Back Recovering and About Bedminster Pond

I'm out of the hospital, but the back pain is lingering yet, and I don't know when I'll fish again. I've been in very frequent communication with Brian Cronk, and my good friend Noel Sell phoned me to talk about his chiropractor...and of course, fishing. 

The conversation somehow landed on Bedminster Pond's lack of access now, which a cop Noel had spoken to told him is permanent. Although it is possible to walk in from River Road Park, it's a long walk when the sun has gone down and every minute at the pond matters during the Magic Hour. But I told Noel I don't think that pond is productive any longer. The photo above is of the sole 18-incher I've caught there, that on March 31, 2018, as the link below reveals. On that day I also caught a bunch of little ones not quite nine inches, and one about 10 1/2 inches. Since then, the largest I've caught was about eight inches. 

The Bernardsville News published an article a couple of years back about an ecological study done on the pond, which reports that it's headed downhill. It's shallow. By late May it's covered in algae. That goop accumulates each year and affects the pond's health negatively. I fished that pond a lot since 2018. Every March and maybe some in April except this year. It might not be a total loss but it might be that soon.

I shot some photos from the western shore up near the north end last I had parked at the gravel lot no longer there. Nice images of white-barked trees and their reflections on perfectly still water. I felt then as I often do. Called over to the scene to have a look and maybe engage it with my camera, when it would have been convenient to just get in my car and leave. I didn't know the taking of the photos was to be my parting gift to Bedminster Pond, but I very distinctly remember taking those images. 

The sun had set. The trees are all the way up near the northwest corner. Even if I were to fish the pond again, to get to River Road Park before it would get too dark...means it's not likely I'd ever again have a chance at photos like these last I got.  

Bedminster Bass

Bad Back and Cancellations?

Mark Licht fishing last July.

 

I'm lying on my back with a big pillow propping my shoulders and head as I write now, that lower back in pain with a slipped disc. Lying this way takes pressure off it and it hurts only very, very little as I do online stuff, but my friend Mark Licht, who I really hope to fish with on Friday, tells me walking helps, so I've been doing some around the house and outside a little to feel that luscious heat. I had the same idea. 

It seemed to me before I spoke to Mark that walking helps get it back to normal, but in any event, it's taking a long time. I went to work Monday morning and punched out 39 minutes later. There was just no way, and I was so frustrated I felt embarrassed. We need all hands on deck for the 4th of July holiday, and I knew the likelihood of my not being there. 

Started taking a steroid and a pain killer within two hours of getting home Monday, but I truly believed I would be back at work today. True belief is often akin to delusion. And as I get up to walk, the pain is such that I doubt I'll be OK tomorrow.

And we have plans, Oliver Round and I, to fish pike on the Passaic after I'm done work tomorrow afternoon. Two friends I haven't fished with in about a year!

Fish Presaged a Tough Outing

We trolled the edge of the flat and some of the sweep, then turned left towards Face Rock. I cut the electric motor when we got close. On the second retrieve of my jig and Z-Man paddletail, a dark form came from behind. I saw it was a pickerel of about 20 inches, which directly engulfed the jig a half second later. I set the hook, the fish thrashed powerfully, cutting the line. 

So I connected 15-pound Power Pro to my four-pound test, by way of barrel swivel.

Brian cast a lipless crankbait and soon another pickerel hit that. I measured it for him. Twenty-two inches. A chunky fish that must have weighed nearly three pounds. 

We trolled and cast. When I saw that first pickerel, I felt chances were I'd never see another. One of those easy starts--except that I lost the fish!--that somehow presage a tough day.

And it was. I'm tired tonight and felt tired on the lake. I could hardly focus at the end of the outing. But Brian did little better, catching a couple of little smallmouths besides. I got a 15-incher on a Baby Torpedo. Great surface smash. Besides that bass, a little one no bigger than Brian's bigger of those two little ones I photographed. That second bass of mine came on the jig.

Not a single largemouth from the reservoir yet this year.

 

Aeroflex Produces this Time

I just wanted some fish, since last I fished Aeroflex I got skunked along with Jorge Hildago. Two years ago, June. 

