As a Jersey angler, I've heard stories about the fishing in New York's Finger Lakes for decades. I got the chance a couple of days to fish a little in the three western-most. Staying for three nights at Dog Meadow in Conesus was mostly my wife's vacation. She ventured the idea of going somewhere within four or five hours of Bedminster in the first place. I did suggest the Finger Lakes, because we had never been there. She knew about Air B & B. Superhost Andy's cabin, outdoor kitchen, and service are outstanding. At present, he rents three of the arrangements. Trish and I slept in a loft with the screened window open, even though temps fell to about 50. (Felt good.) As I sit in my living room before the wide screen and type now, I feel my house is stuffy. I will get used to it again, but I welcome the change of perspective, because Andy's set up really does give you a sense of living outdoors in comfort. (Don't miss the photos, below.) Over lunch today, I spoke to my wife about camping in Roscoe, New York, and though she expressed interest in staying in Roscoe--only in a B & B arrangement of some kind. She will not camp in a tent, but she loved Dog Meadow.
I had spent some time online looking at Finger Lakes boat rental possibilities, and everything I found was overpriced. Andy had put some brochures in the cabin, and I did seriously consider an hourly rate canoe rental on Canadice Lake, but the wind came out of the east at about 25 mph. Even if I had brought my anchor along, managing in wind that heavy would have been a problem I didn't care to deal with.
The day before--Thursday the 11th--we tried a NY State Fishing Access point at Vitale Park, located at the northern end of Conesus Lake. Naturally, I was skeptical, having witnessed all these decades of my life how the state behaves. To be fair, I recognized that maybe--likely not--some bass would move over the shallow flats in rainy conditions. I cast knee deep--thigh deep at most--water. Fifteen minutes of fishing was mostly spent carefully scoping out all possibilities. I then chalked up the scene to the absurdity one should expect of a "fishing access" spot, and ate my lunch from the nearby McDonald's takeout as Trish read a novel at the picnic table and minded our black Lab, Sadie. There was little, if any, really, conflict between our interests, because Trish is fascinated in these places and finds them beautiful surroundings for her habit of reading. I had suggested Canandaigua as a town worth exploring, but up and downhill with a 13-year-old arthritic dog we had to wheel out of Vitale Park in a wagon?
Hemlock Park offered some real possibility not many minutes away, but before I say more, I want to tell you I learned the next day that fishing is off limits in Hemlock Park except south of the boat launch. I had no idea until I saw it mapped out on a board located near the spillway. While I had fished near that spillway, a women had come and fished, an old man told me stories of fishing there, and a father and son came and fished. I lost a smallmouth that took my Chompers worm under a boulder. When I set the hook, the 20-pound fluorocarbon leader frayed on the rock and broke. Felt like a real good bass.
Anyhow, I refused to fish there again, after I learned of the legal limits. I tried another state access of Conesus at its southern end, where as far as I could cast, the water was six inches deep, and otherwise there, a sort of creek entered the lake, offering water two feet deep and weeds. I just didn't even bother. We rode on and I fished Hemlock south of the launch, where a weedbed extended along shore for hundreds of yards. I never saw the end of it. There was an edge in close; maybe the water there was four, maybe five feet deep, and it ran along shore endlessly, sometimes near-shore, sometimes further away. And it was where it was further to reach that interested me most.
Fishing it persistently, I told myself, a little frustrated in getting no action besides a few sunfish pecks, that if I were in a boat in New Jersey, I'd hit that inside edge, because many times similar spots have produced. But I was clearly aware that with the sun directly overhead, not long after noon, conditions were a challenge. Eventually, I did catch the 14-incher photographed, and a little largemouth less than nine inches long. I got deeply involved in working that edge, but it just wasn't yielding many bass. Well, go over to Round Valley at one in the afternoon during August, fish from shore, and see how you do there. Hemlock Lake's clarity wasn't much dimmer.
Nor was the clarity of Canadice Lake, just 15 minutes or even fewer from Hemlock. There are some pullovers along Canadice Lake Road, and I stopped at one of them. I caught nothing there, but maybe at sunset I would have succeeded. Who knows? The launch area has some possibility. I lost a little bass of about eight inches, hardly one to mention, nor the nine-incher I did catch where a weedbed similar to those at Hemlock forms a point at a drop-off, but that little bass offered me an overtone signifying larger: It took the eight-inch Chompers I had been using like a real fish. I also fished the drop off with a rocky bottom thoroughly, using a jig and Berkeley Gulp! leech. It fell away to about 12 feet deep within casting range--the deepest water I fished.
It's possible you've heard stories of 68-bass days on the Finger Lakes like I have. I don't doubt it's happened like that. It does in Maine, too. But if I were to go back up there next weekend, I would probably catch more bass than I did on this trip, just because I learned a few things along the way. Maybe I would arrange with my wife to fish at sundown, too. I know I would sling my tackle tote over my shoulder and fish that weedline much further on down than I did yesterday...and who knows what else I would find.
Take things with a grain of salt, though. Especially state designated fishing access. The Finger Lakes seem like a far-away paradise to us, but Syracuse is only 25 miles north or so of these three lakes. In other words, they have their regulars; they get pressured similarly as New Jersey lakes do. And the water of the Finger Lakes isn't somehow "pure" compared to water here.
I had an interesting encounter with a guy in a kayak. He pulled away from the ramp, visibly struggling against that 25 mph headwind, paddling within my casting range. He was trying to catch up to a couple of friends in two other kayaks that got out ahead of him. I had spoken to the guys in those two earlier. They'd caught "a few bass, none bigger than a pound."
"How's it going? I said it directly in a way that dismissed the obvious pain-in-the-ass of the wind he faced, as if to say instead, "It really doesn't really matter as much as getting what you can," but he paddled on as if he never heard me, though he had. So immediately I took stock of his four rods in fancy holders, his fortress of tackle boxes built on a sort of deck behind his seat, and concluded that this guy thinks he's hot shit. I'm standing there on a rock elevated two feet above the surroundings, and he thinks I'm just a peon.
A few moments later, he came ashore, also within casting distance. Gets out. He's hooked himself in the crotch.
He goes after the hook with pliers. I'm minding my fishing, but the next thing I know, he breaks the ice by asking if I have a band aid. I tell him I might in my car, give me five minutes. I hike up the roadway leading to the launch. Three minutes later, I give him two band aids. He thanks me.
"Fish here often?" I ask.
"I live in Syracuse. I come once and awhile."
"Ever catch any big smallmouths?"
"I've caught a couple."
"That's good," I assure him. (You know me, I meant it.)
He checks me out a sec. "You catch any today?"
I feel as if all that didn't go between us is now thoroughly redeemed. "I caught three largemouths. The biggest 14 inches from Hemlock."
That 14-incher would have made a couple of nice little fillets for Andy at Dog Meadow, but where was I going to buy ice for the cooler he supplied?
