Fred's Secret Spot North Jersey Bass

Fred took me to his secret spot, a series of ponds in North Jersey, which for a few years yielded many bass for him, including some in the three-pound range. We fished Senko-type worms until dusk, when we switched to topwaters, fishing a final pond he hadn't tried yet, getting no hits. We caught lots of bass on the worms, although all of these fish were peculiarly small.

Fred thought the most about the situation, since he had been successful in the past. He said that a killer winter like the one we still seem to have just got through sometimes produces fish die-off in shallow ponds, a reality I'm familiar with going way back. Who knows. Maybe all the larger bass are gone and only dinks managed to survive.

In any case, I began fishing after a very stressful day at work, my head sort of swimming in conflicts, while I managed, no less, to converse and get along just fine, no need of disclosing my discomfort. When I began catching bass, my mood began to loosen up and I felt enjoyment begin to replace dread. Not that this wasn't expected. I knew, back at work, that once I got out fishing, I would move into a much better place, but it did take a couple of fish to put me there, not that Fred's company didn't help. The funny thing about fishing is that catching some really makes a difference.

We got to the second pond and pop, bang--each of us caught bass on our first casts. I felt interested, and I walked swiftly all the way around and across to the other side, expectant of the shadows. Nothing. Neither of us got another hit.

At the third pond, we caught plenty. I realized I wasn't being quite active enough. Fred switched to a fat eight-inch worm and rigged it with a big inset hook. With this, he reached the big scum mats far out in the shallow pond's center. That's where a big bass would be. He caught a nine-inch bass on a worm that must have weighed a large percentage in comparison to the fish's weight. I got up and walked on around and towards a far corner, dodging sticks and fallen tree trunks, really getting into the sport of pitching and casting accuracy among scum mats, fishing a Wacky rig, hook exposed. I wasn't really lazy, though I could have rigged inset. What was the use with algae? It gets all over the hook anyhow. My fun involved pitching perfectly into pockets. I caught some bass. Then I lost the worm to a snag before I quite reached the corner.

I had just enough stepping in and around the pond in the woodland to feel young again, as if I were 17. I think that getting outdoors and doing maneuvers that require some effort is very healthy. Since it brings out youth in you--you feel this--it rejuvenates the body in turn. The youth you feel is not an illusion.

We had great conversation riding home. We spoke about past jobs we've had and adventures on them. I was the one who brought up Scottsdale, AZ, huge banquet dinners, all the beer and wine we wanted, and hauling six packs back to our rooms and private parties. This during the mid-90's boom. That was interesting--to say the least--and I can remember compelling conversations during those private parties, but I thought of the weight I've lost recently, and thought of the health the outdoors doesn't only inspire, but actually produces, and while I'm not ashamed of my employment adventures, I think too much of an economic boom would kill everyone involved by the degrees of its decadence, at least with the set of values in vogue during the 90's.

 None of our bass were much larger than this.

The magic hour

Wild & Scenic Delaware River Smallmouth Bass Float Trip

Our annual Barryville float trip proved to be a wonderful time. They had about seven inches of rain Thursday up there, and the river rose, of course. I spoke to Joni at Reber Rafting Friday. She said the river flowed brown but not too high and to phone her in the morning. Water must have been low, because today, Saturday, it was off color but not too bad. The Laxawaxan flowed muddier and added stain. (We always eat lunch at the confluence and the Zane Grey museum when we clock the five-mile trip.)

We began fishing Rat-L-Trips. With water off color, yet returning to normal, I thought of walleye. Nothing happened halfway to Zane Grey, so I reached for my box of jigs. I realized then that I had forgotten my two tubs of Berkeley Gulp! Leeches. This was off-putting, since the leeches have become my favorite Delaware presentation. I put a three-inch yellow twister grub on an eighth-ounce jig and quickly caught a longear or red bellied sunfish. I was thinking of an alternative, since bright yellow under dark sky and in dark water isn't quite right. I remembered I put a pack of Keitech Custom Worms in my tackle tote for Maine. These inspired by my friend Fred, who used them on Round Valley fairly recent. If you remember the old Ringworms from the late 70's, these are like a knockoff, only with a paddle tail and fishy scent. The rings trap air bubbles. The color smoky and dark, they seemed to suit the situation best.

