leapt twice. No use trying topwater in the wind, I snapped on a Chatterbait. Brian's line broke on the cast, when a moment later he discovered he had left his tackle bag in his truck. We paddled back. Wasn't too far. While I waited on him tying up, I caught a bass about 15 inches long right there by the canoe at the launch point.

Wind stayed at us the whole four hours or so. I tried worming some, but all of our fish got caught on Chatterbaits. Weed harvesting has removed most of the worm opportunity, at least as I understand worming. There was an isolated clump with silver shiners or the like breaking surface by it. Seemed to me the forage fish are bunching up on whatever cover they can find, but no bass seemed to be there.

All the fish were good-sized. Brian caught a "little" bass that might have been 14 inches. We've never caught any 10- or 12-inchers, but they must be there. I like to sink into the depth of the experience and just let it leech out the absurdity of jobbing during the week, never thinking once of where I am most of the time. Fishing's a matter of paying attention, so it's a little disconcerting I've come home to feel my memory's not so good this time, but we get only so many days each year on the lake, and for me, they make up for the striving I do to fill rich men's pockets. I get my cut. I respect the rich man's making my job possible. 

Gee whiz, otherwise I might own my own cabin on a pristine shore.  

Four-and-a-half on the scale anyhow.

Caught on Chatterbait.

 Had a bigger mouth than it looks. (Trust experience before you trust an image. And a measuring tape.)

Bass & Pickerel

Tried South Branch

 Had a half hour after sunset the other day on my favorite stretch. The water quality was good, but the stretch hasn't been producing well last two years or so. I didn't get a hit. Soaked a Senko and that worm is irresistible to summer smallies. 

Would have been nice for the fly rod. Calm. But I just didn't have time to gear up with that.

By the way, any of you who get the blog by email, the Feedburner service is being discontinued. Just Google Litton's Fishing Lines to check in. I looked into acquiring the emails of those who use the service, so I could at least notify you and possibly continue having the posts sent to you, but I failed to find anything.

South Branch Off Color

I don't get many chances to fish the river, and it does annoy me when I come and find it off color, but even so, when I went on Saturday morning, I got into it.

I had a long stretch all to myself. Calm. Sunny at seven-something. I fished about 40 minutes, working a small popper from a spinning rod. Nothing ever rose for it, but I saw a few carp furiously break water, which was exciting, and I listened rather closely to mourning doves. 

But that stain in the water. That muddy cast. If anyone else fishes the river and does OK when it's like that, please comment, I'd like to know about it. I have caught some smallmouths when it's like that. Even once in November it was a bit off color and I scored. But for the most part I go fishless.

Chatterbait Bass and Pickerel

We intended to beat the rain that never really came in any uncomfortable measure. Showers would be OK with me, but Brian's back needed some rest anyway. so we fished from about 4:45 a.m. until about 8:30. 

Brian's favorite lure this year, the Chatterbait, enabled him to catch six largemouths and two pickerel. He lost others and missed hits. The first fish he had on, while light remained very low, would have been the biggest of the day, I think. My two pickerel and one of his looked at least 24 inches long, and one of his bass 18 inches. The lost one, who knows. Since 2019, I've caught three bass of 20 inches and larger here, and I've seen Brian catch one over 20. Those fish we measured.

I began the morning throwing an old favorite, a Dalton Special topwater. I relented when it sank in that the chances of hooking anything were compromised, hooks needing the wet stone that is in the tackle box I left in Fred's truck by accident. The Dalton is a wooden plug, one of three I bought by mail order in 1992. I still have all three, and I felt impressed this morning by the action of the tailspinner. Perhaps the other two still work as well. 

Switched to a big Torpedo. I did catch a pickerel on the plug years ago, but this morning I just felt the thing was too much like a balloon. A quarter-ounce Pop-R, on which I've caught countless largemouths and smallmouths, caught me a bluegill bigger than my hand, and a crappie. Meanwhile, Brian already had some fish on his Chatterbait, and I told him I believed I forgot to bring spinnerbaits. The topwater plugs seemed the right fit in close to the bank and along whatever weeds left after recent weed harvesting, but mid-lake where fish hit the Charterbait, I would feel comfortable with the lead and blade. Brian lent me one of his Chatterbaits. 

I would finish the day having caught four bass, two pickerel, and those panfish--all besides the panfish and two bass on the Chatterbait. I had cast a Chomper's worm to the thickest patch of a small weedbed and missed the bass that picked it up. We fished mid-lake again, when I said I would feel disappointed if I didn't catch a bass on the worm. It's my favorite way to fish, and I try to cast just as I visualize before the worm sets down, feeling confident I can catch plenty of bass, but usually beginning the process tentatively, always amazing when the bass do respond. 

At least that way it never gets boring. I don't know if I fool myself or just respect reality as indifferent to me--as if it won't yield. But more often than not, it does. I have to admit, it was that recent Lake Aeroflex outing that seemed abnormal when it came to the response of fish.

