Live-Lining Killies and Fishing Nightcrawler Unweighted Smallmouths

The advantage of catching fish nearby is the blessing they bestow on home. You would never think of it from an attitude of ingratitude, but if you fish hard, you owe it to yourself to allow the feeling. The compensation is the least you deserve after all the effort you put in.

Having to drive only 18 miles round trip is easy. With Matt and Brenden the other day, I drove 110. No complaint. I like a long trip. And I enjoy the rough and tumble of car-topping a big, heavy canoe on a little Honda Civic. But to have it easy, too, is like breathing freely. 

I prefer catching my smallmouths on lures. If I really preferred live bait, I'd use it more often than I do, but after trying to catch fluke on killies, I like to bring the remainder in the bucket home for the bass. Yesterday, I also had a couple of containers of nightcrawlers leftover from fishing the Delaware with Brian Peterson and his daughter Kelsey. I ended up catching the first and smaller bass on an unweighted nightcrawler. I also caught a 15 1/2-incher, on a killie I live-lined without weight.

I loosened the drag as I fought the big one because I feared the knot would pop. I had no particular reason to fear that, but the fish fought very hard. I use six-pound mono on the rivers when I'm fishing the bass. (Last December I caught a 4.23-pound rainbow trout on four-pound test.) The odd thing is that I did not honor my fear, because I did nothing about it, once I had landed and released the bass. I behaved as if my fear had been unrealistic.

Don't we often doubt ourselves insidiously like that? So insidiously we let it go entirely...while the object of our fear works its way out entirely without our knowing. Or until, in the final moments of the eventuality, it occurs to us once more, emerging from the forgotten background. We really have more control over things than we credit ourselves for, if we would just take that control.

Having waded upstream and sat on the concrete ledge of an old bridge abutment, I found a Senko that had to have been left behind recently, because not taken by flood water. I had seen lots of boot prints downstream, and I thought of how hammered these bass must be. These bass. I had another one on but when I set the hook, I got no grab. Soon though, I had a fairly nice one hooked up. I had fought the fish until I got it close to me, a bass of about 12 inches, when I thought of the knot popping again. Seconds later--it popped. Right in front of me. Almost at my feet. 

Upstream

 

Weedless Frog and Mouse September Algae Scum

We eased the squareback into shadows of the western shore. The sun had set after a breeze had bothered us all day. Calm surface meant topwaters would probably yield, but we would have to persist against the nothing of most casts. Brenden pedaled his kayak through 12- or 14-foot depths, along an outside weedline where he's caught muskies. A boat to our right a hundred yards or so had two guys aboard throwing big, heavy spinners slapping and plunging through the surface, sounding off like bass hitting plugs. Brenden said, "Maybe the fish in the depths will hit plugs now," and pedaled away. It was the last we spoke until we loaded to go.

Lots of fish suspending over depths of 20 feet or more had confused me. They didn't hit anything, and I was ready now to focus in a singular way. Before Brenden had spoken his last words, he said something I don't remember, but when I replied, I had shifted my attention to his words, away from my Baby Torpedo, though I kept working it slowly. Something sizeable struck. I missed it, but the odd thing was the fish remaining there at the surface and tailing for a moment...which looked like the fins of a little musky of 18 or 20 inches, not a bass. Whatever the fish was, my distraction didn't deter the growing absorption of my attention in the process of enticing hits. I soon caught a little bass of about eight inches, and I fished as if every cast thereafter could do better. 

Fish surprise you like that apparent musky surprised me. It never ends. You never get used to situations that work out when you feel nothing will. Although reason tells you that no matter how pounded the water, no matter how many lures the fish see, conditions will allow the native predation of a few of them to overcome that resistance they develop--although reason is really on your side, that default pessimism everyone seems to feel in this or that way does make you think nothing's going to happen. Like fishing open water during January. But it's not January, just a tough day during a month that can be tough when it comes to catching fish, but not that tough. Unless you're comparing it to ice fishing, perhaps, since ice fishing can result in a lot of fish caught. 

Last September Brenden and I fished Tilcon Lake, and I caught only three fish. I don't remember off hand how many Brenden caught, but it wasn't many. I think I entitled the blog post "Tough September Outing." September has been tough on other occasions, too, but the water remains mild, and the fish are beginning to chase fish forage; the fish we marked in the depths were on clouds of fish forage of some description we haven't been able to make out. To the best of our knowledge, the lake has no alewives, but we might be mistaken.

In any event, I put those deep water fish out of mind and concentrated on my Torpedo. Matt continued to toss the Hula Popper he had caught a bass on earlier. We worked depths anywhere from about five feet down to eight- and 10-foot depths, weeds straggling up to the surface but not particularly thick. I had been thinking about the classic situation Mike Maxwell and I encountered on Mountain Lake a day or two before my son graduated high school. Minutes later, I saw nervous water similar to what began the romp Mike and I enjoyed. Then something carried the situation up to whole other level when a fish positively broke water with a sizeable splash. We edged over.