And pretty soon I was into smallmouth bass. Matt never switched from the Rat-L-Trap and didn't fish much, content to lay back and read. I fished a wide gap, eighth-ounce jig, having broken off the stubby jig, deciding it wasn't quite what I wanted.

Most of the bass hit in faster shallow water. We let the raft drift and I simply pitched the jig and bounced it off bottom almost vertically. Especially in small eddies behind big boulders with about three to four feet of water, the bass were there and willing, a lot of fun. I felt like I could have fished this way for many hours on end. We were on the river at least six hours and it felt like a journey. I brought one of my 10-pound mushroom anchors, and we made a few stops.

Once, I reverted to the Rat-L-Trap and fished very thoroughly where rapids had begun to slow. We had just witnessed two guys in another raft, one of the men nailed a walleye about 18 or 19 inches long. In my river experience, walleye have bunched together with water conditions just like this, and we've nailed them one after another on Rat-L-Traps.

As many of us know, walleye have a tapidum lucidum for each eye, which is how they get their name, and this retinal structure advantages eyesight in dark water, including water that is stained, so long as some visibility is possible. I fished long and hard, fan casting the area, but got not a hit from varied retrieves. First I cast and simply retrieved at moderate rate, hoping fish would active enough would chase the lure down. I progressively slowed retrieve until I risked losing the lure to a snag. I tried lift and drop retrieves in between.

Then we went off downriver and I had fun with bass on the jig. Walleye would certainly hit it too, and I really don't know why we didn't encounter any, only that walleye are in general a much less frequent catch.

My favorite shoreline we didn't fish. We ran a little late and had to paddle. That's really the only disappointment I can think of. Once I was into fish on the Keitechs, I forgot all about my leeches.

Reber River Trips bus

Lake Musconetcong Water Quality Suffers Weed Killer

One look at the water, and I knew likelihood of catching bass was slim. "Spinnerbaits work in mud like this," I said. I really didn't know if many bass remained to respond.

Lake Musconetcong used to have beauty in the clarity of water, the varied greens and reds of aquatic vegetation, and the natural color tone of the few rocks protruding above surface. The water is deeply stained now not because of rain. Aquatic vegetation filters a lake's water by absorbing nitrogen and phosphorous feeding minute particles of algae. And when a lake is loaded with weed killer, the decaying vegetation adds to the lake's turbidity. Only by leaving the lake alone to let nature heal can the vegetation return and water clarify, fish populations increase and the cormorant population dwindle, since these voracious diving birds can't swim through thick aquatic vegetation. It may take many years, but Lake Musconetcong will return to health if it is allowed. 

No one we saw did any water skiing. I haven't seen any evidence of water skiing all summer.

I was there in 2009. A red carpet covered much of the lake. However, fish populations throve. I have fishing log figures to show that the fishing was good. It was very good. Pockets existed in the weeds. Weedlines provided cover edges. And bass and pickerel hit right through the weeds with scum frogs and Phatrats fished on top of the masses. Could you navigate a boat? Rowing was trying. Electric outboards impossible. But, yes, we got around by rowing. It took effort, wasn't easy. Not everything worthwhile in life is easy, but by the evidence of what I've read, water chestnuts create an anoxic condition that would eventually kill all the fish in the lake.

Rather than resort to chemicals, which have in fact done as I've described, I have visions of dozens of laborers hired to work in flatboats over the course of a few summers, rooting out this infestation. Examples on the web show this approach works. I have no information to judge how many years Lake Musconetcong will be stained, fish populations dwindling, before the chestnuts get eradicated and the lake let be to clear, fish populations coming back. I hope that day comes, but no evidence I've read suggests that water chestnuts have ever been eradicated entirely by either chemical or manual means, and the "chestnut" seed pods can lay dormant as many as 12 years before sprouting new, rapidly infesting plant life.

