The One That Got Away (0 for 8 on the Fox)

The River

My wife and I celebrated our one year wedding anniversary this weekend. The weather was as nice as it was a year ago when we got married- unseasonably warm, with beautiful leaves changing everywhere. We had a nice dinner Friday night, I surprised Claire with an iPad (!!!) and origami tulips (the first anniversary is supposed to be the "paper" anniversary... so I googled origami and I was off). On Saturday after breakfast and some errands, being the incredibly awesome wife she is, Claire suggested I go fishing.... and make use of my "anniversary waders" (which is what they are, and I'm required to call them). She didn't have to tell me twice!

A short 45 minutes later, I was making my way to the water in Lippold Park on the Fox River. I felt extremely outdoorsy- waders, camo hat, fishing gear, broom handle wading staff, big bushy beard (I've been letting it grow out) and heavy-duty L.L. Bean boots. I headed to the spot where Leo and I fished the previous week, where I landed the big smallie. Sounds like a hip-hop name. The big smallie.

Anyway, I made some casts into the water where I was going to enter, and after a minute I slowly crept into the water. The last (and first) time I waded, I wore jeans and froze my a** off... But this time the air was much warmer, although I didn't know about the water. I was wearing long underwear under my waders, which turned out to be the perfect match for the cold water. I was completely comfortable standing in the water. We'll see how this goes when it's 40°F out; but with a 75°F air temperature, it was awesome.

The river level was lower than it was last weekend- it seemed to be a really nice level to wade. I really appreciated visiting this spot a few times when the water level was extremely low; I now had some idea of what lay under the water. Rivers are crazy- always changing, filled with all kinds of currents and pools and riffles and flats and drops... Makes ponds and lakes seem super boring! Even if I end up being a "river angler," I'll never forget my lake-fishing roots.

The view from the water

On the end of my line I tied a 4" white twister tail on a 1/16oz jig. That landed me some smallies 3 weeks ago, and the 1 big one last weekend. It apparently was the go-to lure for smallies, at least that's what the internet seemed to tell me. I worked my way downstream, in many places the river more like a pond than a moving body of water. I tried to find some moving water, which turned out to be farther downstream. Instead of bushwacking my way through the forest, I slowly and carefully waddled down the river. It was a little slower, but much less frustrating; far fewer hangups on trees, or spiderwebs in the face.

I got to what seemed like a promising spot- a place I'd caught some smallies a few weeks back, where I had "wet-waded" in my boots about 20' into the river. This time the river was higher, and the water obscured the little underwater peninsula... but I knew it was there, and I knew there were deeper pools around it. I began casting, getting plenty of hangups but for the most part I was able to get them free. Then I noticed a lure in a tree, about 10' from shore. Hey, it was mine from 3 weeks ago! I waded over to the jig'n'twister, hung in the tree like a Christmas ornament, and liberated it back into my tacklebox. It was nice to get a lure back, and even nicer to pick up my litter.

I continued downstream, having no luck at this spot. Another guy was wading near me, and he didn't seem to be having much luck either. Although I wasn't catching any fish, I sure enjoyed being in the water! It's a different perspective, standing in the water, surrounded by the current (and probably some fish). I can't believe I didn't get waders sooner. This was awesome.

A few minutes later, I found myself near a branch in the water that had given up smallies on more than one occasion. I threw my jig'n'twister, but got nothing. On a whim, I pulled out my old favorite- the green tube jig. The lure that had given me so many great facebook pictures; the lure that had landed me many nice bass throughout the spring and early summer; the lure that I used almost exclusively until the past month or so. I tied it on, cast it, and let it fall to the bottom. And then...

Fish on!!

It took me by surprise, and immediately threw the hook. A greenish-brownish flash flew out of the water, and returned with a splash. It was on! My first hookup while wading!

I continued casting, and hooked up again. I found it difficult and disconcerting trying to maintain tension on the line while my rod was so close to the water. As much as I enjoyed being splashed in the face by a smallie throwing my hook a few feet in front of me, I would have much preferred a few snapshots of the two of us together.

Can you spot the jig'n'twister?

Again I made contact, my line swimming through the water, the smallie on the other end almost swimming in a circle around me. This was fantastic! If shore fishing was like archery, wading was like hand-to-hand combat. It seemed like my quarry and I were on more equal footing, so to speak. I was in their house, in their territory. Something about it seemed more sporting, and definitely more exciting. There was always the chance of the current knocking me over, or tripping on a rock, or a brazen fish swimming around me like a rebel fighter tying up an imperial walker. I liked it!

After I stopped getting hits from the branch - and working all angles of it - I moved on downstream. I experimented casting upstream, and downstream, and perpendicular from the shore, and everything in between. Every so often I would hookup, but could never keep the hook attached to the speeding rocket of a fish that was at the end of my line. It was incredibly exciting, but also incredibly frustrating. I was beginning to understand the appeal of wading for smallies. With largemouth bass, if I hooked into one there was usually very little chance of it throwing the hook. The fight was over before it started. With these fiesty river bass, hooking into them only meant the battle had begun- there was no certainty of any new facebook profile pictures! I had to work for them.

