Long Branch Stripers Vacate for Evening

A full day, and I'll awaken later this morning in an awful state of longing for the day I make enough money on my writing to sleep in at will, but I have to tell you, when I wake up early to fish, I never feel the despair I have to walk myself through before and as I leave for my job. I'm not just saying that; it's true in fact.

Round Valley Pond resulted in two bass, the first eight inches, the second 11, both on that Chompers model. Lost another 11-incher right at the bank, missed a hit, and had one drop that didn't feel like a sunny pecking at the pecker. For so much sun on the water, I felt satisfied, a little proud of the bass for getting out in it. Blazing hot, 92 degrees registered on the way there.

This about does it for Round Valley, since the Rangers Cove area will be closed Memorial Day until the fall to shoreline anglers who don't want to pay a fee. 

I missed the 40 and 50-pounders at Long Branch by a couple hours, busting the bunker again today. I was ready with snag trebles for the bunker, pencil popper, and bottle popper to boot (but not break). I put out fresh clam and bunker. No action at all on the clam, the stripers really took off. Low tide, but no sand bar at Long Branch. 

So what's the difference? I don't know if there is a difference, I wondered about it--obviously a difference exists with sand bars. At those magic moments of gathering dusk I put my hopes down. What's the use of excess desire when you know chances are you're skunked, as far as stripers are concerned? The ignorant are full of hope and prayers. 

But the bunker had at least drawn interest from sharks. I'm not sure what they are. That stripe reminds me of cobia. I got a good look into the mouth and saw no teeth. I checked out the dorsal--spiny. So are these spiny dogfish as I suppose? If anyone knows, please comment (it's lonely writing this blog!). I caught three from about three feet to 42 inches. That largest put up a good fight.

Quabbin Reservoir Memories

Quabbin Reservoir in Central Massachusetts is massive at 25,000 acres compared to those reservoirs we fish in New Jersey. I fished it a number of times in 1985 while a student at Hampshire College. The water had Round Valley clarity, full of smallmouth and trout, some Atlantic salmon, as well as enormous largemouths. I have no photos to testify to the fish we caught, but memories remain clear as day.

Most of the fishing I engaged during my fall semester. I had schooled previously at Lynchburg College, and St. John's College, transferring credits along the way, working at my writing. After that fall semester, a completion of two semesters total, I quit and moved back to Long Beach Island to continue my small business as a shellfisherman (and write!).

First I tried the reservoir alone. Skunked once, I tried another shore area, stacked with jagged boulders. Amazed at numerous smallmouth I saw among rocks in crystal clear water, I snapped on a diving crankbait and proceded to catch one right after another. A couple of these I took back to my "mod," a type of campus housing unit, to cook, supplementing my ruined budget. I also tried below the dam my fly rod where the Swift River resumes. Although I saw a trout that looked like a laker, at least eight pounds, and many smaller; none of them would hit.

The real breakthrough came when my Social Science Professor invited me along. He knew a point that drops off sharply where he told me he catches at least one largemouth over seven pounds every fall. On our first outing, we went as a fairly large group, which included a writing instructor by the name of Will Ryan. Ryan has gone on to write two excellent books on fishing, both of which I have read and deeply enjoyed. Northern Pike: A Complete Guide to Pike and Pike Fishing, and Smallmouth Strategies for the Fly Rod are books with authentic personal flavor, and determined, careful research. Reading like this shouldn't be missed. To be out on the water is what we do. But to ignore print is to be all too close to the creatures we pursue.

That first outing, I have to confess, all that got caught was a foot long salmon, a surprise, but besides this, nothing's coming to grip was the sort of dissappointment we anglers are used to. But Stan Warner, my Professor, never wavered. And he seemed absolutely unmoved by our lack of success. We went back out the next Saturday, just he and I. Stan's method was simple. This was November in Massachusetts. Shiners eight feet under bobbers would attract any bass that came up. I fished deep diving crankbaits slowly, but kept a bobber out. It must have been at least two hours, maybe three. Stan's bobber went down, and we observed it as it lowered down and down into that clear water. He set the hook and engaged in long struggle. I'll never forget the bass as it came into our view and ran left, then turned and ran right, along the inside edge of the point. Huge.

We weighed it at a bait shop. I had already measured it at 24 inches. True to his word, Stan had caught a largemouth over seven pounds--seven pounds, four ounces. To this day, the largest I have seen caught.

Round Valley Reservoir--Wasn't Skunked!

So long as you count an eight inch rock bass.

With this year's persistent quest to catch a truly large bass, I want a bass over five pounds, Round Valley is a great place to try, although results obviously have not been so easy as they have been at Mount Hope Pond--but the single largemouth I've caught in the reservoir this year was bigger than all the others.

