Happy New Year

Bloody Decks Outdoors  Happy New Year! Link is to Southern Cal charters, but the website as a whole is pretty cool. I'm thinking of southern shores as the winter comes on. In 2026, I plan on driving to Florida, and this time I might make an even better deal on big fish, having time to leisurely figure things out. At any rate, I saw an article on the Keys by Vin Sparano in the pre-version of Federated Sportsmen's News, about really big fish. That got me thinking of expanding my plans to include them. Any of my friends are welcome to meet me down there. I'm planning on driving, but anyone else might find it convenient to fly. Renting a large center console doesn't cost all that much and I have the boater certificate integrated with my driver's license. 

Annual Trout Outing at the Reservoir

By mistake, I set my alarm for P.M., so when I woke at 7:48, I knew I was 34 minutes late, and the possibility of us setting up on the point was threatened.

First, Matt and I went to The Sporting Life in Whitehouse more than half an hour after they had opened. Two dozen shiners, fishing licenses, and maribou jigs. Nice ones for less than I'd have spent online. Those are for the rivers.

We soon got to Round Valley, and Matt hauled stuff towards the point and returned, as I packed more stuff, to tell me there were fishermen on it. 

I figured they wouldn't be there all day.

In the meantime, we did our best to get all the distance we could out of each cast. It doesn't drop steeply there in front. I knew we could pack out and fish further along the shoreline towards the main ramp, where the water does drop off faster, but I wanted us to take the point when it would become available.

In the meantime, Fred had arrived, and conversation flowed. 

A fish jumped right out in front of us almost exactly where either myself or Matt had put a shiner down. About 10 minutes later, line peeled off the spool of my son's Cadence reel. Laker? Brown? No, rainbow. And five or 10 minutes later, Fred caught a smaller one--about 15 inches--on Power Bait. 

A pod of rainbows had come and was gone as fast. Nothing else happened all day but the yellow perch I caught. I didn't expect lakers. The weather was too mild--in the 40's. Yes, I bought shiners, as if to be sure lakers wouldn't hit any, but although the rainbows surprised me, I did come confident in us making catches.

We weren't the only who did. A guy in a kayak came along, telling me about two smallmouths of about two pounds apiece on jerkbaits. I was impressed. He said, "I lost something too big to be a bass. Maybe a laker." Who knows. Maybe it was a monster pickerel. My friend Brenden told me about one over nine pounds hooked back in Ranger Cove. 

Apparently, the guys on the point got skunked. They did leave and give us more than three hours of fishing right there, where water drops off better, but only the yellow perch happened. 

 

Last Year

 

Merry Christmas

Al Ristori Tight Lines  I was searching for a fishing news item with a Christmas message. Not finding any, Al Ristori popped into my head, and I was certain his blog was the place to go. Merry Christmas Everyone.

Coral Reef Plane Crash Clean Up

AP News 

South Jersey Salt Report

On the Water It's a little dated but a pretty thorough report. Want to fish tomorrow, but of course I'd be limited to Round Valley. Don't want to tend lines. Look forward to fishing rivers again. The exception to that will be the day after Christmas. The reservoir does serve a social event well.

And on Down the Coast Just a Little

Fisherman's Headquarters  Jingles has a site with a strong fishing report, but I didn't post that one because the site isn't secure. If you're comfortable with that, it's there online.

A Little About Lingering Stripers

Grumpy's Tackle  From Seaside Park.

Father and Son Win Bassmaster Team Tourney

Bass Fan 

North Dakota Ice Fishing Preview

KFYRTV.com North Dakota, where 25% of licensed anglers ice fish. Twenty-six degrees in Bismarck when I accessed the article. 

Pollock

Fishing News I wanted to catch one of these fish while in Maine years ago.

Stripers Working Down into Ocean County

Tight Lines Al Ristori December

4.23-Pound Rainbow Jigged

Great day on the river with Fred Matero. I had planned on a few hours, but Fred didn't need to be back at my house until four. He had arrived at 10 a.m. Once we had driven to a second lot, it didn't take long for me to fully agree with spending that time. Not because I had caught the big one. That didn't happen until we were on our way out to soon drive off for the third lot. It was because I got into the fishing and let all else go.

We began by parking in a South Branch Wildlife Management Area lot. Another friend, Noel Sell, knows about that, and I fished confidently because of two things. For one, it was evident the stretch out in front there was stocked. No matter how hard hit--and maybe it hadn't been hard hit--many of the trout wouldn't have been caught. But the water was very shallow. So secondly, once I found waist-deep water, I understood I was in a good spot.

Fall stockers spread out. For example, you hear about big trout caught at Duke Island dam. It's not stocked. You also see photos of trout at Island Farm Weir at the confluence of the Millstone River and the Raritan.

Not all of the trout spread out. And they don't necessarily situate themselves in deep water, but if you can find some water maybe a foot or two deeper than the rest, you're in a good spot. 

We had fished water new to both of us. Actually, I never asked if Fred is familiar with the second area we fished. We fished a spot where I've caught trout before. Fred got in the river before I did, and as I was going into the water, he pointed out a rise on the surface. Since he didn't immediately move in that direction to position a cast, I said, "I'm going to catch that trout."

Nothing happened.

But I edged upstream not by much, where I felt a tug just out in front of me, pulled back, and thankfully, my eyes keyed in on whatever was happening there...to see my line moving rapidly downstream not by a snag but a fish. It still didn't feel as if I had been hit, but my mind knew that had to be it. I cast again. Wham! Again, right out in front of me. Missed the hit, but that it definitely was. I could tell by the way it pulled in the opposite direction rather than stayed in place as a snag does. 

