Bowfin!...and why I'm done fishing for anything else

Charlie and his dad fishin'

I hooked the bluegill through the tail, just how Sam Bennett showed me. It took me a few casts to get it where I wanted it, but the third cast landed exactly where I thought there might be a fish. The sun was setting. Mosquitos buzzed around us. Charlie the six-year-old stood a few feet away, working on getting some more little bluegill. Leo, his dad, stood next to me doing the same. We were standing at the edge of a marshy pond, a pipe behind us spilling water from the bigger lake into this small pool. We saw huge ripples moving around the surface of the water. Something big was in there.

We were camping! We were camping fishing. As I've mentioned before, camping is awesome! I didn't grow up camping, but that's ok... When I was a kid I would have hated it. I spent a few summers at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp near Muskegon, Michigan, which was basically a bunch of music stuff set outside and in cabins and rustic buildings. I loved the music stuff, hated all the rustic-ness. The dirt and bugs. The smell of pine trees. Ok, I didn't hate that, but I certainly didn't like the outdoors.

A year ago we went camping with the Smerglias, which was my very first time camping. I loved it! Fishing was my gateway drug to the hardcore stuff of camping and the outdoors. A couple months back Claire and I camped near the Mississppi- and I caught the biggest fish I've ever caught to date. This time, I was a very experienced camper- with two other campings under my belt, I felt like I could probably live in the wild with nothing but a knife and a fishing rod.

Of course, that's not true. I got about 60 seconds into setting up our tent when Claire had to come help me. I can't identify poison ivy. Ticks still freak me out. When Walter had two ticks on him after five minutes on the campground, there was a little groan inside of me. I forget to drink water and only remember to go fishing.

Camping combines a bunch of things I really like: being outside, grilling, fires, fishing, seeing animals, being dirty... When I was a kid I didn't get too dirty or play outside that much. Now's my time to make up for lost time!

Walter the fishing dog

 The night before, I think it was our second night camping, we were on a mission. Charlie wanted to catch a big catfish. Leo and I were more than willing to oblige, although it was a struggle to keep the kid entertained while our rods stood motionless, connected to our stationary offerings in the water. We had nightcrawlers on the hooks, I tried some topwater lures, but nothing was going for the bait. I reached into my fishing backpack and pulled out a hotdog. I cut off a piece with my fingers and strung it onto a big black hook and cast it out into the water.

The dark was illuminated by our three headlamps and the glow of our little electronic devices. Even the possibility of big fish couldn't keep me entertained all the time; I checked my Twitter while I waited for the big one.

It wasn't too long before there was some action. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a rod wiggle. I looked up, squinting in the dark, and saw it wiggle again. Fish on!

I think it was Leo's rod, if my memory serves me he was the first to hook into a fish. He battled the fish, reeling it in, and soon we saw a little brown fish come out of the water. A bullhead?! With the help of Leo's fishing gloves, I lipped it, and it proceeded to bite down on my thumb like I was caught in a door. Ouch! Good for you, bullhead.

Charlie and I posed for a picture. Not exactly the giant catfish we were hoping for, but at least we were in the ballpark!

late night bullhead!

So they like hotdogs, do they? I suppose it's not that strange... I like hotdogs too. I usually grill mine, but I don't think any fish have little grills down there. Probably hard to light.

We swapped out the bluegills for hotdog on all the rods. The nice thing about the way we hooked the 'gills is they swam away, apparently just fine. Most likely they will become some bass's midnight snack... But at least they have a chance.

After a few minutes, we all zoned out, turning back to our glowing devices. Occasionally I noticed the dark sky filled with glistening little points of light, enjoying how dark it was and how many stars I could see. I think I even saw some satellites or planes flying really high.

And then out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a rod jump. I looked up, but there was no movement. "Did that rod just move?" I asked Leo. We stared at the rod, but it wasn't moving. I stood up slowly, approaching the rod. I looked at the rod tip, and in the dark I could have sworn I saw some movement there. I picked up the rod, and holding it in my hands I was sure there was a fish on. "There's a fish!" I whispered. And then I felt it again. I swiftly yanked up the rod- Jeremy Wade style- and the fight was on. Fish on!

