Taking it all Out to Budd Lake

The year after we met, Patricia, who became my wife, and I, moved onto the second floor of a Victorian manor in North Plainfield, New Jersey. That winter of 1993-1994 was the coldest on record. We paid through the 12-foot ceilings for heating.

I read in The Fisherman about ice fishing on Round Valley Reservoir, but never joined in. During a move that August to Chester, New Jersey, I came close to throwing out my tip-ups. I had trout fished that spring, but compared to previous life as a commercial clammer, I was not connected to the land and water, and I almost tossed aside something essential to me.

Once established in Chester, I went through dozens of jobs before I began waiting tables for Larison's Turkey Farm. Patricia called the restaurant "Turkey Central." We married in 1997 shortly before I began working there. Larison's had been a landmark for six or seven decades. I think it is that long. I once sat down to dinner with Mr. Larison and a couple of others. He was 97, but the place went out of business just after I quit in 1999.

I felt like Benjamin Franklin stepped out of existence.

The bald eagle became the national symbol, not the wild turkey that Franklin suggested, but the wild turkey is one whacky bird that symbolizes the Great Thanksgiving Feast of Friends, the social cluster jam that can incentivize capitalism from the ground up, not from the high venture command that levels the field for everyone but vultures. The crowds were steady at Larison's and the work reliable. Fun too, that place was a riot.

But before I began working at Larison's, during January 1997, I ice fished Little Swartswood Lake with a friend's son. The friend had also shellfished with me behind Long Beach Island. My passion for ice fishing surged. All these years later, I remember this with crisp focus. 

The next weekend I began ice fishing Budd Lake. For three winters, most of my fishing was solitary, and the best I remember of these outings was a frigid, 15-degree afternoon when I encountered a loneliness that would have been unbelievable to me growing up.

I not only faced it without depression, I relished it as the very essence distilled of my struggling life. It took a few seasons before I felt this at its best, and the vibrant social scene at Larison's didn't cheat the experience. I had worked hundreds of jobs since I began taking them in 1987, along with shellfishing sporadically until 1993. Most of them temping, I had a dozen agencies, so all told, I'd say I worked close to 300 jobs in about a decade. I was conscientiousness and a hard worker, if I could be. Sometimes I was so self-divided hard work wasn't possible, yet conscience remained.

In essence, I'm a writer, not a workin' man. Clearly at odds with the expected, I'm nevertheless the most persistent man I've known. Besides, on that issue of work, I've never met anyone else who has worked as many different jobs. After that decade--I was ice fishing Budd Lake with a friend by this time--I found a job I could accept long term and stayed with it for 13 years. But I've had the goal of success as a writer from the age of 16. Nothing has stopped me.

Budd Lake could have been the moon. It was beautiful. I can't tell you how precious physical light really is. And ice stepped on. I was like an astronaut from a spacecraft I not only manned alone, but built alone. The spacecraft of my unknown life, which I know well enough to have done it successfully.

 

Me in 1997

I'm Staying on Blogger with More Comments

Looking forward to summer, fish on and conversation. Joe played this hybrid striper long enough that Jim and Donna settled into talking in the background about whatever.

Going on two months ago, I wondered if it's possible to migrate a blog from Blogger to WordPress. I had never heard or read of it being done, but it seemed surely there's a way to rewrite code. Next time online, I googled to find out plenty people have and do, and I began researching while assuming it would be too costly to hire someone.

Well, it's not very costly, about two hundred bucks. I just think, after all my efforts at understanding the process, it's not necessary that Litton's Lines go to WordPress. When I begin a literary blog it will be different, a blog that explores possibilities for my first novel, makes sense of what this novel will be in the cultural scene today, markets it, but above all persuades readers to my vision as well as invites them to take a different perspective. I don't like to think of people as a market as I like to think of them as individuals. I will begin this blog on a self-domain in WordPress, and I may suffer a lot of headaches for this. In five years of Blogger the site's been down just once. I read about 99.96% as an excellent uptime figure, but that means the site is down three or four times a year!

