Trying to Balance in Favor of More

 

Woke up at 4:15 a.m. Had to take a wicked piss, and after I flushed the toilet, heard the loud sound of water running down the pipe say, "This is not a good idea!"

Now that's a wicked piss. 

Surprised at the pre-dawn sensitivity of my perception (weird things happen just before sunup), I wrote the words down for future reference, quoting them. And then I drove off for Lake Hopatcong, in total defiance of the Accuser. After all, what am I but the accused, if I were doing something not a good idea?

It did turn out to be a Day of Judgement. With a start like that, I guess so. You might think most anyone else would freak out and phone a psychiatrist! Well, as soon as the office were open. Isn't it funny how assumed emergencies are mitigated by routine. That's because their nature is indeed nearer to routine, than that of the terror of a teenager while watching The Exorcist. 

I was on the road, headed north in the darkness of Interstate 287. I got to Dow's a few minutes before Kevin said he'd get there. I waited awhile before getting out and reading a posting about tagged trout. Before I would finish reading, Joe Welsh came into view, walking a dog, greeting me, and Laurie Murphy followed behind. She and I began talking, while I began to feel as if Kevin wouldn't show, and I told her he and I would choose another day to come. But his white sedan came onto the scene before Laurie and I finished talking. 

My favorite trolling lane produced only a bump. Probably a trout, but it could have been a hybrid striper, although usually they bump, bump again, and then slam. Afterwards, our favorite cove offered us no more than a couple of hits and a small fish on my line that got off. Probably a crappie about nine inches long. 

Finished trolling little plugs for awhile, we cast white twister jigs, and finally had some real action. I had a fish on before the line broke. Take my advice if you're using light test. (I used an ultralight and four-pound test.) After you free rock snags a few times--retie. The knot obviously seems strong, as you had exerted pressure against those snags. But knots often weaken. Kevin and I both saw the smallmouth bass in mid-air after it broke off. The white jig clearly visible on its mouth. Bass about 14 inches.

Temperatures were chilly. Initially, I thought the water temp good at 62, 61, but it's not really warmed up into the optimal range of warmwater species. I felt it no surprise I had hooked a smallmouth, not largemouth, as smallmouth prefer cooler temps. Kevin was telling me that once the air warmed and we took our coats off, the fish would hit. Like last year, when the fishing improved later in the morning. As I remember from this morning, we cast persistently, avoiding further trolling until the temperature rose somewhat, but Kevin caught a tagged brown trout a moment after I got bumped by something, possibly the same trout. Later in the morning, Kevin would hook what looked like another brown, though I suppose it could have been a rainbow that went airborne, throwing the hook. 

Finally, I got fed up with the whole range we fished. (Basically, an entire bay of the lake.) I wanted to move us back down lake and hope for the best (after more than five hours skunked), and I feared that I would come away from Lake Hopatcong with no fish to my credit for the first time besides when ice fishing and once late in November. 

Lake Hopatcong is loaded with opportunity. The shoreline weaves and dips, allowing for shadows among rock and weedy habitat. If it all seems unproductive, try and allow its nature to change your mind. At least, that's what I did. After I caught my first smallmouth of 14 inches or so, Kevin said, "That's what you said you'd do." And I immediately recalled that I had said I'd catch no trout or hybrid, but a bass. Said that only some minutes before. It seemed entirely self-evident to me the lake had warranted my statement.

Kevin missed hits. He used a Senko, too, and one of the white jigs. I thought my big smallmouth on a Senko was a 20-inch largemouth. That's what it looked and felt like, until I got it near the boat, when I thought it was the biggest smallmouth of my life. No. It was really only 18 1/2 inches, but a really good bass at that. Hooked it in a boat lane with dock-work on either side. 

Going in, I told Kevin that I'm not one of those guys who need to catch a whole lot of fish every time out. Ego is insatiable. And I really don't mean to downplay ego by saying so. Think of how life would suck if you didn't want anything. Ego makes it all worthwhile--if the cards are played well. I told Kevin that catching fish makes the difference, though. I told him I felt satisfied, and he told he felt satisfied, too. The difference between that and feeling empty is that we caught fish. 

Think about it, and it's a pretty big difference when you consider the investment of a full day. 