Brenden and I fished under intense sunlight yesterday. I had expected clouds. There were some, and probably some smoke from Canada as yet, but the light was intense and caused sunburn. We worked all the way into the back of the lake, when, after I caught my second pickerel of about 19 inches, the canoe appeared to be taking on water.

I checked the Flex Seal on the interior bottom. On the left runner, which is a channel depression on the inside, I found the Flex Seal is loose. Later, when I set up to pour a new application after we fished, I found the Flex Seal applied to the exterior runner is decimated. 

The canoe wasn't sinking. I was sure we had plenty of time to fish on up towards the ramp, where if things did get dicey, we could just head in at top speed. Halfway there, I pulled aside at what looked like a woody spot. Brenden got tangled and let line out that got caught in the prop. So I raised the electric and we paddled ashore, while I was sure I had a monkey wrench in my tackle bag. 

It would have been simple. Water is nice and shallow there where we landed. All I'd have to do is take the prop off, remove the line, and pop the prop back on. I take the prop off at home after every outing just to be sure. It was simple to get the line out last night. Running with line inside the prop is what burned out my previous Minn-Kota. 

We paddled against the wind three fourths of a mile or so to the ramp, which felt pleasant. I like paddling. The feel of moving under your own power is gratifying. But we missed out on the evening bite.

Given our catch of eight fish under intense sunlight, I'd say we didn't do badly. Brenden caught a bass of about 13 inches, pickerel about 19, a little bass, and a trout of about nine inches. My catch included two small bass in addition to the two pickerel. All of our fish came on paddle-tail jigs, little ones, the paddle-tails two-and-a-half inches long. 

The weedlines situate along shorelines dropping off very quickly, and I tried a three-sixteenths or quarter-ounce jig a long while, getting down in the 20-plus feet of water easily, but it didn't feel right and I don't recall ever getting hit. I also gave a Senko on my big Speed Stick a good try--not a hit--and I cast a Tiny Torpedo over weedy shallows a few times, nothing. I did miss a lot of hits on jig heads of an eighth ounce or less. Caught all my fish on them, too. One pickerel nipped the jig off the bottom along the weed edge as I barely twitched it. Another overtook it tentatively as I retrieved slowly along the weed edge. Little bass took it swiftly on the drop, the other as I retrieved over relatively shallow weeds. 

Ease isn't necessarily the ticket in.  

 

Aeroflex 2021

Forgot to Switch Out Washer/Drag Clicker

I had to exchange my reel's spool. From the Power Pro braid I use on the lake and reservoir, to a secondary spool of six-pound-test monofilament I use on the river. At that river, I found I had failed to reposition the washer/drag clicker. I came home and found it stuck to the bottom of the other spool, as I expected to find. At least that much went well. The reel works dandy now, and I'm ready to hit the river next opportunity I get.  

Even though I didn't fish, it was good being out. Weird day at that. Smells like a forest fire. And by what I gathered a 6.7-million-acre wildfire rages in Quebec. Even the rather nearby trees in the river photo below are obscured a little by the smoke.  

 

Bed Bucks and Some

I made a point of going back over the sloping flat where we did well in September last year. Trolling. I did get a bump on my Hot 'n Tot, but judging by the perch that Brian later caught on a big Zara Spook topwater, that's all the fish might have been. We decided to head down lake to a spot we discovered last time on the reservoir, trolling the long way, catching nothing.

We came upon a stretch of shoreline indented a little, shadowy too, and I stopped the boat, reaching for my ultralight with an eighth-ounce jig and white twister. Second or third cast, I hooked up, not very surprised. That's the bass in the photo above, caught on four-pound test Stren. I caught a sunfish and then another smallmouth further along the way just a little, feeling in high spirits, expecting a lot of action. But not only did the shoreline no longer offer some rather shallow boulders and rock--no bass were there on steep drops. 

We cut across Clinton Reservoir at top speed. My new Endura Max 55 seems to push a boat faster than my Endura 55 5-Speed did. In any case, Brian's 12 foot V-hull really moved, putting out a nice wake. 

Jigging a shoreline, getting some taps and apparent takes, resulted in hooking nothing. We came to the shallow flat I was thinking about. The jigs didn't work but the surface was calm. The sun was on the water behind us; the flat extended some 25 yards under shade. My Baby Torpedo topwater produced the bass photographed in hand. I caught another very small bass and missed too many hits, becoming convinced the bass were knocking the plug, rather than engulfing it. Expected behavior from bed bucks. 

