Hatchery Rainbow Trout Reaclimate to Streams: Wading Gets You to Them

Wade a Stream for Quality Rainbow Trout

          Late this afternoon, I fished the North Branch Raritan River upstream of the typical crowd gathered where trout are stocked from the entryway bridge to AT&T World Headquarters. Fishing slow, sometimes trout refuse to feed just after being stocked. But I caught two rainbows on salmon eggs, including a two-pounder, and left before my mood would turn to any dismay. The few trout that ventured upriver were more interested in feeding. I had seen three other anglers catch a trout apiece in the area of the separate exit bridge where I fished. The crowd well in view about 60 yards away caught none.

          Some of the many rainbows left in the river tonight will surely move downstream and upstream. Especially if we finally get heavy rain that floods our rivers, trout will spread out between bridges and anglers can catch some by engaging the length and flow of a stream, wading.

          On stocking days, you can witness fishermen standing on a bank, baiting a hook with a worm weighted by a split shot, and placing it directly down among a swarm of trout bunched together after being thrown from a bridge. Much the same could be done in the hatchery runways or a bathtub. If catching fish is what it’s all about, why bother with rivers and lakes? Open an amusement park with tanks to fish in. It’s similar with fishing as it is with golf—some courses are more difficult and more highly prized.

          Wading at its best is truly wholesome enjoyment. If you succeed at catching trout by going beyond the familiar bridge site and looking instead to places you’ve never seen, wading can make you feel good through and through. Either with or against current, the flow gets going within you, in part because terrestrial life originated in the seas. The mysterious feeling of deep affinity for water has some explanation by citing life’s origin. Human amniotic fluid is a lot like brine, as if something of the distant past—before mammalian evolution—remains part of our physiology. The sudden smell of brine at the shore can awaken a poignant feeling of being at home, a familiarity with the planet which is mostly ocean. Our region’s streams flow to the Atlantic either by way of the Delaware, Raritan, or Passaic rivers. Ultimately, affinity with water is oceanic, but less feeling is plenty healthy and enough.

          Rainbows won’t only be found in deep holes or currents with boulder eddies and depth. They also hold in shallow riffles. Drifting shallow riffles with salmon eggs need not be an arduous repetition. If, after one or two tries, nothing slams an egg, move on. Fast water rainbows are exciting when encountered. They’re so eager they may strike an egg tumbling between your feet. I’ve heard of it happening, such an antic of hatchery trout that you can’t help but like them.

         Deep, slow water deserves slowing down. Plumb the area thoroughly. It’s possible to have caught several in six inches of water just upstream, then to catch more in 10 feet of slow water, where it takes a while for the salmon egg to drift near bottom.

          Sometimes you have to expend a lot of effort for few trout. I frequently remember an outing eight years ago on Pennsylvania’s Bushkill Creek. My son and I fished most of the morning. He caught one or two; I caught three. The visual memory I have of what it took to catch the last trout is clear as day. Searching that long, rocky, deep stretch for the practical result of catching a rainbow trout so vividly awakened my senses that the impression on memory remains striking. Books on creative artists, writers, and scientists like Kay Redfield Jamison’s Exuberance claim that what they all have in common is time spent in wild places. Perhaps to awaken senses by such outdoor pursuits as fishing is to stir deeper faculties of the mind. I could paint the Bushkill scene from memory. And nothing is as perennial as fishing besides hunting and gathering berries. People have done it for at least 100,000 years.

          If you find you like small rivers, you might try a small stream like Beaver Brook in Warren County, or Peapack Brook in Somerset for something different. Many brooks in the Highlands and Valley/Ridge have wild rainbows and/or browns and native brook trout. In the spring you can try and distinguish if you have caught a trout recently stocked or not. At any rate, our region has tiny rills, brooks, mid-sized streams like the Pohatcong, and small rivers like the Pequest full of trout this time of year. Each offers unique experience.  



Knee Deep Club Hoping to Stock Lots of Trout in Lake Hopatcong

Dows Boat Rentals

 

The Lake Hopatcong Report from Laurie Murphy at Dows Boat Rentals doesn't have much to say for Trout Opening Day, but some interesting fish otherwise have been caught. Laurie wrote that the lake did not completely melt out until Friday, a day before the season opener for trout. Due to the furunculosis outbreak at Pequest Hatchery, only 2000 trout will make it into the lake this spring. However, the Knee Deep Club has reached out to the Lake Hopatcong Foundation for help in getting more fish stocked by member's and anyone else's help. The Foundation, agreeing to a one time matching grant, requires that Knee Deep collect $5000.00 before stocking trout April 26th, and it will match this amount. This is a chance to make a donation and go fishing, because, for one, Dows is open and renting boats, and secondly, there will be more trout to catch in the lake, whether by boat or from shore. I'm making my donation out of a sense of inclusion with other club members. I don't fish trout on Lake Hopatcong, but I do fish hybrid stripers and walleyes, two fish that Knee Deep has gone a long way towards establishing and maintaining. If this were a routine stocking, I would simply look the other way, since I fish trout elsewhere. But the club is trying to make up for a lack in the seasonal fishery the state normally provides for the most part, and anyone and everyone who fishes trout in the lake will be benefitted by at least the possibility of more fish.

