Lake Hopatcong Early June Action

Kevin Murphy was more sure of us succeeding than I. It wasn't that I didn't see his persuasion--that I know the spots and so on--but that in spite of the likelihood we'd do well the first week of June, I allowed doubt to hedge the bet. That's not a bad idea, really, because there's never a guarantee. And until morning wore on, we hadn't done especially well, my having caught only two nice-sized crappies--and a pickerel and small largemouth for Kevin.

We began by trolling my favorite spot for hybrids. I have caught them on the troll this late in the spring and with water temps in the low 70's. Water temps were in the low 70's this morning. Once again, the trolling lanes utterly failed attempts, as they did during May last year. We moved on to a shallow cove and switched out our sinking Rapalas (not Countdowns and I forget the name) for #5 Floaters. Weeds weren't as bad as other times, and the quick response of a 12-inch crappie beat last year's skunker here. We returned to the shallow cover after catching nothing in Byram Bay besides Kevin's one-pound bass on a Senko. We had worked the large acreage pretty thoroughly, both by trolling and casting Senkos. I actually got tired of throwing a Senko and welcomed trolling again. And once we did re-enter the shallow cove--all chopped up by increased wind--the response from the fish was pretty heartening. I caught four more crappies, and Kevin caught one. All seven of our crappies but one of them was 12 or 13 inches long.

From there I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, so I just led us out, trolling along the shoreline, and pretty soon a 14-inch largemouth grabbed my #5 Floater. I gravitated to casting Senkos again, and by now it was nearly noon, after we had got on the lake at 6:00 a.m. Nothing yielded for a while, but I told Kevin I felt in the flow, while he clearly seemed absorbed in the fishing, too. 

We came around a point to a sort of cup where water goes back, and while I understood where to put a Senko--in the relative shallows that pan out there--I felt yes and no. I knew it was a likely spot, and I knew I had fished plenty of likely spots for nothing but the exercise. I saw rocks I hadn't been aware existed there. They intensified my interest like suddenly increased light. I put my Senko just beyond the mish-mash of them and saw the line move off rapidly. I set the hook. Saw I had a nice smallmouth. Sixteen inches or so. 

There was another spot we hit where I had hooked up in the past. Nothing happened there today. But around a bend, shallower water exists where many times I've tried, though not me nor anyone fishing with me has had any action. Part of the reason I welcomed the spot today is because it got us out of the wind. And it wasn't just one spot, but a length of shoreline to explore. Maybe we had fished 15 minutes when it became clear Kevin had a very nice bass on. For all of his certainty that we would catch fish today, he expressed doubt that he could get this bass in. So I coached him best I could; even though that doubt of his was infectious, But I knew he could get this fish.

"Let it run," I said. The drag continued to screech. The fish stopped. "Now work it up."

"I don't think I can get this fish up," Kevin said.

"Just ease it up. I'll get the net under it," I said.

And then when I seemed to have my moment, the bass jumped over the net and dove again. But Kevin did get it back to the surface; I got the net underneath and lifted. 

Twenty inches.  

Hopatcong Largemouths to 20 Inches

 

Tried Dry Flies for Browns

I had intended for months to fish dry flies here in May, so I didn't miss the mark by much. It rained heavily last night, and the water was a little high and a little stained. To me, that felt fishy as if the browns might be feeding. I had arrived late in the morning and the sun never came out until I was done almost an hour-and-a-half later, so even though the morning had lingered awhile, it felt early. Temperature was about 70 and I guess the water might have been in the low 60's. Browns make it through summer here, so it stays pretty cool.

I never got hit, but I never gave in to nymphing, even though that might have made sense after a rainstorm. I felt entranced by the casting, placing my dries where they might be effective, the repeated casting to dry them off, and the hope that something would break surface. That's happened to me here in Jersey before from wild browns, but I admit my successes are few. 

I got to remembering the sunfish I'd also caught on my TFO two-weight, and wondering if I can get some smallmouth action on it over here at the North Branch near home. Pretty soon I'll retire, and since I like to get lost in time, just letting the hours pass as I try to do something--like catch a few smallies on the TFO--I probably will. But my imagination carried me further. I began to think I could get on a jet in Newark and go rent an SUV in Colorado to fly fish spring creeks. Then I suddenly remembered a ranger friend from when I worked at Fiddler's Elbow, who told me about fly fishing native rainbows in Alaska. All I'd have to do is message him and take the info with me on a plane for that destination. And pay the cost. 

