South Branch Off Color

I don't get many chances to fish the river, and it does annoy me when I come and find it off color, but even so, when I went on Saturday morning, I got into it.

I had a long stretch all to myself. Calm. Sunny at seven-something. I fished about 40 minutes, working a small popper from a spinning rod. Nothing ever rose for it, but I saw a few carp furiously break water, which was exciting, and I listened rather closely to mourning doves. 

But that stain in the water. That muddy cast. If anyone else fishes the river and does OK when it's like that, please comment, I'd like to know about it. I have caught some smallmouths when it's like that. Even once in November it was a bit off color and I scored. But for the most part I go fishless.

Chatterbait Bass and Pickerel

We intended to beat the rain that never really came in any uncomfortable measure. Showers would be OK with me, but Brian's back needed some rest anyway. so we fished from about 4:45 a.m. until about 8:30. 

Brian's favorite lure this year, the Chatterbait, enabled him to catch six largemouths and two pickerel. He lost others and missed hits. The first fish he had on, while light remained very low, would have been the biggest of the day, I think. My two pickerel and one of his looked at least 24 inches long, and one of his bass 18 inches. The lost one, who knows. Since 2019, I've caught three bass of 20 inches and larger here, and I've seen Brian catch one over 20. Those fish we measured.

I began the morning throwing an old favorite, a Dalton Special topwater. I relented when it sank in that the chances of hooking anything were compromised, hooks needing the wet stone that is in the tackle box I left in Fred's truck by accident. The Dalton is a wooden plug, one of three I bought by mail order in 1992. I still have all three, and I felt impressed this morning by the action of the tailspinner. Perhaps the other two still work as well. 

Switched to a big Torpedo. I did catch a pickerel on the plug years ago, but this morning I just felt the thing was too much like a balloon. A quarter-ounce Pop-R, on which I've caught countless largemouths and smallmouths, caught me a bluegill bigger than my hand, and a crappie. Meanwhile, Brian already had some fish on his Chatterbait, and I told him I believed I forgot to bring spinnerbaits. The topwater plugs seemed the right fit in close to the bank and along whatever weeds left after recent weed harvesting, but mid-lake where fish hit the Charterbait, I would feel comfortable with the lead and blade. Brian lent me one of his Chatterbaits. 

I would finish the day having caught four bass, two pickerel, and those panfish--all besides the panfish and two bass on the Chatterbait. I had cast a Chomper's worm to the thickest patch of a small weedbed and missed the bass that picked it up. We fished mid-lake again, when I said I would feel disappointed if I didn't catch a bass on the worm. It's my favorite way to fish, and I try to cast just as I visualize before the worm sets down, feeling confident I can catch plenty of bass, but usually beginning the process tentatively, always amazing when the bass do respond. 

At least that way it never gets boring. I don't know if I fool myself or just respect reality as indifferent to me--as if it won't yield. But more often than not, it does. I have to admit, it was that recent Lake Aeroflex outing that seemed abnormal when it came to the response of fish.

It was getting on towards closing time, so I ventured that we hit another weedbed nearby, then drift towards the dock. Brian said he would be happy if we caught a couple more fish apiece. I caught on the Chompers a nice bass as large as the one I'm photographed with and set the hook on another that popped the knot, an old knot that went bad.

Then we paddled out mid lake. 

More fish on the Chatterbait. And I spotted a few little weed clumps, no more than the hint that there might be some weeds underneath, so I cast the Chompers to one of them and came up with the bass in the photo.  We had caught a couple more apiece or more than that, as Brian had hoped. 

All of our fish were nice size, except the crappie was on the small side. We caught no bass smaller than 15 inches, and Brian's little pickerel was 18 inches or more.   

 

Kayak Bass

I wanted to try one of Fred's kayaks with seating improved over last time I used it. I was thinking long-term of the next chance Fred & I will get to fish a section of the Raritan. Last year, Fred caught a huge smallmouth there he told me looked about 23 inches. On the phone with him last night, I said, "That river owes me a big one," and described how the hefty one that snapped my line four years ago felt. I'm in the habit of using a spool of braid, but when I fish the river, I switch-out for six-pound mono....and I forgot to adjust the drag setting for it.