It was getting on towards closing time, so I ventured that we hit another weedbed nearby, then drift towards the dock. Brian said he would be happy if we caught a couple more fish apiece. I caught on the Chompers a nice bass as large as the one I'm photographed with and set the hook on another that popped the knot, an old knot that went bad.

Then we paddled out mid lake. 

More fish on the Chatterbait. And I spotted a few little weed clumps, no more than the hint that there might be some weeds underneath, so I cast the Chompers to one of them and came up with the bass in the photo.  We had caught a couple more apiece or more than that, as Brian had hoped. 

All of our fish were nice size, except the crappie was on the small side. We caught no bass smaller than 15 inches, and Brian's little pickerel was 18 inches or more.   

 

Kayak Bass

I wanted to try one of Fred's kayaks with seating improved over last time I used it. I was thinking long-term of the next chance Fred & I will get to fish a section of the Raritan. Last year, Fred caught a huge smallmouth there he told me looked about 23 inches. On the phone with him last night, I said, "That river owes me a big one," and described how the hefty one that snapped my line four years ago felt. I'm in the habit of using a spool of braid, but when I fish the river, I switch-out for six-pound mono....and I forgot to adjust the drag setting for it.

Fred arrived here in Bedminster at eight a.m.  Not a cloud in the sky, I knew fishing anywhere was going to be tough. I didn't know how tough in a different way I'll explain yet. We would fish a lake to the north, which as far as I was concerned would be a great second-best after last night's rain. Jefferson Lake is 40 or 50 acres, shallower than other lakes but has plenty of 10- and 12-foot depths. Weedy, but not overwhelmingly. We found edges and pockets. Early on, Fred lost a bass that might have been two pounds right next to his kayak. I noticed he fished in close. I had been thinking maybe outside edges would produce, but Fred's hookup had an orienting effect on me. He did catch a crappie on the outside, but that fish didn't sway me. The water was clear, but not all that clear, and it had a brownish tannic look to it, seeming also to have a lot of little free-floating stuff, though I might have imagined that. I usually do best on the outside when fishing very clear water, so, especially after Fred hooked up, I began limiting nearly all of my casts to targets along the banks, searching especially for shadows.

I lost a little bass that smacked my worm in a pocket a few feet from shore, and then we made our way on down to a very low bridge where the road in to the camp there crosses where lake water slowly flows out. I put a worm not underneath but where sunlight highlighted that worm, and a bass took. That's the one in the photo below. I caught another one in the same general spot and lost another. Later, I got a good take next to a brushy deadfall, tightened up but mistook where the bass was when I set the hook. Since the line wasn't actually tight--I had really only felt it dragging against the bass--the bass must have opened its mouth when it felt that drag, and I simply pulled the worm out of it when I set.

I reminded Fred of the big one he caught near the big island a few years ago. Sometime later, I positioned there where some sticks accompanied a line of pads right in close in a shady sort of spot that could have looked too shallow to hold a bass, though my thought was to the contrary. I got a pickup, tightened, judged my best where that bass was in relation to my rod tip, and set. That's the bass in the first picture, a good 16 1/2 inches. 

Not much later, I volunteered that we go in for lunch. I was thinking we'd go back out, but once we settled down--me with a sandwich, Fred with a granola bar or some such--my back felt like hell. Earlier when we first went out, I soon wondered if I could do it, because the added sitting support was not cutting it for my back. I told myself I would adjust. What I really told myself, in effect, was that I would not feel the pain, and I didn't feel it any longer. I managed. I made that kayak an effective platform for putting myself on bass while I just felt good where my body wasn't in pain and blocked out the rest, but once we got out and relaxed, I felt the pain and my reluctance to go back out was not only stubborn but reasonable--who knows how bad it could have got.

Fred told me he could fish another five hours, and I felt bad for him having driven all the way from Barnegat. We began thinking of alternatives and decided we would try Cranbury Lake, but when I saw what distance to paddle while that persistent pain would have grown, the result was that we cast from the dock for awhile. The water was of very high quality. Clear blackwater, a nice cast of tannic the way I like it. We could see bottom five or six feet down easily. We cast worms. I also cast a Storm Hot 'n Tot that reflects light sharply. Fred cast a Binsky. I kind of thought a pickerel would hit those light-reflecting lures. There were weeds and to me it seemed just the right amount of them. 

Nothing hit though, and we drove to Lake Musconetcong where there's shore access. And water likely to hold bass, but the pads looked sick. They were yellow and brown. When my son and I used to fish here, we could spot a dime on the bottom of the lake's deepest six feet. Now the water looked foul. It wasn't as stained as I've seen it since they loaded it with chemical weed killer, but it didn't look very productive. We gave that shoreline a good try and came up with nothing.

Fred wants to fish the Raritan yet, and when we do, I'm taking one of my canoes and staying out as long as he wants to. Except for my back, today was too short.  

Jefferson Lake Topwater Bass