Fish Presaged a Tough Outing

We trolled the edge of the flat and some of the sweep, then turned left towards Face Rock. I cut the electric motor when we got close. On the second retrieve of my jig and Z-Man paddletail, a dark form came from behind. I saw it was a pickerel of about 20 inches, which directly engulfed the jig a half second later. I set the hook, the fish thrashed powerfully, cutting the line. 

So I connected 15-pound Power Pro to my four-pound test, by way of barrel swivel.

Brian cast a lipless crankbait and soon another pickerel hit that. I measured it for him. Twenty-two inches. A chunky fish that must have weighed nearly three pounds. 

We trolled and cast. When I saw that first pickerel, I felt chances were I'd never see another. One of those easy starts--except that I lost the fish!--that somehow presage a tough day.

And it was. I'm tired tonight and felt tired on the lake. I could hardly focus at the end of the outing. But Brian did little better, catching a couple of little smallmouths besides. I got a 15-incher on a Baby Torpedo. Great surface smash. Besides that bass, a little one no bigger than Brian's bigger of those two little ones I photographed. That second bass of mine came on the jig.

Not a single largemouth from the reservoir yet this year.

 

Aeroflex Produces this Time

I just wanted some fish, since last I fished Aeroflex I got skunked along with Jorge Hildago. Two years ago, June. 

Brenden and I fished under intense sunlight yesterday. I had expected clouds. There were some, and probably some smoke from Canada as yet, but the light was intense and caused sunburn. We worked all the way into the back of the lake, when, after I caught my second pickerel of about 19 inches, the canoe appeared to be taking on water.

I checked the Flex Seal on the interior bottom. On the left runner, which is a channel depression on the inside, I found the Flex Seal is loose. Later, when I set up to pour a new application after we fished, I found the Flex Seal applied to the exterior runner is decimated. 

The canoe wasn't sinking. I was sure we had plenty of time to fish on up towards the ramp, where if things did get dicey, we could just head in at top speed. Halfway there, I pulled aside at what looked like a woody spot. Brenden got tangled and let line out that got caught in the prop. So I raised the electric and we paddled ashore, while I was sure I had a monkey wrench in my tackle bag. 

It would have been simple. Water is nice and shallow there where we landed. All I'd have to do is take the prop off, remove the line, and pop the prop back on. I take the prop off at home after every outing just to be sure. It was simple to get the line out last night. Running with line inside the prop is what burned out my previous Minn-Kota. 

We paddled against the wind three fourths of a mile or so to the ramp, which felt pleasant. I like paddling. The feel of moving under your own power is gratifying. But we missed out on the evening bite.

Given our catch of eight fish under intense sunlight, I'd say we didn't do badly. Brenden caught a bass of about 13 inches, pickerel about 19, a little bass, and a trout of about nine inches. My catch included two small bass in addition to the two pickerel. All of our fish came on paddle-tail jigs, little ones, the paddle-tails two-and-a-half inches long. 

The weedlines situate along shorelines dropping off very quickly, and I tried a three-sixteenths or quarter-ounce jig a long while, getting down in the 20-plus feet of water easily, but it didn't feel right and I don't recall ever getting hit. I also gave a Senko on my big Speed Stick a good try--not a hit--and I cast a Tiny Torpedo over weedy shallows a few times, nothing. I did miss a lot of hits on jig heads of an eighth ounce or less. Caught all my fish on them, too. One pickerel nipped the jig off the bottom along the weed edge as I barely twitched it. Another overtook it tentatively as I retrieved slowly along the weed edge. Little bass took it swiftly on the drop, the other as I retrieved over relatively shallow weeds. 

Ease isn't necessarily the ticket in.  

 

Aeroflex 2021

Forgot to Switch Out Washer/Drag Clicker

I had to exchange my reel's spool. From the Power Pro braid I use on the lake and reservoir, to a secondary spool of six-pound-test monofilament I use on the river. At that river, I found I had failed to reposition the washer/drag clicker. I came home and found it stuck to the bottom of the other spool, as I expected to find. At least that much went well. The reel works dandy now, and I'm ready to hit the river next opportunity I get.  

Even though I didn't fish, it was good being out. Weird day at that. Smells like a forest fire. And by what I gathered a 6.7-million-acre wildfire rages in Quebec. Even the rather nearby trees in the river photo below are obscured a little by the smoke.  

 

Bed Bucks and Some

I made a point of going back over the sloping flat where we did well in September last year. Trolling. I did get a bump on my Hot 'n Tot, but judging by the perch that Brian later caught on a big Zara Spook topwater, that's all the fish might have been. We decided to head down lake to a spot we discovered last time on the reservoir, trolling the long way, catching nothing.

We came upon a stretch of shoreline indented a little, shadowy too, and I stopped the boat, reaching for my ultralight with an eighth-ounce jig and white twister. Second or third cast, I hooked up, not very surprised. That's the bass in the photo above, caught on four-pound test Stren. I caught a sunfish and then another smallmouth further along the way just a little, feeling in high spirits, expecting a lot of action. But not only did the shoreline no longer offer some rather shallow boulders and rock--no bass were there on steep drops. 

We cut across Clinton Reservoir at top speed. My new Endura Max 55 seems to push a boat faster than my Endura 55 5-Speed did. In any case, Brian's 12 foot V-hull really moved, putting out a nice wake. 

Jigging a shoreline, getting some taps and apparent takes, resulted in hooking nothing. We came to the shallow flat I was thinking about. The jigs didn't work but the surface was calm. The sun was on the water behind us; the flat extended some 25 yards under shade. My Baby Torpedo topwater produced the bass photographed in hand. I caught another very small bass and missed too many hits, becoming convinced the bass were knocking the plug, rather than engulfing it. Expected behavior from bed bucks. 

Brian was spooking every fish within three square miles by slashing the surface while walking a nevertheless very well behaved dog with his big Zara Spook. He was able to cast three miles. He threw a beautiful curve that landed the spook under a distant tree. He moved the plug once. It got pounded. The next bass in the photo series, about 17 inches long. 

Meanwhile, a bass kept swooshing water along the bank further back where we had tried earlier. Brian described it as vacuum sucks. I made sure to backtrack and get my Torpedo near that bass. It blew up on the plug. There was a lot of water in the air, but I set the hook into absolutely no resistance, so I guess the bass was just playing, as if it knocked another bluegill away from its brood. 

I believe Brian's 17-incher is a big male. 

We rarely target any bass on the beds, but who can resist the opportunity when it seems the only one in town? Later on, Brian did catch another bass--nearly 16 inches long--on a surface wake plug out over six feet of water a hundred yards or so from shore. I caught a little perch on that big Hot 'n Tot, certainly evidence that the knock I felt earlier was no more than another one.

We ended the evening throwing topwaters for pickerel. I missed one hit entirely, felt the pull of the second hit I missed, and set the hooks into the third pickerel, but it got off almost as quickly as it got hooked. All three of these fish were in visible cover, shallow. They just required my getting the plug right next to that cover. Brian hooked a pretty nice one on the Spook, and he had the fish on and fighting before it leapt and threw the heavy plug.    

Yellow perch are aggressive gamefish directly related to walleye. They will hit plugs nearly as big as they are.

 

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