Some other guy out there caught nearly 20 fish. I was shocked when he told us that. When he said, "They were all small," I felt relief! But I don't have to be Top Gun. I thought the recent movie sucked anyway, hardly paid attention as I worked on my laptop. I like coming in first, but when it comes to fishing, there are always going to be guys out there somewhere in the state better at it than I am. Maybe not on the scene we share. Who knows, maybe not on the entire scene "throughout the Great Garden State" as they say about temperature on Jersey Radio when the music comes out to play. But that's a lie, and how do you break down success, anyway? Who chooses what segments? Anyhow, when it comes to writing about fishing, I might do better. 

And that's why today was a Day of Judgement. Because coming home on the Interstates, the satisfaction I had enjoyed had faded, and in its place a harsh realism seemed to rule. Am I really going to buy a boat and keep it in a slip? That question posed against how tired I felt. And I'm going to do the likes of this every week? Drive the long route home while I struggle to stay awake?

The most dedicated anglers willingly accept such suffering. I listened to NJ Multispecies Podcast recently, when that very issue got discussed. The willingness to suffer, and it's true. I can vouch for the fact, however, that as a younger man, doing so was much easier. When I was 15, I once pedaled my 10-speed before dawn 10 miles while suffering a very nasty hangover. At least once, I braked so I could cleanly vomit. I fished five or six hours, pedaling home restored. Who the hell does the like but a fisherman? 

But beyond the age of 60, you lose some of that sort of willingness. Perhaps. Or at least I do. Some of it. You do have to balance with the fact that retirement as a couch potato is a waste of time. 

When I did get home, carrying the 70-pound marine battery upstairs felt like hell, when it was easy to do this morning carrying it downstairs. Amidst all the stress, I realized some jobs are many times more physically difficult to do than my supermarket job. And yet, I was kind to myself. Here's how Judgement fell: After I retire, nothing requires me to make up my mind right away. I can wait a whole year, if that pleases me. I can let things tell me if I want to do it or not. 

One thing I do know. I don't want to be anyone's sucker. If I feel slip prices are unreasonable, I'm not buying. 

I haven't put all my stuff away yet. I felt driven to go up and catch a nap. That ended up lasting three hours, even though I slept eight hours last night. I wanted to blot out my doubt, but of course it was there waiting for me when I woke. But as I postprocessed photos, the day settled into a calm, positive acceptance. It had its rough edges. It has its persistent question. It won't be easy to decide, but today was a good enough day to help weigh the balance in favor of more.  

Best smallmouth I've caught at Hopatcong so far, 18 1/2 inches.

Other Docks in May

46-Fish Afternoon Evening

Brenden Kuprel catches fish. Earlier this week, he's told me of his double digit catches of bass and pickerel from his kayak at Davidson's Mills. He nailed 20 largemouths near Chimney Rock the week before. The litany trails on back further than I can tell you. He more than doubled my catch yesterday, and I've fished the lake for years. I believe it was his second time there.

Together we caught 46 fish. Brenden: 14 largemouths, 10 pickerel, 3 crappie, 4 bluegills. Me: 10 largemouths, 3 pickerel, 1 bluegill, 1 landlocked salmon. 

The size of the largemouths was outstanding. Brenden's longest is photographed above, 19 7/8 inches. He caught an 18 1/2 incher that weighed more. Others were near 18 inches, most of  them about 2 1/2 pounds. Only a couple of them were a foot long and a little shorter. One of my bass was 13 or 14 inches, all the others over 16 1/2 or so, one of them a little over 18, I estimate, and a couple of others close to 18 inches. 

The pickerel not so big. Brenden got the biggest at about 20 inches.

Brenden also got a bull bluegill and one of his crappies was nice.

We began by fishing along a shoreline that had only produced for me in the past near the launch. I was about to motor us further down lake a couple hundred yards, when Brenden hooked his second pickerel. Then I knew better than to leave that shoreline, and soon, we each had a bass on at the same time. Multiple times that happened over that afternoon and evening. 

And he caught so many pickerel, I was left wondering in a kind of subdued awe about the fact that on the way there--Brenden my passenger--I almost told him the lake is loaded with them.

"Why would I say that?" I had asked myself. "It has pickerel, but we've never caught all that many." 

Because it's true? Sometimes a truth "arrives" in the mind of it's own volition--regardless of collected evidence. It's wise to wait on such a truth until you know that's what it is. Not a delusion.