We kept trying before we got out and hit the trail to go further downstream. Once again, we found a situation like the previous--deeper water amidst shallows. This time, though, it might have been more than a foot or two deeper. Maybe three feet deeper. But in any event, while from where we began the stretch on downstream looked good, it proved to be too shallow. We were in the right place immediately up above...where, again, I thought I had hooked something inanimate, like a stick, but I looked sharp and saw the trout turn near the surface as it came off the hook. 

As we headed back, we came upon the first spot we had tried, and I said, "Do you want to try for that trout again?"

"Sure."

(I'm sure more than one trout existed there, but one thing at a time.)

I said to Fred, "Why don't you get out in front of me? I feel guilty for stealing your fish."

"That wasn't my fish. Do you really think the one that hit you was the same?"

"I don't know. I'm sure there's more than one fish here."

I cast straight out in front of me and after a few turns of the reel--fish on. "Fred," I said.

"That's like a three-pounder!"

"Feels like it." 

Soon, he said, "Look at the size of that fish. That's a five-pounder," as he tried unsuccessfully to net it. 

After a long while, I did get the trout in the net. To have attempted to pull it up on pebbles using four-pound test and an ultralight might have meant a lost fish. I didn't have to unhook the jig. The connection was that tenuous. 

Big Brown

 

Pink Salmon Numbers Good

National Fisherman I remember this magazine from way back. I can't place exactly where and when, but I think during my commercial clamming years. Good to see a fish stock in good shape.

New Jersey State Record King Mackerel

Sport Fishing Nick Honachevsky It is the official record now. King mackerel take off on runs so fast you think the spool will heat up and seize. I caught an 18-pounder in Florida and it felt great. 

Bandwidth Anywhere at Sea

World Fishing & Aquaculture

Strike Master Lazer Mag Express LM-8 Gas Auger

 

Strike Master Lazer Mag Express LM-8 gas powered ice auger with completely new replaced carburetor. Drills an 8-inch diameter hole. Have cover for the blades and an extra brand-new set of blades. Only used premixed fuel by Trufuel. Also have all paperwork, manuals, and invoice proof of new carburetor. Price is $125.00 and in excellent shape due to none use because of no ice recently. Thank you, Noel Sell

If anyone is interested, get in touch with me (Bruce). Easiest way might be Facebook Messenger. If you're not on FB, leave a comment below or otherwise.

Connecticut State Record Tog

Saltwater Sportsman 

Hole is Bigger than I Recall

The hole at Higginsville is bigger than I remembered. It made me realize all of my fall and winter trout have come from shallows. Years ago, a friend and I canoed here from Three Bridges. Underneath the bridge I photographed, the water is about 10 feet deep. 

This is a great hole for late fall/winter/early spring smallmouth bass. If you don't mind exchanging a day's pay for all the jigs you would lose to jagged rocks on the bottom. Actually, the way to go would be drop-shotting live shiners. Maybe small shiners, because you won't be hauling out one four-pounder after another. Good luck getting a single nine-incher, really, but smallmouths do head for the holes as it gets cold. Also, if you would try for them, make sure the line attaching the sinker to a small swivel is much lighter than the mainline and line to the hook. (Buy sinkers at discount price.)

I would have done better with at least 1/8 ounce, 3/16 even better. Not that I would have caught anything, but it would have been a better possibility, swimming the jig right over those rocks at bottom.

I wondered if the spot even got stocked. There is a Fish & Wildlife trout stocking poster, but it didn't seem quite as fresh and up-to-date as the one I saw at the North Branch a little later this afternoon when I was about to begin fishing in the rain. Higginsville is a lot of water volume per the amount of trout that get stocked in the fall, compared to shallow areas. 

Trout Story Nearly 13 Years Old

 

Chesapeake Mid Atlantic November Fishing

Rudow's Fish Talk Interesting little magazine I found.

Wisconsin Cougar Killed in Self-Defense

Outdoor Life 

Reduced Winter Services at Delaware Water Gap

National Park Service 

Persistence Pays Off with a Trout

I began fishing at Three Bridges, where I wondered if I'd have time to try Stanton. I fished a black maribou jig and didn't get a hit. Packing my trunk, I realized I had to make a decision. It was 2:15. Round Valley Recreation Area through the main gate would close at 4:00. Either I would drive straight there for a little over an hour of photography, or I could fish Stanton. I decided on Stanton. I had enjoyed myself trying to catch some of the fall stockers, and the last photography session at Round Valley hadn't been very productive...I knew it was a foregone conclusion it wouldn't be today, either. 

That's when I realized I could go to the main launch area and do photography there after 4:00. I hadn't done that in a long while.

So on to Stanton. When I got down by the water, I realized I had conflated Stanton with the deep water at Higginsville. Here at Stanton the water was very shallow under the bridge, upstream a hundred yards, and downstream of it. So after doing the casting to figure all that out, I got on the trail and headed downstream a couple hundred yards or more. 

I realized in the middle of things how fortunate I am to make successful efforts. On the way here, I had passed a gas station advertising $3.09/gallon. The next business down was a station offering $3.19/gallon, which I refused to do. This was Highway 31 in Flemington where traffic was heavy making it impossible to make a U'ey. So I took a right turn off the highway just past the second gas station, winging it, wondering where the road led. I was able to turn right, behind that second station, and emerge back at 31, where I just turned left despite yellow marks in the middle...quickly replaced by left-turn arrows. I made a left into the gas station where I wanted to go. 

