Rivers, creeks, ponds and lakes

Deer crossing the Fox

I've been keeping a little log of my fishing adventures this year. Each time I head out fishing, I add a line to the little text file with the date, location, number of fish caught, and what I used. It's been pretty interested to see my catch rate improve drastically since January 5, which was my first outing of the year. This is how I know that, at the time of this "writing," I've been out fishing 80 times this year. 80 times! I'm clearly obsessed. But that is generally how I roll; it's rare I just like something and that's the end of it. When I like something, I like it a lot and tend to do whatever it is a bunch. As the weather gets nicer and nicer I can only imagine I'll be out fishing more and more! (If you're reading this on cbfishes.blogspot.com, you can see my "species scoreboard" to the right: all the fish I've caught this year to date.)

Since my last post, I've fished 7 more times! At this rate, I certainly can't write a novella about each little fishing adventure. As much as I tend to ramble and write long accounts of every detail of each trip, I simply can't allow myself that luxury every time. I don't want to bore anybody reading this either! To that end, I'm going to try to keep this post nice and succinct.

First fish of the morning
(looks like it has some battle scars)

Thanks to the NATO summit in downtown Chicago, I had both Friday and Monday off. Friday morning I got up well before sunrise, loaded the car, and was in the Fox River as the sun rose. I really enjoy being outside anytime, but especially like that period of time right around sunrise. Everything is getting started, animals are doing their thing, things are quiet. I tend to beat most fishermen to the water when I fish that early, and I like having the river to myself. Birds and fish and deer and bugs excluded; the river is always theirs.

Second smallie of the day

After a very informative series of posts on Windy City Fishing about the smallmouth bass spawn, I wanted to avoid specifically fishing spawning females. I want to ensure future generations of giant smallies. Also, I wanted to try fishing areas with more current. The past few outings on the Fox my inexperienced legs have been no match for the relentless flow, but the river has calmed down as of late.

A few feet from shore, about a foot from fast current and hanging out in the slightly slower water, I pulled out two (male?) smallies and a surprising green sunfish. I hadn't caught anything but smallmouth bass in the Fox until then, and I like catching lots of species! All three fish were caught
on a good old jig and twister. A question comes to mind as I write this: are pumpkinseeds and green sunfish the same thing? I'll have to figure that out since I seem to be pretty good at catching them, whatever they're called.

My first non-smallie catch on the Fox

As much as I enjoy fishing for bigger fish, I'd be lying if I said I didn't love catching any fish regardless of size. Although those bigger females put up quite a fight, the smaller males don't just sit there. And river fish seem to always have more fight in them than still water fish, at least in my limited experience. I fished for a while, then decided to hit the road and look for a new spot.

I've been wanting to explore Poplar Creek for a while, reading great posts about it, and having caught my first Illinois smallie at its entrance to Bode Lakes two summers ago. I drove north along the Fox River, passing through many surprisingly rural areas. Looking at google maps certainly doesn't give you the feel of these places; I enjoyed driving on the highway, windows open, through the country. My tube jig hanging from my rear-view mirror swayed as I drove.

After stopping for a coffee refill and second breakfast, I made it to Poplar Creek. What I found was an extremely slow-moving creek, no fish that wanted my offerings, and a sunken shopping cart with a white twister tail attached.

By this time it was around 10am, and I had plenty more time to explore. I hopped back in my Neon and headed east. When we used to live in Hoffman Estates, I fished Bode Lakes quite a few times. Once I accidently found myself driving through Shoe Factory Woods, admiring the dense foliage and remoteness of it all. Upon a later google maps exploration, I saw there was a good sized pond in the middle, far from the published paths. Perfect! Ever since that detour, I'd wanted to explore it and find out what treasures swam through its water.

After a beautiful hike through the woods, the sounds of car traffic fading behind me, I made it to what seemed like an amazingly remote pond in the middle of a seemingly deserted prairie. As I walked the shore, about a hundred big frogs yelped and jumped in the water. I started casting, not seeing any movement, nor did I notice any bass on beds. There was obviously a lot of wildlife here though; the entire muddy shore was covered, every single inch, with raccoon and deer tracks.

Whenever I find myself in such remote-like areas, I think about Minecraft. For those who aren't in the know, it's an open-ended survival computer game which I can't recommend enough. It's pretty cheap too, and extremely addictive. It combines a bunch of my favorite things: video games, zombies, the outdoors (virtually) and fishing (you can build a fishing rod and catch fish).

Wilderness? Reminds me of Minecraft.

A few minutes later I heard some movement on the path behind me, and I saw a man walking with a bucket and a spray apparatus. I guessed he worked for the park district or something. I wondered if he'd tell me there's no fishing allowed.

"There's no fish-" expecting him to scold me for fishing, instead he fished his sentence with "... in there." He explained they miscalculated the aquaculture or something or other, and the pond completely drains every year. No fish in there. I said I saw lots of frogs, "Well sure there are, there aren't any fish to eat their eggs!" Makes sense. I packed up and hiked back to the car, admiring the forest around me.

I stopped at home to play with Walter the dog, refuel my stomach with a quick lunch, then I headed back out to the pond/lake with carp. I spent the next many hours sitting next to the water, two rods in the water with corn on the end, catching little catfish. While I waited for the fish to find my bait, I cleaned up two plastic bags worth of trash- including an entire six pack just left sitting there! People, seriously, is it so damn hard to clean up what you bring with you? I like beer as much, nay, more than the next guy, but if I bring stuff with me I clean it up. It's not that difficult.

I tried a new spot as well, where I found a half-eaten little carp sitting on the shore. The flies were having a field day. I saw wakes in the water that suggested fish, so I threw out my lines and waited. Not having any rod holders, I did my best impression of an outdoorsy person and dug a couple holes in the grass, sticking my rods in the ground. Worked great!

Didn't catch any carp, but thoroughly enjoyed the outdoors for a huge majority of the day. Caught some fish, saw some animals, and put in my time fishing. Practice makes perfect.

How now brown trout?

Pure Michigan!

In Michigan for the weekend, I had to get my obligatory Michigan fishing in. Saturday morning I waded the Thornapple River near Grand Rapids, but got completely skunked (and very very cold). It was beautiful, but I wasn't able to find any fish. I decided to hit up another river on Sunday, hopefully I'd get into some fish this time.

It was cold, dark, and raining, and I left the house anyway. Mark told me about a great spot on a great river not too far from Grand Rapids- the Rogue River, and I was determined to check it out. It's not every day I get the chance to fish pristine Michigan waters, and I knew there were fish in there I wasn't likely to find at Busse or the Fox River. Fish like trout. Although I've gone salmon fishing a few times in the harbors in Chicago, I have yet to connect with one of those beasts. In fact, the only trout I've ever caught were 3 8" steelheads at Burnham in the summer.