Not too much later, I had the fish on. Matt and I are sure it was the one that had splashed. Only for a second or two I had it, when I judged it probably weighed about a pound-and-a-half. Matt switched to a weedless frog, and I praised his move. Within a minute or so, something really nice-sized erupted from under algae scum, really exploded on that frog, but Matt missed the hit. I grabbed my box of topwaters and found a soft plastic, weedless mouse. 

Matt gave up on trying to tempt that fish to come back, and hooked the next fish that blew up well to the right of it. It proved to be a bass of about 17 1/2 inches, a chunky fish of nearly three pounds. After photographing his fish, I worked the scum until a bass broke through the algae two feet into the air, my mouse in it's mouth, and I set the hooks hard. My bass would have measured about 16 inches. Photographed, I released it and freed myself up for more action, which came in the form of a great strike near where Matt had lost the big one. Once I felt the fish's weight, I set the hooks. Hard! Mine proved to be a bass of at least 18 inches. 

Our commitment to slowing down and fishing only one way--topwater--had paid off and saved a day that otherwise was a tough one. Above all else, it was Matt's idea that broke through. Besides the bass themselves.    

Better than 18 inches?

Brenden caught a nice one of about two pounds on a Senko-type worm from right against the bank. Later, he caught one on Whopper Plopper of better than a pound.

First fish of the day. My little bass on a Yum Dinger from 10-foot weeds.

Matt's bass on a Hula Popper from right near the bank.

\

Matt's Hula Popper bass.

Little bass I caught on a Baby Torpedo shortly before Matt began throwing the weedless frog.

My 16-inch bass caught on a weedless mouse.

Mountain Lake

 

Heavy Northeast Wind Solidity Underfoot

The jetty has a way of returning you to solidity underfoot. It's just that if you take one wrong step, the crevice you fall into will break bones. I've been out there with Fred a number of times now, and every time, I've thought of my job. Yesterday, it bothered me little. Almost not at all. I didn't feel as if my time away from it was too short. 

The interesting thing is, I remember Fred telling me how many days he has to retirement. Each time we fished together, which used to be more frequent when he lived in Bernardsville. I remember that number over a thousand. And then, almost four years ago, it was done, and Fred moved with his wife to the vicinity of Long Beach Island. It seemed to happen so fast, while day to day reality plods along towards my goal as yet.

It's my turn now. And with April coming fast (in some sense, but was is that, really?), soon four years will have passed since I retired. I guess I've reached the point where it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I have to go in in the morning, because so few of them stretch between now and then. Even though it's a matter of some 210 days, which can feel like a lot at any given moment, there's a level in an older person's mind that travels between life events in an instant. It seems impossible to understand how actual time moves fast, when a second remains a second, an hour an hour, but 40 years since when I was 23 doesn't seem very long ago. It could be argued that I'm referring to a superficial level of memory, though, and that if I took the time to really get deep into recollection, vastness would emerge, and with it, a greater sense of time's length. 

Will I fish more, I think so. But between you & me, what matters most is that I keep delivering quality blog posts. I fully intend to keep publishing as much as I do now in magazines, too. 

I thought I'd have the trout book all finished before I would leave work, but that's OK. Haven't touched it in about two years, but I've worked on it since then in my head, so I know the time away is productive. I committed to a big writing project at the beginning of summer I knew would take me away from getting the new website up, but it led me to an even better idea to work on in a year or two or more. A memoir on the absolute need of civilization to have its first principle in nature, and the role of certain individuals who revitalize possibilities by going deep into nature, namely my own role in doing that, having spent 13 years digging clams...unearthing the mind's depths. It is the mind that makes life worth living by linking to possibilities. The liberal persuasion may be the postmodern denial of nature as existing on its own, as if it's a "construction of human society," but nature needs no defense, standing absolutely on its own. It's we who need to recognize its majesty, rather than to imagine we can elevate one of us to that status politically. (What a joke.)

About yesterday, the best part involved my getting an inevitable wind knot in my new PowerPro black slick braid, and having mentioned it to Fred before I would cut that expensive line, his volunteering to untangle it.

"You can't untangle that."

"I can so." 

And a few minutes later, I was fishing the whole length of what's left of it again. I had cut it I think three times during recent outings. 

Again, I got a wind knot. This time, I untangled it. And then once more again, and I untangled it, so I'm confident I can maintain my expensive PowerPro without wasting it.

Wind hauled water out of the Northeast and dumped it on the rocks. After it fell towards low tide, I could finally take my camera out without exposing it to spray, but even then I had to be very careful, as most spots among the rocks were still subject to salty mistiness. 

I fished only Gulp! Jerk Shads on jigs for fluke. Fred tried Fish Bites twister tails and something that looked just like a Jerk Shad. After I caught two fluke, one about 14 inches, another 16, I was told by a couple of guys that the bite was early in the morning when one guy had a four- or five-pounder on the rocks. Fred ended up with one right about 18 inches. We saw one of about 22 inches caught. That spot does get pounded, but so far, we've always caught fluke. 

Fishing the inlet side was difficult with the big swells, heavy tidal current, and spray, but we caught a few tog up to about 12 inches, lots of little seabass. Mole crabs, also called sand fleas. Fred had raked the bait out of the surf. 