Figure it out as you go. Don't tell yourself you won't. Don't find a convenient way out.

I was already feeling the day well done before I hooked the trout. The water there was no more than waist deep. Maybe thigh deep. I netted the fish, photographed it, turned my attention to more. After two or three casts, I hooked up, the trout coming off as it surfaced. A solid hit on the next cast prompted more, and though nothing else happened besides my spotting a trout headed past me at a high rate of speed, I felt fired up and willing to fish hard.

It's a matter of acquiring the stuff of the earth. By exercising the trout quest. Experience processes being, and done well, benevolence enters the world where it was lacking before you released it.

An amazing thing: I got to the Round Valley ramp area when light was on the point I had in mind. On that point just so. Just enough to cover it like the area of a RAW image in Lightroom masked perfectly from the edges and illumined. Minutes later, after I got a photo with light on that point, it was shadowing over.   

Round Valley with the point in the upper right third shadowing over. 

Three Bridges Bass Attempt

 

Striped Bass Webinar Hearing

Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Council  You can click the link towards the bottom, and then click yet one more link on the page that opens, to access the online registration form.

Sheepshead in Our State

Sport Fishing Nick Honachevsky Honachevsky relates Bob Misak's legendary Jersey Shore sheepshead catches and more.

Animal Rights Taking Over Wildlife Agencies

Outdoor Life It's an insidious process which, if we don't maintain our hold on our agencies, is going to eliminate hunting and fishing. I've read books of the animal rights persuasion so I could better understand the challenge. I felt relieved that they had thought they'd outlaw hunting & fishing within decades of when animal rights became a thing in 1975. (Peter Singer, Princeton University.) That they expressed dismay at finding it much harder than they had thought it would be. But they don't give up. Though they can only outlaw what we do if they're allowed.

Oxygenation System to Prevent Hazardous Algae, Hopatcong

Northjersey.com 

Striper Regs Open for Comment

Al Ristori Tight Lines 

Black Jig Over White

Never underestimate a black jig. Trout followed it my first two casts, and since the sun was out, I decided to switch out to a white/flashabou jig before I threw another. I took maybe a dozen casts and aroused no interest in that jig whatsoever that I saw. I tied the black jig back on. I did work my way upstream along the stretch, testing new waders for leaks, before I returned to where I began and soon caught the 16-inch rainbow I photographed. Soon thereafter, I cast short to a trout that had followed and taken station in view, lifting the jig off bottom and letting it drop back, catching the first trout I've hooked that way. All of the others have hit as I retrieve the jig at a moderate to quick rate.

I tried another spot in the area, where I caught one last November, and got no interest from any fish I could detect. Then I returned to my car and drove to another area that gets stocked where I've never fished. After finding stretches that seemed too shallow, though I tried them, I walked maybe three football field lengths downstream, where I found at least three feet of fairly swift water. 

I fished the jig carefully and repeatedly, finally hooking another trout of about 14 inches, and when I unhooked it, I understood I had hooked the fish well. I had the two previous, also. A barb doesn't seem to help as often as it might. 

New Jersey Trout Fishing

 

Could Have Put the Fish Off

According to the U.S. Geological Survey gauge, the Passaic River level rose only a foot or so where we were going, and when we got there, Oliver Round and I found the current was heavy and the water stained but not muddy. Oliver tried topwater and I fished a jerkbait, before Oliver switched out to a Senko and then buzzbait, and I took the jerkbait off and snapped on a white spinnerbait. 

We hiked way back there, seeing some frogs along the way, listening to insects, probably footing a total of three miles or so round trip. I put casts where I wanted them to go. Very persistently, I fished along the bank where usually there was several feet of water or so, right into and next to any wood I could see in the water, behind other current breaks, shallows created by the river's high level, and even mid-river I found there's a lot of stuff on the bottom that can serve as cover. Oliver hit his targets, too, but neither of us got hit once. 

"You don't think it's because it's fished out?" Oliver asked.

"No. The fish are there."

I had no answer at the time as to why they weren't hitting. Earlier on, I'd pointed out that the water can't be colder than the 50's. We just got through a heat wave with temps in the 80's, and since then, it's still been in the upper 50's afternoons and low 50's at night. But from the perspective of having lain back to take a mental snapshot of that whole situation, it was easy to see the water temp--especially with the heavy rain overnight being on the chilly side--must have taken a sudden dip. It could have put the fish off.

Round Valley Reservoir Eels  

Back at the Jigging

Back at the jigging, I found the river lower and clearer than last week. Seemed to be just as many trout, but not as interested in the jig. A lot of skittish behavior and trout still swimming in aimless directions. I imagine that sort of confusion will end by wintertime. I once saw an 18-inch rainbow holding over from the fall stocking around April 1st, a day or two before the stocking prior to Opening Day, and it held position in the current like any wild or native trout would.

Also, I used a black jig. That's the only trout that struck, pictured above. Like yesterday, sunny today. I had ordered a white VMC maribou jig with flashibou last night, but it hadn't been delivered. If anyone knows of jigs with flashibou tied in for less than $7.50 apiece--which seems very expensive to me (including shipping)--please comment to let me know.  