So if the lake is allowed to breathe again and fish populations return, it's possible water chestnuts will return with them. The best approach clearly is manual removal, the employment of many people and lots of equipment when needed in the interest of preserving the lake's clear water quality, water filtered by abundant aquatic vegetation other than water chestnuts, which keeps the numbers of fish-hoarding cormorants much lower also. Where's the money for this in New Jersey? I'm assuming manual removal is more costly than the funds Lake Musconetcong Planning Board paid to the company that administered weed killer. So the lake is a mess because we've done it the easy way, apparently cost effective. What other way is possible? Manual removal is possible to an imaginative mind, not to politics as usual in the state today, by all appearances.

 Fred fishes a spinnerbait unsuccessfully.

 Cormorant on a previously brown rock, whitened by cormorant excrement.

 This filthy rock, thick with cormorant excrement and once brown, stands out visibly white all the way across the lake, as if vandalized.
Cormorants have free reign to swim now that vegetation doesn't stop them. Their numbers have increased dramatically. I once read that a single cormorant eats 10 pounds of fish a day.

 Look at that brown water. My lens has a polarizing filter. Previous years, you could see the bottom clearly, five feet down.

 Stanhope Bait & Boat is a baitfish hub for the whole region, but virtually no one fishes the lake now, except for catfish. And if you want big ones, do come and buy bait here and you can catch them off the dock out back. Fifteen pounds this summer.

Are there any bass left? We got skunked.

18 Inch Bass Caps the Day at Neighborhood Pond

Fished my neighborhood bass pond for more than a half hour as evening approached. The water was still as glass. I began with my favorite Baby Torpedo topwater even though, owing to experience, I didn't expect it would work. I've caught a lot of bass on Rapalas under windy conditions here, but if my memory doesn't fail, I've caught only one bass on a strict topwater. I really don't know why. The pond is very shallow. My son has caught dozens on buzzbaits, and often in the middle of the afternoon.

So getting no attention, I switched to the reliable Senko, soon hooking a little 11 incher. Further up the shoreline, I got a hit from a good sized bass, felt weight on hookset but lost the fish.

I just took my time slow, as the fishing was slow, and enjoyed grass under bare feet. I didn't expect a bass when I felt resistance while fluttering the Wacky retrieve. I really thought it must be vegetation. When I saw line moving swiftly aside, I set, and I was into a nice bass, estimating the fish at three pounds, at least. It weighs a little more than that. I measured it at 18 inches, and it wasn't skinny, although not especially fat.

Topwater Bass at Jefferson Lake, Morris County, NJ

Jefferson Lake, Morris County, NJ, new to us, I felt happy when the first bass sucked down my Baby Torpedo. We fished for 20 minutes or so, and the feeling grew ominous as if we might get skunked. Shortly after I released this bass, I caught another about the same size on the Torpedo, which I never changed for anything else. About to switch to a plastic worm when the first bass hit, pulling the plug under with barely a dimple of evidence, I let that notion go.

We marked water as deep as 12 feet, most of the depth in the 10-foot range. We tried another, broader cove. Matt got a hit, unmistakably a bass. We motored over to the big island with the 55-pound thrust Minn Kota. I fished very carefully, very sensitively, imparting all the life I could give the little plug one size larger than the Tiny Torpedo, heavy enough to cast a good distance on 15-pound Power Pro low-diameter braid, but not far as some heavier plugs I thought of using instead. I stuck it out.

I spliced braid to 15-pound fluorocarbon leaders, avoiding barrel swivels more prone to collecting weeds or spooking wary bass. And we kept on fishing into sunset, feeling as if this lake is a real loser. I talked about how the water seemed too turbid, but it really isn't bad, just not strikingly clear the way I like a lake.