Brenden used a little swimbait, an ultralight finesse, soft plastic jig that the pickerel simply rose out of the weeds to pounce on. They're there. We sure learned that yesterday. But usually they ignore presentations intended for bass. I did hook and lose a nice one on an eight-inch traditional worm, and Brenden caught one on a Senko, if I remember rightly. But you watch the little swimbait in the water, the paddletail giving it lifelike motion, and you see why you can retrieve it three or four feet down in 10 feet of weedy water and pickerel will swim right up and behind, nailing it. In green, it looks like a vulnerable little bass. 

It took me maybe four hours before I accepted Brenden's invitation to use one. I caught two pickerel and a nice largemouth nearly 18 inches long on it. I felt I would have fished it better on one of the ultralights left at home. I used a medium power 5 1/2-foot St. Croix instead.

Brenden said the fish haven't seen lures in a long time, since the season is just getting underway. "That's a good point," I said, "The fish have been virginized." The water ranged from 65 to 67 degrees, so there wasn't any hesitation on the fish's part due to cool temps, either. We wore T-shirts in 70-degree sunshine.  

We continued along that shoreline. After we arrived where I've caught bass many times, I looked back on the long course we had taken and I felt satisfied. I'm using a Minn-Kota Endura Max, 42-inch shaft, and the variable speed is easier to manage than my old five-speed. It's just like a gas outboard. You use the handle as a throttle. It's lowest speed is a lot slower than the lowest of the five-speed, and that's very advantageous on calm water. 

Speaking of which, don't miss my article "Bass Out of the Wind," coming soon in one of The Fisherman weeklies. Brenden noticed the same. "We've been catching all the fish out of the wind," he said. Most of the bass we caught seemed spawned out, but even during the post-spawn, females like calm surroundings. I make the point in the article that bass will not spawn where a bed will be run over by three-foot chop. No chop that big existed here, but the principle is the same. 

I did catch a bass in the middle of the lake over 35 feet of water. On a Phoebe trolled a couple of feet down. We had seen fish repeatedly break water in the chop. After herring. Naturally, I believed I had hooked a salmon. After I released the bass, Brenden said, "Catching a salmon wouldn't be that easy."

But it was. On the way back to the launch, I had no doubt what I had hooked on that quarter-ounce Phoebe was a salmon. It was two or three times faster than any bass, running off to the left, then to the right. Proved to be a 16 1/2-inch fish. I should have thought to offer Brenden one of my eighth-ounce Phoebes to try, but it slipped my mind. 

We mixed it up. Used many different types and specific lures. I believe another salmon had hit my Chatterbait, given the way the the lure felt whalloped twice before the fish was gone. It felt like neither bass nor pickerel and hit over 18 feet of water. We fished a shallow flat when I cast out beyond the drop-off. Brenden caught bass on spinnerbaits, the bull bluegill on same, and I missed a couple of other hits on the Chatterbait. I caught largemouths on both the traditional worm fished weightless and a Senko; Brenden did well on the latter, too. The faster-sinking Senko advantages the fishing this time of year, because weeds are not nearly as thick as they will be when a long worm on an inset hook might do better. The lake's shoreline drops off immediately into 10 and 15 feet of water and more, so a worm that gets down in the newly emerging weeds faster means more range is at your disposal. 

I treasure finally catching a salmon. And yet, for me the outing's highlight was hooking an immense largemouth I estimate at 22 inches. I threw a Senko beyond a shallow flat at the drop, using a seven-foot, medium-heavy Lew's Speed Stick. I set the hook and all hell broke loose. I had no doubt I had hooked a significantly larger bass than any of the others. And one of the bass I lost broke my 20-pound test fluorocarbon leader. Yes, at the knot, but the knot hadn't gone all that bad. I found myself suddenly in the compromised position of my rod tip pointing at a big fish that had suddenly changed direction on slackened line while moving at top speed. So the line popped. But I could tell I had hooked a bigger one. 

It suddenly went airborne, throwing the hook, and the size of the gaping jaws I just can't forget. 

 

   

Upper jaw was reddened. Apparently a large male that made a bed. Or ate crayfish.

One of the few small bass.

Public and Private Waters

First Walleye

 

May Rainbows Take Salmon Eggs

Got out for less than hour, fishing upstream of where trout got dumped days ago. We're well into May, and when and where there's a good bug hatch, you can expect these rainbows to respond. But they sure hit salmon eggs this evening.

