Getting Time on the Water

The nice weather the past couple of days, coupled with the fact my wife has been busy doing some things of her own, put me in somewhat of a froggy mood. I decided to try a couple of days back-to-back on the water, and as I figured from the git-go, I'm anything but prepared for a repeat performance of this trick anytime soon. Let's just say I can relate to that classic tune about the "old gray mare not being what she used to be."

And, too, I didn't catch many fish. This 1-4 was my best of three fish that I put in the boat yesterday. It and one other fell for my Bomber Square A while working coves in West Neck. My first fish of the day, which came from Albright's, hit a Pop-R.

While the fishing didn't provide much excitement yesterday--or today, either, for that matter--I did experience one anxious moment yesterday that I'm not likely to forget. It involved a great blue heron who, unlike all others I've ever encountered on the water, didn't seem to mind how close I was to him. He had staked out a point in the cove where I was fishing, waiting for lunch to come swimming by--I reckon. I couldn't have been more than 10 or 12 feet from him, and I'm sure he knew I was there, 'cause he had given me a couple of serious glances. Nevertheless, he just stayed put, rather than opting to take flight like all his friends always have in the past.

I was working a chatterbait at the time and wanted to run it across the point where he was standing guard. Never in a million years could I have predicted what was about to happen as my chatterbait came into his vision. He took not one--but two--swipes at my lure with that beak of his. Don't you know I was taking every evasive maneuver I could think of, because the last thing I wanted was to have that bird take off with my chatterbait. Despite this event, the heron maintained his post, so I decided it was time for me to find a new spot, where I had everything to myself.

Here is the best of two fish that is all I could muster in four hours on the water this morning. He weighed 1-2. I ended up giving it and a 14-oz. bass to an older preacher man who was bank fishing this morning when I launched. He came over and asked me if I'd bring him a couple of fish if I caught any, so I was happy to oblige. He was tickled pink when I handed him the fish.

Like yesterday, today included an incident that left me shaking my head when all was said and done. I had gone into one of the small coves above the West Neck Bridge when what should appear but some dude in a green kayak acting as though he owned the place. He ignored the fact I was there first and had planned to work the area thoroughly by myself. And then he proceeded to prove that he was an even bigger ass than I first had thought. While I was fishing this one area of shoreline, he went and paddled his kayak between me and that same piece of shoreline--without ever having the courtesy to ask before doing it. For a very brief instant, I considered launching that Bomber lure on the rod in my hand across his bow, just to find out if that would get his attention.

Four bass, anchored by this 3.4, put a smile on the face of my friend Skip Schaible today. He, too, spent the day in West Neck, but I never saw him until he was recovering his boat this afternoon.

Skip would have had even more fish, but he lost one at the boat by trying the same trick that has done me in a few times more than I care to think about: trying to lift the fish in the boat with his rod. He also lost another nice fish at the boat when he leaned over with the net and accidentally dropped some slack in the line.

Said Skip, "I had a decent day," and I'll certainly second that.

Unfortunately, I don't have a clue what kind of lures Skip was using. Of course, there's at least a chance he might not have answered me, even if I had asked.

Finally, I come to the email reports I've been getting from my friend Jim Bauer, who has been at Lake Gaston since this past Saturday. His brother is holding down the boat's back seat during the current trip.

In their abbreviated first outing on Sunday, Jim and his brother boated three dinks--"all about a pound and all on plastic," to borrow Jim's words. They talked to one other fella who wasn't having much luck either. For the most part, the day belonged to the skiers and jet skiers who were just burning gas, stirring up the water, and bouncing all the fishermen around.

On Day 2, Monday, Jim ended up with four bass. His brother's only fish was a chain pickerel. Said Jim at day's end, "I can safely tell you that all the fish in Pea Hill have NOT spawned yet." They found some in a cove during the afternoon looking for a place to bed down. They also ran across some gar and bream.

Yesterday's Day 3 totals were two bass, each weighing 1.6 lbs., for Jim, and one dink for his brother. His brother also lost a keeper at the boat.

Today's Day 4 totals "was pretty much a bust," as Jim described it. He caught the only fish of the day, another 1.6-lb. bass. He and his brother went through an assortment of baits--everything from topwater to plastics, worms, craws, lizards, creature baits, chatterbait, buzz jet, and swim baits. The bream teased them all day, and that, along with the heat of the day with no breeze, caused them to give it up about 2:30.

Jim summed up their trip so far this way: "The weather is great; sorry to say but the fishing isn't." They're not giving up, though. "We'll keep stirring the water," Jim concluded.