Guy's got a short.

Inlet Three Years Ago

 

South Branch Raritan River Wading Attempt

I spoke to a friend recently who suggested an area of the South Branch upstream of one of the bridges. I asked if it's accessible by any pullover nearby. No, Brenden and I would have to wade up.

I stepped out the front door, still dark out, with lure bag, camera, and rod in hand, noticing that raindrop patterns had just begun to collect on the pavement. I took the stuff to my car, getting mildly pelted. A little light rain didn't alarm me, but I checked the weather. Soon, I got a text from Brenden saying it was pouring where he was in Stirling, though not raining in Hillsborough. 

We started wading in relative darkness, relative light. I had put my wallet and keys in my lure bag, expecting to reach waste level. Once, I stepped awkwardly on a rock. When you're really young, not just relatively young as I am now, you don't make missteps like that. You might be able to dance on rocks. I used to. 

They don't make me nervous now. They sometimes put me off a little, though. But we forged on as if we would reach that spot in the distance. We got fairly far. Above a section where the river divides into two, three or four flows. Facing the full width of the lower South Branch, I felt my antennae go on alert. The water was well up on my thighs, the bottom of my lure bag almost touching it. Lots of weeds on gravelly bottom. Some of that stuff at the surface. Where I bombed my Baby Torpedo on six-pound mono, and those casts were long, I couldn't tell just how deep, but deeper. Brenden had crossed some land downstream and taken interest in the flow furthest to my left looking downstream. Maybe he was catching bass.

Immediately, my plug started taking interest from sunfish. A couple hits I thought might have been bass, and then, finally, I caught a smallmouth of about 10 inches, feeling that satisfaction of having made a real effort for a real result. That little bass had leapt three times, as high as three feet. Had to be some depth out there for it to gather the power from below to go that high. 

Brenden caught up to me. He put a Whopper Plopper on. I told him about the big bass I had watched chase something against the trunk of a tree in the water along the shoreline to our left. I had repositioned so I might land a cast there, but Brenden's plug is a lot heavier and he made the mark perfectly. But nothing happened. 

I had caught my bass three or four minutes before it began raining. The water felt good, and while Brenden said something about maybe if the sun came out, the bass would hit better, I said, "I like the conditions just as they are. I just want to be on the bass." 

The one I caught was going to do it for the day for me. We couldn't move upstream any further. Too deep. The overgrowth along the shorelines too thick to break a trail. And I don't think we could have crossed over on the right, anyway, too deep. 

When we got back to the bridge, we fished on downstream maybe a couple hundred yards, but the water was shallower. My plug only interested a sunfish, and Brenden's Whopper Plopper--nothing.

We decided to try the confluence downstream, but the North Branch was off color there. Rather than staying out another hour or two, I was ready to go home and get a lot done. Brenden later texted me from a different spot, having caught seven smallmouths on a Rapala. 

Natirar

 

 

Outsmarting Pressured Fish Because We Enjoy It

 

Flashback to Belvidere July 12th. Mark Licht unhooks a rainbow trout caught while fishing smallmouths.

Writing to let you know I might have done it once before, but I'm not going to go for more than a week without posting, if I can help it. Did plan on fishing the Raritan today, but I'm busy with a writing project I've got to get done as soon as I can. 

Off on Monday, I'm thinking I'll get over to the lower South Branch. Noel Sell gave me a call today. We talked at least 15 minutes, good talk, and he gave me a clue as to where to try. Now living in Pennsylvania, he's very happy with the people over there, who will "bend over backwards to help you. In New Jersey, they screw you and take your money." 

Speaking from my own experience, I love New Jersey, which is not to say I'm blind to its flaws. Anyone who reads my blog knows that, but not because of resentment. Resentment is always directed upward against a superior, be it an individual or a group. Restrain resentment and you don't need to bother with self-aggrandizement to stand straight. Rather than gripe and get sour, I just lay out problems like fishing pressure, frequently lay them out, for what they are. We who fish in New Jersey play the game of outsmarting pressured fish because we enjoy it, not because it "should" be otherwise, even if, on occasion, like the previous post expresses, we feel put off by how difficult it really can be to go without an easy catch rate.

Someone I worked with at Fiddler's Elbow Country Club told me, "In New Jersey, you have to work for the fish." It's nice when sometimes the action is fast. But on the other hand, my catch of four smallmouths on the Raritan late this past July was very satisfying.

Just want to let you know the book on microlight method for trout is still in the works. Hope all of you read it and get the word out, not because I need to get rich, but because the quality of the book is something anglers who enjoy reading will appreciate. I've taken about two years' hiatus from working on it, but once I get the new website up, I can turn back to completing the finish, and then seeking the book's publication. 

I keep getting sidetracked by other writing projects. Even the monthly article I do for New Jersey Federated Sportsmen's News takes some repeated effort over the course of four or five days, maybe a week. I will reread a 1200-word piece entire, just to tweak a word or mark of punctuation. The editor's final copy is perfect, after he asks me for a proof-read. 

That's it for now. Hope I fish on Monday.  