Brian was spooking every fish within three square miles by slashing the surface while walking a nevertheless very well behaved dog with his big Zara Spook. He was able to cast three miles. He threw a beautiful curve that landed the spook under a distant tree. He moved the plug once. It got pounded. The next bass in the photo series, about 17 inches long. 

Meanwhile, a bass kept swooshing water along the bank further back where we had tried earlier. Brian described it as vacuum sucks. I made sure to backtrack and get my Torpedo near that bass. It blew up on the plug. There was a lot of water in the air, but I set the hook into absolutely no resistance, so I guess the bass was just playing, as if it knocked another bluegill away from its brood. 

I believe Brian's 17-incher is a big male. 

We rarely target any bass on the beds, but who can resist the opportunity when it seems the only one in town? Later on, Brian did catch another bass--nearly 16 inches long--on a surface wake plug out over six feet of water a hundred yards or so from shore. I caught a little perch on that big Hot 'n Tot, certainly evidence that the knock I felt earlier was no more than another one.

We ended the evening throwing topwaters for pickerel. I missed one hit entirely, felt the pull of the second hit I missed, and set the hooks into the third pickerel, but it got off almost as quickly as it got hooked. All three of these fish were in visible cover, shallow. They just required my getting the plug right next to that cover. Brian hooked a pretty nice one on the Spook, and he had the fish on and fighting before it leapt and threw the heavy plug.    

Yellow perch are aggressive gamefish directly related to walleye. They will hit plugs nearly as big as they are.

 

Trying to Balance in Favor of More

 

Woke up at 4:15 a.m. Had to take a wicked piss, and after I flushed the toilet, heard the loud sound of water running down the pipe say, "This is not a good idea!"

Now that's a wicked piss. 

Surprised at the pre-dawn sensitivity of my perception (weird things happen just before sunup), I wrote the words down for future reference, quoting them. And then I drove off for Lake Hopatcong, in total defiance of the Accuser. After all, what am I but the accused, if I were doing something not a good idea?

It did turn out to be a Day of Judgement. With a start like that, I guess so. You might think most anyone else would freak out and phone a psychiatrist! Well, as soon as the office were open. Isn't it funny how assumed emergencies are mitigated by routine. That's because their nature is indeed nearer to routine, than that of the terror of a teenager while watching The Exorcist. 

I was on the road, headed north in the darkness of Interstate 287. I got to Dow's a few minutes before Kevin said he'd get there. I waited awhile before getting out and reading a posting about tagged trout. Before I would finish reading, Joe Welsh came into view, walking a dog, greeting me, and Laurie Murphy followed behind. She and I began talking, while I began to feel as if Kevin wouldn't show, and I told her he and I would choose another day to come. But his white sedan came onto the scene before Laurie and I finished talking. 

My favorite trolling lane produced only a bump. Probably a trout, but it could have been a hybrid striper, although usually they bump, bump again, and then slam. Afterwards, our favorite cove offered us no more than a couple of hits and a small fish on my line that got off. Probably a crappie about nine inches long. 

Finished trolling little plugs for awhile, we cast white twister jigs, and finally had some real action. I had a fish on before the line broke. Take my advice if you're using light test. (I used an ultralight and four-pound test.) After you free rock snags a few times--retie. The knot obviously seems strong, as you had exerted pressure against those snags. But knots often weaken. Kevin and I both saw the smallmouth bass in mid-air after it broke off. The white jig clearly visible on its mouth. Bass about 14 inches.

Temperatures were chilly. Initially, I thought the water temp good at 62, 61, but it's not really warmed up into the optimal range of warmwater species. I felt it no surprise I had hooked a smallmouth, not largemouth, as smallmouth prefer cooler temps. Kevin was telling me that once the air warmed and we took our coats off, the fish would hit. Like last year, when the fishing improved later in the morning. As I remember from this morning, we cast persistently, avoiding further trolling until the temperature rose somewhat, but Kevin caught a tagged brown trout a moment after I got bumped by something, possibly the same trout. Later in the morning, Kevin would hook what looked like another brown, though I suppose it could have been a rainbow that went airborne, throwing the hook. 

