Lake Hopatcong Smallmouth Brace

My son, Matt, had trouble sleeping last night. He's still asleep now after returning from Lake Hopatcong. Just before he conked out, he told me he didn't fall asleep until 2:00 a.m. He was up at 3:45.  I have to say he did well on the lake considering.

To rent a boat from Dow's is to gain access to a great lake if you don't own a boat, so long as you have a NJ Boater's Safety Certificate. But without electric for positioning, and the irresistible temptation to stock the livewell with herring for hybrids and walleyes (last August we actually went without the live bait), the way we fish is different from the way we would fish while strictly going after bass, with allowance for pickerel. 

Along a shoreline I fished Senko-type worms both Wacky and with inset hook to penetrate weeds as deliberately as would surely bring results under better conditions. We did not see any clouds in the sky at all upon sunrise. The air temperature had dipped to about 50 degrees. Fishing very hard, I used the 9.9-horsepower gas outboard as best I could like an electric to position casts. Matt used his "secret weapon," Berkeley Worm Blower-adjusted nightcrawlers (they float) and didn't even catch sunfish. Not even a tap.

Finally by about 8:00 a.m. we got to a rocky point. Matt pulled up a one-pound largemouth from 10 feet directly under the boat. I fished the Senko hard, and put out herring. The shadow line extended out over 25 feet deep of water, and I had vague hopes for a walleye or hybrid in the shade. After a half hour Matt caught a 10-inch smallmouth on herring just about when the guy who had been fishing further west, over open water, motored near and offered us the remainder of his herring. 

"Sure!" I said. I had hesitated, as if I would depend more on plastics instead. But I had the stirrings of desire to do something with the herring for pickerel.

"Catch any?" I asked.

"Two smallmouth and walleye," he said.

"The walleye good sized?"

"Yes. I'll show you."

We pulled boats together, traded off the herring, and he opened his livewell. The walleye was huge. I have never seen one so large. Big and thick bodied, it weighed eight pounds at least, possibly 10.

"Did you get it deep using a slip bobber?"

"Eight to ten feet down over 26 feet of water, just a hook and a barrel swivel over the side of the boat."

Of course it couldn't have been too deep, since oxygen is depleted now.

I had a moment of decision. Would we move on? I knew we should go back along the rock faces and that shade. We did, and it felt right. It didn't take long before I was into a very good fish that took herring over about 25 feet of water. The smallmouth measured 17 1/2-inches, weighed about three pounds. I put herring back out and caught another exactly the same size the same way. (The first fish took my hook; it wasn't the same bass.) Then something good sized took my son's herring. He had it on a couple of seconds before it pulled the hook. 

While the herring took care of themselves on no more than a light wire, plain shank, size 6 hook, I fished that Senco hard and sensitively. I lost a good bass--at least two pounds--and had the peculiar experience of hooking, for a moment, what I think was a good-sized pickerel 15 feet deep, outside the shadow line (which had receded). The line clean cut, I saw no indication of a bad knot. But I made damn sure I then tied on a tiny barrel swivel and a 15 pound test fluorocarbon leader.

I did try the herring for pickerel later over weedbeds. I had one hit that took the herring clean off the hook in a split second. Another herring came off on the cast, and fluttered at the surface, taken by the slight chop, and several minutes later we saw the splash. 

I have to say I took a lot of pleasure in using herring today. I never succumbed to nightcrawlers. But the herring and the smallmouths made sense. Apparently these were suspended fish and tube jigs (or Senkos) would not be so effective. I wish I had inquired about that man's smallmouths, but I concluded that, yes, he got them suspended way out off the point. He had told me he caught the walleye at about 7:00. The entire time we observed him fishing he stayed out there. 

Fluke at Long Branch, New Jersey

Yesterday after work my son and I arrived in Long Branch, bought the best killies I've ever seen at Long Branch Bait & Tackle, along with four fresh clams, and set up on the beach immediately south of Seven Presidents Park. Not one of the killies is really small, they're about 50/50 medium and large, and I have a whole five gallon bucket full (aerated) to use for stream smallmouths this weekend. After half a dozen casts and a missed hit, I beached a 16-inch fluke, let it out with the wash, then put my rod up with the rest of our things. My son had persuaded me to go in for a swim, which invigorated me through and through since water wasn't warm, but not cold either. As you can see in the photo, my son got cold.