Leo jumped up, Charlie jumped up; I handed the rod to Charlie, hoping he'd have the chance to fight and reel in a big catfish. This fish felt big for sure- if it was a catfish, it was most certainly a biggun. Leo held onto the rod while Charlie tried to make sense of the backwards reel (he was used to the closed-reel type reels that usually come with the crank on the left) while I jumped up and down giggling. Charlie had a big smile on his face. The rod danced around in hands; at one point all three of us were holding the rod, helping to bring in this giant fish.

When we got it close, I looked down into the water, trying to identify it. Oh, channel cat. Awesome! "It's a channel cat!" I said/shouted. We reeled it in more. "No, it's a bass! A weird looking bass" we got it all the way to us, and it hung there attached to our line. "What the heck is that!?"

We were looking at a fish none of us had ever seen. It was smoother and more tapered than a bass, but it had tiny barbels like a catfish, a huge long dorsal fin, and a little spot on its tail.

Snakehead!??

I quickly dismissed that idea, having studied "River Monsters" like it was my college major, knowing that snakeheads have way more patterning on their scales... And aren't found this far north, at least for now. I thought I knew what it was.

"Bowfin!?" I said, pronouncing it like it rhymed with "poe-fin." I still don't know how to say it. "Dogfish!?"

Dogfish!

We giggled and high-fived, I held the fish in my boga-grip knockoff. I'd never seen a fish like this. I felt like we just caught a river monster! After a ton of pictures, we released the monster back into the water. We rebaited the hooks with the little bit of hotdog we had left (I had chummed the water a bit, I wonder if that's what brought in the fish...) and quickly googled dogfish on our devices to find out more about our new quarry. Almost immediately I found the Bowfin Anglers Group, a website dedicated to this awesome fish, and read every line of text I could find. So did Leo.

After a while, we ran out of bait, we were all pretty tired, so we made the hike back to camp. The whole way back we talked about how many dogfish there might be in this lake, and what they eat, and how big they get, and how we could find more, and the teeth they have, and how kind of scary it was, and how awesome it was, and on hotdogs.... We spent the rest of the night telling our wives stories of the monster we just caught and sharing facts we found on the internet.

°°°

And now, we were back out on the water. This was our last night camping, our last chance to catch a big fish. Leo had the idea to catch some bluegill and use them as bait. Earlier in the day, we saw a bass steal a 'gill off Leo's hook and devour it in a matter of seconds. It was one of the most awesome things I'd ever seen! I'd only fished with bluegill for flatheads, and wasn't sure we'd really catch anything here with them. Of course, I was dead wrong. Leo was right.

Right around sunset, we caught as many little bluegill as we could, and kept them in our little minnow bucket. We found the most- and the biggest- panfish in a shallow marshy area. The water couldn't have been more than 12 inches deep. In daylight, we could see every detail of the bottom of the pond, at least the area closest to us. Little panfish darted around. We caught a bunch of bluegill- Leo even caught a shiner! At least we think that's what it was.

So here we were, watching huge wakes and ripples move around the shallow water, wondering what those fish could be. We had a hunch, but couldn't be sure until we caught one. Leo guessed whatever they were, they were feeding on the plentiful bluegill in the little marshy area.

It couldn't have been more than a minute or two before something found my little bluegill. I felt a strong hit, just like when I'd been flatheading with Sam. "I got a hit!!" I yelled. I didn't feel any tension on the line. Did I miss it? And then it came back, perhaps circling around for the kill; the fish slammed into my bait like a freight train, I set the hook like I was trying to pull up the bottom of the pond.

Immediately, the fish knew it was hooked. It was not happy. 

The relative silence of the pond was decimated by more splashing than I'd ever seen or heard in my life. An octopus on speed would have made less noise than this. The fish almost pulled the rod right out of my hands. It made runs in all directions at once; there was so much water I'm surprised we didn't get soaked, as we were standing only a few feet away from the beast.

In the twilight, it was impossible to tell what it was. The rod bent over, I worried about it breaking. We were ecstatic! Leo and Charlie watched in eager anticipation, exclaiming, while I'm sure a steady stream of profanity flew out of my mouth. Charlie didn't seem to notice, he was intently watching the thrashing river monster we'd just hooked.