Danny Barker's Musings of a Legendary Fly Fishing Guide

Got a phone call yesterday from a fisherman from Arkansas, who had lived in Newport News, Virginia, and fished Currituck Sound. He had found my post on Currituck and wanted to talk. 

I phoned him and we hit it off directly. Danny Barker had grown up in West Virginia, where the New River was home water for smallmouth bass; other mountain streams for eastern brook trout. His family relocated to Newport News, where he began fishing the salt of Chesapeake Bay. Naturally, they learned about the northern largemouth bass fishery of Back Bay-Currituck Sound and Albemarle Sound of Virginia and North Carolina. 

We talked about 45 minutes, thoroughly enjoyed. Barker's been guiding in Arkansas, 77 years old, and he's written a book, Musings of a Legendary Fly Fishing Guide. Though it's not published yet, he intends to get it published and advance the proceeds to a children's charity. 

Barker sent me the book in PDF form, and I sat and read through the first 10 chapters, uninterrupted. Twenty-seven chapters in total, the book utterly fascinates me. I can't get over the difference between what seems to me a short time ago--the 1960's and '70's--and the present when it comes to fish populations and fishing pressure on them. Fishing Currituck with his father, the average day amounted to 100 to 200 bass between the two of them, with the best day amounting to about 350. Barker says they weighed between 1/2-pound to 10 pounds, not that a 10-pounder got caught every outing, but on the phone, I queried him on his biggest Currituck bass. Ten pounds is a great fish. He caught an 11-pounder from Albemarle. 

Striped bass fishing in the Chesapeake was phenomenal, too, the Barkers catching as many 200 of them during a single morning. They fished flounder, catching 150 to 300 a day. Big red drum, too.

After jaunting through my reading, I arrived at the Raritan this morning feeling thoroughly dismayed. It's not just what we've done to fish populations. After all, in some ways the Raritan must be comparable to the James and Roanoke Rivers, where the Barkers caught 50 to 100 smallmouths a day as large as seven pounds, but Raritan River bass aren't there in numbers like they must have been only some 60 years ago. At least above Somerville. (There are about a dozen Superfund sites along the lower Raritan.) I think of Stony Brook in Princeton, where I used to catch as many as 40 a day during the 70's. Try Stony now, and the chances are against you catching a single bass. It's not just fishing pressure. Stony never got a whole lot that we ever knew of. Rather than fishing pressure being an all-encompassing evil, consider that ecosystems are delicate. The more New Jersey builds, the more pressure is put on watersheds in forms other than fishing.

I fished this morning...for a single bass. A Raritan smallmouth a little better than 10 inches long caught on a Ned rig. I did hook two other littler ones lost, and missed a hit, but I felt the lack deeply, and I'll add, deeper than I will likely feel it again, thankfully. I'm no different from you. We're used to the fisheries as we have them. Today was a slow one as Raritan outings go, and, in fact, the water was a little off-color. I never do well when it's stained any worse than it was this morning. 

I got out and fished Round Valley in the rain last Thursday, getting skunked. And since I fished only 45 minutes, I felt I had no story to relate on the blog. Flooded undergrowth gave my buzzbait abundant opportunity--45 minutes worth from where I could reach from shore near the main launch--but oddly, there seemed to be no bass among that cover during those favorable weather conditions. 

I leave a link to my popular Currituck post. In addition to Currituck, I refer to canals and "Collington Bay," while said bay is not only a thing of mistaken memory, it's misspelled. The word is "Colington," referring to a certain island and small community. The bay there is strictly named Kitty Hawk Bay. I leave the title as is, so as not to screw up the post in relation to search engines.

Currituck Sound      
 

Holding Fast to Deep Natural Connection

I checked on favorite South Branch Raritan spots going back 15 years. It was hard breaking past a barrier of feeling put off, even though I'm enjoying a series of PTO days off from work, and I felt great about the Raritan River two days ago.

I decided that instead of giving in to a "bad day" and quitting on it early, I would persist, and I made sure I fished a number of stretches thoroughly. At one point, I looked at myself standing in the water, not having had a hit yet on my live killies, and the thought of giving up without a single bass while using live bait felt like a death sentence placed on the river I have loved very deeply. I just let that pass and kept fishing!

I think it's hard to holdfast to deep natural connection while otherwise living in a culture that doesn't value it. I spent many years shamelessly inspired by such connections of many kinds, outings consistently coming to their finales, which I called Grand Affirmations, amounting to engagements with the world inclusive of the naturally given and the humanmade. Some of them were greatly powerful, a sense of radiant energy moving the world from relative staleness to renewed life. An act of redemption involving more life than I can individually contain. John Lennon used to call the like a turn on.

Some would wonder how a man can care about fishing when spirituality runs high, but on the contrary, not only every fish mattered--as the blog attests to--so did almost every cast. Grand Affirmations complete successful participation. More than being a spectator's detachment, fishing involves me with the natural world in a way that elevates my life as a whole. You don't have to be a dumb jock to cast effectively and catch fish. I'll be the first to admit there are guys out there better at catching fish than I am. I have a need to catch fish like any other fisherman, and I like to do well at the game. But I'm interested in putting words to it in a way uniquely my own, not in catching more and bigger fish than others I will never surpass.

