We were in town long before departure time, so we located a bait and tackle shop, where Brian bought his fishing license, and where we asked about where we might try for smallmouth bass. We ended up at Port Bay, where I quickly placed a Mepp's Aglia along an inside weed edge, hooking and catching a 10 1/2-inch largemouth. A little later, I caught what might be a variant of warmouth. (A sunfish with large mouth and less circular body profile.) I once caught the same species or subspecies ice fishing a pond in Bedminster about eight years ago, and on another occasion while fishing salmon eggs on Wickecheokee Creek in Hunterdon County. I also fished a rocky but mud-stirred shoreline with the spinner, no hits, but further back in the bay, Brian took a heavy strike on a Zara Spook.
We began trolling over 500-foot depths, Tyler, the mate, switching out spoons, adjusting the depth at which downriggers set them, as well as adjusting the depth at which Dipsey Divers presented spoons. At least some of the presentations included large attractor devices about 15 inches long and four inches wide, set two yards or so up the line from the spoons. I asked Tyler what pound test leader. Twenty. And he said the point is to call the fish in from a distance, not finesse them as if they're leader shy. I couldn't imagine fighting a big king on much less.
At the center of the stern, an electronic device allows Tyler, Scott, and clients to view any arriving fish from several hundred feet down up to the surface. Since the downrigger weights are the size of sizeable fish and must weight about 12 pounds, they show up as little semi-circular illuminations, steadily occupying the screen. My gaze was fixed on that screen for an hour or more. On several occasions, fish appeared on it as little illuminations moving up and across, and a number of times the dot would merge into the dot of a downrigger, meaning the fish was right at the lure. Tyler watched, too, of course, and that's why he switched-out spoons.
Finally, salmon did hit. Brian, first on deck, caught the one photographed above, about 25 pounds, a really good fish. (I asked Scott what's the biggest he's boated--36.8.) I caught one about 13 pounds and a two-year-old fish about 10 pounds. (I'm not clear on whether the first was also a two-year-old king.) Brian's second fish might have weighed 22.
The struggle requires a lot of rod-pumping. You never want to allow slack. Both of my salmon used drag, but runs aren't long and smoking. Brian hooked a fifth salmon, and he could not move that fish. I watched. He had got the 25-pounder moving his way in no time, but how big this fifth fish--no one ever quite knew that, because eventually the hook pulled free.
I viewed the dashboard graph and noticed at one point that we fished over 735 feet of water. We did eventually find some baitballs--clouds of forage--and in general the whole experience between the four of us deepened as light began to get low. I felt very much impressed by Scott and Tyler. Tyler's knowledge of fishing is inexhaustible. He guides on the Salmon River, too, and if I'm not mistaken, leads clients on ice fishing adventures. The perch fishing is some of the best on the planet, and Tyler also spoke of 15-pound walleye and big northern pike. Scott I had known years ago when we both served on the board of Round Valley Trout Association, but yesterday I knew him in his element. He spoke of having to travel 60 miles in the ocean to reach such depths. He also plays music as the fishing unfolds. He asked me if I'm into music. I told him I am, which is true, though I prefer classical, and sometimes rock just seems overplayed. But once we got into those salmon--it didn't seem overplayed. I think every life is posed a question. It isn't as simple as being home. Or perhaps it's posed many questions. One that confronts me is how do I reconcile my so-called cultural and intellectual values with the gritty down-to-earth quality of my fishing? Well, you read my blog. You know there's a mind behind it. But not only did Scott nail the issue on the nose--from out of the blue somewhere--when he asked me for my opinion about the Doors. His playing music fused fishing with rock culture.
But about Scott and the Doors. (I forget which song, but one of the Doors' played as we entered the inlet at Sodus Point.) "Jim Morrison was really far out," Scott said. It's a criticism I share to some degree, because Morrison didn't necessarily have his distance under control. (Anyone might laugh at that as an understatement.) Morrison was out of control, but no one else I've read has put it better than Morrison himself did: "If you can't control your mind, someone else will." So it's evident that Morrison himself didn't feel out of control.
We docked in deep dusk. Brian and I reached his truck parked conveniently in the municipal lot. In the dark. We bought ice at the Sunoco nearby, then we hit the road, stopping soon at a McDonalds. Sometimes a Big Mac hits the spot.
Is it a variant of warmouth?
Lake Ontario shoreline
Brian's Zara Spook got hit to the right of the culvert. I fished on the other side of the street, but I clearly heard the water heave when whatever it was struck.
Maybe about 22 pounds.
My first was about 13 pounds.
Sun sets on a fluid horizon like the Pacific Ocean.
Tyler cleans salmon.
Scott and Brian
