Taking Advice From My Own Book

My book on trout fishing is for most intents and purposes done. Has been for months. And I haven't opened the file for as many months, busy at figuring out how to build a Wordpress website. (Actually, I'm more caught up writing for magazines.) 

Here's a few points of advice from the book I needed to follow today:

When water is off color, use brightly colored eggs: I have some here at home. Didn't bring any. Only pale eggs.

When current demands the use of split shot, use round ones without clasps: The river was high as well as off color. Moving fast. It took me 20 minutes before I reached for those shot. I did have the variety without clasps that roll over bottom easily. Put one of those on and it stayed on. The several snap swivels I had bunched together for extra weight proved to have not been quite enough. 

The microlight game is mostly about getting hooks set, which is why it can seem a ridiculous game: I must have missed more than 20 hits in less than 45 minutes of fishing. I began telling myself to take the game less seriously. But if it were ridiculous, I wouldn't write about it.

I've been using one-pound test. I don't find the trout wear themselves out: Having a few on before I finally landed one satisfied me at gut level. The problem wasn't the one-pound test. It was getting that hook set.

It was one of those outings. If they all worked out smoothly, I'd lose motivation. I forgot my camera and my net, too. As you can see, I took the photo of my only trout in the dusk on my phone. With my DSLR, I could have compensated for exposure and gotten one of those beautiful shots you're used to. 

I quit after I released the trout. I wasn't even sure if it was quite nine inches long. It swallowed the hook. I tried to retrieve another from my leader wallet but got two leaders tangled together. In the dark, I decided one trout was enough, rather than trying to sort the mess out. 

Salmon Eggs

Cranberry Lake Early Season Spot

 

Fred had a dentist appointment, so we fished from shore rather than the squareback canoe. We had planned on fishing the Passaic River. What a laugh that is after how many inches of rain I don't know fell last few days. So we began fishing at Tilcon. And we began in the rain. The sun came out. The sun got clouded over again. More rain fell. And some hail or sleet. No thunderheads, but the clouds were deeply grey, greatly conglomerated.

Fred fished a Senko, I fished a Phoebe. I also tried a Johnson spoon with a treble hook (not the weedless Johnson Minnow) and a Mepp's Aglia Long. I think I gave the salmon--available from shore when the water's cold--a fair shake. It was 44 degrees out, and the water couldn't have been a whole lot warmer than 50. If that. Yesterday afternoon did get into the lower 60's, but it's been down to about 40 at night. 

After we finished with Tilcon, we visited Jefferson Lake, hoping a certain spot was accessible (wasn't). Someone had been fishing worms under a bobber at the launch and told us he got only a bite, probably a sunfish. He also said he saw snow forecast for tonight, flurries.

Big clouds continued to pass overhead but sunlight broke in. 

We had not one hit back at Tilcon. I fished over weeds, slow and low down about 20 feet deep or more, shallower water and middle column slowly, and up near the surface over deep water, thinking maybe a salmon would come up. In the depths and near residual and newly emerging weeds, I hoped a pickerel or bass would hit.

Fred figured Cranberry Lake would be worth a try, and I voiced my opinion about a certain spot I felt sure had real possibility. He agreed to go there. Within a few minutes, I caught the pickerel photographed above on the Mepp's Aglia Long. From a pocket. A little cove. It contained emerging pads and sweet green algae, but a big submerged tree trunk caught my attention. 

I cast so as to retrieve alongside it, but my braid got hung up on a branch nearer to me than to the spinner. No matter. As I retrieved so as to get into position to flip that spinner over the branch, the pickerel quickly rose from beside that log and turned on the spinner, taking it and getting hooked, pulling the line off the branch. 

A lot of pads are up, but more will come up yet.  I moved further along the shoreline and cast where more open water is involved, maneuvering the spinner in between pads, hoping not to snag any stems. After not too long, I got hit again right out in front of me. Caught a smaller pickerel. Some more rain fell but more than the rain--hail or sleet again. It looked more like hail. Just a little larger than sleet. Have never before seen hail without an electrical storm. As quick as the shower came it was gone.

