Friday Evening--No One Else Trout Fishing at AT&T

Every time during the spring that I drive past the parking area for North Branch Raritan at AT&T World Headquarters, Bedminster, NJ, I see at least some vehicles. This evening I came here with intent to fish and take some photos; not another vehicle present, I parked and jaunted down to streamside to fish in solitude. And mind you, the river was stocked with fresh brook trout two days ago, and on that day, Wednesday, the water ran high and muddy, so plenty of fish are around.

My problem was catching them. I have an odd relationship to stocked trout. I always expect to catch a lot, because on many occasions I have--as many as 64 on an outing on the Locatong and Wichecheochee Creeks--and I know of two people, one of them a brother, who have caught over a hundred in one day. But in reality I get skunked sometimes.

Today the water had cleared sufficiently, yet ran swift. A couple of casts with a salmon egg weighted only by a tiny snap swivel left me no doubt that I had to use a split shot. My first cast with a weighted egg yielded to a heavy pull from a trout. I set the hook and the fish tore two-pound test from the tiny spool. Heading upstream, it pulled the hook.

I stubbornly fished eggs another 20 minutes or so without another hit. Brookies will sometimes avoid salmon eggs. In general they do not hit them as readily as do rainbows, but they hit them much better than do browns. I snapped on a tiny Rapala Countdown. Not a hit after several minutes--I exhanged it for a tiny Phoebe spoon, and worked the river hard for another 20 minutes as light faded. I had a quick hit, the kind that you know pecked that metal so quick that no chance to set the hook existed. 

Surface Strikes: Bass Rolling into Spinnerbait Wake

Nearly at sunset, I arrived at Bedminster Pond, another local visit, the surface area about six acres situated in Green Acres park land. A bass made commotion in very shallow water in front of me as soon as I had set down my tackle container and camera bag, so I quickly tossed a 3/8th ounce spinnerbait with a large Colorado blade about 15 feet, and guided it so that the big blade made a wake, but this not the same as buzzing the blade through the surface. The bass came up behind it, engulfed the lead head, and rolled under as I set the hook. About a pound.

Without further action, I moved on down the eastern bank where I could make my way past briars. Again I made a wake with the lure, and a bass sloshed the spinnerbait at the surface, again a pound. I made my way further down, and through my second cast the lure arced over some shrubbery as I told myself, "If it (a lunker) hits now, what am I going to do?" As I had just sized up the situation, it erupted without warning under the wake. I held my rod high over the bush and got around it to continue to struggle with the bass. I just about had it to shore when the hook pulled. The bass, about 17 inches, just lay there in shallow water that barely covered its wide flank. The thought actually occured to me for an instant, "Is it fair to grab this fish? Haven't I lost it rather than landed it?" To step in for it meant covering my boot in water and muck. I did, seizing the bass behind the gills, which almost instantly paralyzed it temporarily. A beautiful fat female, full of eggs, I quickly returned the fish thinking of its contributing to the spawn.

Further down, a big bulge came up behind the spinnerbait, and followed it for nearly five feet like a pickerel, swirled behind it like a pickerel, too. I made another cast beyond where the bass had turned--nothing. So I quickly tied on a Rebel Pop-R. Having tried a number of retrieves through the same area, I casted further. A smaller bass took it hard, but I set the hook too soon. The idea is to let the bass turn with a topwater first, then set the hook. The fish needs no more than a pause, but otherwise a surface lure can be swiped right out of the open jaws of a bass, as it was from the last fish of this evening. 

Catching Bass at a Culvert w/ Spinnerbait: Chilly Rain Drops Water Temperature

I had thought mud would flow from the stream culvert into my little local pond, but surprise caught me anyway when I saw it. Had it been warm, muddy water, my first cast might have yielded a bass. My fifth or sixth cast I placed beyond the edge of clear water you can see in the photograph. I buzzed the little spinnerbait and a good fish took it off the surface, dove and gave strong resistance, then pulled off. Soon I walked around the concrete and began casting down the edge and in that area of clarity near the mud. I missed five hits--another surface bust, and four very light takes. Besides those two topside turns, the bass behaved quite as if reluctant in suddenly chilled water, not reduced so much from chilly air as from cold rain.

Not out for long, I fished along the edge of shoreline where the mud flowed to the dam behind the division of cattails I mentioned in an earlier blog. Two hits, both stirring the surface--water very shallow here--but not fully engulfing the small lure. Then I placed it right between the cattails and worked it back near the bank to have it savaged after half a dozen cranks. Good fight. This bass close to two pounds, its coloration had faded in the muddy water.

Meadowlands Stripers Elsewhere With 85 degrees Perfect Falling Tide

In recent decades the Hackensack River has become known for stripers. DeKorte Park, home of the Meadowlands Environmental Commission offices, containing several large tidal flats connected to the river, and surrounded by hills, all of which are black-hearted garbage dumps beneath the exterior grasses, is known to some for stripers as well. The largest I've heard of yet is an 11-pounder, and 25 and 26-inchers are spoken of with real respect. In the main river, a 30-pounder has been reported caught, but most of those fish are smaller than what lurks in the Hudson, and Raritan Bay.

The water I fished this evening flowed with normal clarity, nothing about it suggested severe pollution. The Meadowlands, once the largest active garbage dumping grounds on earth--only 35, 40 years ago--is now a wildlife refuge that exists as a testament to nature's resilience. This will never be pristine wilderness again. Dig anywhere and you will hit trash. But the birds and fish that flourish here are as real as those in the earth's most remote regions.