It's the quality of natural connection that contributes to the quality of Affirmation at the end of an outing. The blog turned to relating the process of fish getting caught, but as I remember, I was pretty good at describing such natural relations during the early years of the blog. 

I did catch a few today. Water level was a little high, and carrying a lot of green algae that got on the hook, annoying. I cast unweighted killies, working a stretch downstream, when I decided to try weighting one with an eighth ounce drop-shot weight shaped like a banana to ride over bottom. After a few casts, I had a bass on I lost. I baited up again, cast to the same spot, and came up with the average stream bass photographed below.

I fished the eight-foot depths thoroughly, no more hits. Then I removed the weight and decided to work my way further downstream. On the way, I caught a smallmouth a little larger, and had to return to the bucket for another killie. I did get all the way to the bottom of the stretch, but no more hits. I had spent a full two hours working the long stretch.

I also fished a couple of stretches in-between the bridges and above them. I caught the nice one photographed above. On the way home, I stopped and fished a large pool of the Lamington River. No hits there.  

Algae on the hook with the killie.

Lehigh River

Maneuvering the Ned Rig for River Bronzebacks

Fourteen-Inch Bronzeback

It's nice having a big river close to home, where I can go out an hour after noontime, get involved enough in the fishing to feel as if a full day was invested, and be home at 4:00 p.m. Catching some smallmouths. Soaking in the sun and the heat while wading nearly up to my waste, my mobile device on the bank with my other stuff. Never engaging with that thing. Only having it along in case of any emergency. Using my DSLR camera.  

I told Brenden Kuprel I'd really like him to show me how he fishes the Ned rig, and I followed his lead to various spots, watching how he does it, and figuring it out as I went. As I thought after trying the lure in the Delaware River a week or so ago, there is some maneuvering of it involved. It's not all letting the current take the rig as it ticks rocks and bottom. But I was much less certain on how to work the lure after fishing the Delaware, than I am now after fishing with Brenden. The jigging of it involves some wherewithal in trying to keep it from getting hung up, as well as keeping line straight enough to ensure a secure hookset, though not overdoing that, allowing for some bend because that's going to be inevitable. You will feel the Ned rig tick rocks and bottom, and sometimes you'll feel a knock as it wedges in-between stone from which you can't get it free. But it seems to be the case that when fishing a Senko-type worm rigged Wacky, more drifting with the current happens than when casting a Ned rig.

The jury's out as yet on whether the Ned rig is more effective than a Senko-type plastic rigged Wacky and unweighted. Or when one is better than the other.

Certainly, the Ned rig drops almost straight down to bottom, even with the 1/16-ounce jighead I used today. It takes a Senko-type worm a little while to touch down. Most fishermen seem to throw a 1/10- or 1/8-ounce Ned rig. As you can see in the photo, the plastic worm you use on such a standup jighead is short and stubby. About two or two-and-a-half inches long. Together with a mere 1/16-ounce jighead, it casts very far on six-pound-test mono and a medium power, five-and-a-half-foot rod. 

The only problem with long casts is the bow in the line, which the powerful river current develops. I lost a few bass because of it. By not getting a direct hookset. One of those bass was a really good one, though I believe it was more like 14 inches, rather than 16 or 18, though I'm not certain.

I did catch one 14 inches. From a lengthy cut of narrowed flow where I caught a nine-incher on a live goldfish 29 years ago. I have no idea why I didn't just fish plastics, as was my habit fishing smallmouths during my teens, but I wanted to use live shiners, though I couldn't find any for sale near North Plainfield. I'm sure Efinger in Bound Brook had some, but maybe not, although it seems more likely I just didn't think of them as having any, not being in the loop yet. So I bought some live goldfish from the pet shop on Highway 22 in North Plainfield. 

I caught three other smallmouths: 10 inches, eight inches, and about seven inches. Another one I had on besides the nice one I mentioned might have been a foot. 

"Slow day," Brenden said. He often catches a lot of smallmouths, and one occasion, caught 50 of them. His sole bass today wasn't a big one, though he's caught three-pounders on past occasions.  

I lost two Ned rigs today. I had lost a few of them when fishing the Delaware. Most of the time, I worked the rig free by wading in the opposite direction to which it got snagged. Obviously, that doesn't always work, and I believe fishing the Ned rig is more expensive than fishing Senko-type worms (unweighted), which I believe don't get lost to the river bottom as often.

I think the Ned rig is a valuable approach, but let's see how it pans out over the years.  

 

Brenden fishing from an old bridge stanchion.



Senko Bronzebacks

 

Bushwhacked Thick Underbrush to Get Beyond Where Others Go

We hiked back in October last year, and I don't remember observing the old trails grown over as they are now. Then we did diverge away from the river where a tributary ditch meets it, though. Getting across easy today, beyond the undergrowth is thick. We bushwhacked. When today's outing was done around 10:30 in the morning, my arms and legs were bloodied. I just want no poison ivy. 

