Thinking Lake Trout: Lakers Elude Us Yet

My son, Matt, and I have dreamed of catching lake trout for four or five years now. Not that they are any better than the good-size walleyes we catch in October; it's their inaccessibility to us, the greener grass on the other side, that compels our desires. Several years ago we sought them in a canoe on Green Lake in Maine near Acadia National Park. I asked at the launch how deep we might expect them. Sixty feet or deeper, and sure enough we located fish just off the bottom at 63 feet and deeper using my portable graph recorder. Back paddling against a breeze, my son got his one-ounce Kastmaster right down among them, but no strikes. Very exciting, the prospect of actually succeeding this way satisfying. But we otherwise contented ourselves with smallmouth bass on fast-sinking Senkos among rocks and 10-foot depths.

Two years ago we fished a spot from shore at Merrill Creek Reservoir where lakers are rumoured to visit on occasion and take Power Bait, which floats on a light wire hook. We set our baits out in about 70 feet of water and never got a tap, nor inspiration to try again. But boatless as we are, we do have another option: renting a boat at Lake Wawayanda. I phoned today, but Irene cleanup remains underway at least through tomorrow. Since we have other plans Thursday, which may also be frustrated for the same reason, I think Wawayanda will wait until either next summer--or for ice fishing.

In the meantime, I keep working to save enough for a small boat, 14 foot with 9.9 horsepower. Round Valley is only 20 minutes away. It's ironic that at age 50 I can't afford such a boat; during my 20's I owned nine boats including one with an inboard Volvo Penta 320 or 350, and a 17 1/2-foot fiberglass runabout with a 75 Mercury I bought brand new.

I consider that I've been fortunate all along, and very productive. True, fortune comes and goes. But judging the whole of my life, survival against difficult odds has been very rewarding, although mostly appreciated alone. The writing life I've chosen is sovereign and difficult to communicate. In order to communicate, the other must be a willing partner in the process. A life not always visible even to those closest to the mysterious man behind the pen, nor does productivity always translate immediately into financial gain.

Monksville Reservoir Officials Pull a Fast One

Intention today was see if some snake searching was possible--not really, Harriman State Park in Rockland County, New York, was too well traversed and habitat didn't lead us anywhere otherwise, and trails near Ringwood yielded nothing, but were very well enjoyed--and then to fish Shepherd Lake in Ringwood State Park. I had phoned ahead earlier and was assured boats would be available given that it's a weekday, and, no, hurricane preparations would not curtail our use. I pulled in at 3:30 p.m. and was politely informed the boats had already come in--for hurricane preparations. The female college student displayed a remarkable empathy, I appreciated that, and drove on with Monksville Reservoir immediately in mind. Monksville, aka, Skunksville Reservoir to many disaffected anglers.

I snapped on a Rebel Pop-R, and baited my son's hook with a shiner. Before he even got bored in the heat and dulled by stained water, I noticed that my Pop-R did not float back up after a pull. "No," I thought. My second cast, it couldn't be. The bass was very small, but enough for me to say to Matt, "Never judge a lake until you try it." It made me happy for a full few minutes, a spike in an otherwise disapointing day, although at the end of this day I felt an abiding satisfaction. What had really moved me most were the mountains and hiking. But persistence with that plug--as if it hadn't just been luck, as Matt claimed it was--and a switch to a Senko in what appeared to be a nice, large pocket of deep water besides a concave weedline corner got me functioning very favorably for awhile. Fishiing is mostly hope, and hope is a very dangerous chemistry because it can lead an individual desperately astray. That's why fishing facts are crucial--they allow you to know enough to actually get results and keep hope at bay by actual fulfillments. Just the same, it's better to be a dreamer than to presume to know.

We had arrived at the last boat launch to fish where we could. At 5:30 we heard Joe Official on a bullhorn telling us that the gate would close at 6:00. OK. What angered me was not our loss--we would leave before then anyhow. At that moment, not only were a father and son unloading their kayak, two younger men had just made the oppositte side of the reservoir in theirs, and two vehicles and trailers were in the lot--no way for any of these people besides we at the ramp to hear the Official. When we left we noticed a little sign on the half-closed gate informing The Public that the gate would close at 6:00 due to the impending arrival of Hurricane Irene. (Today is Friday.) This notice was not there minutes before. All those on the reservoir, I guess, were screwed. Locked in?