I threw my stuff in the Mini Cooper, plugged my phone into the aux input, and accelerated onto the expressway. I tuned my Pandora radio to Mos Def, but I wasn't listening... I was fantasizing about the steelhead I was about to catch. Or kings. Or coho. I don't really know. Following my GPS and the pin I'd dropped on the secret location, I made my way to Rockford, Michigan, and parked.

I got out of the car, and looked down at the river. My first impression was a little bit of terror: it looked super fast and super cold. Was I ready for this? This would only be my 4th or 5th time wading. And it was cold out, not to mention raining. Like usual, I threw caution to the wind, and suited up.

The cold-looking Rogue River, Rockford, Michigan

I headed down a path, walked under a bridge, and immediately noticed a ton of "PRIVATE PROPERTY: NO HUNTING OR FISHING" signs everywhere, all around the path. Mark told me the day before Michigan law allowed anglers to use a reasonable amount of bank to facilitate fishing public waters, so I wasn't too worried about the signs. But I have to admit, every time I heard a branch crack or a squirrel jump I expected to turn around and see a shotgun-toting Tea Party member wanting me off his property.

Mark told me I should cross the river where there were a bunch of riffles, or a little rapids. I slowly and carefully made my way into the water a little upstream of the rapids, noting how much warmer the water seemed than the Thornapple yesterday. I'd been told the Thornapple was spring fed, and always super cold; either way, the Rogue didn't seem so bad. Looking down into the water, I was absolutely shocked with the water clarity- I could see all the way to the bottom; the water was crystal clear! NONE of the waters I fish in Illinois are crystal clear like this. I don't know if it's pollution, or mud, or the type of bottom... But this was incredible. The bottom of the river was covered with rocks and millions of vibrantly colored leaves recently dropped from the trees. It looked like a quilt, a myriad of bright colors shining up from the bottom. But I didn't see any fish there.

I snapped a Mepp's gold Aglia onto my swivel, thinking that might entice whatever trout or salmon happened to be lurking in these waters. I'd recently read about maggots, skein, and even nightcrawlers being successful on the river, but I hadn't stopped at a bait shop to get any of these things. Also, I didn't have any bobbers. So I was sticking with what I had, which was an assortment of inline spinners (store-bought and homemade), crankbaits, and jigs.

The flow of the river was pretty strong, much stronger than any stretch of the Fox I'd experienced. I started to get nervous, but I persevered; maybe the rapids would be better, I thought. I looked downstream and saw nothing but white water, flowing quickly over big boulders. It was pretty exciting- looking around, as far as I knew I could have been in some remote stream in the Colorado rockies; with the boulders, the pine trees, and the knowledge that there were trout in these waters. The roar of the rushing water filled the air. If there were any cars or trains or planes around, I didn't see them or hear them. I knew there were houses nearby, but I couldn't seem them either. I felt like I was in the middle of nowhere, in a good way!

I stepped into the rapids, and quickly felt the pull of the current. At this moment I was incredibly happy to have my improvised wading staff. Although it was just a broom handle with a hole drilled into it, a rope threaded threw the hole and affixed to me with a caribeaner, it prevented me from falling over in the water. I wasn't used to so many huge rocks, and it was challenging to navigate them while dealing with the very strong current. I took tiny steps, trying not to lift my feet too far off the bottom: when I did, they felt like underwater kites and were pushed by the current.

Every now and then I would pause, wondering if I should turn around and cross somewhere else. I looked around and realized I was already in the middle of the river, I might as well continue. I kept moving, slowly, every few steps almost falling over. I started to sweat. This was a workout- I could feel my entire lower body working to keep me vertical. I'd probably feel this tomorrow! Thank goodness for the wading staff. It saved me more times than I could count!

Finally, I was in a few feet of the opposite shore, when I almost stepped into a deep hole between some rocks. I quickly pulled back, using my broom handle to steady myself, the adrenaline shooting through my body. Whew! That was close! I paused, gathered myself, and carefully continued. At last, I was standing in a foot of water on the other side of the river. I walked downstream, closely following the shore, until I got to an island Mark told me about.

Here the bottom seemed much more sandy, and I sank in a little when I waded out to the middle. I was pretty sure smallies liked gravel or rocky bottoms (not sandy bottoms like this) but I wasn't sure about trout or salmon. I was also pretty sure there weren't really any smallies here, so it didn't matter what I knew about them! I scanned the water, trying to make some sense of all the currents I was seeing. There was clearly one big current coming from the rapids upstream, clearly identified by a line of bubbles quickly traveling down the river. I wondered if any opportunistic fish might sit right in the slower water right next to the faster water (I think that's called a seam...) waiting for a meal to go by. I cast my spinner upstream, and reeled it in right along the seam, just fast enough to keep the blade spinning.

I fan cast the area, eventually casting downstream and retrieving upstream. I'd had much more luck doing that for smallies, even though it didn't make sense to me (if the fish are facing upstream, seems like they'd be less likely to see food approaching from behind). I got hung up a bunch of times- especially casting upstream- but managed to keep my lure. 

After a while, three guys in kayaks came down the river. Two of them seemed like they'd never been kayaking before, and were spinning around and bumping into each other. It was pretty funny. When they saw me, they tried to give me a wide berth, but were unsuccessful. I didn't mind, I know it can be hard to control a kayak! I told them I hadn't caught or seen any fish; one of them said there were lots of fish in this river. I just hoped I could find them!

I continued downstream, slowly wading and casting in what I thought were good places. Places where the water spun in a circle, seams, on either side of riffles, all around boulders; I didn't see any fish jumping, and I didn't see any fish under the surface. Although I wasn't wearing my polarized sunglasses, I had no problem seeing all the way to the bottom. The leaf-patchwork and rock bottom was beautiful to look at, although there weren't any fish. I was surprised I didn't see any baitfish, especially in some slow moving water under tree branches close to shore.

At one point, moving to a good location, I had to wade through some deeper water. Until this point, I thought the water wasn't too cold, and had even taken off my sweatshirt because I was too warm. There was a very particular point when the cold water swirled almost to my waist and I changed my opinion. I decided the water was extremely cold.

Over the course of an hour or two, I slowly waded downstream, and threw a variety of different lures. A few different crankbaits, some Sims spinners (they cast so nice, and seemed to reach the bottom more easily in the faster current. I'd heard trout and salmon might hang out near the bottom....), and some other inlines. I also threw a little homemade spinner that had a bullet weight for a body. It also was able to stay deeper, closer to the bottom, although nobody was interested in it. I wondered about color selection in this water; I was pretty sure in clear water, you should use more natural-colored lures since the fish can see them better. On the other hand, it seemed like most salmon and trout lures where brightly colored and absolutely NOT natural-looking. I'd have to do some more research about this.