Oliver felt like trying a number of spots along the way, before we got far enough back--which in total amounts to more than a couple of miles between bridges--to where I felt others haven't been coming. Much of the undergrowth we broke before us had grown to head level, soaked in morning dew. Forging ahead alongside the river, I hoped any snapping turtle out of the water would somehow let itself be known before I stepped on it. Oliver found bear scat.

No evidence of others fishing back there made itself visible. No trail broken. No marks in the mud. It made obvious sense that most people would not want to break the effort.

We did want a few pike. Back in 2020, I hooked one that immediately took tight drag from a reel mounted on a medium-heavy Lew's Speed stick, that reel loaded with 20-pound braid, the pike running underneath a log jam before the snap of the wire leader gave, having opened somehow. Three of us caught a lot of fish that day, mostly pike. In more recent times, two years ago in September, I caught a lot of small pike while fishing with Fred Matero. That day, we got as far as the tributary ditch and just beyond it, as only I crossed. 

Oliver got hit at the surface. We used floating jerkbaits. Further on, he caught the largemouth photographed below, and I missed the hit I'm sure came from a small pike. The bass photographed above is the largest any of us have caught in the Passaic yet, Oliver's second this morning. I lost another fish, but I finally caught a little bass after Oliver had caught two more the size photographed below. He caught yet another, and a redbreast sunfish. 

Most of them he caught from a hole particularly deep though not large in surface area. Since most of the river is very shallow, you can imagine why, although one of the fish I had on came from a few sticks in visibly shallow water.   

 

Seems to be the foundation of a former bridge

Jerkbaits for Pike

Honoring Largemouths Near Five Pounds and Better

I've liked catching 20-inch bass ever since catching my first one in 1976. I believed that one weighed five pounds, because that's what my Deliar told me, minus the quarter pound it registered when not weighing anything. It was a rounder fish than the one I caught this morning, so it wasn't far from five pounds. Plenty of the ones I've caught like this one today seem to have barely touched on four pounds, if that, but others have been close to the higher mark. I'm sure the 21 1/2-incher I caught in 2021 beat it, and the 23 1/4-incher from Merrill Creek Reservoir I caught in 2018 was way over. 

Like today, I had got up while still dark out the morning I caught my first 20-incher, only instead of driving to Cronk's house to meet and then ride in his truck with my canoe in the back to the lake, I pedaled my Schwinn 10-speed about a mile, catching the bass on a Gudebrod Blabberouth, an eighth-ounce topwater plug, when daylight brightened fresh and overcast like this morning. Later that morning, as a family we left for a vacation on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and I trembled in awe of my catch for half the ride down there. As I remember it, that vacation marked the first I fished largemouths in North Carolina. My fishing log can prove whether or not that memory suffices, but I'm certain it does, because there was a girl my age, 15, on the beach, and I remember walking through the dunes to one of the Currituck Sound canals with a fishing rod, thinking of her. 

Last year, I caught no bass 20 inches or better, and I've felt all year so far that I didn't want that happening again. The year previous, I caught six or seven of them, maybe 8, as large as 21 inches and maybe an ounce or two over five pounds. Not many big ones as a few New Jersey bass anglers rack 'em up, but a real pleasure for me. I have so much to thank Brian Cronk for, because all of them I caught on his watch. On the private lake and on Clinton Reservoir where we launched his boat. All of these more recent years, he's caught plenty of them 20 inches and better, fishing the lake with greater frequency than I have. He caught one through the ice that might have been a few ounces over five pounds, measured at 21 inches.

I caught a few bass 20 inches and a half inch better in my teens, the bigger from that same pond, another from Rosedale Lake in Lawrence, and the creatures fill space like mythical gods in a way, because the concrete reality they did and do occupy would impress anyone. After all, to think such fish exist is to posit an object of contemplation that knows no end when it comes to the question of how it is possible. Most of us haven't the time, nor do I, to live close to the miracle of it, but it doesn't hurt to touch base a little. Some say that's what church is for, but I say bass will do, as messy as an outing gets. 

Since my teens, it took me decades before I caught my next 20-incher, from Round Valley Reservoir in 2014. I hadn't begun fishing seriously again until 2004, and I owned nothing like a boat until 2011, when my son and I fished from an inflatable raft on occasion. (We did rent boats a lot, and I had my Boater's Safety Certificate.) By the best I could stretch a measuring tape, the one from Round Valley was a hair--like 1/128th of an inch--under, but I called it 20. I began catching 20-inch and better bass each year since 2018, fishing the lake with Brian often since 2019. 

And 16-, 17-,18-inch bass are frequent. Brian's today was probably 16 1/2. My other two 17 and 18. Brian got a pickerel he called a Cuban cigar. Everything on Chatterbaits today, when otherwise we lost so many bass and pickerel that, had we caught half of them, we would have finished the three hours on the water with a fair number.

I do like the weedy upper portion of the lake, where I lost a bass and a pickerel on a Baby Torpedo topwater plug, missing hits besides. Brian missed a big hit on his Booyah frog. But as Brian showed me, the lower area of the lake mostly free of weeds where the water is a foot or two deeper holds both bass pickerel. We lost a number of pickerel that hit boat side. I caught my 20-inch largemouth, lost another bass about 16 inches, and Brian and I both missed hits.