My son said the police would check, let them out, fine them. Whatever the case, my question is about the real justification for a 6:00 p.m. early closing of that gate. Was the park service up there so overwhelmed with preparations they had to take that as a first step? Or were they infatuated with a chance so show their muscle?

I was appalled at the utter disregard for those out on the reservoir who had no way to know that the park police would pull that move. An 8 x 11 1/2 inch sign posted on the gate at the last minute, and a sick little bullhorn that just made the man's voice robotic.

Anyhow, driving home I never turned on the radio. We had escaped hurricane madness most of the afternoon. Once home, my wife had CNN and the weather channel on with the endless talk, talk, talk--and I don't mean no valuable information is conveyed. It's just that nonetheless it is a trance.  

Ocracoke Inlet, Pamlico Sound, as Evacuation for Hurricane Irene is Called

I meant to post last night, but as soon as we finished fishing yesterday morning, we packed up and fled Ocracoke Island. Mandatory evacuation had been announced, and we didn't care for an Irene scene reminiscient of past traffic jams and horror stories of escapes from hurricanes. We got into Exmore at midnight, myself a little nervous that traffic out of Virginia Beach and Chincotegue, etc., might be a problem today, but it was a breeze. We're back in Bedminster, New Jersey, and may have trouble enough here Sunday. 

I phoned Captain O'Neal at 7:30 a.m. Tuesday, and he told me the winds remained too heavy for some spots he had in mind, but were light enough to catch a few if we wanted to settle for that. Unhesitatingly, I agreed to go out. My wife, Patricia, came along, and our labrador retriever, Sadie, who behaved almost as well as last year, barking some this time due to unknown causes.

Crossing Ocracoke Inlet towards Portsmouth Island, Ryan spotted birds--terns--and cut back on the throttle as he turned to them, then very quickly had us trolling Clark spoons. In no time at all Matt was into the only Spanish mackerel of the day, about 18 inches. We trolled no more than another five minutes and powered off to Ryan's secret spot, of which he surely has hundreds.

"I can't get the boat positioned just right because the wind is blowing against the tide," Ryan said.

"Kind of puts it in equilibrium," I offered. I wasn't really troubled in the least. I honestly saw nothing that indicated we wouldn't put some fish in the boat, but it was clear to me that Ryan knows very well what is ideal.

Later, when we had some sheepshead, he told me, "Normally I could position the boat so we could put our lines directly off the rear." Perhaps he was a little concerned that my son's casts sometimes fell a little short of the subtle sluice of current with oyster shells and barnacles on the bottom. Niether of us wanted to tell him to cast farther. Let him be. He was clearly informed, caught plenty, and the largest. Ryan did tell me when one of my casts overshot the target. "You won't feel the bite with that much line out." Not another cast took as much line. Beyond the sluiceway a small, shallow, sand island created a pocket of almost dead water. Current flowed between two of these islands and swung left as it progressed into Ocracoke Inlet, out with the tide into the Atlantic. We fished about 16 feet deep along a sudden drop where shells had collected and current moved steadily, but the fish could situate themselves in deep pockets of relative calm along that drop. Ryan also told me that sheepshead feed on barnacles, and showed me the teeth of one them, "Just like human teeth," he said. "Some would kill to have a set like that." 

Ryan also told me about the other spots he had in mind, further back in Pamlico Sound. "I know some wrecks with gray trout on them. With the wind today the water would be way too rough."

"How large do they run?"

"They can be five pounds, more likely a pound or two." He paused a moment. "State only allows one kept per fisherman." 

"No!!!" I said. Ryan said, "Yeah. Commercial netters can take all they please."

"We recreational anglers are just messing around," I said.

"Yeah, that's it. The idea is that commercial fishermen feed the country."