Casting to many VERY fishy locations, I started to get frustrated. I hadn't seen a single fish, certainly not any big steelhead or salmon swimming around. No fish jumping, no little baitfish swimming around. I did see some bugs on the surface of the water, but was not able to find any small fish eating the bugs. What gives?

Thinking I wouldn't have any more luck, I decided to head back upstream toward the car. I could cast along the way, but I didn't expect to get into any fish. I made my way to the shore, and started walking upstream on a path. The forest was extremely beautiful. Although the rain had stopped earlier, everything was covered in just enough water to make it shine and glisten as the sun shown from behind clouds. The leaves were tremendously vibrant, covering every square inch of the forest floor. The sound of rushing water was all around me.

I saw a guy fly fishing near where I'd originally entered the water. I had fished there, and got nothing. He was standing only up to his knees in water- could there really be nice trout or salmon swimming around right there, around his legs? I have a lot to learn, apparently. He said he had a nibble, but had only been there a few minutes. I told him about my skunk, and continued up the river. 

I reached the bridge, near where I parked, and noticed some interesting looking water upstream. Mark suggested the river downstream was better, but I hadn't had any luck there. Maybe I'd try working some of the water on the other side of the bridge. Making my way along the path, I saw the river seemed to split; it looked like a little creek joined the river here. Hmmm, I thought, I think this kind of spot might have some fish...

Turns out, there was at least one fish here

The bank was extremely steep, and slippery from all the wet leaves, but I somehow managed to get down to the water. I stepped in, 4" of water barely covering my boots. I figured I would fan cast the area before going deeper. Who knows...

To my left - downstream- the water flowed to a bunch of rocks, which after a small rapids traveled down and met the main branch of the river. To my right, the water was slow, a slow stream seemingly coming from the forest. Having lost my #2 Mepp's Aglia on a branch earlier, I snapped on a #2 Black Fury. I'd had a lot of luck with these lures lately, even though I was pretty sure they were supposed to be best in low-light conditions. This wasn't a low-light condition- it was about noon, and the sun was up in full force. The clouds were dissipating, and it was turning into a really nice day.

I cast downstream, my spinner landing inches from the edge of the rapids. I reeled in a bit, and let it fall. I began reeling again, when I felt was was absolutely a hit. A hit!! This was no snag, this was a fish investigating my lure! After all that wading, crossing rapids, and I got a hit only a few feet from my car. Sweet!

I cast again, trying to get to the same spot. I got it pretty close, but no hit. I cast a third time, this time much closer to the original spot, not even 3" from the edge of the rocks, the mini waterfall. I must have let the spinner fall to the bottom, because it got stuck on a rock or some leaves. I casually began to reel it in, ready to clean off the treble hook, when there was a splash, and I saw a fish. A fish! On my line! It wasn't leaves, it was a fish!

Like a jolt of electricity, the adrenaline started pumping and suddenly I was completely focused on the task at hand. I had a fish on! There was NO way I was going to let this one get away. I quickly reeled, and soon realized it was a tiny fish on the end of my line. There was no real fight, it was like reeling in a bunch of leaves. When the fish got closer, I saw it, and literally yelped for joy. 

I knew it was a trout. I had seen pictures of this kind of fish, although I couldn't remember exactly what type it was. As quickly as I could, I got the fish over land (I was only standing a foot from the bank) so I wouldn't lose it. I had to get a picture of this one!

I dropped my rod, and held the fish in my hand, getting the hooks out of its mouth. I yelped some more, wanting to jump up and down with joy. "Holy $&*@" I said way more times than necessary. It was a tiny fish, and hadn't given any fight to speak of; but I had caught a trout, on a cold Michigan stream, while wading. It was like some Hemingway novel, or some "Pure Michigan" commercial. It was awesome! I was beyond ecstatic. 

This was by far, hands down, the most beautiful fish I'd ever caught in my entire life.

I caught a brown trout!!!!

In my mind I tried to go through the thousands of fishing web pages I'd seen in the last few months, trying to remember trout identication, to put a name with this fish's face. It definitely wasn't a salmon or steelhead; I was pretty sure it was either a brook trout or a brown trout. I seemed to think one of those was the state fish of Michigan. This was great. Michigan is awesome. The night before, Claire and her family and I had gone to a Bell's Beer dinner at the golf club. Besides drinking way too much delicious Bell's Beer, I'd also won a raffle for a Two Hearted Ale baseball cap. Not only was that my very favorite beer, but there was a trout on the beer label- and the hat. Since I was wearing my new Two Hearted Ale trout hat and caught my first Michigan trout while wearing it, I decided this hat was now not only my favorite hat ever, it was my lucky trout hat.

I took about 60 pictures in quick succession (ok, more like 15) not wanting to hurt this little guy. He was such a good looking fish, and I wanted him to grow up to be a bigger good looking fish. Every few seconds he would squirm, and I could feel nothing but muscle on this fish. I wonder if that's how all river fish are, since everything in their world wants to push them downstream. It's like constant exercise- no wonder they're all ripped!

After 30-45 seconds of pictures with my new buddy, I put my phone back in my waders, and bent down to the water, carefully putting him back in the stream. He didn't do anything but sit in my hand, so I moved him forward in the water, running water through his gills. I'd heard of people killing pike by moving it forward and backwards in the water, apparently suffocating it (I guess gills don't work backwards). I did my best to only move this trout forward in the water, reviving him. After a few seconds, he suddenly realized he was back in the water, and swam off.

I stood there, in awe of the amazing fish I'd just caught. Although it wasn't a 10 pound steelhead, or even a 1 pound fish, I landed a trout while wading. I felt like a real fisherman- with waders, a thick unkempt beard, and a hat and an iphone library with trout on it.

I worked every square inch of the entire little stream, but was not able to locate any more trout. I really didn't understand why a little fish like that would position himself so close to the edge of a little waterfall. Seemed like any momentary lapse in concentration and he'd be pushed over the falls by the current. I moved a little farther upstream, again going above my waist in very cold water. Again I didn't think the water was cold until it reached a certain point. Now I was cold!

It was early afternoon, I was cold, and I was hungry.. and I'd had in my mind a completely successful fishing outing. I waded a roaring, rocky, beautiful Michigan river and caught a trout. That was really more than I could have asked for on a rainy Sunday.

I crossed the river, this time NOT at the rapids (which I found much, much easier to do), and reached my car. Very satisfied, I pulled off my waders, untied my boots, and broke down my fishing rod. A few short minutes later I was headed back down 131, the foot heaters blasting, my iphone photo library filled with pictures of a single beautiful trout.

Another shot of my first brown trout
(note the bell's two-hearted ale hat, with a trout on it)

Chris wades the Fox and catches smallies

Ready to hit the water

It was Sunday, our actual wedding anniversary, and again my awesome and lovely wife said I should go fishing. What did I do to deserve this amazing lady?

I quickly packed the car, grabbed my still-wet boots, and hopped in. I was off! There was no question where I should go- I was headed back to the Fox. I pushed the pedal to the metal, headed to my rematch with some Fox River smallmouth bass.