An interesting interlude to the work drama. I came home, fell asleep for three hours, and when I awoke thought of the job, realizing I hadn't thought of it at all out there.  

18-Inch Largemouth

17-Inch Largemouth

Currituck

 

The Outdoors is Good for Your Health

There's never a time I don't escape the lethal routine when I go fishing, despite the influence of the former mention on my initial attitude--the resistance to going I always exert better will over to get out there. I say lethal routine, because making a living will only kill you, if you don't counter-act the stress by life-affirming activities like fishing. And anything outdoors is good for your health. A proven medical fact. 

What stress? I question it, too, Much of my typical work day is free of it. So I can imagine people out there who experience little or no work stress. Besides, most of my "work stress" is really post traumatic stress. That's not normal stress. I'm like a rescue dog. But when I get out and fish, I get over any of that altogether. 

I drove west on Interstate 78 when Brian Peterson from work messaged me. He and his daughter Kinsey needed to be reminded of the meeting point, so I exited at West Portal/Pattenburg, pulling into a convenience store lot, taking note of the sign posted to a telephone pole--Live Bait. (Well we didn't need any more than Brian bought, I figured. Two dozen nightcrawlers, I had suggested.)

I told him we'd meet at the green space between the Free Bridge and U.S. Highway 22 (Phillipsburg). For me, just to think "green space" feels refreshing. Even though Phillipsburg is a city, the bank along the river is wild. I got there some five minutes before they did, not surprised that people's access to open space here has restrictions now. Some 17 years ago, I fished with my son here on multiple occasions. I believe even in the middle of the night with live eels for stripers. I know others fished the stretch at night. I remember even more clearly at present that we did. I'm all but certain Matt and I fished there after midnight. Free parking. No time restrictions. As you can see in the second photo below by clicking on it to expand it, the 30-minute free parking is suggested for activities other than accessing the river. It's like politicians do not want you to be healthy. 

There's no money in being healthy.

Well, as we were finishing up our preparations at our cars parked in 30-minute slots, cops drove by. By the time the police unit faced us on its way back out, we walked towards the river entry, carrying rods. Since they did not stop to tell us we were improperly parked, as the sign might be interpreted, I figure they were OK with it, anyhow. 

We fished 25 minutes. We lost a few Yum Dingers. Nice depth and the bass have cover down there for sure. Brian caught one, a smallmouth. 

He knew of a spot on the Pennsy side. Since our licenses were good on either side of the river, (Brian lives in PA), I looked forward to exploring.

Brian's spot is good water for sure. A long seam between rapids and slow water, a huge eddy, good depth. I had one bass on a Yum Dinger that got off, and I missed two whacks to a Ned Rig. I felt befuddled, because, clearly, bass would stage among those rocks beneath that eddying current. I'm sure they were there, and I told Brian as much. 

I began this post talking about the outdoors and health. You're reading Litton's Fishing Lines, so you probably get out to fish. Catching a few may only better that health. As I told Brian, there's an encompassing approach to the river's bass: 

These bass see dozens of lures, but it's good to start with one you can fish fast, covering water, 

and though for me, that was a Yum Dinger when it could have been a jerkbait perhaps with better results, smallmouths will swim at least a few yards to grab a Dinger dropping by, and besides, you can retrieve it pretty quickly. My first bass hit it as I reeled fast to cast it again. Yes, I had a Rapala on my mind from the very start when I threw that Yum Dinger. Oh, well.

It's a good idea to switch out search baits, though it's a losing game.

Because the bass will see what you're throwing and only become less interested in that offering. Something else might jog a reaction, but then it, too, will get ignored, and so on... 

Then you need to slow down, fish subtly to tempt fish that would be turned off by the noise of search baits.

Fishing a Yum Dinger by twitching it lightly in the depths, for example, though that wasn't working. 

Ultimately a nightcrawler might out-fish anything else.

The bass were certainly there in this second area we fished, but since they've seen just about every kind of lure we could offer, drifting a live nightcrawler through the currents might have worked. 

Brian had got his fishing license at Dick's, which had no live bait. I said, "Check your phone for nightcrawlers along Route 611."

Minutes later, we headed for a convenience store 3.7 miles away. 

"I know a boat launch across the street from a cement factory," Brian said. 

We cast Yum Dingers and let the swift current carry them well downstream, but nothing hit in the visibly shallow water of three or four feet. I believed if any bass staged in that current, they'd grab a Dinger. We soon left. 

The next spot was a park where Brian told me the Belvidere Free Bridge was right around the corner. We didn't see an easy way in, so we crossed that bridge in hopes that the green space my son and I enjoyed there about 17 years ago is still open.

It is. We parked--freely--as I excitedly expressed the fact that I had caught a bass and a little striper. Privately, I thought, "A bass. I would hope for at least a few." When Matt and I fished down below in Phillipsburg years ago, I think we caught seven of them. 

We fished nightcrawlers. Something did pull most of one of mine from my hook, but other than that, go figure. Obviously, fishing pressure. Brian had a few bites from something. Kinsey reported nothing.