To me it seems a case of all or nothing thinking. In the first place, if commercial fishermen can take all, what's the difference if a few recreational anglers are allowed, say, four instead of one? Negligible. But one group has to be praised--even if the thinking in this respect is implicit or unconscious--and another punished. The commercial fishermen in this case are the chosen heroes who feed the great United States of America, and the recreational anglers are the chosen villains, at least the ones to be suspicious of... since we're out to have a good time. A nation as embroiled in the Judeo-Christian tradition as ours will, at least on some unconscious level, suspect good times of sinfulness at least sometimes. But the commercial fishermen are felt to be self-sacrificial hard workers, supporting the people almost in Biblical fashion perhaps.   

As long as we were into fish, we were happy, and we were into fish. Certainly none of our considerations got us down in the least. The action was fairly steady. The sheepshead--eight total--ran three to perhaps over seven pounds. Given the fish's unusual dimensions, I couldn't quite guess the weight. At any rate, we measured Matt's largest at 21 inches after I offered my guess--21 inches--just before Ryan put it under the knife at the end of the outing. These are wide bodied, chunky, hard fighting, and beautiful gamefish which I can now attest to being a delicacy, having eaten some for dinner tonight. We also boated a black drum, our first, which I photographed Ryan holding with my son. Ryan has had some clients recently catch black drum as large as 15 pounds. Plenty of small seabass came over the gunnels and were released. All this action on sand fleas. It's obvious to me that this easy to get bait--just reach around in the sand in the surf wash--has great versatality. Pompano love them, and I once caught a small striper on a sand flea fished with a four and a half foot ultra-light in the surf.

If you're on the Outer Banks--you won't be this weekend--and make it down to Ocracoke where the original restlessness and solitude is preserved, the kind of restlessness that doesn't depend on loud adverstisements and neon lights, all that appeal and appeasement which ultimately dulls and diminishes rather than stirs the will to action, look up Captain Ryan O'Neal for some truly memorable fishing. His Tarheel skiff, powered by a 150 horsepower Honda, won't let you down because he runs it, and he plans to purchase a new skiff next year. Just Google Captain Ryan O'Neal and Tarheel Charters, Ocracoke, and take it from there or phone him at (252) 928-9966.

Driving up Route 13 from Exmore this morning we had windows down and our curiosity piqued as we came upon smoke--not smoke on the water, but smoke over the roadway. We didn't react in any fear or unease but just took it as it came. And for a moment my wife and I were transported to nirvana. We hadn't smelled leaves burning since our childhoods. It's illegal in New Jersey. 

"Damn politicians try to repress our primal joys," I said.

Let's all hope no one gets killed by this hurricane, and that property is spared--by good planning ahead, of course. But don't forget to enjoy it. A hurricane really is awesome.

Fluke and Lizard Fish, Pamlico Sound, Ocracoke Boat Ramp Dock

Speaking to Ryan on the phone this morning, it became clear quickly that it was too windy. A drift speed of one knot or less necessary for fluke catches kept to standard. So we hope to go out tomorrow morning.

We had an afternoon boogie boarding and body surfing. If Irene comes ashore as a category three later this week, then we'll have waves crashing right over the dunes, let alone cresting just over our heads. Before we went to the beach, Matt placed a fried egg into the minnow pot, photographed above. Later we were pleased to have loads of killies.

Last year we caught lizard fish, croakers, spot, pinfish at the boat ramp dock on shrimp. But what haunted me was the tale I heard of someone catching a 23-inch fluke. Here in North Carolina fluke are much smaller than in New Jersey, so a 23-incher is huge. In the back of my mind, prepared this evening with killies, I wondered about fluke. Speckled trout would be a real thrill too.