Fred switched to a Senko rigged weedless. He placed it right, because something took it on the drop. He missed the hit.

"What do you think it was?"

"Felt like a bass."

Five or 10 minutes later, positioned along the shoreline where I had caught the larger pickerel, he hooked a pickerel that leapt off the hook. 

"How big?"

Fred extended this hands about 17 inches apart.

Good opportunity to have spent more than a few hours with a good friend. The conversation proved to be productive as I had anticipated, although I had no idea I would be all but converted to the idea of driving to Florida a couple of years from now, rather than flying. 

"You can take your time," Fred told me.

He recently took a train to Disney World with his wife, drove back to New Jersey.

I realized I can buy a fishing license for, say, South Carolina or Georgia, too, and take a few days or more getting to Florida. If I want. I don't mind driving alone. I have a couple of friends I expect to see in my destination regions of near Orlando and near Melbourne.

I'll be plenty busy once I go into semi-retirement. I might even be attempting to do too much. But I might only cheat myself trying to get to Florida and back again too fast.    

That's the trail submerged in water pouring out from over the bank of Tilcon Lake and flowing into a pond. 

Tilcon

Chilly but We Caught Fish

Ever since Brian told me a couple of days ago about trout recently stocked in Clinton Reservoir, I had planned on beginning with a quarter-ounce Phoebe spoon. To launch and also get into the boat, we had to wade barelegged, so we learned right away that the water was significantly colder than last week. Maybe colder than two weeks ago on that 92-degree day. My guess--52 degrees. Brian's Eagle graph unit is a great piece of equipment but doesn't have a thermometer. 

We motored off and traveled not 10 yards after I cast my Phoebe--we'd made our way out over 22 feet of water--when I had a small fish on, almost certainly one of those trout. It got off, and I got hit again, missed that. I really wanted the one I had on badly. To have brought home a trout for my wife. Brian did end up catching one from very shallow water, and he offered it to me, but that's just not the same. I laughed about it and the trout went back.

Brian had said we'd troll down along the shoreline opposite to the one we trolled last week and the week previous. That's where we headed, but before we got there, I had caught an 18-inch pickerel from seven feet of flat water, and a 12- or 13-inch smallmouth from over 22 feet of water. How deep the Phoebe traveled, I don't know, but not very. We weren't moving at top speed. The Minn Kota electric has speeds one through five, one the slowest, and I might have selected two or three. 

We trolled that shoreline a long way before Brian caught a 12-inch smallmouth on a plug. Once again, we were determined to explore the lake, rather than concentrate on spots by casting. Nor did we concentrate on them by repeated trolling passes.

We went around a bend and headed back towards where a very long, narrow cove ends, though we didn't go as far, electing to circle an island. On the way back, Brian had another on, but his ultralight was in a rod holder. That ultralight had too much give to set the hooks of the jointed Rapala. I missed a terrific hit on my Mepp's Aglia Long. Missed another hit, less pronounced. 

At the island, Brian caught another smallmouth and missed another hit on the ultralight in the rod holder. We headed back towards the shoreline we had followed down, Brian catching a yellow perch out over 22 feet of water on a Big O-type crankbait. Slowly making our way back, Brian missed another hit on that ultralight in that rod holder, caught another smallmouth about 10 inches long, and then, over that shallow flat but in closer to shore where it's only three or four feet deep, caught the trout on that jointed Rapala. Right when I was about to switch to the Phoebe. 

Forty-nine degrees when we got off the reservoir. Wading up to my knees in bare feet, the water felt warm. Got the shivers but not the shakes like last week, because today I wore merino wool long John's and an upper body base layer. I also put on layers of wool shirts and put shoes on after I had got in the boat. Brian was dressed warm, too. 

