Windy Lake Ames Near Hibernia, New Jersey

--Is not a lake, but a 16-acre pond, mostly very shallow, with a lot of weeds, but not nearly so thick as I feared. Several years ago, returning home from a nearby Scout camp, I saw a group of ice fishermen out, and stopped to check out the scene. They had caught a couple very small pickerel, so that's always been my impression of Lake Ames since. But before I went on Blogger this evening, I did a little web research, and at least the pickerel reported were slightly larger, with a report, also, of a 24-incher, and a four-pound largemouth.

I set out along the west side, cast a spinnerbait in that tiny cove, then headed into the woods. I came upon what I thought was the Hibernia Brook, and saw that Oliver Shapiro, in his book Fishing New Jersey, minced no words when he suggested wading this area. I had brought along both old sneakers and shorts, but just wasn't motivated to change. 

And as it turned out, good thing. I ended up hiking entirely around the pond and through some briars, my long pants helped. On the way I discoverrd a second brook, all the way in back. I'm not sure, but it seemed more tannic than the first, and just as large. Both of them beautiful mountain streams. I got some good casts from the east side for a stretch, and then, as I headed on down toward the dike, I saw skunk cabbage crop up, and remember thinking, "This means the ground will be spongy at the very best." 

It was worse. But rocks interspersed deep muck; I attempted to balance my steps on these uneven stones. Very suddenly, I lost control. My senses, just as suddenly, came alive like lightning. For a split second I felt very young again, like a mountain goat on rocks. I knew two things very vividly: I didn't want to break bones, and I didn't want to thoroughly muddy my dress clothes and return to work like that after lunch. As it turned out, I danced over another five or six yards of uncertain rock supports--and didn't leave a spot of mud on my clothes.

Finally--I walked along Green Pond Road for a stretch--I got to the dike, and discovered the best water to fish just as I ran out of time. I would have switched to a plastic worm. The water here is perhaps eight feet deep, and I did actually sight a bass. This will be worth fishing some cloudy afternoon, and perhaps in the fall with live shiners. Today the sun was bright as can be, although a cool wind tore through and shook up the surface so that a spinnerbait, it seemed to me, could have been effective, reflecting scattered light beams. I walked to my car with a satisfied feeling of discovery, which had come so close to having been denied. 

Mt. Hope Pond Still Promising

Some days don't start off right, and although I arrived after noon at Mt. Hope with little more than a half hour to fish, all morning I had been off kilter, and remained so. As briars seemed to grip at my dress shirt much more than usual, I swore under breath, and getting in among the tangles along the bank, I muddied my dress pants. But I wore hiking boots, no doubt about this.

I saw an 18 inch largemouth cruise in heavy sunlight and blazing heat on the water. Indifferent as a zombie, it mingled with small sunfish that took no alarm at all, sure evidence that this bass gave off no aggressive vibes. Surely I'd get skunked today.

During the dreggs of summer dog days--unless you thrive in intense heat--under brilliant sunlight largemouth will cruise a pond's shallows in full view. All I know, and I don't know all the variables, far from it, is that unless damselflies and dragonflies are present, hunting smaller insects related to aquatic vegetation that meets water surface, I haven't been able to coax such cruisers to hit. I thought this would be today's situation. Mt. Hope's shoreline drops sharply to 15 feet and more of water, no shallow flats for bass to cruise and attack those damsel and dragonflies--at least smaller bass do this where they're available.

But within ten minutes I had my first bass. I casted my Chompers perfectly next to overhanging brush, some of that brush in water, except that my line get caught by a thin branch. No more than a couple seconds elapsed, and the line suddenly took up the slack swiftly. I felt my mood shift. Despite the branch, when I set the hook, it gave. I found on inspection afterwards that it didn't even nick the line. This bass weighed at least a pound and a half.

I fished at much faster pace, getting all the way up the shoreline in almost half the time as usual. Most of the water drenched in sunlight, I had less of it to fish, focusing on shaded areas. I tried a tactic that makes sense, and seemed to make the difference, casting the worm just outside shade, in sunlit water, so that a bass present in shade sees the sunlit worm very clearly, and dashes from the shade to grab it, the way that striped bass stay just outside illumination from docks during bay summers, and crash the baitfish drawn into light. Near the very end of my jaunt, I picked up one more just over a pound. 

Round Valley Reservoir Last Stop

Last I looked, the Ranger Cove area from the dike and beyond, including the pond in that area, are closed as of this evening until fall. Wanted very much to give it a last try, and drove over on the suppositiion that I had over an hour and a half until 8:00 to vacate the premises. Over in the far corner, I noticed the sign directed all to leave at 7:00, and remembered, of course. I did follow the rule, but plenty stayed over there until after 8:00. I kept within the law, hoping that some day it will change, and meandered over to the reservoir corner between the launch ramps, knowing that 10 foot depths exist almost within casting range, and some vegetation.

In the pond I caught three largemouth, one about four or five ounces over a pound, the other two about a pound. All struck in the first corner, which served me well this season. I worked my way along the treacherous rocks for a stretch; weeds grow out in batches for six or seven yards, and no doubt bass haunt them. I lost a good one--but nowhere near five pounds--to one of the thick clumps. It buried its head into it, and while I pulled all out, it still managed to loosen the tensiion on the line enough to throw the hook. Bass dig their heads into weeds like that so the connection of line to the hook is no longer direct and tight. They don't think, "I've got to slacken this line," they just dig into cover, but by effect they do slacken it. This is why I use 15 pound Power Pro braid in Lake Musconetcong. Braid stretches less, and 15 pound test you can really horse. The way Lake Musconetcong used to be--weed heaven--often I would almost break my rod, but boat a bass or pickerel. After this episode in the weed patch, I casted to the spot again after one cast away from it, had another take, and missed it. I think a lot of commotion often does the opposite of spooking other fish.

So. Coming off the dike, through the official fence, I noticed that corner invited me, unoccupied. Without much hope at all, I knew a bass cruising the sparse vegetation in the relative evening shade bore some possibility. Since the surface had completely calmed, I opted for the more subtle and slow sinking Chompers, rather than a Senco. Soon I landed another one pounder, then a nine incher, and an eight incher that attacked some tiny baitfish near my feet, so I just pitched my 7 1/2 Chompers and yanked it up, to return it unharmed, myself a little embarrased.

I'm a longer way from that five pound plus bass now. I've heard nice stories about the pond, and not only have I lost that to absolute reality, regulations, it gets tough now with the heat, and fewer days of persistent low pressure. Without a boat in New Jersey it's tough, if not impossible, to catch big bass consistently. I checked out Split Rock Reservoir on Friday to find three marginal spots to fish from shore. From a boat the place is obviously Paradise, although I have plenty experience with boats to know this can be tough, too. It would be nice if more shore access to places like Round Valley and Merrill Creek were permitted, especially with low water conditions existing at Round Valley now. But with the present state of our society, attitudes are such that regulations tend not to be made to make it nice for recreationists, but to control us from the point of view of suspicious regard.

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.