A friend of mine witnessed a sulfur hatch recently. Rainbows up top all over.

I caught five and had a few others on, missed some hits, too. Once I had the situation figured out, I caught them one after another. And I could have stayed out longer and caught more.

Salmon Eggs 

 

Taking Advice From My Own Book

My book on trout fishing is for most intents and purposes done. Has been for months. And I haven't opened the file for as many months, busy at figuring out how to build a Wordpress website. (Actually, I'm more caught up writing for magazines.) 

Here's a few points of advice from the book I needed to follow today:

When water is off color, use brightly colored eggs: I have some here at home. Didn't bring any. Only pale eggs.

When current demands the use of split shot, use round ones without clasps: The river was high as well as off color. Moving fast. It took me 20 minutes before I reached for those shot. I did have the variety without clasps that roll over bottom easily. Put one of those on and it stayed on. The several snap swivels I had bunched together for extra weight proved to have not been quite enough. 

The microlight game is mostly about getting hooks set, which is why it can seem a ridiculous game: I must have missed more than 20 hits in less than 45 minutes of fishing. I began telling myself to take the game less seriously. But if it were ridiculous, I wouldn't write about it.

I've been using one-pound test. I don't find the trout wear themselves out: Having a few on before I finally landed one satisfied me at gut level. The problem wasn't the one-pound test. It was getting that hook set.

It was one of those outings. If they all worked out smoothly, I'd lose motivation. I forgot my camera and my net, too. As you can see, I took the photo of my only trout in the dusk on my phone. With my DSLR, I could have compensated for exposure and gotten one of those beautiful shots you're used to. 

I quit after I released the trout. I wasn't even sure if it was quite nine inches long. It swallowed the hook. I tried to retrieve another from my leader wallet but got two leaders tangled together. In the dark, I decided one trout was enough, rather than trying to sort the mess out. 

Salmon Eggs

Cranberry Lake Early Season Spot

 

Fred had a dentist appointment, so we fished from shore rather than the squareback canoe. We had planned on fishing the Passaic River. What a laugh that is after how many inches of rain I don't know fell last few days. So we began fishing at Tilcon. And we began in the rain. The sun came out. The sun got clouded over again. More rain fell. And some hail or sleet. No thunderheads, but the clouds were deeply grey, greatly conglomerated.

Fred fished a Senko, I fished a Phoebe. I also tried a Johnson spoon with a treble hook (not the weedless Johnson Minnow) and a Mepp's Aglia Long. I think I gave the salmon--available from shore when the water's cold--a fair shake. It was 44 degrees out, and the water couldn't have been a whole lot warmer than 50. If that. Yesterday afternoon did get into the lower 60's, but it's been down to about 40 at night. 

After we finished with Tilcon, we visited Jefferson Lake, hoping a certain spot was accessible (wasn't). Someone had been fishing worms under a bobber at the launch and told us he got only a bite, probably a sunfish. He also said he saw snow forecast for tonight, flurries.

Big clouds continued to pass overhead but sunlight broke in. 

We had not one hit back at Tilcon. I fished over weeds, slow and low down about 20 feet deep or more, shallower water and middle column slowly, and up near the surface over deep water, thinking maybe a salmon would come up. In the depths and near residual and newly emerging weeds, I hoped a pickerel or bass would hit.

Fred figured Cranberry Lake would be worth a try, and I voiced my opinion about a certain spot I felt sure had real possibility. He agreed to go there. Within a few minutes, I caught the pickerel photographed above on the Mepp's Aglia Long. From a pocket. A little cove. It contained emerging pads and sweet green algae, but a big submerged tree trunk caught my attention. 

I cast so as to retrieve alongside it, but my braid got hung up on a branch nearer to me than to the spinner. No matter. As I retrieved so as to get into position to flip that spinner over the branch, the pickerel quickly rose from beside that log and turned on the spinner, taking it and getting hooked, pulling the line off the branch. 

A lot of pads are up, but more will come up yet.  I moved further along the shoreline and cast where more open water is involved, maneuvering the spinner in between pads, hoping not to snag any stems. After not too long, I got hit again right out in front of me. Caught a smaller pickerel. Some more rain fell but more than the rain--hail or sleet again. It looked more like hail. Just a little larger than sleet. Have never before seen hail without an electrical storm. As quick as the shower came it was gone.