Fred arrived here in Bedminster at eight a.m.  Not a cloud in the sky, I knew fishing anywhere was going to be tough. I didn't know how tough in a different way I'll explain yet. We would fish a lake to the north, which as far as I was concerned would be a great second-best after last night's rain. Jefferson Lake is 40 or 50 acres, shallower than other lakes but has plenty of 10- and 12-foot depths. Weedy, but not overwhelmingly. We found edges and pockets. Early on, Fred lost a bass that might have been two pounds right next to his kayak. I noticed he fished in close. I had been thinking maybe outside edges would produce, but Fred's hookup had an orienting effect on me. He did catch a crappie on the outside, but that fish didn't sway me. The water was clear, but not all that clear, and it had a brownish tannic look to it, seeming also to have a lot of little free-floating stuff, though I might have imagined that. I usually do best on the outside when fishing very clear water, so, especially after Fred hooked up, I began limiting nearly all of my casts to targets along the banks, searching especially for shadows.

I lost a little bass that smacked my worm in a pocket a few feet from shore, and then we made our way on down to a very low bridge where the road in to the camp there crosses where lake water slowly flows out. I put a worm not underneath but where sunlight highlighted that worm, and a bass took. That's the one in the photo below. I caught another one in the same general spot and lost another. Later, I got a good take next to a brushy deadfall, tightened up but mistook where the bass was when I set the hook. Since the line wasn't actually tight--I had really only felt it dragging against the bass--the bass must have opened its mouth when it felt that drag, and I simply pulled the worm out of it when I set.

I reminded Fred of the big one he caught near the big island a few years ago. Sometime later, I positioned there where some sticks accompanied a line of pads right in close in a shady sort of spot that could have looked too shallow to hold a bass, though my thought was to the contrary. I got a pickup, tightened, judged my best where that bass was in relation to my rod tip, and set. That's the bass in the first picture, a good 16 1/2 inches. 

Not much later, I volunteered that we go in for lunch. I was thinking we'd go back out, but once we settled down--me with a sandwich, Fred with a granola bar or some such--my back felt like hell. Earlier when we first went out, I soon wondered if I could do it, because the added sitting support was not cutting it for my back. I told myself I would adjust. What I really told myself, in effect, was that I would not feel the pain, and I didn't feel it any longer. I managed. I made that kayak an effective platform for putting myself on bass while I just felt good where my body wasn't in pain and blocked out the rest, but once we got out and relaxed, I felt the pain and my reluctance to go back out was not only stubborn but reasonable--who knows how bad it could have got.

Fred told me he could fish another five hours, and I felt bad for him having driven all the way from Barnegat. We began thinking of alternatives and decided we would try Cranbury Lake, but when I saw what distance to paddle while that persistent pain would have grown, the result was that we cast from the dock for awhile. The water was of very high quality. Clear blackwater, a nice cast of tannic the way I like it. We could see bottom five or six feet down easily. We cast worms. I also cast a Storm Hot 'n Tot that reflects light sharply. Fred cast a Binsky. I kind of thought a pickerel would hit those light-reflecting lures. There were weeds and to me it seemed just the right amount of them. 

Nothing hit though, and we drove to Lake Musconetcong where there's shore access. And water likely to hold bass, but the pads looked sick. They were yellow and brown. When my son and I used to fish here, we could spot a dime on the bottom of the lake's deepest six feet. Now the water looked foul. It wasn't as stained as I've seen it since they loaded it with chemical weed killer, but it didn't look very productive. We gave that shoreline a good try and came up with nothing.

Fred wants to fish the Raritan yet, and when we do, I'm taking one of my canoes and staying out as long as he wants to. Except for my back, today was too short.  

Jefferson Lake Topwater Bass

 

Minn-Kota Endura is a Good Motor

I've owned mine---a 55--for 10 years and never want to replace it. I meant to include the following incident in the previous story, but forgot. We motored back towards the dock, me trolling a crankbait in close, when I hit a thick, submerged tree branch at full force. The #5 setting. I heard the electric's tilt setting yank a notch higher as the canoe stopped cold. No damage. Not to the shaft, not to the tilt, nothing.

Dead Fishing After Storms

Having just got on I-80, Jorge trailing behind in his van, the view to the west of an approaching storm was awesome. In minutes, rain fell heavily, and I felt relieved wind wasn't a problem. I use a two-inch ratchet strap with big, heavy gears, so that canoe is secure on my car, but even so, there's a reason I was nervous. I found only one tie-down loop. In the front. So I was able only to rope the front to the right of where I sat driving. No tie-loop in the rear, I tied leftward to the frame. I looked underneath to the right, but refused to mess with a rope on the exhaust pipe and against the gas tank.

I've always thought I could just ratchet the thing down and do without the ropes. Maybe. 

My new car took not a scratch. Guys would wonder why I drive a Civic, not an SUV or pickup. I don't need an SUV or pickup. It would be nice for stripers and blues on Island Beach, but maybe I'll get an invitation. It would be nice on Ocracoke beaches, too, but I work way too hard for the little money I earn to spend thousands just so I can drive a beach once or twice a year. And when was the last time I was on Ocracoke?