Nevertheless, Jefferson didn't let us down. All the way in back of a small cove--a tight space between shore and thick weeds--I hooked another bass about the same size, then boated another a few minutes later. All this time, the inflatable felt comfortable as a bean bag chair. Efficient in getting everything set up, we found it served purpose all round. By comparison, in metal boats or fiberglass canoes, it's all too easy to knock about and spook fish in a large radius.

As dusk fell deeply, I hooked and caught the fifth bass. I fish a topwater persistently and carefully. My son couldn't keep up, but he very much enjoyed this outing. He just didn't cast as accurately. I placed the plug perfectly next to weedlines twice to catch a couple of my bass, and the other fish responded to intentional casting also.

We unloaded everything, emptied the air, and packed up in no time, stopping at Quick Check in Byram, guess it is, bought cashews and almonds and a beef jerky for Matt.

Big New Jersey River Smallmouth Bass

Plan was to fish Jefferson Lake after the river. Our inflatable boat--not much better than a bean bag seat--in the trunk. I was ready to haul out the marine battery and 55-pound thrust Minn Kota. The sky appealed not much nor the weather forecast. It's awkward enough fishing from that boat in pleasant weather, even though we've enjoyed it. I decided we would just fish the river and maybe the lake on Thursday, well aware we had better fish the river today, heavy rain forecast tomorrow. I feared an en route downpour would muddy the river before we got there.

It struck. By the time we got to the river, fairly light rain dimpled the surface, the sudden storm having abated. Water low and clear, if not too low, I let Matt have first cast. He caught an average stream bass. By the time my shiner struggled in the stream, muddied water flowed into view along the bank. Within minutes, the river clouded fairly thick on our side, and my interest at the quick effects of a heavy rain shower now passed piqued. Matt caught another small bass, and a nice one of about 13 inches swooped upward out of the proverbial ort cloud for my shiner. I missed it.

"Matt, take a live shiner and go fish under the bridge." (That's where I expected a big one.)

"No, you go ahead. It's important."

He referred to my hope to beat my 16 consecutive outing streak record with numbers instead of zeroes in my handwritten log. (Panfish & the like don't count.) I refused to go all the way to the bridge and caught an average stream bass, so this made 15 outings unbroken by zeroes, with one more to go for the tie.

Fishing slow compared to last we were here in 2012, since I never have given the spot away to anyone, I wondered if others haven't discovered it on their own. Who knows. We caught some more bass, a 12-incher for me, an 11-incher for Matt... And then I saw her. What a bass! I was very sure of a five-pound smallmouth. Matt dangled bait downstream more than a hundred feet away. I had to attempt this fish.

Many--if not most--bass anglers shun live bait. You can even catch smallmouths in January water temperatures of 38 degrees by letting a tube jig rest on bottom, tentacles waving subtly in slow, very slow river current. Until the moment I approached now, my largest smallmouth was caught on a plastic worm. Fair enough. But what's wrong with live shiners--really--when they work and another approach catches nothing? I could just tell this bass was not going to be eager to hit even a live, frisky shiner cast perfectly six feet in front of its cruise downriver. The stretch a shallow exposure, this bass had to be wary.

A perfect cast. The bass checked the bait out, turned away, just as I expected. I twitched carefully, the bass turned back to the shiner and took it deliberately. Now I had to hook this fish. And then fight it. I felt nervous. I never have had a five-pound smallmouth on with all hell about to break loose. I set the hook. Heavy weight. It wasn't lightning, but the bass barnstormed that stretch. And didn't want to be lifted out of the river, no, but it didn't fight as hard as bass little more than two pounds in Maine towed our canoe, drag tearing like bluefish streaks. Or bluefish afraid of becoming steaks, if they could conceive at all of what happens.

