Ramapo Lake Bass, Pickerel, Crappies...Northern Pike?

          An online trail description suggested visitors arrive early at Ramapo State Forest. We drove in as a car left, one space open for us at 1:00 p.m., and hiked into the forest, passing many dozens of people on the trails and at the lake when we got to the dam less than a half hour later. My wife mentioned Central Park. I’ve never before—besides in Manhattan—seen a park so crowded. Immediate access from Interstate 287 explains this in part. From Bedminster, it’s half an hour away at 36 miles.

          This is an interesting place. One group of younger people we met inquired about the turn of the 20^th century mansion. We hadn’t seen it, but we saw older ruins, rock walls suggestive of New Jersey’s 18^th and 19^th century iron industry. History in addition to fairly easy, yet hilly, hiking trails offers something special.

          So does Ramapo Lake. At 120 acres, it’s more impressive than I expected, with clear-toned, tannic water of very good quality little more than half a mile from the lot. Since free-floating masses of vegetation—not algae—characterize the area at the dam, I tried a method I perfected at Lewis Morris County Park’s Sunrise Lake years ago. The important detail is to cast a weightless plastic worm inches from a weed edge. At least at Sunrise Lake, a bass stationed in the shade underneath would rush out, take the worm, and turn back. I let line tighten and set the hook.

          You need a fairly good sized worm for casting range. I use seven-and-a-half to eight inches. A size 2/0 inset hook arrangement works, since here you'll anticipate weeds that other hooks will snag. You mount the worm’s head near the tie loop, and bury the inset hook in the plastic so the point is just underneath the skin. Years ago, when I first started using this type, I feared it would be necessary to set the hook with the force of a tractor trailer jack, but it’s easy. You do need to let line tense just enough so the bass doesn’t feel resistance before you pull back hard, but especially with a Lazor Sharp or comparable brand, it’s not a problem getting the hook into the jaw. Since clouds sealed out light when I began fishing Ramapo, a dark green worm blended in. I switched to bright blue when the sun came out to stay.

          That’s about the time I decided to give up on floating weeds, weed pockets, and weedlines. I sat down on a large rock by the water and casually cast straight out into 10 feet of water, let the worm sink and settle, and then while remaining comfortably seated very slowly jiggled it towards me until I felt a tug. I gave the fish slack. Nothing happened, so I tightened the line to feel yet another tug just like the first. This must be a crappie. I allowed a little slack, and then tightened again to set the hook.

          It turned out to be a smallish largemouth, and I was happy I caught something. I sat on that rock—while my wife, Patricia, read and son, Matt, explored here and there and also read—and fished for about another hour for nothing more. But I spoke to one of nearly a dozen other fishermen I met in passing. He claims to have once seen a good sized northern pike caught. Whoever planted any possible pike to begin with, the lake is certainly large and deep enough to hold some. Judging by the height of the dam, water is nearly 15 feet deep. I heard from a number of other sources that pickerel are fairly abundant especially in the shallows at the back of the lake. Black crappies also result in catches.

          This same fisherman I first spoke to said the lake’s best in the spring before aquatic vegetation is prominent, but summer weeds are not so thick you can’t find plenty of open water. Seven to 10-foot depths had some weeds on the bottom, which isn’t a bad thing. I carefully pulled the snagless worm through. Summer fishing typically requires you to slow down.

          If you have an afternoon and evening to fish Ramapo, August is a great time to do it. Trails extend all the way around the lake, and many openings between brush offer opportunities for bass and pickerel. Especially in low and/or changing light with calm surface, topwater plugs may be best by imparting life to them. Try a popping variety, prop plug like the Hedden Torpedo, or surface walker like the Zara Spook. Possibly snagless frogs and rats would be even better right in and on top of vegetation.

Early Season Bass    

             

Climate Change in the Raritan Headwaters: Columbia University Students Speak

South Branch Raritan, Long Valley, Saturday

 

 

This evening, 10 students from Columbia University's School of International and Public Affairs spoke at Bedminster's Clarence Dillon Public Library on climate change in the Raritan headwaters. They serve as a consulting team for Raritan Headwaters Association http://www.raritanheadwaters.org/. Four months of studies identified climate change adaptation strategies for the watershed, citing flood, drought and pollution as climate change threats and proposing three strategies in response.