I felt the conditions were perfect. Eighty-five-degree heat warmed shallow flats, tide flowed fast out from them, through a deep sluiceway from one large acreage into another. Surely stripers would stack up in the eddies of warmer water. Not a hit. So I wonder if stripers moved on through that sluiceway into those shallows out of reach. I fished deliberately, trying different depths and retrieves with swim shads; I don't think any stripers were present. And I tried smaller outflows, too. I spoke to a regular who told me that someone caught two--on swim shads--Saturday. One, two, after an hour, and then no more for an hour. That suggested to me what I had thought happens out there--stripers move about in pods.

This was my first try in the Meadowlands. I walked away from that large sluice with a bitter regret, but I'll be back. Sometimes conditions seem perfect and anticipation soars high. But such has happened many times, and I knew very well I might be denied.   

Bass in the Shallows Feed, Cattail Cover

Again, just after sundown, I grabbed my favorite St. Croix. Minutes later, approaching the bank of the same nearby Bedminster pond, I startled a bass in water so shallow as to narrowly cover its back. To the right of its receding wake, the cattails would invite my third or fourth cast, and what I thought at first was a sunfish gave the same chartreuse spinnerbait I had used a couple days ago a light take. Same for the next cast, but the following cast drew a big surface boil--I had roused a good-sized bass. The next cast was more than the fish could stand, and it connected solidly. I unhooked it, the bass a couple ounces or so over a pound, and tossed it back without thinking to capture a photo.

Working my way to the second corner, I tried deeper water to no avail. Most of the bass are surely there. But the few in the shallows were in position to feed, although not with such abandon as the other day. Again, a light take. And the next cast--solid connection, this bass perhaps slightly under 11 inches in length.

I went around the corner, crossing a small feeder stream with a three foot deep hole linked to the pond by a narrow sluice. Two days ago no fish swam in it. Today, half a dozen sunfish darted about. Perhaps once fish discover shallows in the spring, they are more likely to stay related to them regardless of drops in water temperature. Today the water probably never rose over 50. But unless I hadn't noticed sunfish that were present here, they made their way into the hole sometime after Monday when temperatures reached into the 70s.

Nice to have a pond nearby. Sometimes the freedom of striking off for a short breather is enough to circulate the blood--home from work, but an opportunity to run on.

Strong Bass Action After the Front

The Rockaway River in Dover, NJ, very recently looked like early January just before ice begins to set in to signal the close of nymphing. Saturday it will be thronged for Opening Day. The photograph I took of the river snow shrouded should be of the last white stuff of the season.

Yesterday I had a snatch of time, so I quickly tied on a mini-Hula Popper for what I think were water temperatures in the 50s, the pond near my house shallow, calm, having absorbed sun and 70-degree temperatures. I didn't care to bring along another lure. I wanted to see if I could coax an early strike or two at a popper near sundown. I never got a single hit. I tried extremely slow, erratic, moderate, fast, and loud popping retrieves, as well as subtle improvisations to as cold a reception as had I fished in the middle of February.

Today I got out a little later. The sun had set. Prepared this time, I didn't experiment. I've caught plenty of bass on small, 1/8-ounce spinnerbaits this time of year, so that's what I selected. First I tried out in open, deeper water, but my fourth cast got me right in what proved to be the zone. A bass close to two pounds ploughed into my spinnerbait from between two sets of dried cattails.

I caught two more close to a pound-and-a-half in another corner, also very shallow. Mind you, today the rain came in terrific squalls this morning as the temperature fell like a dish of cold water. As I fished, the temperature remained at 45. But last night remained in the 60s. So all through those dark hours water warmed. Before I quit after about 20 minutes, I caught two more bass in the same spot I had caught the nearly two-pounder, these also approaching a pound-and-a-half. 

Van Syckles Road Spruce Run Reservoir: Pickerel! That's Rarity

Spared heavy rain the previous two days, my son, his friend Anderson and his father, and I fished Spruce Run yesterday at Van Syckles Road. The isolated rain cloud we had spotted driving north on Route 31 dropped a light shower which a strong wind out of the southwest drove at an angle. Considerably milder temperatures than last week seemed to make little difference; although we had some action just after sunset, nothing like the business we've had in the past when the wind dies had alerted us to play.

I had not known that pickerel exist in Spruce Run, but I do now since I caught one of  about 18 inches just after sundown. Live lining a shiner on six-pound test (I use 15-pound test fluorocarbon leaders for pike and pickerel, abrasion resistant against those teeth and nearly invisible), I happened to set my rod down and let the shiner swim on its own for about five minutes; weighted by a small barrel swivel, line, and hook through its lips, it probably wiggled in place near the bottom. Done eating my sub, or whatever it was, when I lifted my rod I noticed tight line and commenced to reeling in what soon seemed in the water to be a pike with too light of a green coloration--no, a pickerel.

Another party fishing the Van Syckles area caught a small pike of perhaps 22 inches, and a brown trout of about 14 inches, both on bobber fished shiners.

Bird sighting had not been so interesting as last week. We saw mergansers, and a pied billed grebe attacked my son's shiner under a bobber. I was relieved that the bird wasn't hooked. Although yesterday we had seen no more than Canada geese, shortly after sunset I caught sight of a great horned owl in flght over the reservoir, gliding into the trees. First I had actually seen in many years.

Conversation made up for slow fishing. Will people read books in the future, or will the written word be completely electronic? I argued for books and won some consent. And I really do believe people will not let paper print go. To hold a book in your hands that you have owned for decades is integral to what reading is all about. For example, a long-owned book, a physical object of unique specificity and value for the owner, will serve as a context for memory that gives a base to the book's content in relation to the owner of that book. Ever see the Star Trek episode about the Borg? That society of mindless unity. People won't give up reading books because books are more personal than electronic media. No one wants to be "assimilated," not if it means losing the mind.

Kids read books. I don't believe theirs is a total electronics generation either.