Just as I parked, another car came in the lot and parked near me. A lady come out, and noticed me putting on my waders. "Looks like we have the same idea!" she said, as she pulled out her own pair of waders from her trunk. We talked for a bit, I told her that tubes had worked yesterday although I couldn't hook up. We wished each other good luck, and I quickly hiked down to the water. There was plenty of water for us to share; on the other hand, I wanted to get back to the spot where I had so many hookups the day before! So much of the water upstream had been unproductive- I wanted to stake my claim on that particular stretch, and land some of those beasts.

This time I headed downstream on the trail, and instead of getting lost in the woods I quickly and efficiently made my way to the open area by the strange machine building. This was the spot where I caught my first smallie of 2011, and the spot where I left the water the previous evening. I fan cast the area- with my green tube jig of course- and entered the water.

On my third cast in the water, casting downstream (which many people say will absolutely just not work) I hooked into a smallie. Yes! It was on! I was determined not to let this one get away. The fish took the tube in about the same place the big smallie took it the night before- about 40' downstream. I set the hook, and the fight was on. I got the fish close to me, and somehow after becoming airborne multiple times, the hook was still securely in the fish!

First fish caught while wading!

Carefully, I held the fish close to my waders, and lipped it.

Success!! I landed a smallie, in a river, while wading. I had just accomplished what was for me a huge achievement, and it was only my third cast. Fishing is awesome.

I reached into my waders, pulling out my old iPhone which I had tied to some shoelace and caribeaner'd around my beck. I wasn't ready to bring my newer phone into the river- if I slipped and dropped it, it would be a disaster. So I found my old iPhone, which still took pictures. My newer phone had a camera on both sides, making it easy to take self portraits while holding fish. My old phone on the other hand was equipped with just a single camera, making it very difficult to get a good shot. It was also prone to blurriness, and it was hard to find the "take a picture" button with my wet index finger. Somehow I managed to get some shots.

I took the tube out, and carefully placed my friend in the water. Unscathed and unfazed, he immediately shot away, like the powerhouse of muscle he was. Like a torpedo.

Casting some more, I hooked into two more of his cousins, or brothers, or sisters; but couldn't keep the hook in. This was an absolutely great time! It really was more of a battle with these fish- there was no certainty even if I found them and hooked into some fish that I would be able to land them and get some pictures. It was exciting, and difficult. The payoff was huge, if I could manage it.

And I did, again! A smallie took the tube on the drop, and ran for it. Somehow I set the hook, and after what seemed like a long battle, my thumb was on its lip and I was taking our picture. I tried to hold it with my other hand, to get the full picture of its body, but it got wise to my grip and deftly jumped back into the water. Fair enough, fish, fair enough.

What a fish

I slowly worked my way upstream, letting my wading staff float in the water as I fished. I was feeling more confident wading, although I was more comfortable knowing it was there if I needed it. Farther upstream I saw the lady in her waders, fly fishing. Fly fishing!? I wondered if you could use tube jigs on a fly rig. I guessed not; I couldn't see what she was using, but I was pretty sure it wasn't a tube jig.

I worked every square inch of the area with my tube jig, every few casts bending the hook back into place with my pliers. There were many rocks, which were taking their toll on my hooks! I wondered if they were dulling the hook point as well, which could be preventing me from good hooksets. I didn't have my hook sharpener with me; I'd have to bring that next time for sure. I ended up breaking the hooks of two of my tube jigs from so much bending them back and forth! I have lost very few lures do to over-use; most of them get stuck and I can't get them back. It was nice to be able to pocket the "used up" tubes instead of covering the riverbed with lead and plastic. And maybe I could recycle them into some new lures....

Slayin'em!

The lady and I talked a bit, I told her about my catches; she said she hadn't had any luck yet. She was working her way downstream on the other side of the river, I was going upstream.  I was having a good old time in the river- it was just warm enough to make the cold water rushing around me feel very refreshing, I was catching smallies. The past few weekends I'd fished pretty much the same area of the Fox- I was getting a feel for the constantly changing river, and some good spots along this stretch.

And then, another! This was a great day fishing. Over the next hour or so, I hooked into more smallies; some of them made it to my fishing album... Some of them threw the hook and swam away. All caught on the good old tube jig- and I only lost 3 or 4 of them. I used three different colors and sizes, and they all landed fish for me. I wonder if it's not just the color or size but how I was working them along the bottom that was triggering strikes.

Biggest one of the day (~12"..?)

Once again, the sun began to set, and the air began to chill. This time I was actually getting cold, standing in the icy water while the air temperature sunk. I worked my way back to my original entrance to the river- back by the strange machine building. (I don't know what it is, or what else to call it!) I fished a small stretch of the river for a few hours- perhaps I should have traveled more, but I was extremely satisfied with the outing! I emerged from the water, cast a few "last casts," and headed up the trail. The almost full moon shined through the trees as I hiked back to the car. Today my hookup score was 3 for 6, which was a big improvement on yesterday's 0 for 8.

Fishing is awesome.

As I walked, I wondered when everything would be too cold for me to wade... November? December? What if I packed on the layers? Would anything bite in frigid water? I need to find out, because this is awesome.

Maybe THIS one was the biggest...

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

Pike fishing the DPR

Another great day to be out

I'd read - on the internet of course - that fall was a great time to get into some nothern pike. Astute blog-readers or facebook fishing album stalkers might notice that nowhere is there a picture of me posing with a northern pike. This is not on purpose; I'd kayak-fished the DPR a few weeks back with the sole purpose of landing one of those toothy buggers. But that was not to be. 

In my research, it seemed like somewhere - maybe anywhere on the DPR would give me a good chance of finding some. The Fox apparently had a tiny pike population, I'd never heard of pike in the big lake, and I wasn't even going to consider Busse. So the DPR it was! I'd seen some recent posts of people landing pikes on the DPR, so I tried to figure out a good spot. I'd heard that farther north or farther south might have better populations. Based on some recent reports, I chose Allison Woods as my spot, and loaded up the car.

Saturday morning I headed out a little later than usual. I'd heard that pikes either have really good vision or really bad vision; either way, apparently they're easier to catch when there is more light. Seems to contradict other fish, but hey, if the internet says it it must be true. Armed with a selection of white spinnerbaits, mepps black furies, and roostertails, I drove with dreams of pike in my head.

I got to the entrance at 6:55am, almost 15 minutes after the published sunrise - which is when the park "opens." It wasn't open, there was a gate, which was padlocked. There was no way I could open it. I don't blame the guy who opens it- there's probably just one guy who has to get up early and open every entrance to every Cook County forest preserve! I don't know if that's true, but that's the way it seems.

I put my car in park, turned it off, and did some google searching for last-minute pike information.

who or what did this?