Free Fishing Day Saturday

NJ Fish & Wildlife 

Productive Trout Jigging

Hit the river for half hour or 45 minutes, casting a black maribou jig, 1/16th ounce, on four-and-a-half foot St. Croix ultralight. That rod I used for the first time. I believe it casts the jig a lot shorter than the five-and-a-half-foot ultralight I made from a St. Croix blank.

Saw a lot of trout by use of polarizers. I noticed that some were more aggressive than others. At first, trout would chase the jig but not hit. Steady retrieve with rod jerks. Then I went upstream and two trout swooped on it. They wouldn't commit. Their noses got within millimeters of the hook. It's amazing to see how discerning they can be. 

I cast upstream and got a definite bump. I saw the trout turn, too. Pretty soon, I got absolutely slammed. The trout measured only 12 1/2 inches long, but chunky. 

Went upstream further to find nothing but water that was too shallow. And after all the rain we recently had.

Went back down. There were two guys just a little downstream staying in place. Learned they'd caught none. I found trout much less interested than when I first cast to them upon arrival. I went downstream and found an open space where I could cast from high up on the bank...and descend to the river edge if necessary. Became necessary. I had got bump when I saw that fish turn, too, and more close follows. Finally, wham! 

That one measured 14 inches.

New Jersey Trout Fishing

Throwbacks

 Some big stripers are getting caught, but I haven't seen any big ones on the beaches. Tight Lines Al Ristori

What is It with Fish Limits?

After a couple of cancellations due to weather, I got to fish Barnegat Inlet with Fred today, seeking that elusive first take-home tog. I caught a 17-incher in June 2022, out of season. Today, my first hookup felt like a really nice fish, which I managed to keep out of the rocks and bring up on the jetty. Measured 16 inches, so it went into the bag. I raised issue with Fred about replacing it with larger later on, and he reminded me that we're allowed one apiece, so it's no problem. I hoped to hook a four- or five-pounder but I was just dreaming.

I hooked some nice fish I lost, but four or five pounds? 

We caught 30 or 40 tog, I'm guessing that's about what it was. A lot of tog. For a species as tightly protected as this one is--but what species isn't anymore, even bluefish are limited to three, while on the freshwater side of rules and regulations you can wipe out a bass pond in a week--I couldn't help but laugh at the government. What do I know? Well, hits from tog on every cast. I know that much. 

Fred had a hell of a day. How can you blame a guy who wants to bring dinner home? And so much better than cashing out at the supermarket. Tog after tog he caught measured 14 inches or better. One of them measured 14 7/8 inches. Seven or eight of  them were 14 1/2 inches. 

Fred's friend Jimmy

Fred's astonishment at measuring a 14 7/8-inch tog.

Inlet

 

Narrowing It Down to the Big One

 

Our Lake Hopatcong ritual remains potent as the 20th fall of my getting on the water there approaches. I've invested good money in renting boats from Dow's. On the way to the Ledge or possibly Sunken Island, Jimmy Welsh swept by us in his center console. I was certain he headed for Sunken Island, and when I saw him there, I stopped short at the right-angle turn of the Ledge, immediately marking loads of fish. 

As expected.

There was no wind. That made putting out unweighted herring easy. With four herring lines over the side, I also put a nightcrawler out, by which I quickly caught a white perch. And then herring lines ran though rod guides. I caught and released a 16-inch hybrid, then caught the 4.8-pounder photographed later in the afternoon (below). It had died in the livewell. My wife and I will have it for dinner tonight.

I missed the hit from another hybrid. Setting the hook too soon may be better than setting it too late. After that, I maneuvered the boat with my electric behind an island with no sun on the water. Overhead, not a cloud in the sky.

Kevin quickly caught a smallmouth bass of about 14 inches on a nightcrawler. Got that worm close to rocks. I ended up catching two largemouths on a Senko, losing a nice one on that blue-purple worm and missing another hit. I got a smallmouth on a live herring and a nice black crappie on another of the same. 

I very much enjoyed throwing the Senko. (Actually a Yum Dinger.) Fly casting isn't the only way for fishing line to satisfy. Putting a worm--repeatedly--right where you want it to go is fun. And once and awhile a bass takes that worm. 

We had two dozen live herring and I felt determined to use them. I told Kevin about the time I caught a six-pound walleye on the Ledge at about 2:00 p.m. shortly before my son and I would leave, under a cloudless sky. Today, I had caught what were as yet my only two hybrids before the sun rose. The sun came up shortly after I weighed my big one. No necessity existed that would limit us to that catch owing to the conditions, but I wasn't entirely confident that the Ledge would work out for us. But we would mark fish. 

So, well, we should work for them!

A slight breeze had come up. Unweighted herring rode pretty high over fish marking as deep as 33 feet, as the boat slowly eased along the drop-off towards Halsey Island. Water temperature was 64 when we got on the lake; now it approached the mark of 70 where it would be when we left. Obviously, the lake had turned over quite a bit, though today's heat ran contrary to that. I did miss a hit, and immediately thereafter noticed big fish marking only eight feet down, but I'd say 95 percent or more of the fish were deep. 

I put medium split shots on our four lines. Some of our herring died, needing oxygen. They were getting down on bottom about 38 feet deep. So I looked for smaller shot, found some, and situated them about six feet up the line from the herring. The idea was to give the bait some mobility with the lighter weight, as well as the ability to swim above that weight, should it get down on bottom too deep.