You really need a boat. I remember, aged 17, when I owned a 12 foot Starcraft and 1955 Evinrude 10 hsp outboard (and Minn-Kota electric), my youngest brother and I camped on some far Round Valley Reservoir Shore to catch early June largemouth all day, all over the reservoir. Simply a matter of stalking them down with that crystal clear water. Then, from a distance of ten yards or so, we tossed plastic worms to let them sink right down in front of two to three pound bass we spotted--plus one that weighed at least five pounds, and didn't hit. Glorious two days I'll never forget, although I hope to replace the boat.

Not that shore fishing is all bad, no way. The hike itself around the cove near the scuba area invigorated me in the 84 degree warmth. And you can't argue with the bass I caught Friday. Besides, a lot of sun raked those gin clear bottoms I let my Senco sink to today--then a thin, light plastic worm with a split shot after I lost the last of my Sencos to rocks or whatever--one of them I thought might have been cut off by a pickerel.

I began by that dock near the campers' launch. Having conversation with a fellow angler, I had a bass take my Senco within 10 minutes, a little way down near the edge of a protruding shelf of shallows. Having missed the hit, my partner tossed his blue/purple Senco to the same area, had a take, and pulled in a 10 inch bass.

"There he is," he said. I forget exactly what he called a small bass, but he noted that they're aggressive.

The quest continues--over five pounds, easier by boat for sure. And by the way, if any of you think of any comments to add, feel free to do so, and I'll surely answer you. 

Overlooked Knot Checking and Largemouth Bass

Today I fished the entire shoreline along Mt. Hope Road in an hour's time, catching bass, and some nice ones, as I went. The first measured 16 inches, the second 15 inches, I caught a couple under a foot, and another measured slightly under 17 inches. I'm afraid I'll miss those Chompers worms when my bag is empty. I love garlic, too. When I open the bag, I smell the garlic strongly within a second or so. I just can't motivate myself to make another online purchase; I think I'll switch to Culprit twsiter tails. 

On that subject, motivation, I'm not compulsive about checking my knots, except when I tie them. But a knot can go bad. I know this was the case today--twice--because I had caught bass and had set the hook hard on the same knots, then had them pop on good fish. I felt the weight of both. 

That's not a good record for an hour's time, but I prefer to blow it off rather than make myself keep checking my knots. But who knows? After today, I may find I want to check my knots frequently. 

Anyhow, events work in a constant flow--would I have caught the three bass after a bass broke a knot? Perhaps even more, maybe not. It may be statistically provable that over time, if you lose bass to bad knots, you will have caught fewer than had you good knots. Makes sense, obviously. But when the second knot popped, I tied on another Chompers quick as can be, and pitched it right back where I had lost the bass. Sure enough, line moved off. 

That turned out to be the near 17-incher, and I wondered if that bass would have felt so cavalier as to have stayed in place after having a hook popped on its jaw--to take another, besides. I looked for my lost worm first thing. If the bass broke it off, it also shook.

Do Bass Strike Skirtless Spinnerbaits?

Of course! Because bass bust anything they can (somewhat selectively) suck into their maw--which ultimately is anything with animal protein that will fit, although anglers do make a difference by what they present to these marauders, based on fishing conditions. A mouse is a mouse and the same nutritional value in summer or winter. But a suitable sized bass will devour it swimming on the surface during summer--and will not even sense it swimming the surface during winter (supposing that a mouse is released to swim from a boat to shore). 

As I usually do fishing my neighborhood pond, I took one lure and went with that. But tonight the skirt came off the little 1/8th-ounce spinnerbait my second cast, and a few casts later I had trouble with a short striking bass. That's when I second guessed myself and wished I had taken along that Senko.

But I walked on a few steps and hooked a smallish bass of about 11 inches. Then another came to my thumb just over a pound, two bass smaller than I'm used to here. But I only came out for a 20-minute spree before dark. This little pond is certainly quaint, but not nearly so exciting as the larger waters I've recently fished. I ended up catching four more bass, six total, two of them close to a pound-and-a half, but all spawned out, the other two over a pound by as many as three or four ounces. Most threw up a nice wake and took the little spinnerbait whole as it made a much smaller wake on the surface. Sure, bass will hit spinnerbaits without a skirt, and certainly a spinnerbait with a plastic bait in place of a skirt. Perhaps at a place like Manasquan Reservoir where all sorts of skirted spinnerbaits churn past bass that deny them, a skirtless spinnerbait would be an advantage.

Will Cormorants Kill Lake Musconetcong?

Sometime early last summer the Lake Musconetcong Planning Board approved the release of a very high dose of weed killer to the lake. My son and I had never been skunked on Lake Musconetcong for five years of frequent visits, but once the previously clear water turned turbid with decaying vegetation, and we got out to fish, I got one hit from a small bass, and the next time out a month later we got no hits at all. The water remained turbid. I also noticed a sudden increase of cormorants, diving birds that eat loads of fish every day. I had noticed just a few of these birds back in the good old days when aquatic vegetation was so thick they could not travel under water as they can now. Now dozens of cormorants are present and presumably consuming loads of bass and pickerel. The photo I took of a congregation only displays about a third of these birds.