After 20 minutes, my patience had run out. Maybe there was a different entrance, that was open? I backed out my car and headed down the road, watching the woods for anything paved suggestion another entrance. I found one, but it too was locked. Damn! I turned around and headed to the first gate.

The gate-opener guy had just unlocked the gate, and was driving into the preserve. Awesome!

Within a few short minutes, I had a spinner in the water, near what looked like a canoe launch. There wasn't much current, and I couldn't see any weeds. I was pretty sure pike liked to hang out outside of current and in or around thick weeds. Wasn't sure how I was going to find them if I couldn't find those things!

Doing my best impression of a river angler, I tried to present my bait in a variety of ways, trying to hit where I thought a river snake might be waiting to ambush some unsuspecting bluegill. I worked my way down the shore, hiking through the woods trying to get back to river access. I had my trusty LL Bean boots, but wasn't prepared to wet-wade in the muddy mucky water.

I found a place that had obviously been fished before- people had put sticks in the ground in such a way they would be perfect to hold rods in place. But that wasn't what gave it away. The entire roll of monofilament line, THICK monofilament line (seemed thicker than 20# test) had presumably been dumped, and was wrapped in a mess all around the foliage near the water. I couldn't pick up every stray soda can or beer bottle, or every McDonald's cup; I wouldn't have been able to carry it all to a trash can (which I hadn't even seen). But the least I could do is prevent some poor bird from getting tangled in this and dying. I'd seen the results of littered mono before, and if there's anything I can do to prevent that from happening, I'll do it.

a big mushroom

Using my clippers, it took about 5 minutes to rid the bushes of the ridiculous length of line that had become intertwined, like some kind of plastic vine. I ended up pulling off a lot of leaves too, but at least the line was gone. I shoved the huge armful of mono and leaves into my backpack, hoping I'd see a trash can somewhere.

I continued to fish, but I'll cut to the chase. I didn't catch any pike. At one point I thought I might have had a hit, but it was small and was not repeated on the next few casts. In another spot, there was a huge splash and out of the corner of my eye I saw the fish. It did NOT look yellow (i.e. carp) but I have no idea what it was. Of course my mind told me it was definitely a pike, but I had no idea if pike ever jump.

Saw some scary looking animal tracks, along with some I recognized as deer, squirrel, and maybe possum or racoon. The scary ones were really big, and reminded me of Walter's paws, but much much bigger. I looked for accompanying human tracks, like the owner of a big dog, but there were none. I gingerly scanned the forest, hoping I wouldn't lock eyes with a coyote, cougar, or wolf. I didn't know if there were any of those animals in the area, but these tracks belonged to something.

Probably just a random dog, I told myself, as I entered the forest again to find another route to water.

big tracks

I did a lot of hiking, and for what it's worth it was beautiful and enjoyable. The few squirrels I saw were clearly fattening up for the winter, and I saw some other cool things. An awesome looking mushroom, a tree that looked half cut down.. but by an axe? or teeth? I don't know.

At a certain point my belly was grumbling, I was annoyed at my lack of fish, so I headed back to my car. Then I remembered there was a bridge over the river. I couldn't leave without casting there a few times, so I did. I climbed down the loose rocks until I was at the water, then casted.

Not getting anything, I figured there might be some panfish around. I was pretty sure this kind of structure was called rip-rap, and the internet says there are often panfish around rip-rap.

Sure enough, there was!

After catching this guy- on a tiny jig and grub - the lightening convinced me to head home. At least I wasn't skunked.

pumpkinseed... or is it bluegill? either way it's a fish

A Couple Fish on the Fox

EDIT: Originally I thought the fish I caught were smallies, but upon discussion with WCF members, maybe they are spotted bass! That counts as a new species for me!


If even a year ago you told me that I would be regularly getting up at 4am, gleefully I might add, I would have said you were insane. The idea that I will- completely on purpose- set my alarm to such a small number still confounds me. Even knowing full well that I could easily face the skunk, no pictures of me holding fish to post. But I do know with some certainty that I will have some kind of misadventure while I'm trying to catch fish, and maybe that is part of the appeal.

Nah, I just want to catch me some fish!

Saturday morning, as I heated up some oatmeal in the microwave, this song suddenly got stuck in my head:

I backed out of the driveway at 4:28am, the racing green mini containing my fishing supplies. I was bringing my gear in a backpack, and this time only a single rod. Carrying two rods through the thick foliage last weekend was a challenge.

I turned on the radio and the country song stuck in my head was immediately drowned out by the thick grooves of Fela Kuti, who some call the African James brown. Turns out they were doing some kind of Fela show, so my entire journey to the fox was underscored by raw Nigerian funk. As I drove I thought about how much I love the music of Fela Kuti- and country music too. I should make some music soon.

Got to the spot, stumbled out of the car, and wandered off into the darkness.

I made a beeline to the unpaved path that appeared to become swallowed by the trees; but I knew better. I'd seen it in daylight, and knew it lead to the water. I wouldn't be aimlessly hiking in the dark THIS time.

I wasn't super familiar with the river, or even rivers in general, but the water level definitely seemed low. I was able to walk out 40' into the river, my sturdy LL Bean boots gripping the rocks. There wasn't even water flowing over the rocks- it looked like a temporary peninsula, which I was sure would disappear after an adequate rain.

I turned off my headlamp, and took in the complete darkness, accompanied by the incredibly soothing sound of gurgling water. The moon- which was being what I think is called a waxing gibbous - provided just enough light for me to get my rod ready.

I wasn't sure what smallies liked in the dark, but I knew largemouths went for black spinnerbaits in low light conditions. I tied one on and began casting.

One of the best things about being out and about before the sun is up is that you get to watch it rise. Although I couldn't see the sun itself, I could see it's light slowly bursting onto the scene, illuminating the colorful trees one leaf at a time. I saw some movement upstream, and I saw the most deer I'd ever seen. At least 20 deer were crossing the river, stopping every few steps and glancing in my direction. Apparently I was far enough away not to bother them, and they didn't seem to mind me taking some pictures.

Deer crossing the river

Now that it was light, I switched to 4" white twister tails on what I think were 1/16oz jigheads. Last week i had great success with the white grubs, and based on some advice from the friendly folks at windycityfishing.com i downsized my jig weight hoping to avoid as many hangups.

I worked my way upstream, casting in what I thought were likely locations. I didn't see any baitfish, so I kept moving. After field testing my new boots the previous weekend, I felt more confident in my steps. To avoid downed trees, I simply walked through the water. I had my eye on a pair of waders, but being so late in the season, i figured they might make a nice Christmas gift. Hint hint, wife!

I still couldn't locate any little fish smallies might want to eat, so I focused on trying to read the river. I looked at visible rocks and what effect they had on the surface, trying to extrapolate which ripples farther out were caused by rocks, which in turn might hold smallies.