Once I held the bass high, I knew it was no five-pounder but it was well on its way to four pounds, even though not quite there yet. I measured it at a sliver more than 19 3/8 inches, with a belly like a middle-aged mommy. On this day, I fully expected to raise the bar to 15 consecutive catch outings and believed we would catch some big smallmouths, but I really didn't expect to catch my largest ever yet, bigger than the 19 1/4-incher I released in the South Branch Raritan last year.

When we left, the muddy flow completely subsided, river restored to even clarity; as if a shadowy ghost passed through, it all came and went fast. We had elsewhere to go.

"By saving the shiners, if there's a big bass at the next spot, it will likely hit on the first cast." I knew what I told Matt from long experience. I can't say he believed a word of it, although in vernacular speech, it made sense, as it might not on your screen.

We had eight or nine lively shiners left. Not very large, and though I won't say where I bought them, because I have great respect for the place, it's worth complaining about the size of "large" shiners, since we don't want the standard corrupted. Most of what I spent $5.50 a dozen for were medium. I pointed this out to the proprietor, but not in a mean spirited way.

We found a new spot. It didn't look likely. But who knows. We approached with rods and bait. It had possibility. You know the feeling. It's as if you feel something might happen, but ordinary life can't believe it and remain quite sane. If every situation approached held a special reward, what would be the point, anyway? Besides, this spot didn't look special. It just felt that way to me. I let Matt have first cast. I began photographing a scene.

"Dad! Look at that bass!"

What had I said? First cast--big bass. Exactly.

Trick photography again. Matt's bass looks like a five-pounder. And let's say it was pretty close. But we measured it. Eighteen inches. This fish beautifully chunky, I believe it weighed over three pounds. From the shallows. We caught lots of smaller bass and missed a few hits.

The next spot we tried, new to us also, is a deep hole. Matt nailed an 11-incher; I missed two hits. A big swirl right up against the bank opposite to where we stood revealed a good-sized bass. Another one of these heavy weights, perhaps not. But I really couldn't tell, it just seemed for certain no more than two pounds. I had waded out, abandoning the dry integrity of my shoes for just that purpose of winging a shiner right in tight, the cast perfect. The bass dropped the bait after I tightened up. Usually, they hold on, even though they feel that tension.

A nice couple of hours this afternoon. Wouldn't you know we would fish Maine hard all week, then come down to this Jersey crick and catch the bass we dreamed of catching up there.

 Matt in a forbidden place, but I never pointed out to him it is posted. Freedom is worth dying for--getting arrested isn't that bad.

Hiking Bubble Mountain Peaks, Acadia National Park, Mount Desert Island

Matt decided that we would approach South Bubble Mountain by the steep trail, so his mother would have an easier descent. I was very impressed by this short trail, the sheer steepness of it unabating beats the one mile 1200 foot vertical ascent to NJ's Mount Tammany for relentless climb.

We got near the top. Matt went ahead, summited, and returned with the news that our black Labrador couldn't possibly make it without being lifted up a vertical passage with iron ladder bars. No way. And she hardly made it as was. I seriously wondered if she would give up and refuse to move. I've never before heard a dog pant like that, and we gave her all the water she would drink.

We decided that we would go back down to the car, down the steep trail, taking it slow so Trish's knee held in place. Matt would go ahead and descend on the other side.

As it turned out, he also summited the North Bubble, ran down the trail, and beat us to the car. He's sure on his feet, just as I was as a teen. The photo above proves to me he's even more sure than I was. There's a drop of about 60 feet beyond where he stands on that little pinnacle. He wasn't nervous and I would have been. The last thing I would have done, rather than shoot the photo, would be to tell him to step back. No situation to make him doubt. He found the spot on his own and left it alone, trekking over peaks and running through rock fields back down to the parking lot.

Jordan Pond

Matt's mother takes assistance from a spruce bough.

Pinkish granite (feldspar crystals) MDI is famous for.

Matt shortly before he summited both Bubble Mountain peaks.