 

They're not "only" hatchery trout. They're trout. People prize this fish because that's what they really are--living fish requiring skill to hook and play, and worthy of admiration. We admire fish for their beauty. In part, because fish are where we came from--the water--life flourishing as fish life in the ocean long before any did on land. And fish began the vertebral venturing onto land (before they were amphibians), which evolved into us. What is a hatchery trout that we breed? Our own care.

 

Laurie reports that Michael Attanasio was excited with his 4 pound, 9 ounce pickerel, a very nice one, bigger than any I've caught. Dan Lehr caught perch and crappie, as well as largemouth and pickerel from 2 1/2 to 3 pounds.   

Opening Day Rainbow Trout, Taking in Hunterdon Hills

 Awaiting 8:00 a.m.

We almost turned around and went home. I've fished a lot of Opening Days since 1971, but none with water as muddy and high as this morning. There may have been an absolute washout one of the Opening Days I would have fished; I don't remember for certain, but I knew better than to judge the conditions unfishable this morning, and faced putting on my resistant neoprene waders. The first five minutes or so of fishing yielded nothing to anyone, so when my son, Matt, suddenly played a trout, I felt a little surprised. The bright pink eggs paid off. We filled a single limit of rainbows in an hour, and then drove downstream along Federal Twist Road. By then wind tunneled down Locatong Creek's valley.

These Hunterdon Hills, Kingwood to Raven Rock descending hundreds of feet, are really much more than the cursory eye of daily doings perceives. Way back in 1978 I once ascended the Locatong from its mouth at the canal a full two miles and back, all the way to Strimple's Mill, catching smallmouth bass on Twister grubs rigged on a plain hook without weight. That August day I came upon no one else, and I remember seeing only one house just before the mill rises in view over the stream. Relating this story to my son here at home wouldn't mean much, and of course I never had, but as we parked at a bridge upstream of the mill, I enjoyed deep pleasure in the telling.

We stood on this bridge you see below and I shot more photos. The stream flowed forbiddingly, the current moving more like a freight train than a black bull you back away from, and where the trout would lie exactly in all that water seemed worthless to try. But we got our rods and I nailed a rainbow on my first cast, the water deep enough to reach against the wind holding fish or at least one was there. I had to mend line against the current and the wind, saw the line twitch, set, and engaged play. Nevertheless, that wind was too much and we were out of there in minutes. It billowed through from right under the bridge. We added some weight to our snaps today.

And then I showed Matt Strimple's Mill, a little surprised the place is still there, and it even looked as if it's been in use recently with some saw dust underneath. Broken windows, rotted sidings, an open view of the inside--all this suggested that it's been abandoned for years, all except the saw dust that surely would have been swept away by recent big storms. How long it's been since I've seen the place I can't remember, but I spoke about the black & white photo print hanging in our study of my brother Rick, fishing those same shallows near the bridge, Strimple's Mill in the background. He was 10, so 36 years ago and some days or weeks.

I experienced a realization that would have appalled me in younger years. I posed the simple question: why have we been coming up here for the past 39 years? Not every year, but often enough. There used to be a residence we called Tobacco Road on Federal Twist, a total wreck of a place with junk and rusted cars in the front yard, yet inhabited. My family on my father's side originally comes from the mountains of West Virginia, hillbillies, some who were ambitious and decided to take on the big world, moving to the city of Charleston. My parents grew up in Charleston, my father a paid organist at 17, playing for the Charleston Senators minor league baseball club at the stadium. Musically gifted, he became a world class performer. He once told me he was sure his ancestors in the West Virginia mountains played various musical instruments. This eased my feelings, because it used to bother me that I come from such unsophisticated roots.

And there we were, riding down the hills towards the Delaware River, and it all seemed to make sense. I took in the scenes deeply, deciding to take CR 523 through Sergeantsville on the ride home, viewing Stockton and this smaller town with a military-sounding name as if we are still back in the Middle Ages, and that our technology is yet primitive compared to what we will achieve. Think 5000 years from now, let alone six or seven hundred since before the European Renaissance. But it felt good to return to modern conveniences, once home, and know that I would be on the computer. It still bothers me a bit, those farmstead origins. But ultimately, it's no different for anyone else. We all come from cave men and bush wanderers.
  