Conesus, Hemlock, Canadice

 

Water has Some Color Trout Respond

River hasn't been stocked in almost a week but fishing pretty well. The water has some color and is up a little higher than last time out. They were hitting the eggs as I expected they would, but I missed a lot more hits than I usually do, although on occasion, it happens.

I missed 14 hits and caught two trout, inside an hour-and-a-half. A couple of trout I had on to play a bit, before they wrestled free. Most of the action was about a hundred yards upstream of the stocking point. 

Explorer Mode

We headed for the dam. Yes, the rocks look like fish magnets, and we marked some fish, too. That's when I cut the electric and put on a Hot 'n Tot to get down to those fish. Just as I was about to engage the motor, though, something good size struck Brian's jointed Rapala on the surface. 

We never slowed way down to cast topwaters along the edge. We're in explorer mode. After trolling back along the dam, we still couldn't get any to hit, but we noticed fish dimpling the surface that appeared to be trout out over deeper water. I saw fish backs move along the surface, so I was sure they weren't herring. I put on a Phoebe and we trolled through the area. Nothing happened. Nor did we mark fish on the graph.

A large cove had looked really interesting as we approached the dam, but I had cut across its face, rather than having gone back where I thought shallows might draw in some fish. Now I put on a Rebel Pop-R. I knew I wouldn't have much time with it. Maybe enough. 

A small stream enters all the way in the back. I put the Pop-R maybe 20 feet in front of where it must be cool water that flows. Put the plug in shallows of two or three feet. Something smashed it. I missed the hit.

We headed towards the ramp a mile or two away, and soon Brian was fast to a nice-sized smallmouth that hit the jointed Rapala. Over about nine feet of water. He played the fish on an ultralight. His goal for today was to catch one on the ultralight. And on that jointed Rapala, which he had found when cleaning out the center console of his truck. 

Moving on, we turned at a right angle around a small point and pretty soon a smallmouth, it must have been, slammed my Mepp's Aglia Long. I felt a fierce pull and then the fish was off. As you can see in the photograph, I had made the mistake of not checking if my snap was closed. Three or four times the bass leapt trying to throw that spinner as we got back underway.

Fortunately, I had a couple more of the same in my tackle box.

I got hit again almost as soon as I had got it out there, but the bass came off. By the way it hit hard, I'm sure it was a smallmouth. 

We traveled a half mile or more, before the pickerel I'm photographed with took the Mepp's deeply. It fought with such a dogged resistance, I thought it was a better fish than the two pounds at most it weighed.

After we got out of the boat, and I had waded barefoot up to my knees getting the boat on Brian's trailer, the shakes assailed me so badly I could no longer speak normally. I had waded the same getting the boat in and never put shoes back on, so my feet remained in contact with the cold boat bottom. It was 69 degrees when we got up there but had cooled off very quickly when the sun went down, and as I drove out of the West Milford region, I had 55 degrees on the thermometer.

More than an hour later, after a shower, I still felt cold.  

Nice Bass & Pickerel

 

No Keepers but a Great Day

This outing's been in the works for many months. When I told Fred I'm really keen on a keeper tog, he listened. And he figured April 18th was the best bet. 

We got to the lighthouse by about 10:30. The wind must have been a steady 30 knots from the southwest. The bay, streaked with white caps, loosened up the hold of brown snot-algae from the rocks, the bottom, whatever else. It got all over our lines, sinkers, swivels, bait. We'd haul up eight pounds of the stuff, and we didn't cast back out for long, though we did walk well out and away from the lighthouse, hoping to find a way to fish in close to the rocks where maybe the stuff got pulled out farther. 

Never happened. 

We tried another spot where inlet becomes more like bay. We got less algae on our lines, but still too much. In any event, no bites.

Besides the green crabs we used hoping to catch tog, Fred had some salted clams. We drove to a spot Fred knows about near the Causeway. Here algae wasn't loose in the water, and we set clams along a channel and on a flat, using three-ounce pyramid sinkers, hoping for stripers. 