We caught plenty lizard fish in the hour we fished, one of them photographed. Matt did catch a small 10-inch fluke. But the excitement rose as Matt could not raise a real good-size fish off bottom, hooked directly under the dock. Finally he got it in view. Sure enough, a fluke, about 18 inches. for North Carolina well beyond the 15-inch minimum length requirement. No way this fish would be hauled up onto the dock, not even had we used heavier rods than our 5 1/2-foot St. Croix medium-power with six-pound test line. I pointed the way for Matt: around the corner of the dock, and up the concrete ramp, telling him to keep steady pressure on the fish as it began to shake its head. Then I turned to get my camera, and when I turned toward my son, he was down in the water, with the fluke literally beginning to tow him out. As he struggled to get back up by grabbing onto a wood piling, the fluke shook that head again, and this time the hook with it, before I could get over to help. Matt's idea was to get as close to the fish as he could as soon as he could, rather than to have stayed up on dry concrete and swing the fish up onto that. He had no idea how slippery the algae-slick ramp would be until he jumped on it and slipped as though it were ice.

No bruised limbs, no scrapes or cuts, no broken bones, and a good struggle with the largest fluke we've encountered here yet. Right at the boat ramp, literally under the dock. So that worked out pretty neat. Got the killies on leftover breakfast and almost finished with a fine dinner. 

Exmore, Virginia, on way to Fishing North Carolina Outer Banks

We're in Exmore, Virginia, Delmarva Penninsula, Eastern Shore. The weather is nice, mid-80s, sunny today, and we expect good weather to begin our Outer Banks, North Carolina, fishing in Ocracoke Inlet on Monday. Ryan O'Neal, Captain of the Tar Heel skiff, has about two decade's year 'round experience fishing the inlet, having been the youngest on the southern East Coast to receive his Captain's license at age 18. If he shows us fishing as fast as he did last August, I'll have lots to report.

In addition to the Spanish mackerel, blues, and fluke, I caught a seven pound cobia, and Ryan told me about spotting them much larger frequently in the Inlet. It's the matter of tossing a four ounce bucktail and retrieving it past the fish quickly.This year we plan to fish off Portsmouth Island right where the Inlet meets ocean, having paid for a ride over and back in another tour skiff. I've got some three ounce bucktails and plan to fool around with them on my eight foot Tica--which won't handle four ounce bucktails--as well as fish killies for fluke. I hope my son succeeds at potting killies. They're not sold down there. Behind the house we're staying at, down where the long boardwalk over wetlands ends, a dockspace exists with three comfortable wooden chairs, perfect number for our family. Right off the dock killies swarm. So let's hope the minnow pot works with some fresh meat of some kind. The killies would be good at the Ocracoke Village launch ramp into Pamlico Sound too. All sorts of fish are available right there, even fluke on occasion.

Later in the week my son, Matt, and I will fish Rodanthe Pier. I know Hatteras Pier was out of commission last year, and as I think I recall so was the Avon Pier, or was that the pier we fished and will fish? Anyhow, pier fishing last year was fun especially for large pompano. Some Spanish came over the rails, but I never got one--in fact, I've been trying to pull a Spanish over a pier rail since I was 17. I've had some hits, but haven't caught a single one yet, plenty blues on the Gotcha jiggers, even some weakfish years ago. We have Berkeley Gulp! synthetic clam bait for black drums. Why? Because no one had fresh clams down here last summer. In 2005 we caught plenty fluke from Hatteras Pier, none in 2006 and last summer. Spot and croakers have been around all three times, and last summer Matt hooked a sting ray in the hundred pound class--he used a 10 foot surf rod, and a Penn Captiva 6000 reel fully loaded with 40 pound Power Pro braid. When the ray had pulled all--what, 200 yards?--of the braid but little that inevitably would be lost, I took the rod from Matt and pointed it directly at the fish so that the line would break. As I had hoped, it broke at the knot and all that expensive line was spared.

Lake Musconetcong Gray and Dead: Considering the Lake's New Environment

Six years ago I first took my son, Matt, to Lake Musconetcong. For five years, until May 2010, we fished the lake often in rowboats rented for 10 bucks, catching fish--largemouth, pickerel, or both--every time out. Before I took the shot above of Matt, I reminisced about these years, and when I saw the image on the camera screen, knew that this was the perfect way to end a personal history of the lake. And then I began to converse with him openly about all the good times and great fish we had caught.