Strimple's Mill Beside the Locatong



Salmon Eggs Over Power Bait and Worms for Trout

Salmon eggs tempt reluctant trout when fished well and persistently, and more often, perhaps, are taken eagerly, but some anglers prefer to weight bait with medium sized split shot and fish on the bottom. Something like fatalistic desire to sink into the abyss characterizes this method, but it works in holes with slow current so long as the bait is a worm, Power Bait, or fathead minnow. Power Bait floats. It has high visibility and plenty of fishermen walk out with limit catches. But salmon eggs don’t float, are tiny, and tend to fall into crannies and through cracks on the bottom when tossed out with a heavy weight. In nearly all cases of bottom fishing salmon eggs, trout will ignore the offering.

          Salmon eggs are all about the drift and this is the great advantage. How the current takes an egg to the trout in large measure determines whether or not the fish will strike. The aim is to drift an egg as naturally as possible close to bottom without ever resigning the bait and yourself to the gravel, rocks, or silt. In most stream situations, a weightless presentation is necessary. Only a size 20 snap is used to connect leader to line. In deep holes with a fairly strong current, a BB split shot is needed. I separate snaps from swivels with nail clippers and keep the swivel pieces. Many situations call for no more weight in addition to the snap than a swivel piece looped onto the snap. I keep snaps and swivel pieces on separate safety pins on my vest.

          Drifting salmon eggs is difficult to learn, but anglers who master the technique easily catch and release 30 or 40 trout on Opening Day. For such results, low diameter two pound test line is a must to cast a single salmon egg effectively. Size 14 hooks with inset eye loops are snell tied on 12 to 18-inch leader lengths of two pound test line tied by surgeon’s loop. Two leaders of different lengths can be placed on one snap. The rod should be delicate and very short in length. Efinger Sporting Goods carries four and a half foot rods, and it may be possible to find even shorter online. Mine is three-and- half-feet, super spry, and the Daiwa S-500T spinning reel is tiny.

          Most of New Jersey's trout fishing happens in the Highlands. Hunterdon County has a number of trout streams that empty into the Delaware River, which my family has loved since the mid-1970’s: Alexaukin Creek, Wickecheocke Creek, Lockatong Creek, Frenchtown Brook, and a couple of streams in the Milford area. Also, the South Brank Raritan, Spruce Run, Capoolong Creek and many others exist in Hunterdon. The Musconetcong River is shared with Warren County, and the Pohatcong Creek, Pequest River, and Paulinskill River, also in Warren, are great fishing. In Morris County, the North Branch Raritan River, Rockaway River, Black River, Lamington River, Peapack Brook, India Brook, Hibernia Brook, and a length of the Musconetcong River and other streams are all stocked. Sussex County’s favorite is the Big Flatbrook, but the Little Flatbrook, upper Paulinskill River, Glenwood Creek, Dry Run, and Lubber’s Run are also possibilities. In Passaic County, the Pompton River, Ramapo River, and Pequannock River all offer the chance at a big trout. Some of these streams have wild trout and will not be stocked this year due to the furunculosis infection at the Pequest Hatchery. Lists can be found online. They’re great places to approach with a fly rod and practice catch and release.

           When we experience muddy waters, Lake Aeroflex, Lake Hopatcong, Lake Ocquittunk, and Lake Musconetcong in Sussex won’t muddy. Nor will Round Valley Reservoir in Hunterdon or Merrill Creek Reservoir in Warren. Trout are available from shore at all of these lakes, although the holdover and trophy lakes aren’t stocked this year, and the acreage ratio of available water to public access at Lake Hopatcong is little. Lake Ocquittunk is a six-acre pond protected from muddy run off in Stokes State Forest, so it’s protected from too large a crowd perhaps as well. Power Bait is a top choice in lakes and ponds, but Kastmasters, Binskies, and Rapala Countdowns are more exercising and may be more fun. Streamers can be effective fly fished, also.

            Tomorrow is Opening Day, and it won’t be so chilly. I remember snow and ice on Opening Days past, but the ice was only the kind you shake out of the rod guides as trout tested numb fingers.

Book I'm Writing on Stockers

Spring Crappies at Spruce Run Reservoir

For shore access, nothing seems to beat the jetty beyond the car lot off Van Syckles Road, but if you have a boat, you might find crappies near the mouth of the Mulhockaway. I know early spring northern pike come to creek mouths entering the reservoir, drawn to flows for spawning. They don't go up into the creeks, or very rarely do, but I got news of a three footer in a little creek in Verona, off the Passaic. But why crappies swarm in these two areas, I don't know, besides that they go shallow previous to spawning and the water is warmer in thin water, especially in the evening after a sudden rise in daytime temperature.