Tide had crested not long before we arrived. The sharp drop behind the breakers to about five feet of water, right off the beach, held plenty of fluke when we returned to cast with light spinning rods. Lip hooked on plain shank, size 6 hooks, the killies live-lined on six-pound test and weighted with single large split shots yielded three more fluke one right after another. But when I returned to pitch another killie just five yards beyond the wash after taking care of a keeper, they were gone. My son didn't bother to fish anymore, concerned about keeping warm rather than standing in the wash and getting wet to the waist. He had missed a hit. "I set the hook too hard," he said. He had echoed his Uncle Rick's advice to just lift the hook into them so that the bait and hook doesn't get yanked out of the odd mouth. I fished most of the next hour for one more hit. The small baitfish remained, so why did the fluke take off minutes before sunset?

No sign of stripers. Nothing touched my clams all spring, first time that happened. We had our heavy duty rods ready to go with bunker-snag trebles, but nothing happened. A lot of fun catching those fluke. It would have been incredible action had they kept hitting like they did for about 10 minutes. 

All this for a 10 inch Bass! Mount Hope Pond and Other Places

I didn't expect to get a hit, besides those from numerous sunfish. In the morning the sky, completely clear, signaled hopelessness by the water, but by the time I fished the sky had become partly cloudy. Still, plenty of sun from noon position threatened to ruin my time out, which began way off kilter. This is Monday, I hadn't fished all weekend, the last I had fished--I will tell you--I got skunked for the fourth consective time on the water, and a separate, large writing project had become uncertain in my mind, driving me nuts. Little things seemed to pop up and threaten to unnerve me. My new camera had a problem with image stabilization apparently, and my Penn spinning reel's (425S? I don't remember exactly and it's downstairs) head had come loose--I could barely use it.

I fished Round Valley Friday. Literally, I had just taken my second cast when rain began to fall. By my fifth cast I knew I wouldn't take my camera out. By my 15th or so I marched out quick for cover, and thunder rolled high in the clouds, but directly over me. In the car, I put aside the camera--I had paid over $16.00 to have it arrive quickly by UPS--and put on rain pants and what I thought was a top-half rain shell. Then I actually went out in the thunder. Thunder up in the clouds. I fished the rocks along the dike, reservoir side. Rain poured. But what pissed me off was that no bass finned back in the far pond corner to take my Senco. I had given it a good, patient 15 casts. Meanwhile, I knew I was a lot wetter from my shoulders to my waist than I was when I put on the "rain shell." It's just some sort of windbreaker that looks and feels waterproof. When I took it off in the car, my shirt was entirely soaked. So was my hair, the hood had been useless.

That was number four and I was numb to the apparent inevitability of number five today at Mt. Hope Pond. I kept thinking about how I didn't know I had it so good back in May. I couldn't even begin to cast with my normal accuracy. In fact, my first cast hung my Senco (and why cast that at all, no good reason) in two branches, which despite the inset hook would not let it go, and I snapped it off. Then my line moved off. Another sunny? I tightened to check, I never failed to do this, but no, a bass! I set the hook and almost pulled the Culprit twister away from it, since plenty of bow in the line startled me. But I got it up on the bank when the hook fell out. A 10 inch bass hasn't felt so good since I can remember.

I did miss another bass. How big I couldn't tell, just that the weight, when I tightened to tell, was much more than the peck-peck of a sunfish. Then I realized this Culprit probably sinks too slow without a split shot. To use just enough to make the tail flutter... but all I had were large shot, the size I use for salmon in October. What the hell, I put one on. But I got only four more casts. I had somewhere else I had to go.

And maybe my son and I have somewhere to go tomorrow--Long Branch. Stripers pushed bunker against beaches last week. Who knows? (As Victor Hugo or Jimi Hendrix would say.) But we're seriously after fluke. Would rather be after big stripers, but chances are... but we will have our bunker-snag trebles ready. We may even put some clam out.