So...yeah...but naturally my thoughts turned to more accessible waters. That same ranger despises fly fishing in New Jersey as involving trout "you have to work for." I don't mind a little work. And it's possible that when I have more time, I'll enjoy the casting and find some fish. I am going to be busy at my writing. It's not like you'll read six fishing stories from me each week, but what the hell. I always think of Zane Grey, who wrote more than a hundred books, if memory serves me, and he got out and fished all the time.

 

Nailed Bass 20 Inches and Better

Today was a first for me. Three bass 20 inches and better. Two of them hit that mark and my last bass of the evening was 20 3/4 inches. The first bass I caught was about 18 inches. Brian caught six, several of his nearly 20 inches. They whomp Chatterbaits just as if they intend to kill prey on the spot. Unlike last time on the lake, we caught a lot of the bass out in the open water. Oddly, we caught no pickerel, though twice pickerel followed my Chatterbait to the boat. 

Wind was heavy, so we used an anchor. Otherwise, we did work our way towards the back of the lake, but got about halfway there. I've paddled beyond the island many times, though I've never got all the way into the back, as Brian once told me he's done. Today, we got in between the island and shore where it was calm. We've tried this spot many times, usually getting skunked, although once I caught an 18-incher and another time, my son caught a 25-inch pickerel. 

Today it seemed we'd get skunked, since it was taking a while before anything happened. When I felt weight on the line tied to an unweighted Chomper's worm, I was uncertain at first if it was weeds or a bass, but I set the hook into my second 20-incher. I've spent years perfecting my casting with unweighted worms, and though I was a little rusty today, I still managed to get the worm right on target frequently. It's important to lay it down gently so it sort of slips into the water and right next to submerged brush. You don't want it actually in the stuff so it doesn't sink to bottom, but you can knock wood, so long as that worm does drop on down. It's the same when working weeds, but it's always testy. Many casts result in weeds blocking that passage to the bottom, so a little pull or two might be all you need until you make a better cast that results in the worm dropping slowly all the way down.

Brian soon caught a bass about the same length on a Chatterbait, and then I hooked another big bass on the same worm, the one that nearly measured 21 inches, a very hard-fighting fish. The drag was squealing, but I had forced the fish away from the sticks and branches with some diameter to them. Brian caught yet another bass nearly 20 inches that had peculiar black spots and a very badly damaged caudal fin.

Altogether, we might have fished three hours, catching 10 and losing only a couple, though a few hits were missed. "These bass are especially acrobatic," Brian said. Each one of them leapt at least once, and to see a bass over 20 inches go airborne is something I would've caught on my GoPro, but memory will just have to serve instead.

Maybe there'll be another time when I have the thing on my head and get the camera rolling in time.  

Chatterbait Bass and Pickerel

 

Fair Amount of Trout in the River

Baby Ducks, No Mother

I noticed right off that the river's running a little high and not so clear. I began fishing a little downstream from my favorite position, not as far down as where I caught three last week, since the situation had changed. Got hit on the first cast & the second, hooked up on the third, nice rainbow nearly 12 inches. No more hits, so I figured I caught the one trout. I tried upstream, where I got hit once, and down where nothing happened this week. 

Then I went to another spot around tree trunks separating it from where I just had fished. I caught another. Nothing more happened besides my catching a little rock bass, which reminded me how fun they were when I was very young. I thought of how crowded the river was after stocking yesterday. Had seen the cars parked while riding by. 

Next spot. I saw some trout swim around the drifting egg and got hit once. But when I say "hit," I mean light taps are all I got today. Evidently, I thought, the trout got fed plenty yesterday.

In any event, at my final stop, I saw quite a few trout. This was closest to where I believe they actually stock. At least, it used to be they stocked there and trout swam upstream to where I like best to stand. The trout, except for two that turned on my offering without striking, ignored my eggs.

It was buggy. Looked like small mayflies. Other bugs. But the only fish rising, apparently, were sunnies and rock bass, though these two species, I noticed, were pretty persistent bug snatchers today.

Three at the Zoo

 

Stationed at my favorite Zoo spot & couldn't bring up a bite. Went upstream a bit & detected the subtlest of takes. Egg gone. A few casts later, an obvious take, but no hook set. A few more casts and I was ready to position further downstream. A guy and gal had sat there, casting rigs with tiny BB split shots, getting no hits. 