The fight was like no other fish I'd ever hooked into. It was strong. Although the giant drum I caught last time we were camping was huge and gave quite a fight, this fish was different. There was no frantic running around like a scared fish; this was calculated aggression against my hook. This fish wasn't running away, this fish was trying to beat the sh*& out of whatever had grabbed it.

The closer we got it, the more it thrashed. Once it was almost on us, we knew what it was. Another bowfin! Dogfish! Mudfish! Swamp trout! And a big one too. Much bigger than the one caught the night before. Maybe 30 inches long. And heavy.

I grabbed it with my boga-grips, and the three of us stood there admiring the fish, not sure how to proceed. Any movement on our end was met with muscular thrashing from the bowfin. Charlie had some unreasonable desire to put his fingers near its mouth, and each time the fish lashed out, trying to make a meal of Charlie's little fingers. We stared at the prehistoric fish. I was as scared of it as I was in awe of it. Even being gripped by a pair of metal fingers, I was sure the bowfin could kick my butt if it really wanted to.

Usually when I remove hooks from fish, I try not to hurt them. In this case, I tried to prevent my own fingers from getting bit off. I read 'fins can survive for 10-15 minutes out of water, using their primitive air bladder/lung to gulp air. They are extremely hardy fish. This one was clearly un-phased from our epic fight, and was still prepared to deal out retribution for hooking it.

The hook came out easily, and I thanked my lucky stars we landed the fish! Still nervous of the predator I held in my hands, we posed for some pictures. Definitely profile-pic worthy. Absolutely my favorite catch- ever.

What an amazing creature

After a few minutes of admiring our catch, Charlie's fingers wiggling dangerously close to the bowfin's mouth lined with little sharp teeth, we released it. It splashed into the water as if nothing had happened, quickly and powerfully swimming away.

We high-fived, excited by the incredible creature we'd just held, anxious to catch more! Now we knew what those wakes were- bowfin. There were at least four of them, swimming around dining on bluegill. It was amazing. In the dim light, the knowledge of what they were made it even creepier. I questioned the safety of my toes, so close to the water where these toothy animals roamed.

We tried some other spots, but weren't able to catch any more dogfish. I got a little bullhead later on hotdog, but that was the last fish we caught while camping. It paled in comparison to the incredibly powerful snake-like monster.

In fact, pretty much every fish I'd ever caught- ever- paled in comparison to the bowfin. I decided then and there to give up fishing for every other species. No more bass fishing, why bother with panfish (except for bait); trout will never see my flies again.

When I grow up I'm going to be a bowfin angler. I just need to learn how to pronounce "bowfin."

Even the biggest bass I've ever caught pales in comparison to this monster

CB Goes Flatheading

We got to the river's edge, armed with two rods, two chairs, bait, and some beers. It was around sunset. Sam and I walked into the river, looking more like we were going to a barbeque than going fishing. Opening our camp chairs up and setting them down in the gravel, we were glad the river was so low. About an inch clearance between our butts and the water.

Put a green sunfish on each hook and Sam showed me the casting technique for getting the bait where you want it without it flying off the hook. Once our bait was swimming around in the water, we sat down, cracked open some beers, and got down to business. Waiting for the fish.

I can only imagine what we looked like from shore, or from the bridge above us; two dudes relaxing in some foldout chairs who must have mistaken the river for the tailgate party parking lot. The water flowed around our ankles as we held the long white catfish rods in one hand and a beer in the other.

It didn't seem long at all before I felt something at the end of my line. This wasn't the greenie swimming around, this was a definite hit from something... A few seconds later my rod tip started to bend toward the horizontal, toward the fish that had taken my bait. I stood up, Sam stood up, and I prepared to set the hook... Just like I'd seen Jeremy Wade do so many times before when a giant catfish had taken his bait, just like Sam told me to do. When my rod was parallel to the water, I quickly cranked the reel and pulled up on the rod, setting the hook into the beast.

It knew immediately, and with the full force of every pound of its muscular body, it fought. Suddenly, it changed direction, coming directly toward us. Standing in water up to my ankles, I wondered if the fish was coming to ram me. Teach me a lesson. Get me off its property. Out of its territory.

Once it saw us, with a burst of energy its tail shot out of the water, slapping down, propelling its streamlined body away. Sam tried to grab the lip, but the fish had other ideas. After another short run, and a few tries, Sam grabbed the line and lipped the fish. He pulled out a beautiful creature, built like a tank and painted in camouflage: my first flathead catfish.