But really, I just blindly casted. I did the best I could, casting where I thought they might be... but it's entirely possible I was a foot or two off, missing a 20" bass every cast. That's ok- after enough trips like this, maybe I'll have amassed some experience, which probably trumps reading about reading rivers on the Internet.

Standing in the middle of the river

Farther up the river I found myself staring at a mini-rapids, filled with a huge variety of different speed water, pools, water rushing over rocks, next to water somehow flowing backwards... This seems promising, I thought, stepping out in the running water. One of these things might be one of the places I'm supposed to look for fish. The water rushed around my feet, immediately flowing over the top of my boots, soaking my socks. Disregarding my discomfort, I kept on fishing.

There were no fish there, I concluded, after exploring every foot of the area with my jig. Upstream, I saw a guy fly fishing. Looked like he had some nice waders. I wonder what he was fishing for.. Can you catch smallies on a fly? Are there trout here!? From what I understand, you can catch most fish on the fly, but I hadn't heard of many smallie chasers who preferred a fly rig. There's so much I don't know about fishing, even after spending all of my free time trying to learn about it!

I decided to move downstream, toward where I parked. Maybe I could find some nice fish in the spots that produced fish last weekend. It really seems the most difficult thing with fishing, at least with bass fishing, is finding the damn fish. Once I know where they are, at least I don't have the constant urge to move to a different spot.

Salmon fishing might be different- just cast and cast and cast until one gets mad enough to attack your lure. Since I still haven't hooked into one, this is obviously still a mystery to me.

It walked along the path in my bulky, now dripping wet boots. Still no baitfish. I saw a shallow rock bridge leading to a promising looking island- maybe they are over there, said the desperate voice in my head.

I splashed through the water, unsuccessfully trying not to splash the water, and found myself on the island (which I thought was a peninsula, more on that later...) It looked like normally this is cut off from land, but due to the water level I was able to walk to it. Like Alaska and Russia, or something.

I worked my way along the coast, casting, my lovely wife texting for a fish count. I could have texted back a high number, but then I would have needed proof in the form of pictures. And you probably shouldn't lie to your wife.

Continuing along the coast, I suddenly realized that this was NOT a peninsula, but an island! Following the shore back upstream, I struggled to find a suitable path. Scanning the forest, I stepped and instantly found myself up the thighs* in the mud. Slowly sinking the rest of the way.

* Slight exaggeration, as you can tell by the picture below

For about 10 seconds I pictured my body being discovered by Bones or CSI, encased in the mud for generations. Snapping out if it, I reached for a nearby tree, and hoisted myself out of the mud with a loud squelching sound. I looked down at my boots, completely incased in a thick layer of dark brown camouflage. There was so much profanity happening in my head I'm surprised it didn't leak out and scare all the birds away. But it didn't, and they continued to chirp mockingly.

My boots, with mud camo

I eventually made my way back to the land bridge, and found myself back on the shore. No more aimless wandering, no more empty iphone photo library. On a mission, I quickly headed down the path, scanning the shore as I walked.

And then, I saw them. Wakes in the water, just a few feet from shore that I knew were fish. I've learned a lot from fishing the pond by my house- from my spot I can see the fish and how they swim, and what effect their streamlined bodies have on the top of the water. It's nice to be able to apply knowledge! Looking at the water here on the Fox, I wasn't sure whether the wakes were tiny baitfish or larger predators. There was almost no current at this spot, and the water seemed to be about a foot deep. Seemed like an unlikely spot, but nonetheless I saw the wakes of fish and knew they were there.

I cast my twister and jig just past a small pile of branches- the same pile of branches that gave me two smallies for my fishing photo album the previous weekend.

And then, on the second cast, the water erupted and a very nice smallmouth bass burst out of the water, doing somersaults in the air, my lure lightly attached to its lip. Its acrobatics were enough to throw the hook, but the adrenaline rush coursed through my veins telling me to recast quickly! So i found them! That was a good start.

A few casts later, a little fella latches onto the end of my line. I quickly bring him to shore, wanting some proof that I actually caught a fish today.

first fish of the day

He looked a lot like a largemouth to me, but his mouth didn't seem to extend past his eye... So I guess it was a smallie? Even simple fish identification still escapes me.. But at least I hadn't gotten skunked.

A few minutes later I pull out an even smaller fish, who immediately resigned himself to capture, not even putting up a fight. Looking at this fish, it looks even more like a largemouth to me. The pronounced lateral line, the light green coloring, the mouth that seems to extend past the eye. I know largies like slackwater and weeds, but I thought they were uncommon in the fox. If the fish I was holding was in fact a largemouth, maybe that counts for something!

I continued casting, my line getting tangled in the low hanging branches of some kind of berry tree. Each time I got it free, I found my fingers covered in blue berry juice.

Apparently there were only two fish there, because another half hour of casting wasn't enough to produce any more bass. I headed downstream, toward the spot where I caught my very first smallmouth. (well, of 2011.)

I emerged from the forest and immediately banged my knee- hard- on a pipe sticking out of the ground. It was hidden by tall grasses. I'm pretty sure some of the colorful language leaked out at that point.

I looked toward the shore and saw some people hanging out with rods propped up, lines in the water. I greeted them and asked what they were fishing for, but I don't think they understood what I was asking. Unfortunately they weren't speaking Spanish, which I could have used to communicate, they seemed to be speaking Russian or polish or something like that.

They said they were using worms, and pulled a stringer out of the water that had 2 medium sized carp and one catfish on it. Nice! Although many people wouldn't consider those prize fish, I was happy that they were catching fish. I was also happy they didn't have any smallies on the stringer. Some people seem to look down on people who fish to eat, but if the fish are legal size it is completely within their rights. And when you think about it, it is actually a little strafe to fish just for the sport, and throw back good-tasting fresh-caught fish. Seems like pretty much everywhere else in the world, you fish to eat.. Not everyone has the luxury of grocery stores and fish counters everywhere.

Although I'm not interested in eating carp or catfish- at least today- I respect those who do; we are all enjoying the outdoors and getting different things out of it.

Wishing them good luck, I went back into the forest, tripping on a branch and landing in the mud. Ok, this was the theme of the day.

I couldn't find any more baitfish, or even workable shoreline- I didn't want to walk out into deeper water, refilling my boots with water, so I found a path and continued south. I came to a bench at an overlook, about 20' above the water. I tried casting from my perch, but it wasn't really feasable. Walking through the forest again, I found what looked like a dry creekbed, which I figured would lead down to the river.

I was right- I made it to a nice rocky shoreline, and cast there for a while. A kayaker paddled by, wishing me luck. The river was beautiful- full of birds, the morning sun painting everything with a warm yellow hue, the sound of bubbling water, the splash of my lure, the sound of my reel as I turned the handle.

I didn't catch any more fish, but it was a great morning to be out. I hiked back to my car, and saw some turtles sunning themselves in a small pond.