The breeze ceased. A little fine-tuning of our position by use of the electric motor resulted in a couple of little 14- and 15-inch hybrids for me. We floated over the drop-off at 38 feet where fish marked at 31 to 33 feet deep. Where we had fished over 30 feet of water, no fish marked on the graph. Then the breeze picked back up. I repositioned with the electric and lowered anchor. We continued using the little shot, and Kevin caught a hybrid over 16 inches. I caught a smallmouth bass. Kevin caught a big bullhead by turn. 

And then I said, "Kevin." I had seen his rod tip lower. He wasn't paying attention, but it became immediately evident he had hooked a big one. The fish took off on such a sustained run, I wondered if he'd hooked a musky. Or, more likely, a big channel catfish. I would have to coach him. He's not very experienced and I knew the fish was no easy. "Pump the rod. Then reel as you lower the tip back down. Then pump again. Keep a bend in the rod." He kept reeling as the fish took drag, but his getting the pumping motion right enough was critical to getting the fish to the net. It took a long while. 

"Look at the size of that fish! It's eight or nine pounds!" I said, having just netted the biggest hybrid I'd ever seen besides a mounted eight-pounder and a huge hybrid I witnessed getting caught from shore at Spruce Run Reservoir. I weighed Kevin's at 7.73 pounds. Quarter pound shy of eight. It measured 27 inches long. 

Trolled Hybrids
 

Latest on Round Valley Dams

Round Valley Project.com 

End of Fluke Season

All prepared to fish fluke and blackfish from jetty rocks today, but I got in touch with Fred & we canceled yesterday. He expected 30 mph northeast winds, and it did rain this morning here in North-Central Jersey. 

Fluke are good for the keeping through tomorrow, though I wonder about the water conditions. The season closes thereafter, so if I do get over and down the shore to fish with Fred this fall, I'm not buying any killies. He mentioned blues and stripers as our targets in addition to blackfish.

Just have to wait and see about Oct. 10th. This is the second time since my family returned from CA that fishing with Fred got canceled due to weather.

Fishing with Dynamite Deadly for Ocean Ecosystems

Newser Fishing with Dynamite is Worse Than it Sounds 

Tough September Largemouths and Pickerel

Tough day. The fish probably gorged during yesterday's rain. And though I don't think temps ever got above 70 today, the water was 74 degrees; overall I felt a sense in the air of fall definitely coming but not quite here with water that warm. Christopher Smith, one of New Jersey's fisheries biologists, once said to me that he finds September to be one of the toughest months to fish bass. He's big on bass fishing and knows his stuff. Later in October, bass go on the finny forage chase and will smash spinnerbaits, Chatterbaits, jerkbaits, and other lures that cover range quickly. 

We got on the lake, and I threw one cast with a Chatterbait, then switched to a Senko. Just followed my fish sense, sure that no bass was going to chase it down. Brenden persistently threw a jig with a spinner blade underneath--like a Roadrunner but bigger--so we had an idea about how the bass were reacting to flash and fury. Nothing ever hit that lure. Brenden caught his bass on a little Z-Man paddletail. Also a sunfish.

"I was hoping the water would be down to 72," I told Brenden. That's my magic mark for the initiation of fall bass fishing. (When Round Valley surface temp falls to 70, you can catch rainbow trout from shore.)  

It seemed to take forever to hook up. I had long since switched out my Senko for the blue Chompers on an inset hook to better deal with the weeds. Finally I caught the little 12-inch bass photographed below. On another spot, I caught the pickerel and another bass the same size. I worked the worm about six to 12 feet down. 

We had marked some good-sized fish about that deep off the weedline by five or six yards, so we gave trolling diving plugs a good try but to no success. We also saw a salmon leap three feet out of the water. Brenden got the better sighting and said it was 20 inches long or better. Why did that happen? I have no idea. Seventy-four degree water.

I tried trolling the Phoebe. Between spots. 

The sun would set within a half hour, and so we pulled up on weedbeds that sloped off into deep water and in places dropped off, where my son, Matt, and I have caught many bass at sundown. My first cast got right next to weed at the surface, when a second later I saw the line move. I tightened up to set the hook, but the bass was diving into deep water so fast it had moved about 12 feet before I knew the hook was secure. It went airborne and impressed both of us as a five pounder, but it proved to be less than three pounds at 17 inches. 

We kept trying. The lake seemed almost as dead as December. Brenden later told me that when he went to collect the last of our belongings, he saw fog rising off the lake. Temps had plunged into the 50's.   

Hopatcong Early June

 

Salmon River Report

Douglaston Salmon Run.com  From the lower section of the Salmon River

Bull Sharks in Golf Course Pond

Golf Digest      You can read between the lines here too, but the sharks aren't bull. How 'bout that National Golf Course?

Bedminster Pond by Bike

Bedminster Pond, August 2017

(He wanted to drain the swamp.)

And the open water--as stated in my August 2017 blog post "Lush Closure on Famous Bedminster Pond"--is an illusion. Only some 15 feet of it exist there, inches deep.

Different thought-levels for different folks.

But I was especially moved to write the present post out of a feeling of deep affinity for that pond. Recently, you've probably read a lot of my words about the closure of parking there, making fishing the pond just after sundown all but impossible. It can be done with a bicycle. The Bedminster Hike & Bike Trail.

We're all aware of love for places, and the many ways such love is lost, though we do fight back when they're taken from us. I wrote an angry "Letter to the Editor," Bernardsville News. And various blog posts. 

Interestingly, it was the year before, March, when--having finished a fishing stint there--it came over me as I walked to my car that I might be done fishing the pond. That was before I knew anything about parking closures coming. 