I tried to stiffle my giggling; after all, Sam is a serious river fisherman and this was a serious fish. No place for giggles, this was hardcore. Flatheads aren't messing around, they know what's up.

Sam grabbed some pliers and worked on removing the hook from the flathead's bony lip- I stood there like a little kid catching his first panfish, holding the rod, not sure what to do next, but excited.

Suddenly the catfish made its characteristic roll, getting free from Sam's grip and splashing back into the water. For a moment it just sat there, but when Sam reached down to grab it, it swam away like a torpedo. I watched the whole thing, standing motionless, in awe of the animal I had just seen.

He guessed it had been 23/24", an average specimen for the river. Average!? That was a BIG fish, wider, heavier, and longer than 99% of all the fish I catch. It could literally eat any of the 17 green sunfish I caught earlier in the day. It did, in fact, eat a green sunfish I caught earlier in the day.

I congratulated Sam on putting me on fish, he congratulated me on my first flathead, and we quickly re-hooked, re-baited, and re-cast the line. It was on.

I tried to focus, but was too excited by what had just transpired. The one that got away, but we certainly got a good look at it. We drank some more beers, utterred some more words of congratulations, and then 14 minutes later another THUMP on my line. A few seconds of nothing. Then another THUMP and my line took off.

My drag squeeled as the second monster of the night took off downstream; even in the dark we could see epic splashes coming out of the water. I gripped the rod as hard as I could, the powerful fish- definitely bigger than the first- using every ounce of its muscle to take my line and get away.

Then my line went slack, and I realized the fish was coming toward me. Ramming speed! Man your battle stations!

I adjusted my stance in the water to something I imagine baseball players doing before they get a pitch. A giant rock-colored fish-shaped pitch. I don't know much about baseball.

I quickly reeled in my line, trying to keep the tension on the aquatic rocket that was barreling toward me, against the current, perhaps aiming right for my knees where it could knock me down in the water. I realized my iphone was in my pocket and wondered why I hadn't brought a waterproof container for it.

And then the flathead saw us, and took off downstream once again. Every second I thought it was going to rip the rod right out of my hands, but somehow I managed to hold on for dear life. Every chance I got, I reeled in the slack line, keeping the pressure on my adversary.

Not so much adversary, more like sparring partner. To me "adversary" implies a lack of respect or contempt for the opponent; I have a huge amount of respect for this amazing fish, and certainly didn't want to hurt it. I simply wanted to spar a little, get our picture together, and put it on its merry way.

I got it close enough (read: the flathead decided to come closer to us) and Sam grabbed it. After a quick grab of the pliers, he held the most badass fish I've ever caught. We checked for tags and clipped adipose fins- the DNR in conjunction with the Fox Valley Flatheaders is doing a study of flathead catfish in the river- we got out the tape measure and it came in at 27". Not my longest or biggest fish, but without question the heaviest and beefiest, and certainly the most badass. This time Sam got a picture for me. (Sam also did a write up about the adventure on FoxRiverFishing.net)

What a fish. 27" Fox River flathead catfish

I held the muscular fish, admiring it's beautiful patterns. Up close it looked to me a lot like brown trout skin, although not quite as colorful. Just as striking though. A dark brown background with little black spots of varying sizes. I can only imagine how terrified a little sunfish would be if the rocks underneath him suddenly floated up, revealing a veritable river monster.

We released the fish, and what a fish it was. Once in the water, it didn't swim away. It calmly parked itself between Sam's feet in the water, as if to challenge us to a rematch. After a few moments, it swam away, probably giving us the finger.

Thanks to Sam for landing
and documenting this awesome fish
with some pictures

We didn't catch anymore flatheads, although Sam had a few hits and misses throughout the night. Waiting for the fish to bite we spent some time tag-team-hunting the bullfrogs that seemed to be everywhere. We both caught some, but we figured they were to scrawny to keep. For a moment we considered using one as flathead bait, as our supply was running low, but then reconsidered. Maybe next time.

We watched a wake circle the area in front of us that was almost certainly a flathead patrolling its spawning grounds. It was a big, calmly swimming fish near the surface, slowly cruising the waters in front of us. There were carp and some bass jumping, but this was a different kind of wake. A big badass of a fish looking for a meal, looking for a mate, or both. Maybe looking to pick a fight with us, sitting in camp chairs on the edge of its territory.