Turtles in a half shell

I made a few casts with my black scum frog, only to lose it to some tree branches. With that, I returned to the path and headed to my car. I stripped down to my t-shirt and underwear - everything else was soaked and/or covered in mud - and loaded the trunk. I sat down in the driver's seat, started the car, and headed out. As I pushed the accelerator with my bare foot, I vowed to return to some water this weekend and catch some more fish. I also turned on the heat, cause my feet were cold.

Chris finally catches a smallie!

Finally! Yes! I finally caught a smallie!

After an enjoyable but slightly disappointing outing the day before, I decided to go on a small adventure Sunday. What may be normal outings for regular people always seem to be big productions for me, probably because I have so little experience with the outdoors. This would not be an exception!

4am woke up, coffee, oatmeal, packed the car, google mapped my destination, and I was on the road at 4:30. My destination was supposedly 40 minutes away, on the Fox River in Batavia (I think). I strapped on my brand-new L.L. Bean waterproof medum-cut hiking boots, put on my camo hat; I felt like a real outdoorsman now. I was ready. 

There seemed to be some nature preserves or parks or something on the river there, and it looked like some easy access to the water. It was early and nobody was on the road, and I drove very fast. 

I made use of the "scan" button on the radio, and enjoyed some awesome Barry White, some kind of annoying bachata, and a whole lot of club house music. It seemed to be broadcast live, I wondered if somewhere in Chicago at some club there were still drunk people bumping and grinding to the music I was listening to. For them it was still Saturday night, but for me it was fishing-trip-Sunday. I thought about how the music was pumping them up to get down and party, while it was pumping me up to hunt for smallies.

I made it to the preserve in about 25 minutes. I was met with a barrier, the park was closed. I got out of the car and investigated- there were 2 padlocks on the gate. I thought for a minute, my coffee not entirely working yet. I went back to the car and looked at google maps- there was another park to the south. I got back on the road, driving slow so I wouldn't miss it, and found the entrance. No gate on this park- I was in.

I slowly drove around, trying to make sense of what I could see in my headlights- it was pitch black, and there were no lights. I looked at satellite images on my phone to figure out where to park close to a path that lead to water. I saw a possum casually cross the parking lot and return to the darkness.

I parked, turned off the radio, turned off the lights, and shut off the car. And then there was nothing. It was completely black, silent, and cold. I was going to go outside and wander around in this? Was I crazy?

Apparently, yes. I didn't drive all this way to NOT have an adventure, to NOT catch any fish, and NOT find any smallies. This was character-building, I told myself. I got out of the car.

Headlamp on high, my gear on my back, a flashlight in one hand and two rods in the other, I set out into the darkness.

hiking in the dark

As I walked, I passed a few non-paved paths that seemed to lead toward the water, but to be honest I was a little apprehensive about hiking down narrow deer paths in the dark in a place I'd never been. I have almost no experience hiking, and even with the headlamp and flashlight, I still could barely see 20 feet in front of me. I kept to the paved bike path, hoping it would lead me to water.

After about 45 long minutes wandering in the darkness, I finally got to the water- an observation deck high above the water- no way I could fish from here! I needed to be ON the water. It was a great view, but it wouldn't work. I was discouraged. I was wasting precious fishing time bushwhacking through the forest.

I decided to brave the narrow dirt path and go deep into the forest (well, it's not that deep- but in the dark it seems pretty infinite). Seems like it could swallow you up whole. I knew there was a major expressway a mile away, and a densely populated area all around me, but from inside the dark forest I might as well have been in the Amazon, or the Boundary Waters, or some other place I'd never heard of.

A few times I found myself going in circles- I should have brought my compass. I saw a sign that had a picture of various animal footprints you might see on the path: Squirrel, deer, possum, coyote, bobcat... BOBCAT!!? COYOTE!!?? Oh jeez.

I pretended I never read the sign and continued walking. On the positive side, my new fancy L.L. Bean hiking boots were perfectly executing their job. At times the trail was a 45° angle, and the very grippy treads on my feet easily grabbed the earth and pushed me along.

Finally I reached a small path that lead to some kind of utility building. There was a lot of noise coming from the building, as if there were some kind of machine or pump inside. The trail seemed to slope down to the water, so I turned and began walking that way. In a few short moments the forest opened up, and I was greeted with the sight of water and shoreline. The shore was rocky, and the river actually had current- not like my Fox river trip two weeks back. Maybe this would be a good spot.

Early morning on the Fox

I put down my backpack, and cast into the moving water, trying to remember all the important things about river fishing. What the heck were riffles? How do I find pools? It was early, I struggled to dig up the information from my exhausted brain. I tied on a 4" yum grub with a tail on a fluorescent yellow jighead. Everybody seemed to be having great luck catching smallies on similar rigs.

Best. Lure. Ever.

I got hung up on a branch. I managed to get it free, and immediately got stuck on my next cast. Ok, so this is how today is going to be? I couldn't get it free. I suddenly remembered something I read on the windycityfishing.com forums... the "bow" technique for unsticking lures: reel in the line so it's tight, and pull the line near the reel as if you're preparing to shoot a bow and arrow. When you let go, the line springs back, hopefully springing the lure back as well, unhooking it. Didn't work. Ok, I tried again.

Bingo! My lure easily came off, and I reeled in. What a great trick! I cast again, aiming for what I think is called a seam- a line between two different currents on the top of the water...? I am a complete newbie to river fishing.

And then.. BAM! Fish on! Just like that! Third cast.

Could this be a smallie? Probably not, it was only my third cast, it was probably some crappie or something. It fought pretty hard though... Wow.. Could it be? The smallie that I've been desperate to catch all year, been complaining about nonstop in my blog and to anyone who'll listen, could it be on the end of my line?

It was.

After a short but magnificent fight, out of the water I pulled the most beautiful, amazing, incredible smallmouth bass. It was small, but to me it was a trophy. I wanted to put it on the wall.

My first smallie! (of 2011)

I literally jumped up and down, and shouted with joy. I know serious, manly fishermen might read this- anglers who might think nothing of catching a 10-12" smallie, and would certainly never giggle and jump for joy- but I don't care. I was so incredibly happy. Catching this prize of a fish made the hour of aimless pitch-dark hiking worth it.

I held the fish and thanked it profusely. It wasn't a huge fish, the fight wasn't even the best fight I'd ever experienced; but this was a fish I'd been trying to catch for months, and I had finally accomplished my goal. I took about 30 pictures in quick succession, trying to ensure I got a thorough record of this oh-so-important catch.

I walked back to the shore to release it. Thanking what had been such an elusive fish for me to find and catch, I carefully returned it to the water. It swam away immediately in a large explosion of water.

Oh man, if I left right now I'd be completely satisfied.