But I was ahead of the game in the 2017 blog post, too, and I'll leave you a link to it. (The first half or so is difficult to read.) Especially read the second half between the lines. The post ends on the word "closure." 

The Swamp

 

River Bass

The One

On the Water        Got the essay on river smallmouths published in the print edition...2018 I'm sure it was. I rue the fact that I judged my 19 3/8-inch smallmouth weighed an ounce or so over four pounds. It was a chunk, but probably weighed an ounce or two under. 

Have been very busy since 2017. The trout book is pretty much done. So now I need a website with a domain I own. Build that myself. Have been published recently in Tail fly fishing magazine, The Drake, and The New Jersey Monthly. Even more importantly, I'm always getting published in The Fisherman. And New Jersey Federated Sportsmen's News finally has a new editor. I've already sent him an article. There you can find some of the best from anywhere in the world. 

Got Over to a Favorite Spot

Would've been an odd year had I never fished my favorite river bass spot. I know I like to let old haunts go and find new water, but after 14 years here, I doubt this one will ever pass before I do.

I like to be in the water wading well before sunup, but I was up late last night, so I didn't get to the river until well after 11:00. I cast that little paddletail jig into shadow remaining out from the bank facing me, but after more than a dozen casts working the hole's headwaters in addition to that shade, all I got was one hit, which might have been a sunfish.

I started working my way down towards the tree with the rope swing (what's left of it), and about midway, had some action on a Senko. I missed a hit and then another. That second fish pulled my four-incher off the hook. 

So I made my way back for another, took note of the fact that I had used black when the water is almost gin-clear and the sun is high overhead. Switched to white/green. Five inches. That also worked, in the same spot. I hooked a bass for a second that felt half decent. Then another one pulled THAT Senko off the hook. This time I attached my O-ring tool to my belt, and put Senkos in a pocket.

Never had need of either, but I caught a couple of average stream bass. The second one I caught as I was nearly done fishing, near where I placed my camera bag, so I got a shot of that one. Had to leave because I have a dentist appointment this afternoon, and I had left my mobile device in my car, possibly to roast in the heat. Whatever the eventuality, I didn't know what time it was.

I got home plenty early, feeling really good about having got over there. I have done well in midday heat other times there, but it always seem a really good bass is vulnerable to a topwater plug early.

 Nice calm surface

Toby Lapinski Fishing Tackle Retailer

Fishing Tackle Retailer Toby Lapinski is now editor-in-chief, Fishing Tackle Retailer magazine. For 10 years he served as managing editor for The Fisherman New England edition. One of his roles was to edit the freshwater column, which runs for all regional editions. So for many years, he was my editor, as I often got column pieces published. A very smooth operation. The man knows what he's doing.

Closed Wildlife Management Areas Reopen

NJ Fish & Wildlife 

Copperhead in Bridgewater

patch.com  I found one about as big years ago on the corporate sidewalk where my wife worked in Bernards. Sixty degrees out, it was sluggish, so I took out a credit card and, careful that it wouldn't snap at me, eased it off the sidewalk and into mowed grass where it moved along, headed for a hedgerow. I was afraid someone else would've just killed it. 

South Fork Merced River Brown, Rainbow Trout

 

We began fishing early Thursday morning by gaining access to Big Creek at the Highway 41 bridge in Fish Camp, California. Why the tiny settlement is named that, I haven't discovered, but 18-inch browns are rumored to be hiding in the creek within walking distance of the three-bedroom house we stayed in. I had forgotten to pack my waders, but not my wading boots, so wet-wading would have to suffice. I figured that would be no problem.

Well, the water of Big Creek is so cold my calves numbed painfully, and I wasn't about to wade up to my waist while attempting to move upstream along the brush-covered banks. I managed to fish four or five closely bunched runs while my son, Matt, fished downstream of the bridge. We saw no trout and got no hits. He tried a Wooly Bugger. I tried a pheasant tail nymph.

Matt asked me where next, and I suggested the South Fork of the Merced River in Wawona about 12 or 15 miles distant. Working out the directions--I left that to him, and as always he did an excellent job. We entered Yosemite National Park for the second time, since the previous day we did a lot of hiking and taking it easy beneath enormous pieces of granite about three times as tall as the Empire State Building. 

One of those hunks is El Capitan, rising 3600 feet above the sand where we ate lunch along the Merced River main stem. A bridge crosses, and from it Matt spotted five or six rainbow trout eight to 12 inches long busily rising where no caster could get to them. The river is wide and the depths there of about 20 feet accommodated a fallen pine laid out a distance of about 80 feet in the upstream direction. I had a look on the other side of the bridge, spotting a rainbow of 15 or 16 inches steadily rising to bugs but immediately at the edge of additional stuff in the water. Again, not accessible to a cast. Our rods remained in the SUV we had rented, anyway.

Matt had me hang a right onto a roadway no wider than a one-lane passage, but we never encountered any vehicle coming at us. The SUV my wife and I had rented is a huge, seven-passenger Chevrolet Traverse, and throughout the nine days I drove it, I never really got over the comparison to my Honda Civic. The Civic is a lot easier to drive. Regardless, to have driven a big SUV many hundreds of miles for more than a week was an experience perhaps worth the added gas cost. It certainly was easy to stow all our stuff. 

We might have stayed on that road 10 minutes until we came to its end in a large lot. Matt had told me swimmers go there and use a swinging bridge. He would be proven right on both counts, but I won't go into details just yet.