Fred switched to a Senko rigged weedless. He placed it right, because something took it on the drop. He missed the hit.

"What do you think it was?"

"Felt like a bass."

Five or 10 minutes later, positioned along the shoreline where I had caught the larger pickerel, he hooked a pickerel that leapt off the hook. 

"How big?"

Fred extended this hands about 17 inches apart.

Good opportunity to have spent more than a few hours with a good friend. The conversation proved to be productive as I had anticipated, although I had no idea I would be all but converted to the idea of driving to Florida a couple of years from now, rather than flying. 

"You can take your time," Fred told me.

He recently took a train to Disney World with his wife, drove back to New Jersey.

I realized I can buy a fishing license for, say, South Carolina or Georgia, too, and take a few days or more getting to Florida. If I want. I don't mind driving alone. I have a couple of friends I expect to see in my destination regions of near Orlando and near Melbourne.

I'll be plenty busy once I go into semi-retirement. I might even be attempting to do too much. But I might only cheat myself trying to get to Florida and back again too fast.    

That's the trail submerged in water pouring out from over the bank of Tilcon Lake and flowing into a pond. 

Tilcon

Chilly but We Caught Fish

Ever since Brian told me a couple of days ago about trout recently stocked in Clinton Reservoir, I had planned on beginning with a quarter-ounce Phoebe spoon. To launch and also get into the boat, we had to wade barelegged, so we learned right away that the water was significantly colder than last week. Maybe colder than two weeks ago on that 92-degree day. My guess--52 degrees. Brian's Eagle graph unit is a great piece of equipment but doesn't have a thermometer. 

We motored off and traveled not 10 yards after I cast my Phoebe--we'd made our way out over 22 feet of water--when I had a small fish on, almost certainly one of those trout. It got off, and I got hit again, missed that. I really wanted the one I had on badly. To have brought home a trout for my wife. Brian did end up catching one from very shallow water, and he offered it to me, but that's just not the same. I laughed about it and the trout went back.

Brian had said we'd troll down along the shoreline opposite to the one we trolled last week and the week previous. That's where we headed, but before we got there, I had caught an 18-inch pickerel from seven feet of flat water, and a 12- or 13-inch smallmouth from over 22 feet of water. How deep the Phoebe traveled, I don't know, but not very. We weren't moving at top speed. The Minn Kota electric has speeds one through five, one the slowest, and I might have selected two or three. 

We trolled that shoreline a long way before Brian caught a 12-inch smallmouth on a plug. Once again, we were determined to explore the lake, rather than concentrate on spots by casting. Nor did we concentrate on them by repeated trolling passes.

We went around a bend and headed back towards where a very long, narrow cove ends, though we didn't go as far, electing to circle an island. On the way back, Brian had another on, but his ultralight was in a rod holder. That ultralight had too much give to set the hooks of the jointed Rapala. I missed a terrific hit on my Mepp's Aglia Long. Missed another hit, less pronounced. 

At the island, Brian caught another smallmouth and missed another hit on the ultralight in the rod holder. We headed back towards the shoreline we had followed down, Brian catching a yellow perch out over 22 feet of water on a Big O-type crankbait. Slowly making our way back, Brian missed another hit on that ultralight in that rod holder, caught another smallmouth about 10 inches long, and then, over that shallow flat but in closer to shore where it's only three or four feet deep, caught the trout on that jointed Rapala. Right when I was about to switch to the Phoebe. 

Forty-nine degrees when we got off the reservoir. Wading up to my knees in bare feet, the water felt warm. Got the shivers but not the shakes like last week, because today I wore merino wool long John's and an upper body base layer. I also put on layers of wool shirts and put shoes on after I had got in the boat. Brian was dressed warm, too. 

Conesus, Hemlock, Canadice

 

Water has Some Color Trout Respond

River hasn't been stocked in almost a week but fishing pretty well. The water has some color and is up a little higher than last time out. They were hitting the eggs as I expected they would, but I missed a lot more hits than I usually do, although on occasion, it happens.

I missed 14 hits and caught two trout, inside an hour-and-a-half. A couple of trout I had on to play a bit, before they wrestled free. Most of the action was about a hundred yards upstream of the stocking point.