 

Wetlands restoration projects foreseen will involve areas from small scale to five acres at a cost of about $2000.00 per acre, the money raised by grants and donations. A few months' time during the warm seasons will be put to use, although about five years of raising the funds are projected. Wetlands store about a million gallons of water per acre. It's easy to imagine that these natural sponges help absorb the impact of flooding. Through calculations too complicated to have been elaborated upon during the talk--although further information will be made publically available--about $3500.00 per acre will be saved. Wetlands also serve groundwater recharge--important for ameliorating droughts. They filter pollutants which especially invade the rivers and tributaries when roadways and lawns are washed relatively clean by storm waters.

 

Enhancing the riparian buffer zone--the sectors along streams and rivers from banks to 200 feet back--is the second strategy, with hopes to restore 24 acres in five years, again drawing funds from grants and donations at a cost of $530.00 per acre. Twenty Four acres may not seem like many, given the vastness of 470 square miles of the Upper Raritan Watershed, but environmental efforts begin small and gather adherents in a process that gains persuasive power over time. Healthy riparian buffers slow storm water that results in flooded streams, decreasing property damage as well as filtering pollutants.

Storm water management is the third strategy. Rain gardens designed of plants that especially imbibe rainwater filter out lawn fertilizers and other pollutants, an idea that asks for community response. Another method, rainwater harvesting, involves aesthetically pleasing wooden 55 gallon barrels, the water collected used for watering gardens and lawns. It's estimated that 60% of America's water use goes to lawns, a fact I'm sure California doesn't like. Permeable pavement allows water to trickle through and recharge aquifers, rather than running against curbs and into storm drains. And it's inexpensive at about 50 cents a square foot, worth $5.00 a square foot in savings.

One of the students said that although specific data for the watershed per se is scare, "You can look back on our data and see why we're thinking what we're thinking." Grant money will be needed for these efforts to grain traction, and the academic community is of course well connected. Nevertheless, regarding specific facts on the ground, much will surely be learned in the process to help future efforts. I think of how often I hear in the news references to wetlands. The same student commented that almost no data on wetlands exists prior to 1995, which astonished me, yet didn't really surprise. At one and the same time, this situation comments on how ignorant we've been such a short time ago, and yet how quickly the importance of "swamps" has been recognized not only by experts, but has been absorbed by the public.

At present, we still exist in a state of climate change denial, and yet over the past year--despite two super-cold winters--I've felt a shift through which recognition of the fact is gaining more acceptance at an accelerating rate, and I don't think this is just my personal illusion, though I have no statistics off the cuff to support the notion.

Bill Kibler, Raritan Headwaters Association director of policy, summed the work with Columbia in a way that speaks very broadly, "Today is not the end of the conversation for us, it's the beginning of the conversation."      

Bass hit at Round Valley Reservoir

About a month ago Round Valley Reservoir thawed, now bass are hitting. This reservoir takes much longer to warm than shallower waters. After work, I drove over for an hour, catching four largemouths, the two biggest over a pound, others not quite. Released them quick, since they're not in season. The first took a Chompers and the rest a faster sinking Senko-type. With polarized lenses on I witnessed a bass provoked by the fluttering Wacky style retrieve. Missed that hit, but watching the jaws flex, mouth wide open, was enough. The others responded to subtle motion.

So the warmwater season is well underway. What a difference. I haven't met anyone who praises the winter we had, but honestly, it amazed me. A hard, difficult challenge that never burdened my getting out. I ice fished, walked the dog at 0 degrees, waded Peapack Brook shooting photos at 13 degrees and the like otherwise. I just hope hot weather feels alright soon. Never has been a summer when it didn't, but winter remains near in memory as yet.

Skunked on the North Branch Raritan

Eighty five degrees this afternoon, I thought the trout would rise this evening. This time I made sure to tie that Adams on ahead of the event. I'm driven by the memory of catching browns on dries a couple of years ago. I have never before seen so many rises happening at once as one May evening when I took a bike ride on the Bedminster Hike & Bike Trail--no fly rod in hand.