After we ran out of bait, we packed it up and waded to shore in the dark. Our butts soaking wet, beers empty, and big grins across both our faces, we headed down the dark path that lead to my car. An awesome experience to be sure; and an experience it was. A different, slower-paced style of fishing than I'm used to, but with a big payoff in the form of a giant apex predator. I can't help but respect this tank of a fish, the flathead catfish. If we ever met face to face I'm sure it would kick my ass.

First fish of 2012

I hear hair jigs are good in the winter, so I made some
(They aren't perfect, but I'm learning!)

Saturday I made some hair jigs (thanks again to Mark for letting me borrow his fly tying kit) with the intention of hitting the Fox Sunday morning/afternoon. I consulted with the good folks at windycityfishing.com, and got some tips (thanks Ken!) I was excited to hit the water, especially to return to the Fox. Although each place I've fished has it's own appeal and everything, I think fishing the Fox River is my favorite- the smallies there are so fiesty, the scenery is so beautiful, and traveling out there is like taking a mini-vacation. As much as I enjoy fishing Lake Michigan 10 minutes from my job in downtown Chicago, there's something to be said for "getting out of town."

Anyway, I had my tacklebox full of my new hair jigs, some of my crankbaits, spinners; my goal was to just catch a fish- any fish. It would be great to catch a smallie, but even better to land a walleye! As far as I know I've never even hooked into a walleye or pike; to that end, they are my main goals for 2012! Of course I'd really like to catch some salmon or trout from Lake Michigan, but that almost seems like a completely different sport.

So Sunday morning I packed up the car, loaded my gear, put on long underwear and many layers of flannel, but couldn't find my wallet. Long story short, Claire I spent about two hours looking for my dumb wallet; I checked the movie theater we'd been to the night before, as well as the pizza place, and nothing. My wallet was gone.

That put a big dent in my fishing plans, and really messed everything up! I had a lot of things in that wallet, most importantly my credit cards, driver's license, Metra and CTA cards... and my fishing license!!!

As it turns out, a few months ago I upgraded my license to include a trout stamp- but I still have my non-trout stamped one! I think that still works, of course I can't fish for salmon or trout.

After a few hours of searching, we concluded it was GONE.  I quickly jumped in the car and drove to the retention pond with hopes of catching something today. There wasn't enough time for the Fox- it would be dark by the time I got there!

Frozen everywhere except the MIDDLE...

When I got to the retention pond, my hopes sank... In the 24 hours since I last checked it, the pond had mostly frozen over. There was still open water in the middle, but I couldn't reach it! There was a tiny bit of open water by the pipe, but it was completely dead. Nobody wanted my offerrings, even my brand new homemade hair jigs.

I glanced at my watch (the new awesome one I got for Christmas that tells me the moon's phase as well as sunrise and sunset - very helpful) and make a quick decision to hit one more place that might yield some fish. Hopped in the car, headed about 2 miles away, and about 10 minutes later I was at my spot on Salt Creek.

Looks cold! It was actually quite pleasant, around 45°F and no wind

I'd caught tons of little fish here, mostly bluegill and sunfish, a few crappie and one tiny largemouth. This time I had the good sense to bring some nightcrawlers with me- I was on a mission to CATCH A FISH!

I don't normally fish with a bobber- I like to work my lures through the water - but I had limited time and thought that might be the most successful. I had two rods- one I rigged with a bobber, the other with a hair jig.

First "cast" (more like a plop into the water) the bobber started jumping around like crazy. Fish! For the next 15 minutes I tried to hook one of the many tiny fish terrorizing my crawler, to no avail. I caught glimpses of them through the water, little sparks of silver that immediately disappeared into the dark but clear water.

Finally, after letting my bobber sit there for a while, I managed to land my first fish of 2012!

What a lunker!

I'd never caught a fish like this, and had no idea what it was... I think it's some kind of minnow, maybe a creek chub? Edit: thanks to Dan the Impractical Fisherman  this fish has been identified as a shiner. And yes, I know it's tiny... But they can't all be huge! That also means my catches of 2012 can only get bigger from this point on.