And...my channel catfish. Nice fish. Twenty-two inches long. Good fight. 

We had relaxed and we settled in. You know you've reached that point of letting all the stress go, when you no longer feel anxious to try what's next; when you openly accept all you're doing from now and until you go home. That's a real pleasure, fish or not. After all, you look at the quality of the spot and you know fish could be around. You see that carp or whatever makes a mess of the surface. Kinsey felt awed at seeing, I think, two big fish make a ruckus.  

The weather was perfect. A setting sun. Temperature warm. 

You feel healthy--directly--and have no doubt it's good for you in the long term.

A boat launch existed nearby. As we walked out, I spoke to someone I had seen launch. 

"I didn't catch a single smallmouth bass," he said. 

I told him about my catfish. 

"There was a guy here mid-day," he said, "Caught a 10-pounder." 

I don't target channel catfish, but I might. I'd enjoy catching a 10-pounder on a light rod.  

  

The Second Spot

Belvidere

Belvidere

More of a Complicated Practice

 

Paulinskill River Confluence with Delaware River at Columbia

Mark Licht catching a Paulinskill smallie.

OK. So I heard about the project coming, but I neither knew Brian Cowden would not be involved, nor the approximate time it would be underway. While I thought the Paulinskill's water a weird muddy quality, I did think a lot of rain came down up here. (We found the Pequest clear.) No, a dam is being removed not all that far upstream of here where we fished. 

I began with a Ned rig anyhow, wondering if any bass would knock that from sensing it by its lateral line, but I quickly switched to a MiniKing spinnerbait by Storm, and I did get a knock by retrieving it right down the middle of the white water in the photo below. Mark threw an inline spinner, but he must've appealed to the bass's sense of smell by a nightcrawler. 

"They're my go-to. Just in case," Mark told me later at the Pequest. Lures will often out-produce bait because they're efficient, but not always. Still at the Paulinskill, he offered me live worms, but I stuck to the MiniKing. 

He caught one smallmouth on a nightcrawler there below the spillway on the far side.

I began thinking of a possible alternative before we got to a spot that's produced greatly for my son and I in the past. (All we caught there was a chub for Mark.) We could drive west and try to fish the confluence where the Paulinskill empties into the Delaware River at Columbia. I figured if the big river was clear, where a muddy river enters it might offer interesting fishing. 

Besides, there would be other possibilities if this one didn't pan out. Neither of us knew if we could find access to the confluence.

We didn't. Houses beside it, private land, and a lot of roadway construction. The Delaware Watergap was a possible option. I know about access there. I knew about possible access along Highway 46 further south, where my son and I caught smallmouths years ago, and besides that, I suggested the confluence of the Pequest with the Delaware.

We rode south. "No Stopping or Standing," all along where, some 17 years ago, my family parked and had a good time. Fully in keeping with the general move in America to deny citizens access to natural space. (I've written a little about that but haven't had time to do serious research.) 

Belvidere. "New Jersey's Best Kept Secret." Kind of like my blog. 

After all, what is more spiritually symbolic than a couple of fishes? "Don't believe the church and state," says Mike and the Mechanics, but Christ might say the same. 

Before we even got to the Delaware, which we never did, we found the hole beneath the dam appealing. Surely, townies had hit the spot hard, but I felt sure it held bass. Catch and release is universal, after all. It's like reincarnation. God catches you at the moment of death and then puts you back. 

Mark had got in the water and just caught a big chub, hollering over to me about a huge smallmouth that tried to eat it before he got it in, when I hooked up on the Ned rig, using blue plastic. My bass, about a foot long, jumped off right in front of me.

I got in the water and waded among round stones the size of soccer balls, 

getting into various positions but raising no interest in my Ned Rig. Mark wasn't doing much, either. A bluegill or two. I figured it was the classic case of freshened fish hitting a lure at the outset, then very quickly getting spooked. After all, the bass below the dam there see hundreds of lures. They forget. Then they remember once they see one a few times. 

So I tried drifting an unweighted nightcrawler, felt a jiggle on that first drift, let the fish take line a bit, tightened up, set, and felt surprised it was a bass. Mark and I caught various bluegills, chubs. I saw Mark got a fallfish, and he caught a rainbow trout. I caught a second bass after I noticed the bluegills had begun taking the nightcrawlers only by the tail, so when I set, I lost bait to them. They're not smart like us but watch a fish check out and reject a lure in clear water. You'll have no doubt their perceptual abilities are tack sharp. It didn't take long for sunnies to stay clear of our hooks. 

We didn't have all night so we never got to the Delaware, but Mark had come through by bringing the nightcrawlers. That transformed a frustrated outing into a fun time and successful day, lots of good conversation during the drive back to Blairstown and my car parked at Dale's grocery.

Just don't make a big habit of parking there. That might piss them off. 

Besides, just click on a label, scroll, and you'll find hundreds of possibilities on my blog.  

Found this memorandum thumbnailed to a tree along the Paulinskill.

River bass.

Mark Licht carefully unhooks rainbow trout.

The fun had begun.

Little Bit on Access We Need More