We had to wait out the very slow moving storm. And a second storm behind that one. Went into town for coffee. Jorge caught sunnies from the dock. Cast them out hoping for a bass. I plugged for a few minutes. We talked and talked, and that talk was the best part of the excursion.

And we fished from the squareback for more than three-and-a-half hours. Afterwards, I figured that yesterday, it was a morning bite. Fishing just ahead of the storms would have been interesting, at least, but getting skunked thereafter was, too. I felt flabbergasted. Lush habitat everywhere. You could have sat on one spot and fished that the whole time, expecting to hook-up, because there has to be bass in such water. Not to mention pickerel. 

This is the second time I've fished Aeroflex from a boat, and the first was a slow day under intense sun. We caught only two bass and a pickerel. The bass were good ones, but I felt a little put off by so few, and I chalked it up to high pressure, even though we do a lot better elsewhere under the same sort of conditions.

Yesterday, forget it. Cloudy sky. Water temp 78, Cool air. Sound fishy? I think so. The water temp was four degrees above my comfort zone, but not really bad. The lake was dead. Something took my unweighted Chompers right up against the bank under an overhang, but I couldn't tell if it was a bass. Other than that, no hits from bass or pickerel. I was rattling on about fishing pressure. Aeroflex has a ramp. But if you want to talk about pressured bass, talk about Spruce Run Reservoir or Lake Hopatcong. When I go bass fishing at either, I do well.

Yesterday was the last I see of Jorge for awhile. He's moving to Florida, where I expect he'll find some excellent spots for largemouths, not to mention the shore. For the next four years and some months, I'm tied down to my job, but my wife's plan--since she manages many millions for a large corporation, she does well managing our finances--is for me to spend a couple of years writing, doing photography, and fishing before I actually retire. (Doesn't mean that when I "retire" I will stop doing same.)

Jorge generously invited me down. So four years and some from now, expect a few posts about it.

Flex 

Passaic High

Oliver and I tried the Passaic River yesterday, finding a high flow not very off color. We chucked plugs as we made our way downstream away from the bridge, where the river gets fished less, but came upon flowing water blocking the trail. Neither of us wanted to go in up to our waists and find out how soft the mud underfoot. 

So much for the pike.

It was nice working my plug close to cover. Gave me the feeling, anyhow.

We hit a couple of ponds afterwards. One of them allowed me to fish a Senko under and along overhangs and some pads. 

My line spooked a nice bass and a couple of small ones.

May on Lake Hopatcong

So many years on Lake Hopatcong. Have been coming to Dow's regularly for almost 15 years. When you're young and feel things are getting old, you turn to something else; when you get to my age, there's nowhere to turn! You savor what's left of life and if you've lived well, it's enough. But knock on wood. I'm only 60. It could be interesting to see what I have to say another 15 years from now.

Oliver and I got on the lake at dawn. Heavy cloud cover had just moved in. It would seem promising, but although I never voiced this feeling, it just didn't feel right. Many times I said, as Oliver concurred, that the conditions were right for feeding activity: The clouds had just come. The water was 67 degrees. We were fishing just after daybreak. But he lake was dead.

We trolled my favorite lanes, not a hit. We put Senkos on spots in my favorite little cove, not a take. We trolled my favorite shallow-water cover for pickerel, bass, and crappie, not a hit. But finally, not long before the sun came out, I caught a 13-inch smallmouth on a Senko. Shortly thereafter, I boated another about the same size. And shortly after the sun did come out, we enjoyed our best trolling action: a yellow perch, a largemouth maybe better than 14 inches, and a 17-inch hybrid for me.

Oliver had also caught a hybrid, maybe 15 inches, on a retrieved paddletail. We caught some rock bass on the Senkos, too.

It was a successful day. There have been days when much bigger fish got caught, and days when many more got caught, and in any event, there's a need to make the connection. Once I caught that first smallmouth, I began talking more fluently. It was suddenly a different day. 

And today was a day for the shallows. Oliver suggested jigging deep a few times, and I won't deny it could have worked, judging the amount of fish we marked down there. Another thing we could have done would have been to have lowered live herring to them, but we bought no herring; even though Oliver had asked about that before we departed, I didn't want to mess with them. It's May. The water is warm (rose to 70). And although many times I thought I should be letting Senkos drop into 15-foot depths, and even tried that a few times, I'm waiting a few weeks or so before I start letting unweighted worms drift down below. 

Ironically, the pickerel came from the deepest water, 16 feet. But it seemed closer to dock boards it was underneath than to the bottom.

Oliver and his hybrid.

Oliver remarked that this slide seems custom made.

Big Hybrids