A while later, while fishing a (not homemade) panfish marabou jig (I think that's what it's called, in bright chartreuse and black) I got a BIG hit from something, but I couldn't entice it to chomp down again. The sun was setting, the wind was picking up and it was getting colder; time to head home.

Great start to 2012. I wonder how many times I'll be able to get out before it gets real nasty out there... Maybe winter will only last a month, and I can start kayaking in March. That would be awesome....

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

Chris Beckstrom: Suburban kayak adventurer

my adventure- distance paddled: 5 miles. distance portaged: 1/2 mile

I'm pretty fascinated with the idea that so many bodies of water are connected, and it's possible to travel between them in a boat or something (or if you're a fish, just swimming). It's pretty cool to think that before there were roads and expressways, the indigenous people of the area (and european "explorers") used the waterways as their transportation (and of course a major source of food!)

Busse Lake

When I discovered that our new house was a mile from Salt Creek, which connects to Busse Lake - one of my most frequented bodies of water - I immediately thought "whoa, that means I could kayak from near my house to Busse!" Just the idea of that made me excited. I can't really explain it, but traveling a distance in a kayak just excites me. I've fished Salt Creek a bunch of times, and always had great luck in numbers, if not size. Tons of bluegill, pumpkinseed, some crappie, even the smallest LMB I'd ever caught.

Of course, there's no real need to kayak up the creek to Busse- I have a car carrier for my yak, and could just as easily drive up there and launch at Busse proper... But kayaking the 3-ish miles upstream to Busse to go fishing seemed like an adventure worth having, and Sunday was the day to do it!

this awesome spider was hanging out where I launched
(the internet tells me it's a female
"garden spider," Argiope aurantia )

I woke up at 4am, drank my coffee, ate my oatmeal, grabbed my crawlers and frozen water bottles out of the fridge, sprayed down with bug spray, and hopped in my car, kayak and fishing gear loaded a few short hours ago before I went to sleep. My plan was to be on the water by 5am, and I roughly estimated I could be to Busse by 6am, just in time for sunrise and good fishing. And there is such a thing at Busse, I promise!

Reading this account, please keep in mind that in general, "the outdoors" is a completely new thing to me. Just a few short years ago, the idea of waking up before 9am if I didn't have to was incomprehensible; I couldn't stand to be in 75°F heat longer than a few minutes; I had always been an "inside kid." When my friends were outside playing, I was inside practicing saxophone or playing video games. I don't regret that at all; I still love music, computers, video games, and playing the saxophone. So this whole waking up at 4am to go kayaking is a pretty radical thing for me...

I'm either going mining or kayaking in the dark

Anyway, since I'm so new to all this, sometimes key things don't occur to me. Things like at 5am in the summer, it's dark. Of course intellectually I knew this, and the whole reason I was launching so early was predicated on this fact... But I didn't think about how I would not only launch in complete darkness, but paddle for an hour before the sun came up.

Good thing I had my LED headlamp! Best purchase ever, after the kayaks and collapsible fishing rod of course. The water level was so high I the kayak floated in the tall grass that is usually 20' from the water. I hopped in, and paddled through what is normally definitely land. About a million bugs fell on me as I made my way through the grass, something that even 3 months ago would have creeped me out so much I would have turned around right then... But not today. I brushed them off, and shortly I heard the quiet gurgling sound that meant I was in open water, in the creek proper.

It was so dark. It was 5am, the sun wasn't showing up in full force for at least an hour, and the many trees lining the banks blocked whatever light there was in the sky- so it was very dark. My LED headlamp illuminated just enough in front of me I could avoid logs and branches, but not a lot more. This was a surreal experience, paddling in basically complete darkness, surrounded by buzzing insects, knowing there was a myriad of wildlife on all sides, but not being able to see any of it. Illinois law says any water craft must have the appropriate lights to legally be on the water in darkness, but since it didn't occur to me it would be so dark, I didn't equip my kayak with lights.

As I paddled, I tried best I could to keep to the middle of the creek, avoiding blocked areas, and trying not to get too close to the shore on either side (the bugs really intensified a few feet from the bank). I looked around with my headlamp, and I was surprised to see many pair of eyes reflecting back at me. Honestly, I didn't know that was a real thing! I thought it was just in disney cartoons animals in the jungle watched from the dark- but nope, it was real. I was as anxious about it as I was curious.

