Michael Vandenberg and I made plans to fish Hopatcong on August 2nd months ago. We would try fishing largemouths with Senkos at the bottom edge of weedlines, but also buy live herring. Towards sundown, the plan was, we would anchor at the Ledge and liveline herring as I would leisurely shoot photos of boats in slant sunlight. We probably made the plan before Matt got back from Boston and had to stay, but once I knew he would be here, he was onboard.
Or he would have been. He had a molar removed the other day, and this morning he felt really out of it and decided to stay home. He very much wanted to fish with Michael again, but not if he couldn't really be there. I hope there's another time, but Matt probably won't be living in New Jersey.
We met at Dow's at 2 pm, the wind in high gear, carrying what felt like tremendous heat. I saw the forecast for 90 today, but it felt at least 95. We took our time crossing the lake instead of taking on a lot of water. Michael told me he's getting a lot of paid writing assignments online. He also told me, amused, that an editor told him the use of the word "get" is informal and to be avoided, so count me in as an informal writer, obviously. When we entered a large cove, I set up the sonar, finding the water temp at 83, and soon marking a lot of what I am sure were hybrids--they were fish on herring--mostly at 16-feet, about as deep as oxygen goes now, above 22-foot bottom. We tried nightcrawlers, saving herring for later, but though we never got hit, it was interesting and I took note for any possible future reference. We continued towards the back of the cove. I looked for any sudden rise and found one. The bottom had gradually become shallow when suddenly the rise steepened. Just behind, 13- and 14-feet deep over bottom 15 feet down which quickly rose to 12 feet, nice fish marked, probably the largemouths we sought. I quit the outboard and we cast Senkos.
We fished them pretty thoroughly as I became more and more convinced that with boats riding directly over the fish, direct sunlight, and very warm water, nothing was going to hit. I put the electric down so we could explore even shallower water and easily cast, and though I did mark a lot of fish, even one or two big icons came onto the screen, none hit. I knew what to do next. And as we left the cove, I thought about where exactly that drop we found exists in relation to landmarks. Sometime I would like to ice fish there. Once Joe Landolfi, me, and Matt ice fished about a hundred feet from it, where I did catch a 24-inch pickerel, but by setting lines right behind this drop, we might catch more some other day.
We had fished this next spot for about an hour when I said to Michael, "There are two ways to fish Lake Hopatcong. Extensively and intensively." Earlier I had remarked about how "violent" it was out there, boats passing us at full speed not 50 feet away, wind pummeling us, our anchor not having held bottom until we let out a lot of anchor line. It was loud out there. We discussed the futility of trying to fish weedline edges or docks with the water in motion. I could have added that from a bassboat with a bow-mount trolling motor, it would be doable, but even though my stern-mount electric is plenty sufficient on relatively calm water--not in water like yesterday's. I told him about how well Matt and I did in May. Ten largemouths on a day just as windy. And big ones. But the middle of summer (already) is here now, and I said that for us to go into little tiny coves, while family's sit on their docks 10 feet from us, might feel awkward. Those coves aren't legally private. No problem exists when no one's around. But on a hot summer day, I wouldn't think of it.
The bass probably wouldn't either Those coves are three to five feet deep. Perfect for prespawn bass. Now those bass go as deep as they can.
Matt and I fished extensively that day in May. When I made the remark to Michael, we had just begun to catch fish after feeling initially as if none would even hit live nightcrawlers. After awhile, it didn't seem so loud and disturbed out there. We went from feeling as if no fish existed, to feeling as if we could catch yellow and white perch constantly for the rest of the outing. If perch will bite, so will bass. It was probably only a matter of time. We had stayed in place an hour before I decided I may as well put two herring lines out. We had a dozen live herring intended for the Ledge, which we would move to in another hour-and-a-half or so. I figured we had enough to fish some beforehand.
"When Matt and I first tried this, we didn't know it would work," I said, referring to the live-lining. That first day we tried, in July, was also tough. Panfish refused nightcrawlers for hours before we caught one, but we caught two smallmouths over two-and-a-half pounds on the live-lined herring.
Fishing intensively means you stay in place, where you're sure a strong possibility exists that fish are there. Even if at first it seems none are there. You work on them until they start coming.
We had nearly caught 15 fish when the cloud bank descended from the north, and though we saw no lightning and heard no thunder, it looked very threatening and I didn't want us to stay in place to see what it would do to us. We reeled in our lines and headed in, hoping to stay ahead of it, which we did. But had we more time, plenty of experience tells me the live-lined herring would "work on them" long enough to eventually yield a smallmouth or two. And out at the Ledge, a walleye would have possibly hit.
Back at Dow's, we unloaded, placed things out of the path of any rain coming, and then picked up the ultralights and fished the docks. Almost immediately, I became aware that the usual sense of these docks as not fish-worthy, because busily traveled, is an illusion. They're actually quiet. Most of the time they're not in use, and since they go well out into Great Cove, they're a fish magnet.
I spoke to someone else who docks his bassboat on one of them, and he showed me a photo on his phone with his son and a four-pound largemouth caught from the docks recently and his nephew with a 12-pound channel cat caught from them recently, too. "The other day," he said, "Jimmy (who works there) caught a 20-inch hybrid off the end.
His used bassboat cost him an amount that would be affordable for me. How much I would have to spend to keep it docked on the lake and stored up there during winter is another story, but I think about the likes, even if I will never find a way to actually do it.
Don't take my description of the docks as an invitation for the public to invade private property, though if you rent a boat, Dow's staff might not mind. For us, it ended the day nicely. I caught a green sunfish and a half-pound crappie. Michael caught his first bluegill. I spent more time trying to shoot quality images with my camera. Light became interesting. Some rain fell through sunlight, but not much. No lightning flashed. Clouds broke and sunlight cast in upon the scene at low angle afforded me a few shots worth keeping.
Until this outing, I hadn't fished Lake Hopatcong during the summer since 2017. It did feel like a long time ago, and once as I walked the docks, I felt it all coming back to me. I shared a little of that with Michael, but even more of it came back to me as I rode into Bedminster, listening to a piece of classical music on WQXR, a deeply emotional romantic theme which I used to hear on occasion during some of the best years of my life, years when my son and I fished Hopatcong every summer. It made me realize how much exists in the past I can return to only in memory. Matt and I began fishing here when he was eight. He's almost 22 now, and it's quite possible he and I will never fish Hopatcong during the summer again.
The Cloud Bank We Evaded
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