For now anyway, the fishing's good. It's as if last summer the fish were in shock and have since adjusted. The water is clearer, but still not nearly so clear as it used to be. Steve Slota caught a 23 1/2- inch pickerel soon after we got on the water. He fished a shallow running crankbait, trolled as I rowed. The fish certainly weighed over three pounds, perhaps three and a half. I caught a 19-inch or so pickerel soon afterwards on a heavy spinnerbait designed for a quick retrieve. For awhile nothing happened but a pickerel attacking the same spinnerbait at boatside. I switched to a lighter, chartreuse spinnerbait and caught two more, about 17 inches and 19 inches and grew tired of casting the spinnerbait. 

Although I focused especially on pad fields--all of the fish we caught were associated with pads--the casting became all too random. I like each cast to really mean it, so I switched to a Senko, Wacky style. To my surprise, a hit came within minutes, next to pads. Another hit left me without my Senko. Apparently, when I set the hook, a big pickerel's teeth just ripped the worm right out of the O ring I use to keep it on the hook. Not long later I caught an 11-inch or so bass. I also experienced a great attack from a large pickerel as I retrieved the worm in--I often twitch a few times after initial drop then quickly start over. 

The pickerel didn't actually take the worm, and I became certain topwaters would work as sun had set. Steve switched to a Rebel Pop-R. He missed a couple of hits, so I put a Baby Torpedo on my second rod. Finishing one of his retrieves, a giant swirl erupted boatside. Rudely, I grabbed my other rod--by then fishing the Torpedo--and dropped my Senko over the side. I saw the pike-sized pickerel take it, and set the hook just hoping the fish had the point in position. Good thing I used the 15-pound fluorocarbon, which had deep nicks after Steve netted the 23-inch pickerel, over three pounds. 

But the best thrill of the evening by far was the bass Steve never got to the boat. It happens this way sometimes. Fishing is definitely not all about catching, and to insist that it is would be to deny the value of so much that happens besides actually boating or landing fish. It struck his Pop-R, and I immediately reached for the net, knowing this was a good fish. When it came fully two feet out of the water, I saw the gaping mouth and automatically registered: 18 inches. I don't think it was any fewer. Bass twice the weight of an 18-incher exist in Musconetcong, but they are very rare. For some reason, my son and I catch 23 and 23 1/2-inch pickerel all the time, but have caught only one 18-inch largemouth. Fifteen-inch largemouth are average, and we've caught plenty in the 16-inch range, a few over 17. But as yet we just haven't boated a real lunker, although a five or six-pounder once leapt over my son's topwater without taking it. For that matter, we wonder why we haven't caught a pickerel better than 24 1/4 inches.

Cormorants

Round Valley Reservoir Responds: 18 1/2 Inch Largemouth, Great Weather

Taking that tip from the fishermen at Manny Luftglass'es demonstration a few days ago, I decided to fish the reservoir today--if rain wasn't too heavy. Approaching the recreation area east to west on Route 22, rain came down in sheets, but I knew showers fell locally all day. Sure enough, I soon saw breaks in the clouds. Rain tapered off, and before I made the turn to access the launch area and Ranger Cove, dry pavement passed under my tires.

As I made my way down the far shoreline--the reservoir is down five or six feet--light rain punctuated calm surface, not enough wetness to have to wear raingear. I fished a five-inch Senko, rigged Wacky because the heavy plastic casts a mile and sinks fast. Fishing in ten feet or so of water, the faster sink rate at least meant that I could cover more water. And especially with a low pressure system, I imagine bass would be more easily provoked.

If they were there. I fished a couple or three hundred yards of shoreline without a hit, turned and quickly made my way back, dismayed. All I had seen of life hugged very close to the shore edge--a pod of smaller alewives--but they didn't seem to be evading anything imminently present at all. I fished that small point that drops off very fast, especially to the sides with a pocket effect. But towards the corner my senses picked up.

I am a firm believer in intuition because it works for me. But by telling you, you can only relate or not. Because intuition is an inner experience--I think everyone has it sometimes, but most don't trust it because of the subtle mystery, not plain, graspable fact of the outward senses. 

As I approached the corner where the basalt boulders meet the sand shoreline across the dike, I felt my sense of possibility elevate. And rather than make a long cast directly into the corner, I simply pitched the worm about 10 feet right out in front, having observed how the depth drops sharply. Sure enough, line moved off swiftly. I tightened up, set the hook, and fought a very good-size bass stripping drag twice, strong runs. 

When I had looked down into the water before I tossed the worm, I saw nothing there. But the pitch clearly seemed the right action to take, and an 18 1/2-inch bass, maybe an ounce or two over three- and-a-half pounds, proved the point.