Lots of conversation for an hour-and-a-half or so, but no hits. 

I got the bright idea of going back to the inlet. Maybe the incoming tide would be free of algae. 

When we got there, Fred recognized the vehicle of a Friend of his. We found him waiting out the tide with the same idea I had. Fred and I decided to go ahead and fish, even though the tide either continued to drop or the water near the surface moved seaward because of that wind. 

Maybe 40 knots by then. 

And then, after maybe a half hour, maybe less--I can't tell how long, lost my sense of time--the wind all but quit. The water stopped flowing, too. I got a bite. 

I had put my green crab in close on the rocks. I felt it get bit again. Said nothing. Again. And then the strike came and I set the hook. The blackfish I'm photographed with above. 

For maybe a half hour, we got lots of bites, but most of them felt the way I'd expect in water of about 52 degrees. Little taps, non-committal. But the other day, Fred caught blackfish left and right.

Today, I ended up catching another tog, Bigger. About 13 inches, but no keeper. Fred caught two, also under keeper size. 

It seemed that as soon as the fish began feeding in the calm, the wind began to come at us again but from the northeast. And the water flowed as tide began to rise. And the algae got all over our lines once more. And the fish stopped biting. 

Mixed Jetty Catches

 

Warmwater Getting Underway

 

I was afraid both of us would get skunked.  

The water cold--somewhere in the 50's--I still thought the dark, rocky bottom of shallows would absorb plenty of the intense sunlight and temperatures in the 80's. That would draw something like a mass exodus of bass and pickerel. 

Brian always has me man the stern mounted electric, so I steered us across several hundred yards of 15- and 20-foot depths to a five-foot flat that always results in a fish on during the summer. Brian trolled a CP Swing; I trolled a Rapala X-Rap. Nothing happened, which alerted me to the fact that I had misjudged. 

We ended up trolling deeper. I let my Storm Hot 'n Tot do most of the work, Brian used the CP and also a Chatterbait. Whenever I got the chance, I cast shallow water with the X-Rap, feeling very determined to make real something of my expectation that fish would be there. Brian wanted to fish along the dam. No doubt the rip-rap is smallmouth bass habitat. We headed in that direction, trolling as we went, but when we got pretty close, I pointed out that we had only so much time to get back to the ramp. 

We turned back at that point, but now we know it is possible to make it all the way there. Brian uses two batteries. Although nearly all the charge would drain from the first once we got in the vicinity of the ramp, the second still had plenty. The sun positioned low over the ridge; Brian’s Chatterbait got hit when we still headed towards the dam but we'd forgotten all about that when he finally had a fish on, which proved to be the smallmouth of the first photograph, caught on the Chatterbait. He soon caught another on the CP Swing, the largest of his total of three, the last one also on the CP Swing. So instead of intense feeding during the warmth of the afternoon, an evening bite took place like what happens during the summer. 

I kept us trolling through about 10 feet of water for the most part. The Hot 'n Tot didn't dig against rocks on the bottom until nine-and-a-half feet deep. I'm pretty sure I can get that plug 15 feet deep by letting out more line. Tonight the CP Swing might have run three feet under the surface, but it sure did better than my crankbait. 

Before we turned to go in, I switched to the X-Rap and had us troll across five feet of water. That resulted in the pickerel I'm photographed with, so something of my expectation was made real. Nothing like steady action I had hoped for, but this evening inaugurated a warmwater season to look forward to.

I fished trout the other day, and I've been comparing apples to oranges, a fun mental exercise. I remember the September 1st outing from last year as a very desirable impression, something to build upon, a foundational experience for more yet to come. But don't I want to have my fun with my microlight and the stockers? I do, but not to the exclusion of getting out in the attempt to catch bass like the 21-incher from September. Not to mention that I'm still trying to beat my best smallmouth at 19 3/8th inches. And pickerel at only 24 1/2. This reservoir Brian and I are fishing has great resonance, as if memory enters into its being.   

  

September First