At one point a pair of eyes near the top of a tree was clearly watching me. I couldn't tell what it was, maybe a raccoon? A possum? To big to be a squirrel. I stopped paddling. The animal came down the tree a little bit, and looked back at me. We stared each other down, trying to figure out what we were looking at. The animal came closer; it was as interested in me as I was in it. It was too dark to really see what it was, but I enjoyed my animal-nature-bonding moment.

something tells me they know where the fish are

Back to paddling, I started to see more detail in my surroundings. Although I knew from satellite pictures there were residential and commercial areas on all sides of the creek, from where I was sitting I could have been in upstate New York, or the Everglades, or some remote creek in Montana or Canada somewhere. There was so much wildlife! I heard the quacking of ducks, who seemed to be swimming the same route I was paddling, only a few yards in front of me. I saw the silhouettes of many many heron in the trees; a few times my presence startled them and I was delighted to hear the sound of their wings beating the air only a short distance above my head. A few fish jumped all around me. This is what is so great about kayaking- since paddling is very quiet, you can get extremely close to wildlife before they realize you're there.

The sun was higher in the sky, and I noticed fog all around me, my headlamp turning everything white. The fog was rising from the water, something I'd often seen early in the morning, but I'd never been in it's midst when it was happening! This was great. This was exactly what I wanted to experience.

on the great salt creek

I passed under some bridges, counting them to get an idea how far a distance I had to my destination. I'd been studying the map and satellite photos, and I figured by this point I was more than half way. The water level was so high, on one bridge I had to recline in the kayak to avoid hitting my head.

Planes flew overhead, the ducks maintained their distance in front of me, and I seemed to be following a bunch of herons, who were doing what I would soon be doing- looking for fish. Fog rose all around me, bugs buzzed, the sound of my paddling was so soothing I didn't even notice how much my arms were burning until I stopped to drink some water and coffee. This was by far the farthest I'd ever paddled all at once, and I'd never paddled continuously for so long. If I stopped paddling, I would start to go downstream, away from Busse, so I had to keep paddling!

Finally I got to the Arlington Heights Road bridge, which was the dividing line between the residential area and Busse woods. I made it! Part of me wasn't sure I'd be able to make the almost 3 mile journey in the kayak, against the current, but I made it. There was a pool just inside the preserve that was my first fishing stop.

arlington heights road bridge, the dividing line between the world and Busse, my destination

Once I got into Busse, the current went away, and I could calmly float as I prepared my rods. I started with a 1 oz. white spinnerbait, hoping to entice some of the fish jumping around me to hop into my kayak for a quick hello and a picture. I'd never caught a bass in the kayak, I really hoped this would be the day. I put a crawler on a 1/16oz jig with a bobber, and wet that line as well.

A few minutes later a fisherman emerged from the forest, rods and bucket in hand. I think I surprised him; I was only about 10' from the shore, and he didn't notice me until I said "hello." He said he was fishing for carp and catfish, and he'd caught some pretty big ones in this pool. I wished him luck, and he followed the shoreline to his spot.

After a half hour, I didn't even get any nibbles. It was time to move on, so I bid my fishing friend farewell and paddled north. The water came back to a creek's width for a bit before it met with Busse's south dam, and that was where I planned on portaging to get to the main pool.

As soon as I rounded the bend, I saw a huge fallen tree blocking the entire creek. It was creating a small rapids, and making what I thought was going to be a smooth paddle very difficult. I adjusted my rod holders so my rods were horizontal - to avoid hangups on the tree - and prepared to navigate through the obstruction. Let's do it!

Well, it wasn't going to happen. Not only was the current extremely strong - flowing in the wrong direction, but there were branches everywhere, scraping my neck and dropping spiders on me. I could barely get the paddle out of the water before it hit branch after branch. I scanned the banks for a possible portaging route, and that wasn't going to happen either- the high water level had changed the grassy area into a marsh, where I would certainly sink into the earth, unable to get to the main pool. My only real choice at this point was to go back to the pool and portage through the forest, reconnecting with the creek past the obstruction.

the great portage of salt creek

On land, I could see a path leading north, that I hoped would curve west again and meet the creek. I grabbed some rope from my tackle box, and tied it to the front of my yak. With my new knot-tying chops, I tied a few butterfly knots, which are great for making handles if you have to pull something... like a kayak.