It reminded me of difficult video games I played growing up- I was often frustrated, trying to beat the same level over and over again, but when I finally did it was that much more satisfying.

I kept moving downstream, and kept hooking up. I did everything I could to maintain tension on the line, to no avail. I tried a few different lures- a white spinnerbait, back to the jig and twister, a homemade inline spinner, a white Sims spinner, but I didn't get a single hit on anything but my good old green tube jig. Ok then, I thought- if that's what you want today, that's what I'll throw out!

As soon as I switched back to the tube, I got more hits. I remembered the whole reason I started using tube jigs was I wanted to catch smallies, "pound for pound the gamest fish that swims," but only caught LMB. Turns out the places I was fishing didn't have smallies! Now I was standing in a veritable smallie apartment complex, and was slaying them, at least in terms of finding them and hooking up with them.

Close to sunset, close to the strange machine building where I caught my first smallie of 2011 a few weeks back, I got yet another hookup... but this one was BIGGER. I could feel it. It was definitely a smallie- but it seemed to move more slowly with more force. I kept the tension, and managed to bring it closer to me. It had taken the tube about 40' downstream from where I was standing, and somehow I was able to bring it up to me. Yes! Yes! This is it! I reeled it in, my rod more like the letter "U" than the letter "I," a big beast of a fish on the end. As it came closer, it seemed to suddenly notice me standing in the water, and it intensified its flight. It swam around me, and I swiveled in the water to keep the tension.

Suddenly it burst threw the surface of the water, showering me with splashes, and our eyes met for a split second as it hovered three feet above the river. Its magnificent red eyes stared into my blue eyes, taunting me. As if in slow motion, as it slowly fell back toward the water, I saw the tube jig slide out of its mouth. The monster- I guesstimated at least 14"- hit the water like a cannonball. With a powerful flick of its tail, it once again splashed me with water, and was gone.

Amazing! My heart was racing, the adrenaline was pumping- this was it. This is why these fish are so awesome. I would take a small fish that fights like this over a lunker LMB any day.

I quickly recast and hit the entire area, but nobody was interested. I wondered if all the commotion had scared the other fish away. It was getting dark, the sun was setting behind the trees, and I knew it was time to go. It was time to head back home. In the few short hours in the river, I hooked up 8 times. I kept thinking 0 for 8, I think you write it 0-8. Next time I would improve my score. This really was like a game.

Although I would be returning empty-handed (more like empty-photo-libraried) it was an incredibly fun outing. These fish were something else.

I was skunked, but it sure was pretty

Chris gets waders and walks into a river

my new stocking foot waders

As soon as the credit card was swiped and they handed me the box, I wanted to tear it open, put the waders on, and get into some water! Turns out, we still had some errands to run. So wading would have to wait...

That afternoon (Sunday) Claire and I got home, and I tried on the waders. I put my LL Bean boots over the stocking feet of the waders, this would work, I thought. Packed the car, and tried to figure out where I should go. My new fishing friend Rob (Osprey) offered a ton of extremely specific advice and tips on a particular spot on the Fox. As he explained what I should do, what I should use, and how I should use it, I typed everything in a text file so I could remember it later. I'm not so good at remembering things normally. It helps to have a record!

It was super generous for him to share all this information with me, I just hoped I could text him a picture or two of a nice fish. In the interest of not sharing secrets from other fishermen, I won't say where I went.. But I've seen pictures of monster smallies taken there. I was psyched. Hopped in the car, floored it, and I was off.

After a half hour drive through the countryside, I arrived at my destination. I jumped out of the car, and got into my new waders. I salvaged a broom handle they were going to through away at work; I drilled a hole in it and tied on some line, thinking I could use it as a stakeout pole for my kayak. Didn't work so well like that, but it might work as a wading staff (I think that's the right term). This would be my first time wading, and I was doing it alone; I figured better to be safe than sorry.

I had my clippers and jig buster around my neck, and used a carabiner to secure a small tacklebox. I suddenly understood why everybody has fancy fishing vests- this was a lot of weight on my neck! I clipped the wading staff line to my wading belt (didn't have anywhere else to attach it), and put on my boots. I won't lie, I felt like I was pretty awesome at this moment- it's one thing to dabble in fishing every few weeks (like I had done last summer)... But here I was, fully equiped with my own waders, tools, camo hat, and I even had some homemade lures in my box.

Who was this person in the car door reflection? Was this the same jazz-playing film-scoring hip-hop-loving video-game-playing indoor-kid I'd always been? It definitely was. But now, judging by my appearance, I was a real-life angler too.

There were a whole lot of people shore fishing, looked like they were going for carp or catfish. Their rods propped up, jingle bells afixed, they chilled out waiting to hear a jingle. Following Rob's advice, I entered the water in a very particular location- which luckily didn't interfere with anybody's lines in the water.