I don't want to lose a single post, nor a single digit of the social share numbers, and I've been informed it's possible some posts get lost during the transfer, and not one of the services I've reviewed mentions social share numbers retained. In the meantime, I finally got the Google + gizmo fixed. That was simple, I just had to change it to a different form. Once the number hit 600, it reversed. Every time someone tried to share, the gizmo subtracted a number. I tried before I changed it, and it didn't even allow me to share. So that's fixed. I also found out that all this time, comments have been possible only to people Google registered! So how many of you who have tried and been refused, I don't know. Sorry about that! Chalk it up to inexperience with techy stuff. Now anyone can comment easily, and I hope you do. I know a lot of you guys and gals read this blog as a local source, but until today, never knew I could open it up better than I had it set.

One caveat. I don't yet know if I'm going to merge the blog with Google +. So far, I understand it needs to have a shared author profile. No problem there. But it might be that if I incorporate comments from Google +, once again, only registered users can comment. I hope that's only true in Google + itself. I place blog posts in a number of Google + communities and reply to more comments there, than in this blog itself, so I do want to incorporate those comments and make this platform more of a community. I will always answer comments, as I always have.

So we're off to another good year and I promise you that before I begin work on that novel again, I'll finish my book on fishing. Actually, I have a second book on fishing in the works, too, and intend to finish it before I return to the novel, also. I find writing an extremely compelling act, but if not for fishing, I guess I would just be another nerd. That description has never suited me.  

Ice Fishing in Maine Anyway

The market for mousy grubs in Maine is picking up in recent years.

Ice Fishing Promises Winter Action  

          Four strong whacks of the splitting bar yielded water. I followed through with cuts in a tight circle, whisked chunks out of the hole with the flat of the blade, and kneeled to reach bare handed under water between surface and bottom, measuring better than four inches of safe ice thickness.

          When I get a chance to fish on fresh “black” ice without snow cover, I expect lots of trap and jig action. All varieties of gamefish see live shiner scales or silvery jigging spoons reflect sunlight and strike in reaction. Most of the ice fishing season, however, is a relatively darkened world to fish, yet great catches are made by setting traps and/or jigging where fish frequent. Just as important as sight, a fish’s lateral line is a sensory organ that picks out vibrations from many yards distant. Fish key in upon vibrations forage make to feed under ice.

          Compared to the depths trout swim in summer, ice fishing is productive in relatively shallow water. Lake trout dwell deepest, though not as deep as during summer, and often strike quite shallow. Largemouth bass usually get hooked in depths shallower than 20 feet, smallmouths as deep as about 30 feet, and pickerel may strike in three-foot shallows. Yellow perch and panfish often bite just as shallow, although they may feed in depths of 20 feet or so. Depth all depends, if most of the time we don’t know why and just feel happy to find fish.

          Every lake or pond offers its own unique structural challenges and opportunities, and to be prepared for them and find fish, you must be familiar with what’s under the ice, have a topographic map, or go with a guide or someone who knows the destination. Choose the fish you want to catch and zero in. Pickerel, largemouth bass, perch and panfish may share the same spots, but trout are another game.

         Brook, rainbow, and brown trout feed on shallow flats of five to eight feet or so, especially with drop-offs nearby, since they migrate to and from deeper water, depending on whether not they feed in shallows or rest deep. When devouring minnows, they suspend between ice and bottom, though the water may be especially shallow and the issue negligible. Otherwise, they find invertebrates on shallow bottom, including small crayfish. Jigging spoons like the Swedish Pimple and Kastmaster in 1/10^th ounce size, ice flies, Micro Jigs and a whole host of other little lure options produce, although it’s a good idea to experiment. Unless trout feed voraciously—as they might—they’re picky.