There was one car in the lot, besides our pet polar bear, the Traverse. We geared up, Trish bringing along a book and carrying water bottles and snacks in a backpack. Just as we got on the trail, the owner of that vehicle and apparently her young daughter approached us. We exchanged greetings, and the three of us walked on, soon coming to a large pool that looked plenty deep, though I underestimated that depth. The gin-clear water made 10 feet seem half that. At the head of the pool--Swinging Bridge.

"Dad, why don't you fish this one? I'll go downstream." 

That made things relatively easy. Even so, I didn't want to traverse rounded boulders the size of living room furniture with my camera hanging from my neck. I averted serious injury when tumbling from the Lake Aeroflex dam in June, so I sort of figured I could do the same again. But getting away with it-- without damage to the camera--seemed like pushing my luck.

I set the pheasant tail about four feet below a little strike indicator. Having stripped line for an initial rollout, that indicator got about 12 feet out into a pool that must be 80 feet wide. Immediately, a rainbow about nine inches long came at the fly, but it turned back. Maybe it saw me, though I froze. I got more distance from my second roll cast. Evidently, the thing to do was to just let that fly hang. Its bead head got it down underneath relatively fast. The surface was calm, current was all but nonexistent, and though I thought slight wave action would impart tempting action to that fly, it didn't take very long for a rainbow about the same size to appear in my view and hit. I set the hook and saw the mouth open quickly, the line limp. 

I decided to increase the distance between fly and indicator, got the arrangement even further out to where I could see a big boulder down eight to 10 feet deep, and reared back when that indicator shot down towards bottom. Nothing on. On one of the casts that followed, the float went down about halfway its centimeter width and then no more action came. Finally, after I got it out as far as I could on a roll cast--halfway across the pool--it jiggled twice before I set the hook and a silvery rainbow was on. I used a nine-foot five weight, and as a fly rod and a little 11-inch trout go together, the fight is not as exciting as it is on a microlight spinning rod. 

No camera. No way was I going to carry the trout over to my wife where I had left that camera. I got the hook out, lifted the fish for her to see, and quickly released it. Rainbows are native in the park and all must be released. Browns and brookies are amply allotted for meals, and by what Matt told me, the fisheries people want you to take them home, since they compete against the native fish. 

I  continued casting but soon got in touch with Matt by cell phone. He had caught a little six-inch rainbow from a riffle and had seen more in the pool. He ended up going upstream, while I descended upon his pool, by then emboldened to carry the camera around my neck. Very keen on getting a trout photo too! As regular readers of this blog know, I've suffered very serious back trouble since early July, so the range of my movement is curtailed. That hasn't stopped me at all, but I do play within limitations.

Matt's pool was half as wide as mine and had substantial flow. I repeatedly cast, having set the distance between pheasant tail and float at about seven feet, covering the possibilities, becoming discouraged. I came to feel as if fishing little trout were as difficult as steelheading before I made a long cast almost against the opposite bank. The little pink ball--my indicator float--jiggled. I set the hook. The rainbow leapt two feet into clean Sierra air twice. I got it in close to the rock I stood on. The hook came free. A 10-incher that had fought harder than the bigger one I caught shot back into the depths. 

Strategically, I avoided casting back to the same spot. I wasn't thinking loudly in my mind that the spot needed to settle down, but I behaved according to a nonverbal thought. I knew what I was doing. It doesn't always have to be stated. I don't believe in "instinct" because those actions so-called are learned responses. After four or five casts and drifts I felt positive: That my next cast would be interesting to say the least. I placed it so the float would drift (slowly there) right to where the rainbow had hit. When it did get there, the float shot under the surface so hard and fast it must have gained eight inches before my rearing back set the hook. Felt like a pretty good fish and it fought hard coming back to my side of the river. Brown trout!

I got the hook out and the fish slipped out of my hand. Going for it thrashing on the rock sloping to the water, I exceeded my range of movement. I went into a sort of pirouette of a fall but caught myself. Thanks to cleats I had set into the soles of my wading boots. I could have destroyed my camera. Not to mention a bone. On the way to my wife while holding the fish tightly, I wasn't as focused on the walking as should have been. I stepped where wet moss covered granite and almost fell again! And as I had begun walking some moments before that misstep, a swimming crew of bikini-clad women arrived. After that, I never could return to the spot I had suffered for, feeling certain another trout or two might have hit.

Swimmers were in the hole above, too. I crossed Swinging Bridge--it swings--and made my way upstream on a trail 50 feet above the river. I had spoken to Matt on the phone, who said he found a dam with 15-foot depths behind it and wanted to stay up there a while. I had also got a chance to fish my pool again after sitting a while with my wife, but no fish were interested. I walked maybe half a mile upstream and never got to that dam, feeling frustrated at how difficult the access to water. I guess one should not complain. You're legally allowed to fish the river up there, so if you won't make the effort, the trout remain plentiful. 

Back where my wife sat and my brown remained in the river nearby on a stringer, I found Matt. He had come down on the other side. Skunked, besides the little rainbow from downstream. He showed me the Wooly Bugger he used on a leader that had been cut back to 12- or 15-pound test. I tied on a new leader and a tippet for him. The water is gin clear. Tippet of 6X or 7X is best. 

We traveled more than an hour to get to our next spot on the Merced River main stem. Trish had gone into a convenience store to buy water, when she asked the clerk if he fished. 

"Yes."

"Do you know where we can catch trout?"

"What kind of fishing do you do?"

(Trish later said he suspected her of using bait.)

"Fly fish."