Immediately the rush of cold water swirled around my ankles. As I slowly, carefully waddled out deeper, the water got colder and I got a very weird sensation in my legs. It was just like when you get your blood pressure taken, but on my legs. I wondered if there was some pressure thing happening, especially since there was air trapped in the leg parts of the waders due to the wading belt. I stepped back to the shore for a minute, trying to figure out if something was wrong on my waders.... They seemed fine, and my legs' circulation wasn't being cut off, so I got back in the water.

the view from the water

It's a very unusual feeling, trying to walk in flowing water, feeling your way along with your feet and a broom handle. I couldn't see below the surface, so I was walking blind. I'd read a lot of articles and tips on wading, and I suddenly understood why everyone says it's best to present the current with the smallest surface area possible. If I faced the current, it definitely pushed me downstream a little bit, but if I turned and let it hit my left hip, everything was fine.

I was trying not to fall over, not drop my rod, and follow the detailed instructions Rob had given me. I wasn't sure that I found what he described, but it might have been. Being new to this, it was hard to figure out exactly what I was stepping on, whether it was sand or rocks or gravel or weeds. One of the most interesting things was the contour of the bottom. Intellectually I knew that there were holes and sand bars, but looking at the river with my unexperienced river-reading eyes, it just looks like it gets deeper and that's it. Not the case. There were boulders, holes, high points, steep drops, slow drops; all kinds of stuff going on just below the surface. Using my three "points of contact" - my wading staff and two feet - I made my way into deeper water, trying to position myself in a good fishing spot.

Not convinced I had reached my destination, but wanting to get fishing, I began casting a Heddon torpedo. This was one of the many lures I'd found floating at Busse while I was kayaking. It's not that I don't buy lures - I definitely do - but I also find a bunch!

A guy and a kid were fishing, perhaps doing a father-son thing, about 20' downstream of where I was. The kid was obviously bored with fishing, and decided to start throwing rocks into the water. Whenever I'm in these situations, I'm not sure what the right call is. I obviously didn't want him to throw rocks, possibly scaring away the fish. Not to mention the proximity to me! A few times rocks landed about 2 feet away from me. I turned around and gave him a stern look. His dad watched but said nothing. The kid saw me, then started throwing rocks in the opposite direction, away from me.

Back to the river, I was in my river-fisherman-impression mode. Riffles, holes, flats, these words tumbled around my head even though I didn't have a grasp on exactly what they all were. Remembering what Rob had instructed me, I fished accordingly. I found it frustrating trying to get my lure where I wanted it, only to have it pushed downstream by the current. There must be some trick to this. Maybe that's where waders come in- position yourself so you can get your lures in the strike zone. I tried moving out deeper, but once I was up to my collar bone, I had trouble casting and moved back to shallower water.

I threw the torpedo, big white spinnerbait, peanut-style crankbait (not sure if it was actually a peanut... I found this one too), chartreuse buzzbait, and I tried out some of my homemade inline spinners. I'm sure I tied on some other stuff, but right now I can't remember.

Either way, what I was doing was apparently not enough to entice the fish to play. I was starting to get cold. This water was like ice, even though it was well above freezing. At home, I was originally going to wear shorts and a t-shirt under my waders, but changed into jeans and a sweatshirt at the last minute worried about being warm enough. Good call Chris! Next time I'll need to wear some fleece pants, or long underwear, or both. Maybe some flannel would be good to. Wouldn't hurt my real-life-angler image either! Got to get some pictures of me in the waders, ideally holding a river smallie.

I moved around, trying different angles, hitting different spots, fishing with the current, against the current, across the current; I tried to hit the slower water next to faster water, the water downstream of obstructions (trees, etc), but nothing managed to get a fish on the end of my line. The whole time I was there, I didn't see a single fish jump or even bubble near the surface. Well, I might have seen one out of the corner of my eye, but I'm pretty sure that was one of the many shore anglers casting.

As the sun went down, I started to really freeze my ass off. The air temperature wasn't so bad, it was the frigid water that surrounded the lower half of my body. I looked at my old iPhone - also hanging from my neck (I used some fancy knots to afix it, by the way...) - and realized the clock wasn't right. It said 3:41am. I knew the park closed at sunset, but I didn't know what time it was. Seemed pretty close to sunset.

I carefully wading back to shore, the water flowing off the waders, hitting the rocks, and making its way back to join the rest of the river. My boots were rinsed clean of all the mud, I was warmer, and my new waders more than did their job of keeping me dry.

Packing up the car, I was satisfied. Although I had been thoroughly skunked by the Fox - my sometimes friend sometimes enemy - I did a new thing. In my mind, only a serious real fisherman type would do. In comparison to other fishermen I knew, either in person or on internet message boards, I know basically NOTHING about fishing. They've forgotten more about fishing than I know. But I was making progress.

Although I didn't have any smallie pictures to post, I definitely looked like a fisherman. And I felt like a fisherman.