Nice Topwater Bite

I am no longer pushing carts from the supermarket lot. Back at specialty meats, the stress hit like one of the brick walls falling on me. That's temporary. I'll be back in shape at it soon. Though I had lots of time to sit in my car and read and write--I think I read every issue of Outdoor Photographer from a year's subscription cover to cover and I read more besides--the thought of doing that drudgery otherwise for five more years just wasn't happening. Active human relationships involved in the wheeling and dealing inside the store sustain me. As bad as they do get.

So waking up this morning was like suffering schizophrenia. But I got all the gear besides the marine battery in the car. The battery I had Matt take from my study and put in the trunk. Before we left, I opened Father's Day gifts. Matt gave me beer. Trish gave me two T-shirts--one for me, one for Matt--that advertise "Litton's Bait and Tackle." Her sense of humor. We wore the shirts today.

Tough drive up there, I feared this outing would not succeed, and it was a tough four or five hours under burning sun until the evening topwater bite erupted. Matt did catch a pickerel within minutes after we launched by trolling a crankbait that gets down 15 feet. We continued to troll hundreds of yards until we found some shadow, getting no more hits. The first shaded bank and overhang was near an island we found in March. We had intended to seek this out today, but we never got around to putting much effort into it.

The second shadowy bank yielded a 13-inch bass on a Senko for me.

We ended up trolling all the way to the front of the lake where about a dozen people swam. I found the dividing line between their loud voices and birdsong. I figured that on the birdsong side, we might find more bass in shadow, but besides spotting one of about 10 inches, nothing happened.

Actually got this shot on my APS-C camera when the sun got low.

We seemed to spend eternal hours under the sun just working worms in shallows and weedy depths. I crawled through my tackle bag, looking for slip sinkers. Finding none, I just crimped on a quarter-ounce split shot. I had more control lifting and dropping through 30-foot depths. We have hooked bass here that way, but none today. We watched a school of dimpling and leaping herring go by. I wondered. Maybe 20 minutes later, and despite 80-degree water temperature, salmon did crash the school at the surface.  Quickly, we rigged up with Phoebes and trolled thoroughly. Nothing.

We had stopped at Stanhope Bait and Boat for shiners, but we were told cash only, which neither of us had. Would have been interesting to try and mark salmon and then dangle bait, but then again, salmon concentrate in big schools during August.

Matt did lose a bass on a worm where we tried next, but nothing else would happen. That fish did break the enervation that definitely got to me and seemed to get to Matt, although after the day was done, he told me was looking forward to the evening bite, sure it would happen. I did work at and repeatedly shoot a subject in this area where Matt lost the fish. It interested me intensely, although certain other shots I got seem better.

The sun got on the mountaintop. We took position where we've often done well, shadow on the water. I caught a 14-inch largemouth on a worm, and then I switched to a Hedden Torpedo, passing another of the same to Matt. Small pickerel were all over our plugs, hitting them like torpedoes themselves. They were fun, but we caught none of them. Later, just before we headed down lake, Matt almost got a nice one in the boat. I caught another bass of about a pound, and Matt caught the big one. It was a pretty good bite as is typical after a sunny, hot day. The fish had moved into quite shallow water with weedy cover.

When after lunch we first rode to Brian's, I realized I had forgotten the second headlamp and asked Matt if we should turn back for it. He assured me he was OK without it, but I still made a point of going in before it was quite dark. Deep into dusk, yes, but not as dark as last year. Matt hauled a first load and checked on the car, which was OK. He came back and told me the headlamp's batteries had died. It seemed an unusually hard haul in the dark. (When we drove off, it was pitch black and my car's interior lights don't work.) We have to haul a canoe Matt thinks weighs 125 pounds, not 100, up a steep embankment of about 50 vertical feel, maybe more. And the marine battery and all else. But I don't complain besides grunts that come almost involuntarily, because in a way, it feels real good.

Matt did Philmont New Mexico when he was in Scouts. Before we drove off, he told me that in certain ways, the haul is harder than anything on that backpack trip.

 Matt's pickerel shook violently after he unhooked it, going immediately overboard into the water.

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