He told her to drive 10 minutes downstream and named the motel across the street from the pullover. Matt and I cast for about an hour. Into the obvious stretch and upstream. I swear that once my indicator shot for bottom just as it had for the brown, but when I reared back, nothing was there. There was no rock there nearer the surface than others, which my pheasant tail might have got stuck on momentarily. It had a good drift, only I was a little concerned that only seven or eight feet behind the float, it rode too high off bottom. Regardless, I drifted that bead head repeatedly, the float on the leader almost where it connected to the fly line, while Matt fished a dry fly, getting some really good distance from his casting. The river was wide there, and near the opposite bank we saw a really good fish--I'd say two pounds at least--break water.    

 

I found "easy" access upstream to one little pool but didn't take it.

From the trail, 50 feet or so above the river.

Merced River inside Yosemite National Park.

Near where we pulled over and I got this shot of the Merced River downstream of Yosemite Valley proper, boulders exist the size of houses.

Matt casting at what I called the obvious stretch on the Merced.

The upstream stretch on the Merced. Again, appearances deceive. Much larger than it looks. 

My physicist son remarked that the Yosemite formation should never have happened, which struck me as odd, since the day before I said something about the evidence of the senses, and he took the opportunity to point out there's none for God. He's an atheist with a finely-tuned appreciation for spirituality, and I'm sure that after I replied about the statistical unlikelihood of the formation's coming together, I may raise the issue again to talk more about it.

Hunterdon County Trout 

MidAtlantic Tournament

Tight Lines with Al Ristori 

More of a Complicated Practice

Pickerel are a fine gamefish that don't deserve slander. That's all we caught today, three for me, besides the six-inch smallmouth that struck my Mepp's Aglia. The pickerel fought hard. I thought the two larger ones somewhere around 19 or 20 inches were bigger than that. All struck a trolled Storm Hot 'n Tot. Another that hit the same lure I trolled was lost at the net, and I missed a hard strike, all of this action right about 11 feet deep on or near the drop-off from an extensive shallow flat. 

We were the second to get on Clinton Reservoir at about 6:00 a.m., and we left before 10:00 a.m. having heard several times either thunder or blasting, though it seemed to be thunder. The sun never really came out. I had spilled Parmesan cheese when I opened the refrigerator at home, which I couldn't get out of my mind. Couldn't find the dust pan, and I felt bad leaving the mess for my wife. I figured I'd get over it.

I did forget it once at Brian's house, but my mood felt troubled. Getting the boat ready to go after we arrived at the reservoir didn't shake that mood, either, though I kept mum about it. I embrace the fishing whatever the mood. It makes me think of what Joe Santiago once said on one of the NJ Multispecies podcasts, that you have to suffer for the fishing. (I think he said so, not Chris Pierra.) Whoever said it hit the issue on the nose, as I see it. Maybe dedication isn't entirely about the number of days and hours you fish; maybe it has more to do with your willingness in spite of such resistance as a mood that tells you you're wasting your time.

Really? 

A good friend of mine served as my writing mentor. He's the author of the novel Kite, published by Penguin Classics. I first got published at 16 without a mentor, but I felt very fortunate to have one during the three years I wrote poetry more and less every night after work. (For all that effort, only William and Mary Review accepted one submitted for publication, but that was Thomas Jefferson's alma mater, so not bad.) Ed finally told me, at the end of our acquaintance, "Write poems." Maybe he meant I should give up on the fishing. Whether or not that's true, he believed in me as a poet, but I had submitted to so many literary journals, I knew something was amiss with the mechanics of my writing. He wasn't telling me how to improve on that, so I figured that by persistent revision at writing fishing articles and essays, I'd get better control of the language. 

I have. Recently, I spent 10 minutes writing a poem. Another 10 minutes of revision later seemed to cinch it. Two weeks after that, I got an email from Swing the Fly magazine telling me that if it's OK with me, the poem will be published in the online version. Will $75.00 be sufficient?

I keep telling myself some day I should go back and work on the poems from those three years, but I believe only writing about fishing could give me the better grip on the workings of language. Nothing else returns me to the earth as fishing does, either. I could be exclusive about birding or hiking. I do both, but I could do nothing but--and be less involved in nature. Fishing is more of a complicated practice by which we engage the outdoors, and it is as ancient as any species of hominid that ate fish.

We both enjoyed the outing, and in addition to investing our attention on pursuing catches, took in the distance for wonder's sake. We heard fish break surface all the way across the reservoir, and we cast to some breaking surface near us. There's the sense that life will inhabit any space nature allows, but we caught all of our fish--besides that little smallmouth--along that flat we re-approached beyond the little island in the photo. 

The conflict between life as a fisherman and life as an artist is understandable, when I feel I've come short on the latter. I think it's worth mention that I'm not the only writer who has deeply enjoyed the life of fishing, although Zane Grey and Ernest Hemingway were monumental anglers, setting records and getting out to fish a staggering amount of days and hours, given their creative output. Grey was the first millionaire writer, and though his work is dubbed pulp fiction, I've read his writing on fishing and it's riveting. Hemingway won the Nobel Prize for literature. The fishing these two figures did will make almost anyone feel they've come short as an angler, if they dwell on it long. 

All I can say is I've loved fishing. I look at the photo above and know I still do. Always include the larger setting, including the inner landscape of your life, and let fishing absorb you so the aquatic earth reveals the creation in a religious sense, the sense of something that beckons to you despite everything else that trivializes life.

Cranberry Lake Pickerel