Besides some small flying bugs--midge-size--nothing hatched, and maybe that's because the water quality could be better; I don't know. I fished the tail-out of the fast water I photographed, where I did see a splash rise. The only rise I saw in the half hour I fished. I let that Adams drift over where the trout came up more than a dozen times.

Then I fished the slow water where surely plenty rainbows continue to lurk since being stocked Wednesday.

Maybe later in the month. Or maybe browns are better risers. I don't know. What do you think?

History and River Outing Long Valley to Hampton New Jersey

Today's outing with my wife intended to explore Teetertown Ravine. If anyone knows how to get to it or if you know it's no longer available to public access, please comment and let me know. New Jersey Skylands Visitor is the guide to New Jersey Highlands history and access, Bob Koppenhaver an amazingly informed man who has written scads of excellent articles. (http://www.njskylands.com/) But though the information I gathered on the ravine got us fairly close to it, I'm sure, it remains as yet to be experienced.

First, we stopped at Washington Township Museum in Long Valley. At least I think that's the name. It happens to be open Sundays 2-4, so we plan on a return someday. Just to the right and behind the museum are the ruins of Old Union Church, right there on Fairview Avenue in town. Pastor Muhlenberg, who introduced Lutheranism to America, led the congregation when the church opened in 1794. Considering the enormous institution Lutheranism is today in America, this free-standing rubble is a marvel to stand inside and contemplate.

We drove on looking for Sliker Avenue, stopping at Schooley's Mountain General Store for a 50/50 iced tea and lemon, and water for Sadie, our black lab. We sat at a table outside; I went into the trunk for my camera to get a shot of skunk cabbage, which is about at the stage of growth I'd expect around April 10th.

We never found Sliker Avenue leading to the ravine, nor did my Hagstrom map locate it, though it's on the map, just not there in reality. I doubt a GPS would have helped and I sort of hope to get through life without ever bothering with one of the devices. We pressed on through Penwell and stopped at Changewater, enamored by the river and Warren Railroad Company's Changewater Trestle, dismantled in 1960, year of my birth. This stripped railroad ran between Scranton, PA, and Hampton, NJ, from 1862-1959. Realizing I've never slowed down for Hampton before, we decided to pay the town a visit, first passing very slowly through New Hampton, admiring buildings on the historical register, one or two of them late 18th century.

Hampton hardly hosts any businesses, but the early 20th century homes are adorable. Once known as Hampton Junction, coal provided big business. We wound up in the northern reach of Glen Gardner, stopping at a homemade ice cream shop across Route 31 from the family farm owning the business. We sat outside in 75-degree sun and basked awhile, then headed back north to New Hampton, stopping at Lebanon Township Museum and finding it open, a quilt artist's reception winding down, warm invitations for us to join in and enjoy punch and snacks. Lots of Lenape artifacts, instruction legers from the 19th century, a coca cola trinkets display that's impressive, old schoolhouse desks, antique farming equipment and of course amazing quilts filled this 1825 schoolhouse. The mandala pattern of the blue quilt reminds me of 20th century depth psychologist Carl G. Jung's artwork created as he struggled to come to grips with profound inner experience.

We absorbed the friendly atmosphere and contents of the museum. I felt especially impressed by the down-to-earth frankness of a local farmer and how his ties to the earth obviously seem to give him a very healthy character.

Stopping at Point Mountain and hiking in, we didn't attempt the steep, rocky final climb. Trish wore sneakers, for one thing, but in any case, she's done attempting the likes of that. Ever since she tore meniscus in her right knee, she doesn't want to risk it.

And then we drove back through Long Valley and into Chester Township, stopping to eat dinner at Old Mill Tavern at the Black River.