Finally, I got fed up with the whole range we fished. (Basically, an entire bay of the lake.) I wanted to move us back down lake and hope for the best (after more than five hours skunked), and I feared that I would come away from Lake Hopatcong with no fish to my credit for the first time besides when ice fishing and once late in November. 

Lake Hopatcong is loaded with opportunity. The shoreline weaves and dips, allowing for shadows among rock and weedy habitat. If it all seems unproductive, try and allow its nature to change your mind. At least, that's what I did. After I caught my first smallmouth of 14 inches or so, Kevin said, "That's what you said you'd do." And I immediately recalled that I had said I'd catch no trout or hybrid, but a bass. Said that only some minutes before. It seemed entirely self-evident to me the lake had warranted my statement.

Kevin missed hits. He used a Senko, too, and one of the white jigs. I thought my big smallmouth on a Senko was a 20-inch largemouth. That's what it looked and felt like, until I got it near the boat, when I thought it was the biggest smallmouth of my life. No. It was really only 18 1/2 inches, but a really good bass at that. Hooked it in a boat lane with dock-work on either side. 

Going in, I told Kevin that I'm not one of those guys who need to catch a whole lot of fish every time out. Ego is insatiable. And I really don't mean to downplay ego by saying so. Think of how life would suck if you didn't want anything. Ego makes it all worthwhile--if the cards are played well. I told Kevin that catching fish makes the difference, though. I told him I felt satisfied, and he told he felt satisfied, too. The difference between that and feeling empty is that we caught fish. 

Think about it, and it's a pretty big difference when you consider the investment of a full day. 

Some other guy out there caught nearly 20 fish. I was shocked when he told us that. When he said, "They were all small," I felt relief! But I don't have to be Top Gun. I thought the recent movie sucked anyway, hardly paid attention as I worked on my laptop. I like coming in first, but when it comes to fishing, there are always going to be guys out there somewhere in the state better at it than I am. Maybe not on the scene we share. Who knows, maybe not on the entire scene "throughout the Great Garden State" as they say about temperature on Jersey Radio when the music comes out to play. But that's a lie, and how do you break down success, anyway? Who chooses what segments? Anyhow, when it comes to writing about fishing, I might do better. 

And that's why today was a Day of Judgement. Because coming home on the Interstates, the satisfaction I had enjoyed had faded, and in its place a harsh realism seemed to rule. Am I really going to buy a boat and keep it in a slip? That question posed against how tired I felt. And I'm going to do the likes of this every week? Drive the long route home while I struggle to stay awake?

The most dedicated anglers willingly accept such suffering. I listened to NJ Multispecies Podcast recently, when that very issue got discussed. The willingness to suffer, and it's true. I can vouch for the fact, however, that as a younger man, doing so was much easier. When I was 15, I once pedaled my 10-speed before dawn 10 miles while suffering a very nasty hangover. At least once, I braked so I could cleanly vomit. I fished five or six hours, pedaling home restored. Who the hell does the like but a fisherman? 

But beyond the age of 60, you lose some of that sort of willingness. Perhaps. Or at least I do. Some of it. You do have to balance with the fact that retirement as a couch potato is a waste of time. 

When I did get home, carrying the 70-pound marine battery upstairs felt like hell, when it was easy to do this morning carrying it downstairs. Amidst all the stress, I realized some jobs are many times more physically difficult to do than my supermarket job. And yet, I was kind to myself. Here's how Judgement fell: After I retire, nothing requires me to make up my mind right away. I can wait a whole year, if that pleases me. I can let things tell me if I want to do it or not. 

One thing I do know. I don't want to be anyone's sucker. If I feel slip prices are unreasonable, I'm not buying. 

I haven't put all my stuff away yet. I felt driven to go up and catch a nap. That ended up lasting three hours, even though I slept eight hours last night. I wanted to blot out my doubt, but of course it was there waiting for me when I woke. But as I postprocessed photos, the day settled into a calm, positive acceptance. It had its rough edges. It has its persistent question. It won't be easy to decide, but today was a good enough day to help weigh the balance in favor of more.  

Best smallmouth I've caught at Hopatcong so far, 18 1/2 inches.

Other Docks in May