Those cormorants are hawking them; you can see my close-up of a few. They eat nothing but fish, fairly good-size fish like six and seven-inch bass, even bigger. Look at those beaks and necks--they could strike and snake down a 12 inch pickerel with a moment's ease.

Not a hit this evening. We fished from 6:30 right up almost until dark. We used to catch bass and pickerel on hot August evenings after 98-degree afternoons. Plenty of clouds billowed high in the skies this evening, and temperatures remained about 68 degrees. We even saw shiners flicker at the surface in pods with nothing chasing them. Did the bass and pickerel die out, many of them?

The six fish my friend Steve Slota and I caught in May did not serve an average number, and the two bass I caught in July were far from that. I suppose I may try again next May, but I doubt this and feel I might otherwise betray the instance of the photograph I got of my son. We have other places to go, but it amazes me it's come to giving up on this lake. It was our favorite.

Water chestnuts have invaded. It's the way they're combatted here that's destroyed the lake, at least for indefinite years ahead. The chemical treatment has resulted in water, formerly of pristine clarity, off color and ugly. And the bass and pickerel which remain live in reduced habitat, while the cormorants can swim freely to eat them. 

 

Cormorants

Smallmouth Bass, Walleye Fishing: Annual Barryville, NY, Delaware River Float Trip

Ever since my friend Steve Slota introduced us to this area of the Delaware Wild & Scenic Rivers designation in 2004, we've been coming up to Barryville, NY, at least once annually to float trip by rented raft. Yesterday we actually went from Staircase to Matamoras (across from Port Jervis), but afterwards drove on up to Barryville for ice cream and one more crack at walleyes at a spot I know is good from shore. The best I've done on any of these trips by numbers is 16 smallmouths, and the largest of them 17 inches. One of us usually gets one close to 16 inches. My largest yesterday of six caught was a little over 14, maybe nearing 15. My son decided to just relax, read, and explore a cave.

Surprised at off-color water yesterday, it didn't phase me since walleyes typically hit better. I hooked one on a Rat-L-Trap in the typical 18-inch range, but lost it alongside the raft just as I had grabbed the net. Later, near dinnertime, I tried a section of current that cuts close to the bank in Barryville where, with similar water conditions, I caught four walleyes within an hour a few years ago on Rat-L-Traps. Not a hit yesterday, even with clouds and rain beginning to fall.

While float tripping, a lot seems random. We do use an anchor to give us some control. But typically close to half of our bass and walleyes get caught rather blindly, though out in mid-river where we can't see whatever rocks or boulders might have held the fish underneath. The best we do is keep the lure close to bottom, and doing that is inexact with spinnerbaits, Rat-L-Traps, and Rapala Countdowns. When using diving crankbaits, if I don't feel an occasional click of the lip hitting a rock, I change to something else I know will get deeper. I lose a lot of Rat-L-Traps because I do let them sink. Often as soon as the line slacks when the lure hits bottom, it's too late, it's snagged.

Jigs get lost plenty. Even the snagless jigs--snag. Nonetheless, my favorite water condition is fairly low and clear. I love to toss an 1/8th-ounce jig and try to dance it so that it keeps touching bottom, but doesn't snag. But the best number I scored, those 16 smallmouths, all came on a #9 Rapala floater. Water conditions low and clear, I caught most of these bass in very shallow pockets isolated in fast moving water.

I almost forgot to mention that my wife, Patricia, and black lab Sadie were along, I'm so used to either solo accounts, or those with my son. Last we visited Point Pleasant at the shore, Patricia got hit by a large wave and tore three ligaments in her right knee, so she's still using the brace until well after the surgery. Point Pleasant at high tide usually seems visited by those high rollers that break right onto the beach and pull back towards a sharp drop-off. The entire coastline is a narrative of current, depth and sand, but the waves can be treacherous. Since Patricia's injury, we've heard many stories, including one of a mid-30's phys-ed teacher who is now paralyzed from the neck down from body surfing.

On a lighter note--winged--we saw two juvenile bald eagles, which are common in this region of river and another specimen of lobelia, a flower.

It's fun, but I keep dreaming of a real good-size bass, and walleye.