Old Union Church

The Names of the Buried at Old Union Church 

Schist Boulders Beneath Point Mountain Along Trail



She Seemed Unaffected by Chilly Musconetcong River Water

A Long Valley Farm

South Branch Raritan River Long Valley

Mucking Around the North Branch Raritan

With the amber polarized glasses I used for redfish on South Carolina Lowcountry flats, I saw a swarm of trout near the timber photographed. I sat down to rig up my fly rod, when I saw a bald eagle swooping over the river between tree canopies. Naturally, once I suited up in waders to approach from the other side, I expected some action. I tied on an olive beadhead Wooly Bugger, since none rose. Temperatures cooled off today. The relatively heavy beadhead made casting with my 2 wt awkward, and none hit, so I switched to a little #16 beadhead nymph and casting improved dramatically, but no takers. None of the bait fishermen upstream had any, either.

I walked out, then went back in with my camera to get some shots midstream. And then I grabbed my stuff and headed downstream to a nice fast cut with enough depth to hold some trout. Nothing doing, I took a break with the camera. This got my juices flowing. I thought of the best time I've had on the North Branch Raritan here at AT&T World Headquarters, with my son during summer just mucking around, yet with a full presence of curiosity and many rewards in myriad discoveries of simple, ordinary nature, which--once we opened up to things--we found absolutely loaded with food for the senses.

This evening I got to thinking about the relationship between given nature and manmade development. I only touched on the thought. Since I landed a new job and today worked independently again at last, filling a role out there in the world, I naturally imagined what it might be like to be a developer, viewing land as something to clear cut and build on. And rather than my being a radical environmental type who feels this is always bad, I thought about how our need for taking nature and suiting it to ourselves also implies the need to know the nature we take.

I don't pity everyone who works behind walls all day, because some find plenty inspiration, challenge, and mental stimulus at desks, though I've witnessed many who don't. Get outside when you can, I offer. After all, everything we produce is nature rearranged, which isn't to say this is bad--as some radical types have claimed...want to live in a cave? It's to suggest that nature as is, is worth contemplating, immersing senses in and exploring. After all, studies show strong evidence that every original mind--the sort that finds ways to rearrange nature in new ways--spends time in nature just playing around with it, wondering and wandering randomly.

Dusk falling, I meant to pack it in and leave. I saw a second splash rise at the same spot, so I broke off the nymph and tried to tie on an Adams dry, failing to get the line through the tie loop without enough light. So then I packed out. Two youngsters stood where I had left them at the first spot I tried.

"Catch any?"

"No."

Chilly Day Fishing North Jersey

Someone should write a song, "Endless Winter." Here it is almost May and unopened tulip buds remain in New Jersey. Forsythia blooms normally gone by now, peak now with florid yellow. Fred and I fished a North Jersey lake and pond next to it. I wore a fleeced jacket and remained a little uncomfortable. When we left, my hands felt stiff from cold.

I began with a Husky Jerk. A pickerel--probably the pickerel I caught a little while later on a shiner--swiped at it twice, visible in clear water. Fred tossed a plastic worm, fishing slow on bottom. I gave in pretty quick to the dozen large shiners I bought just in case. Last year, we fished here on a much colder day in the middle of April and caught bass after bass out in 15 feet of water on shiners. Curiosity impelled me to see if the likes might happen again, though they did not.

The hike to the pond stirred energies that had flattened with little response from the water to awaken feeling. The single fish had struck about eight feet down, and before it fought with the typical one-line direction of a smallish pickerel, I hoped for a big bass like last year. I managed to catch another small pickerel and a slab crappie in the pond. When the braid line began to produce a little wake on calm surface, sort of slipping away at a snake's pace, I felt a familiar twinge of excitement, grateful for it whatever the mystery having taken the shiner would be. No six-pound bass like Fred caught in this pond last summer, the crappie satisfied enough.

A while later, Fred succumbed to temptation and rigged his rod with a bobber. Soon I suggested we go back to where we started. The water we presently fished rather shallow, any fish for yards around could sense our shiners by their sensory lateral lines, and nothing more happened. The spot felt right, a sort of cove-like curvaceous end-of-a-pond, and if water warmed, it likely would have been better fishing.

Back at my favorite lake spot, Fred angled his bobber here and there a few times. I live-lined my bait, casting deep and setting the rod down as I shot photos before I suggested we go home.

"Why don't you try one more," I said.

Fred had rigged to live-line. It didn't take long before he caught the only bass of the afternoon and evening.

Nice outing. Always good to catch up with a friend.