           You need to be quiet. They’re about as spooky as during warm weather and just a little slow by comparison. Trout best acclimate to cold--better than pickerel. Live bait options include maggots, small minnows, waxworms, and redworms fished under a float. Use the lightest line possible, not because trout see as well as when no snow blocks light, but because sight remains involved to some degree. And believe it or not, trout sense line by their lateral receptors. If you anticipate big trout, six-pound test is needed. But two or four-pound test on a tiny reel and jigging rod is appropriate otherwise.  

          Lake trout typically suspend under ice and may be hooked near the hole. Main lake points, humps, and mouths of bays are the big attractions. Large spoons fished on hefty jigging rods produce, as do ¾ ounce rattling lipless crankbaits: lakers are drawn through darkness to the commotion. Traps baited with live shiners or smelts are great to space apart by about 25 yards and let be while you jig. Four may be set per man, while each jigs his fifth legal line. 10 pound test Power Pro Ice line with 10 pound test fluorocarbon leader connected by a uni to uni splice can withstand the duress of fighting these great fish. Jigging large spoons or other lures produces noise, so it’s not important to go light.   

          The Kastmaster effective for trout is deadly for pickerel, quarter ounce about right. A silvery spoon of any variety draws strikes powerful enough to make you forget the chill. When I began fishing as a boy, almost everyone said I needed wire leader to protect against teeth, but I learned from someone who used 20 pound test monofilament tied to a swivel. Now we have fluorocarbon. Fifteen-pound test is just right.

          Pickerel ambush forage fish with absolute deliberateness from shallow weeds year round. Fish shiners or jig a spoon over residual vegetation, and sooner or later you’ll happen upon a pickerel. Vegetation grows deep in some clear lakes, so shallow is relative to how deep the sun reaches, given bottom soft enough for vegetation to flourish. Pickerel, especially the big ones, can be caught as deep as 20 feet or so. You don’t want to place shiners in the thick of weeds, since they will bury themselves. Set them so they swim over the highest reaches of any vegetation that hasn’t decomposed, and pickerel will find them, possibly bass too.

          Whether you bait a trap for pickerel or bass, a smallish barrel swivel connecting main line and leader serves as weight. The shiner or smelt will find its way down, rather than swim upwards against the weight of the line and swivel. A light wire, size 6 hook, such as the plain shank variety Eagle Claw makes, sufficiently allows free swimming. Some swear by size 8 trebles, but if bait is swallowed and the fish released, that’s a problem. In all events of fishing traps, it’s better to set the hook sooner than later. Thick braid line designated for ice fishing is manageable for hand lining. A more expensive low diameter performance brand will cut the hands of whoever tries to play a fish.

          Largemouths often frequent the same weeds as pickerel, although you won’t find any as shallow as three feet. Eight feet is a possibility, although 12 to 15 is better. If you know of any spot that combines residual weeds, submerged brush or timber, or rocks—fish it. Whatever the structure you select, if deeper water is nearby, this may be favorable. Largemouths may not retreat deeper than 20 or 25 feet, but they may prefer to cruise in deeper water’s proximity.

          Rocks are just as essential to smallmouth bass as weeds to pickerel, but if you know of a spot at least 15 feet deep combining rocks with residual weeds, you may sweeten your chances of success. Main lake rocky points, humps, and ledges are not the only drop-offs that produce smallmouths. Coves with combinations of vegetation, stone, and sharp drop-offs may offer outstanding fishing. Both species of bass, smallmouths especially, tend to frequent sharp drop-offs in winter because the route from deep water resting basins to shallower feeding grounds is short. With metabolism slow, they swim less.

          Yellow perch and panfish jigged with the lightest specialty rods take tiny ice jigs tipped with mousy grubs. Residual weedbeds and weedline edges can produce great numbers, and some ice anglers are dedicated to perch and panfish for this reason. A feast afterwards carries the celebration.

          Nothing else excites like the risen orange flag of a trap against a snowy background. As a boy, the experience of a bobber going under gave me an uncanny feeling of connection before I even set the hook. As a grown man, I never lose out on the thrill of a flag. It’s like a sign of life in the Sahara.           



