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