I soon felt an almost undetectable blip. Egg gone. I was using one-pound test, a tiny size 18 snap, a size 14 hook. Able to cast an egg wherever I wanted it to go. And I found a few trout in a little belly of the current. Identical casts yielded three trout. 

I released each of them. They swam off as if unaffected. Then some guy stopped by to watch me finish my last two casts; we talked variously about fishing for  10 minutes, and I then I went home. 

Afternoon on the Lake: Pickerel, Bass, Crappie, Panfish

A new guest went to the lake with Brian Cronk and I, Joe Santiago. The day began with Brian and I patching a hole in the squareback canoe, then loading my tippy Great Canadian onto my Honda Civic. Joe and Brian would go out in Brian's friend Sam's canoe. In the wind, I would have trouble pointing mine where to go, since the bow lifted and acted like a sail. Brian hollered out for me to relax, and while in the heat of my frustration it seemed futile advice, a better part of me was telling me he's probably right. Of course he was. I got back against the wind OK, but it took some strategy. 

Brian caught the nice pickerel in the photo. Joe caught a lot of crappie and panfish on a jig, a bass, and a nice pickerel. The 10-inch sunfish was an especially nice catch. Brian also caught a bass, a 13 1/2-inch crappie, and a yellow perch on a Chatterbait.

I used a Chatterbait until I was tired of it. It's a big, heavy lure that puts a demand on muscle from the moment you go into the swing of a cast. It caught me a 21-inch pickerel, 18-inch bass, 16-inch bass. But my favorite way to bass fish is wormin'. I switched to an eight-inch Chompers and caught a 19- or 19 1/2-inch bass from under the overhang of a tree. Also lost a crappie of 13 or 14 inches at the side of the canoe. That fish took the big (unweighted) worm a moment after I let it touch down softly next to one of the twigs of brush in maybe five feet of water. That's crappie style.

I had started out by casting the shoreline, and all of my fish came from within four or five yards of the bank. I did miss a terrific hit well out from shore but over a flat only a couple of feet deep. I also lost a very nice fish a few yards from shore while fishing the Chatterbait.

We were out there not four hours. Brian had said we'd fish only a couple. The tippy canoe has never capsized. Knock wood for me.

 

East Fork San Gabriel River Rainbow Trout

Word online is that the West Fork San Gabriel River has the trout, but after recent fires, access is closed. We saw that trout do get caught on the East Fork and began making plans. 

We stayed in San Clemente, about a half hour south of where our son, Matt, lives in Costa Mesa. The San Gabriel Mountains are fairly close to Los Angeles, part of the Angeles National Forest. Trish picked up on our uncertainty about going there, and after doing some searching on her phone, came up with Davy's Locker charter for only $70.00 apiece, along with six other clients. Yellowtail, sheepshead, other species. But we had paid extra to check as baggage a rod case holding fly rods. I wasn't going to sell out on my original intention.

Good thing. The mountains are big, beautiful, and bountiful when it comes to trout. Matt cast first, when we felt astonished to see his indicator float jerk forward, unmistakably a hit. He used his nine-foot five weight, which would prove effective. I used my six-foot two weight. We had beadhead pheasant tails and hare's ears, but I also had a couple of size 16 Surveyors with red tails and silver heads. I felt drawn to trying them instead. New Jersey fly angler Jesse Sullivan gave me a whole slew of Surveyors and Red Darts a few years ago. Flies he tied himself. I felt privileged to try a couple on the West Coast.

Temperatures might have hit 70. The water was chilly but not bone cold. Matt had waders but was short on wading boots, so he stuffed his boot feet neoprene into hiking boots. A fit too tight. He ended up wet-wading and never seemed to mind the chill. 

All of our trout were small. Either wild or native rainbows, most of them were about five inches long, the biggest seven inches, though a nine-incher did follow after one of the small ones I hooked. We caught 10 of them while taking our time. I did a lot of photography, besides. Trish relaxed, reading a novel. Matt noticed a couple of splash rises and tied on a dry fly, catching a couple and missing other hits. He sought me out  to say so, and so I tied on a parachute Adams, size 14, and began getting hit repeatedly. I missed more than 20 and never hooked one of the fish.  

There are opportunities in California for big trout, particularly east of the Sierras, though we weren't up for nine hours or more of driving at the risk of traveling snow-covered roads, perhaps. The little ones continued to astonish us with their eagerness. Pretty fish to see as we quickly released them from barbless hooks to shimmy back out of sight. The water is as clear as any swimming pool, but you don't see any trout until they flash at what they're offered.

 

Wild and Native