Green Brook Trout and Excel Gas

Haven't been here since spring 1994, when I often caught trout to take home to my wife-to-be in North Plainfield, New Jersey, the two of us living on the second floor of a Victorian manor. The Green Brook is just above Scotch Plains and Route 22 here where I came to photograph it. As I walked in after parking, I thought of how long ago it was, and with hiking boots on the ground, the time seemed pretty distant. I found the place OK, but with some uncertainty as to quite how to get there. Now that I'm comfortably at home, oh, yeah, doesn't seem very long ago at all when I fished there and photographed it with my Pentax 35mm. That's why it's important to get outside and walk with ground under boots. How else clue into reality, basically?

The Green Brook hasn't enough springs feeding it to nourish wild trout, although it does roll down from the 300-foot hills named Watchung Mountains--enormous volcanoes millions of years ago. I stood on a ridge of basalt to get two of these photos, and could have used a wide angle of say 7mm, if any exist, since I could not get back any further with my 11-16mm zoom wide angle. That rock is ancient and persists in existence with a sort of bold indifference to our development. The region along busy Route 22 below is loaded with businesses of every description, but the brook has pretty good water quality at least where I stood. And below 22, in North Plainfield, I sighted largemouth bass. The Green Brook flows on to empty into the Raritan River.

I got on 22 West, heading home, dusk falling, and an old gas station sign caught my eye. Excel, a small-time outfit. I remembered always noticing it, but I could not quite place the station as being in operation nearly 22 years ago, or not. I thought maybe. Now the little building has a caved-in roof, is boarded up on the sides with wood that makes it look aged like a corpse, and the pavement is shattered. I felt it deeply, as I self-identified with the situation. I've always tried to excel in life, and in some things actually have. It's just my temperament. I refuse to feel entitled just because I have energy. I must make something of this, or get destroyed by my own excess.

Driving on, my 2007 Honda with 126,000 miles still smooth as a dream, I thought that could have been me. What the Excel station symbolizes. How ironic, if someone who desired to excel...ended up like that gas station in ruins.

North Plainfield was pivotal for my life. Patricia and I moved there in September 1993. I had just given up my commercial clamming business to begin the long, hard effort at readjusting to the broader society I had escaped, mostly to study and write, although the work in brine to harvest clams paid pretty well. We've since made it by the skin of our teeth. And that spring of 1994, I began fishing again, more than I had since my teens when I fished almost every day, sometimes in the morning before school. When we lived in North Plainfield, I knew there had to be a way if I was going to become anything but a miserable wreck. If we would succeed.

I've made persistent efforts at many things all these years. And I've fished all the years since I was eight, but after my teens, I could never quite get the spirit again of fishing, besides shellfishing. I renewed my fishing log in 1992, yet still wasn't quite there.

And then my son, Matt, four years old, persistently asked me to take him fishing, three, four times a week, and I obliged. Observing his complete value for fishing, his sudden mastery of the plastic worm....that's what made all the difference.

My New Website

Trout: Water was not so Low; Water was Colder, too

No word of lakers today, besides John's mentioning desire to catch them, and my reply about nothing but lakers last January.

"If I knew that, I would have been out here more often."

Haven't seen John in three years or so, but he's been out here every year since we last spoke.

Just had enough time to check up on things by taking a long way around to work. Mike had fished for an hour, earlier, John told me. But besides the two of us there, one other guy we don't know fished the opposite point. John's rainbows came on Power Bait weighted with split shot, fished in close. And they say only recently stocked trout hit power bait. Even a few naturally reproduced lakers get caught on the stuff.

I think the water has yet to cool off before it gets anywhere near freezing. Remember that last year, the reservoir didn't freeze until February. It sustained brutal January temperatures as we caught lakers in weather as cold as 15 degrees in the early afternoon.