They're not always there. My son and I, and a number of friends, fished the jetty, as well as the Black Brook cove, between 2005 and last year during late March and April. Of all those many outings, well over a dozen total, we really only ran into crappies twice. Both times the water temperature had suddenly spiked with a newly arrived warm spell. I also saw a crappie at least as big as the photographed caught well into May at the jetty. I caught another that measured 15 inches and weighed 2 pounds, 3 ounces. Most are about a foot long, good crappies. I've heard of 17-inchers caught in Spruce Run Reservoir.

The jetty gets lots of fishing pressure, both during the week and on weekends. But this is a 1200 plus acre reservoir. The fish move in and out. Just like the fishermen. It seems we've met new people every time we've visited here. I've often wondered how exactly the fish do. I've seen this area when the reservoir level was down 10 or 12 feet. There's not much of a well defined channel from the original Spruce Run Creek at all. It's flat out there beyond the jetty tip. But fish find it, the little cove, and creek mouth. And they come and go. I imagine rocket bass, more widely known as hybrid striped bass, move in out with cavalier swiftness. The crappies seemingly float in like balloons and hang out a while. All of ours have been caught on large shiners. Not the two to three inch medium variety, but full sized pike shiners. I use a plain shank, size 6 hook, no weight. I do use a fluorocarbon 15 pound leader tied to a small barrel swivel. The chance of catching a pike may be greater. More likely, that is. And who would deny a great northern pike? A lot of people like crappies, though. And Spruce Run has big ones.

Large Crappies

Greeting Spring at Dingman's Ferry, Delaware River, for Walleye

For many years, reading the Freshwater Report of The Fisherman magazine, I've come upon references to winter walleye caught at Dingman's Ferry, those winters when the river didn't freeze over, or during periods of open water. I've held the desire to try for winter walleye for years, having caught a number of small walleye a couple of times in December at Bull's Island from my 12-foot boat as a teen, with a younger brother. Early spring not excluded, the water is very cold, but walleye happen. The river changes with the seasons and conditions, and I like familiarizing myself with differences.

So when Joshua Bunkers, blogger at www.sussexcountyfisherman.blogspot.com , messaged me yesterday, I was just minutes away from a fast affirmation of the invitation to try Dingman's. The idea of meeting up to fish with someone new on a mild, early spring afternoon felt rejuvenating, and at least when the wind would subside out there, we stood and sat unmistakably on the better side of the season.

The clouds broke up, the sun came out, Sussex County fields and ridges on our return ride glowed with the awakening presence we all expect this time of year. We had fished jigs tipped with shiners, and I also worked a Rat-L-Trap slowly, right at the bottom, 10-25 feet or so deep, finally losing it to a snag, surprised I got as much use from it as I did.

Catching Pickerel Through the Ice in River Styx, Lake Hopatcong, Knee Deep Derby Day

I don't know how I got the notion in my head that the Knee Deep Ice Fishing Derby on Lake Hopatcong would begin at 8:00 a.m., and registration could be effective any time thereafter before the 4 o'clock close. Joe phoned Dow's to have bait bagged before our arrival, which would be about 9:30, and got the bad news. My feelings sank especially since my son felt somewhat excited about participation. We agreed that next year we will do it. I just have to take the time to read the procedures carefully.

But we had a great morning and early afternoon, fishing until 2:30. River Styx tends to be productive. My pickerel measured 24 inches, Matt having first caught a largemouth about 11 inches, and Joe jigged a perch. All released. We also witnessed a larger pickerel caught, over four pounds. I asked the guy if he registered in the derby, no. Photography a maze of opportunity, it always is with Joe along, who is photogenic and doesn't mind my habit of endless shooting with my Nikon.

The ice had melted to 12 to 15-inches thick. I learned today that it's thick at the edges, where melt tends to be vertical, rather than horizontal. Joe went right to the edge and put his hands in the water, finding the ice five inches thick. I told him to please not do it, feeling nervous. And yet, if he fell through, I had ice spikes on hand. I feel my conscience is absolved by having the device. The car situated a hundred yards away, he would have warmed up after I tossed the spikes to him. Nevertheless, he learned a lot from Bob Neals, holder of the New Jersey state record 42-pound and some ounce musky, who introduced Joe to ice fishing more than 15 years ago.

On Joe's first ice outing, Bob cut a hole and told him, "Put your hands in the water, then hold them out to dry in the wind. You won't be cold the rest the day." The wind then happened to be about 15 degrees, minus wind chill factor.

Today it remained cold, never getting above 30. The breeze felt pretty fierce at times, since we weren't dressed to the utmost protection, expecting temperatures in the mid-40's. But we dressed well enough to bear it and have a good time, layered, although my son could have used his wool pants, even though he did have long johns on.