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