I cast again to the same spot, and didn't find another smallie there. For the next half hour I fan casted the area, casting both upstream and downstream, and perpendicular to the shore. I got hung up every other cast, and lost about every third jighead I tied on. The bow technique prevented me from losing all of them. Although this was the spot where I finally caught a smallie, I decided to move farther upstream since I wasn't getting any fish here.

Backpack on my back, rods in my had, I carefully crept through the trees. I wanted to stay close to the river, and there was no path. I crouched down to avoid low hanging trees and spiderwebs, carefully stepped to avoid falling into the river, and climbed over a variety of huge fallen trees. This was some real outdoorsy #$&! for me.

I made it to a little point in the river, which was very rocky and seemed to continue deeper into the river. I'd read this is the type of place one might find smallies. I looked at the river, completely perplexed by what I was seeing; I didn't really understand what all the different currents and lines and ripples and riffles mean. I didn't even know if that is what they are called. I've pretty much fished on lakes- that smallie back there was my first moving-current fish, ever!

I saw a small pile of brush and branches about 10 feet from shore that was displacing the water around it. I wondered if a fish could hide behind the branches, saving some energy and waiting to ambush prey. I cast slightly upstream of the spot, and a combination of my reeling and current brought the lure right into the spot.

And then BAM! Fish on, again! I was pretty sure this was a smallie.

This one fought like a champ! As soon as it realized it was hooked, it seemed to swim everywhere at once... then, like a cold war era missile launched from some hidden silo in New Mexico, it erupted from the water in a cloud of splashes, flying at least a foot clear of the water. Amazing! These fish are powerful!

It swam upstream, downstream, deeper, higher in the water column, I struggled to keep it coming toward me and away from branches. I was determined to land my second smallie. This was amazing.

I pulled it out of the water, removed the hook, and admired it. This was a nicer fish than the previous one, maybe 13-14", and a veritable warrior. Even while I held it with my thumb, it repeatedly bit my finger, and continued to shake and squirm. What a fish. I took more pictures, and returned it to the water.

Smallie #2

Casting back to the same spot, I became immediately tangled. Using the bow trick, I got untangled, recast, and got tangled again. I remembered somebody saying "If you're not losing lures, you're not fishing," I must have really been fishing.

Lost a few more jigs and grubs, but every time I have to tie on another lure, I get better and faster. At this rate I'll be an expert real soon.

After some time without any fish, I decided to continue moving upstream. I saw a variety of birds hanging out farther north, it looked like they were standing in the river even though they appeared to be in deep water in the middle of the river. I guessed there was some very shallow water, and there might be some of those pools I'd heard about near there. Then again maybe that's not what pools are- I definitely need to make myself a river vocabulary list, with definitions and using each word in a sentence. Just like spelling class in elementary school, only this time about catching fish. "Riffle. R-i-f-f-l-e. Riffle. Some kind of water in a river that holds fish. Riffle."

I hiked through the forest, crouching under trees, watching out for spiderwebs, almost tripping every other step. I wondered if this is how a fox or cougar must feel- slowly creeping through the brush, hoping to get the upper hand on its quarry. They would certainly be more stealthy than I was. This is the closest I've come to hunting; hunting fish. Of course today I wasn't hunting to eat, the way all other predators did.

Reaching another rocky shoreline, I found the shallow rocks the lead out to the middle of the river. The water looked only about 6" deep, and the current wasn't too fast. I stood on the shore, looked down at my new waterproof medium-cut hiking shoes, and back to the water. Should I risk it? What if I tripped and fell, soaking my iphone, somewhere in its memory were the pictures of my first smallie? Or worse, what if I became swallowed up in the current?

these boots are awesome

Throwing caution to the wind, I slowly and carefully stepped out into the river. Surprisingly, my feet remained completely dry. As I made my way beyond the trees and into the river proper, my boots skillfully gripped the rocks and continued to resist the water. Awesome.

I found myself about 30' into the river, something I only thought was possible with waders. I scanned the water, and all around me were interesting looking changes in current, but of course I didn't know what they were called. Some places where the water went in circles, some places where it quickly rushed over submerged rocks, some other places where it moved slowly and was darker. I was pretty confident those were called "pools."

Casting into a pool, I was again immediately hung up on something, some rocks probably. Using my new fishing rod archery trick, I released my jig, brought it back to me, and recast into what I was pretty sure was called a pool.

BAM! Fish on! This was another fighter, a fish that wouldn't come in easily. It burst from the water 3 or 4 times, its tail still wiggling back and forth trying to swim through the air. This fish was getting some serious air time, almost floating above the water before it came crashing down.

Fortunately, I kept tension on my line and was able to land it. I grabbed it with my thumb, it bit me, and I got out my phone to take some pictures. Smallie #3.

smallie #4

This was an amazing trip. Not only had I successfully located and landed my first smallie (well, of 2011), but it was my first moving current fish, and I was catching more! It wasn't the high numbers of 50-70 fish landed that I'd been reading about from much more advanced anglers, but I was incredibly happy to be consistently catching fish.

A guy in an awesome looking long blue kayak was fishing, slowly paddling down the river. He said he caught a few small smallies (I think that's what he said) and I told him about my few fish. I don't think I hid my excitement very well, even though I said I was catching smallish smallies.

Standing almost in the middle of the river, surrounded by trees just beginning to change color, geese and ducks and herons flying all around me, the sound of gurgling water, three smallmouth bass on my iphone-photo-library-stringer, this was bliss. The outdoors is wonderful. I wondered if this was the appeal of trout stream fishing; standing out in the river, engulfed by nature, catching powerful little fish.

And then I caught another one! There were some splashes near the shore, which I assumed were more smallies. I cast downstream, parallel to the shore, and reeled back in. The amazing swimming action of these grubs was enough to entice my fourth and final fish of the day. I fished some more, continuing my fish-catching hike through the woods, but there were no more fish for me. I saw some guys in waders farther up the river. At one point there were some shouts; it sounded like one of them hooked into a monster, but it threw the hook. I heard him say something about the seam. I need to learn this vocabulary.

On my way out of the woods, a man and a little kid armed with rods and bobbers were heading in. They asked me about river access- they seemed as lost as I had been earlier. I told them to follow the path- which wasn't much of a path- about the stream that emptied into the river, and the rocky areas where I'd caught the smallies. The man's eyes lit up when I said that. They continued into the forest, and I walked toward the car. I hoped they would get into some fish.

I loaded my backpack and rods in the trunk, thoroughly satisfied with my Sunday morning. First smallie, first river fish (Ogden slip doesn't really have current, so I'm not counting that), and for the first time due to my awesome new footwear, I felt I could go anywhere. I stood in the middle of a river and caught smallmouth bass. Just awesome. I couldn't wait to post about this to my WCF comrades, specifically those who had provided so much advice on river fishing. Although I forgot all the important vocabulary, I did end up catching some smallies. Finally.

my fox river base camp for a while