Anyway, I had the camera right in a minute. And the wobbly head of my Penn--like my own of course--I tightened up with a wrench in the same amount of time. David Lee Roth said, "I been to the edge. And there I stood and looked down." I don't know if I drove myself over or got thrown off, but it was a long climb back up, and I still feel I'm hanging onto the rocks. Not today I mean, today was just a slight taste of how bad it can be! 

Lake Ames and a New Camera Ready for Action

Three consecutive outings, skunked. Lake Ames, apparently, hasn't many fish. Thick cloud cover roused only two takes, Senco, from small bass. Both dropped the worm. First time this year I've been skunked more than twice running, which matters less than that this afternoon's break felt nice. I caught the flow. Those of us who say fishing isn't catching are wise, because fishing is mostly an attempt. So if you enjoy only the catch, you're missing out most of the time. Not that I'm full of illusions. I feel the same pangs and frustrations we all do at least in some measure. But the best antidote to getting skunked is to fish well.

Nikon D-60 arrived. Battery's charged and SDHC card formatted, camera ready to go in shoulder bag. Depends on weather tomorrow whether or not I fish South Branch. A flood warning got posted today for Morris & Somerset, which I thought was bogus. And no such rain ever happened to make flood imminent, so some mistake was made. But enough could fall to raise river level.

I'm smelling pine scent! My son goes away to BSA camp in the Adirondacks soon. I opted out of going with him this year, but right now it almost seems I should have signed on. I wonder if the lake is as tannic as Lake Ames. My suspicion, anyhow, is that the PH level isn't right for a large fish population. And although I hear so much about pickerel in the Pine Barrens, most ponds I've come upon seem to have very few. Not that great pickerel don't exist, but for whatever specific reason(s), most tannic waters don't lend themselves to fish abundance. I doubt I will ever return to fish Lake Ames.

When Bass Vacate: Round Valley Later in Season, Abandoned Surf

Most of the stripers are gone, and largemouths move into depths and thick cover during day. It seemed a lot easier to catch bass at Round Valley a month ago. And Island Beach was barren Sunday, at least the strip in our vicinity produced no hits for anyone.

An hour or two before I got to Round Valley an overcast sky seemed promising, and I hope I never arrive to such blazing sunlight for the rest of the summer, it's no use. But the Raritan River South Branch will keep smallmouths active throughout virtually any day, and I intend to fish it more than Round Valley.

It may be a few days or more until I have more photos for my site, I need a new camera. But perhaps I'll post without photos until once again I'm all set. It's been very enjoyable for me to keep this blog, and I hate to take a hiatus with any part of it, since I value the images a great deal. Just happens to be a problem right when I got skunked two days consecutively. I'm sure it will all get straightened out in fairly short order.

Other Side of Mt. Hope Pond

For the first time, I crossed the rocks at the spillway, trudged across the trucked-in sand of the beach, and took the trail to the other side. A shallow flat in the corner surprised me. Although it isn't very extensive, it reached to where I met water's edge, and noticed a bass stalking its drop-off. I simply tossed my Chompers a few feet ahead of it, and it rushed and took the worm whole as if on command. Bass can appear very, very stupid at times. About a pound.

Next, I casted to my left, and then again, in very close this time. From right against the bank, literally right there, but in overhanging brush, a wake rose and I felt the take, the drop, I twitched slightly twice, the bass took the worm again, I set the hook--you see the photo, two and a half pounds.

So, I wondered, what will the far side yield? It proved a lot more bassy than the side along the road. In fact, it looks like smallmouth water with its clarity and large, submerged boulders. Plenty of overhanging brush, sunken logs, and leaning trees must mean bass frequent here. But today, those two first bass, right away, were all the far side gave up--I fished it all the way down and across to where I usually fish.

This made me wonder if the "other side" of Mt. Hope Pond story is that most of the bass spend most of the time down on the bottom of the drop off, out of sight, and essentially out of the fisherman's way (unless ice fishing). I made plenty of casts, had more time to, into water as deep as 12 feet. But it's one thing to cast a worm into so many square yards of shallows, and quite another into so many of dark depths. In the first case, any bass nearby is alerted by the splash alone, and in the second, less is noticeable. The slow sinking finesse of a Chompers becomes ineffective, although I never switched to my wacky Senco. (At least on a rainy summer day, better yet, fall, crankbaits could be effective.)