Don't think we caught too many. John's is a good catch. More often than not, we get skunked, unless it's October or late April, perhaps. Dave has proven an exception to that rule this season, and if he had been around during the years I fished here often, I either would have learned to fish closer in--or the fishing would have been better than it was, to equal the catches I've recently heard about.

Water was not so low. Water was colder, too.

Lake Trout Shore Catches Appearing

Thinking I was already sort of awake, weird dreams making me think about the meaning as I slept, for 10 or 15 minutes after I really did wake up, I felt drained of all motive, even as I began preparations by exerting painful will. My idea involved Matt, me and our dog Sadie at the reservoir by noon, and I had yet to phone Fred, but the clock had already turned past 10:30.

We managed to push out the front door at about 12:25. Fred told me not to expect to see him. Down I-78, but before exit 26, I said, "Matt, we need to get licenses. Do you have any cash?"

No. So I exited and turned back. Time wasting, we got to Behr's, and as expected, he doesn't sell licenses, but told us to buy on Matt's mobile. We got a dozen shiners and headed for the reservoir...where Matt still processed his license and we lost signal, of course. Something else I didn't think of, so we headed up to Route 22, where he completed his purchase and began to process mine. We got some notice that customer information can't be found. More time lost, we headed to Sportsman's Rendevous in Flemington. Almost there, it occurred to me they might be closed. Sure enough.

"This is proof of God's existence," I said. "We're so stupid, there must be greater intelligence in the universe." Neither of us had thought to check hours on the mobile. Now what? Efinger, many miles away? I thought of Wal-Mart. Matt phoned. Not the ideal place to do business, but relatively nearby. On the way, Fred phoned.

With about an hour to fish, we finally arrived at the reservoir, when we would have had four hours. No, we never gave up. Grating on the stomach and nerves, sure. But I never let it get to me outwardly, except I had a few more words of complaint than usual to share with Fred.

Spoke to a young man with a light rod and a fairly heavy Kastmaster, who had nailed a rainbow. Other than this, no fish. But the good news is that before Dave and his crew arrived--before Fred, and before my son and I--two lakers got caught on shiners.

I really didn't expect them this year, but just like last, maybe they're a comin' in with January. The weather has changed much for the better, with that sickening mildness and warmth fit for soft bellies finally driven south where it belongs. I can still feel chill on my face and it's entirely welcome. We northerners are industrious hard asses compared to the southern world, because we freeze.

Anyhow, we used the right bait. And as all of these outings turn out in the end--a good time for all. I drove home feeling great, and Matt was in fit shape too, hitting the buttons on his mobile as he prepares for a possible internship in the plasma physics lab at Princeton. I wish him all the best in his high endeavor, but he recognizes that the outdoors will challenge anyone, and if you persist, you'll always finish well. People think there's nothing to it. Until they try, which most don't do.

Round Valley Reservoir December Trout Shore Report

Went to check out the Round Valley scene and get away from it by hiking a ways before work today. Mild weather on a Sunday had a lot of people out. Lot 2 was loaded mostly with hikers, but plenty fished, although the only trout I heard about caught, Dave landed, a 16-inch rainbow. He's been catching plenty since I last saw him in November, but as expected, no lakers.

I think if that's going to happen, it's got to get real cold, and just won't this year. I've been fishing trout here a lot since 2011, and last year alone saw the odd phenomena of nothing but lakers caught in January until the freeze in early February. Most years, lakers from shore are scarce.

Lakers or not, I'm sure I'll fish a couple of times in January. I really wanted to connect my son to one of these fish, but a rainbow or brown--or just hanging out--will do.

I got some word on Round Valley Reservoir pumps in Mexico for repairs, and no pumping of South Branch Raritan water to raise the level until 2017. Whether or not this is any official plan, I don't know. The rumor apparently comes from an authoritative source. I went online to try to find the information, and for all I know, a more thorough search might yield the documented facts. What I heard sounds completely believable to me, but since I can't verify the truth, I can't know if it is, or let you know much better in this format.