I did see a single bass, about 13 inches, in the middle of the far side, and dropped my Chompers to it--it lipped in the middle of the worm for a split second, expelled it, then slowly swam off. With that I lost some faith in my (very last) Chompers, although I ordered more from Bass Pro tonight. I switched to a Culprit twister tail, 7 1/2 inches. That worked in one of my regular spots. Again, the bass rushed the worm with a wake from directly against the bank, out of some brush. This was a malformed bass, not only with its misshapen body, but a tail with a good portion lost somehow. Nice size, two pounds, maybe an ounce or two more. 

Again, I have little doubt six pound bass, one or two, more around five pounds, swim in Mt. Hope. But I might catch 50 three pounders to one over five for all I know. I bet they are wary and elusive as can be, all but completely staying deep and out of sight, not at all hanging in brush right against the bank as these two good bass did today. 

 

Hedden Park and Pohatcong Creek Make a Full Day

I hadn't fly fished since '99, and the trout photographed here is the second I've caught on a fly rod. I've caught some bass and panfish, but have tried for trout very little with a fly rod. Now I've inaugurated what I think will prove to be a real effort.

Before I go into details about my fly fishing sojourn, Hedden Park Pond, in Dover, NJ, Morris County, is fed by two crystal clear mountain streams. But the pond is a filled in, muddy, a turbid three acres or so that leaves you wondering about the water quality decimating all of a sudden. More water exists to the left of what I photographed, beyond that cove, but most is so shallow and barren--a foot deep or less--that it isn't bass water at all. Nonetheless, plenty of bass exist in the pond. I caught nine in little over an hour, although they were nine to little over 10 inches long, one of them a foot.

The bass moved about on the cruise, as they often do in ponds on sunny, summer days. Casting accuracy proved to be the key to catching them. To get a worm a foot or less in front of a bass often resulted in a quick rush and take. I had my Senko on the line as I walked up, but seeing a dozen or so bass at the surface, I quickly changed to my Chompers with its slow descent. Had I not spent most of my time scouting all the way around the pond, I would have caught many more. But the largest I spotted was 13, 14 inches tops. I noticed a pair of two-inch bass. These were yearlings! Just that, unless they have extremely fast growth, born this spring, which other indications do not support. 

Just another regular New Jersey pond with small bass. I suppose a three-pounder exists in there somewhere. But I can't mess around with little pop'n dockers and expect to catch that lunker I'm pursuing. It was a lot of fun and brought back memories of catching cruisers in my youth. But a pond like Mt. Hope almost certainly has six-pound bass in it.

Pohatcong Creek, writes Tom Gilmore in his very informative book, Flyfisher's Guide to the Big Apple: Great Waters within 150 Miles of New York City, has one of the best sulfur hatches around, with wild browns picking them off with abandon, so I came prepared. I found Ravine Road near Bloomsbury, Warren County, with ease, drove down about three fourths of a mile, parked, and waded in sneakers and shorts. To my dismay at first, the water ran off color due to recent rains. Immediately I felt sure those sulfurs would not hatch this evening, and I tied on an olive Woolly Bugger streamer with a weighted head. Sure enough, the only rise I saw in nearly an-hour-and-a-half, came splashing.

At first my maneuvers managed all extremely clumsy, nothing subtle about them. And I kept getting hung up on bottom. But soon I started to get the fly where I wanted it to go, and I can honestly say I never snapped the fly line, something I learned about back when I was about 10 and first tried fly casting. The rainbow, close to a foot long, leftover from April, might have been that splash riser. But I also watched a seven-inch brown attack the streamer about the rod's length from me, and lost another good fish in the same spot, a run of deeper water, maybe three feet, with some undercut bank across from me. I felt sure the trout did not hide under it with the dingy water and evening. Within 15 minutes of leaving, I felt good, real good. 

I've always loved to wade. And this form of casting is marvelously involved. Much of what fishing is, is casting, whether fly casting, spinning (sometimes needing meticulous accuracy, at Hedden today, for example), or baitcasting. Ice fishing and trolling don't involve casting. But they get involved in other ways. The variety is open ended.

Early Season Bass