I'm glad there was a trail

The ground was still wet from yesterday's rain, and so was the grass. This made it possible to pull my boat instead of carry it, which was pretty nice. I made my way through the forest, following a muddy path which I hoped would lead me to water sooner than later. As I pulled my yak, I was really glad I didn't bring an anchor, which would have made it even heavier. I felt like an explorer, portaging around an undiscovered stream through an unknown forest, not knowing what I would find on the other side. Obviously people had been here before me, but it was true I didn't know what would be on the other side.

What was on the other side was a parking lot. I knew this lot was quite a bit west from the creek, and even farther south from the main pool. I decided I'd better follow the bike path instead of trekking through the forest- I was wearing shorts, and can't yet identify poison ivy and stuff...

I dragged my yak along the wet grass until I got to the bike path that goes over the south dam (where Busse spills back into Salt Creek). Many bicyclists passed me, many of them looked perplexed by what I was doing... As they should have been! I got the kayak over the bike path, down the rocks, and back into the forest. I had fished this spot before, I knew the water was very close and there wasn't a steep dropoff- perfect place to launch.

herons know what's up with fishing

Got the yak in the water, pushed past the tall plants growing out the marshy area, and I was on the water! To my left was the south dam, where many families seemed to be having a great time fishing; to my right was a fishing wall, lined every foot with a fisherman; in front of me, on the other side of the lake, was a shoreline lined with fallen timber and weeds. I saw a heron perched on a tree very close to the water, and in the blink of an eye it's knife-life beak went into the water and pulled out a fish.

I don't have a fish-finder on my kayak, so I have to rely on other clues to find fish. I study depth maps like a crazy person, I take careful note of weedlines and what look like dropoffs from the surface, and I always watch the birds. The birds are fishing too, and they usually have a better idea where the fish are than I do- so I go where they are. 

sorry I stole your spot dude

I got to the spot where the heron was (it flew away- like most fisherman, herons aren't fans of b**** fishing - when another fisherman fishes in your spot). I dropped a line in the water, hoping the fish didn't notice my paddling and were still in the area.

Sure enough, a few minutes later I pulled out the first fish of the day!

thanks mr. fish, you made it all worth it!

I can't express how happy I was to have gotten this dink fish in the boat! I was so incredibly happy, not only to break my 3-4 day skunk, but to have made it to my destination, and successfully caught a fish. Small as it was, this was a trophy fish to me. I thanked it profusely, and was glad it seemed fine when I carefully placed it back in the water. This fish did me a tremendous favor, and I was eternally grateful. I have often gotten the skunk at Busse, and catching a fish there at all is a big feat- but especially today!

I continued to catch fish on my 1/16oz chartreuse jig and nightcrawler, rigged without a bobber. The fish were hanging out just past the weedline, toward the bottom. The heron had unintentionally tipped me off to a great spot! I hoped the bird had found another and could get enough to eat. I think you're supposed to tip your fishing guide- if it had still been around, I definitely would have tossed it a fish to say "thanks."

Each fish I caught was bigger than the last, I was slayin'em at Busse! After the bite died down in that spot, I moved north along the coast to find some more fish. I found a good looking spot, where there was a nice change from weeds to open water, a large dropoff, and there were a bunch of ducks eating. Thanks to the birds, again, I began catching fish. Some more bluegill/pumpkinseed, again I was incredibly elated. At this point I decided to rename my kayak the S.S. Silent But Deadly, for her silent fish-hunting ability.

Then I hooked into a fish that seemed to be bigger than the others, and had a very different fight. To my astonishment, I pulled out this awesome fish:

perch! at busse!

At first I thought walleye. I'd never caught a walleye, and I thought they look kind of like this... But the eyes were wrong, and the teeth weren't right... A perch!!?? At Busse!!?? I'd never heard of anyone catching perch at busse; I thought perch were only found in deeper, bigger lakes, and of course Lake Michigan. Who knew!!? Not me.

I snapped some pictures and quickly re-cast to the same area, just along the bottom at the dropoff. I knew perch usually hung out in schools, so if there's one I might be able to catch more. I did!

The school of perch must have been a class of two, because that's all I caught. I decided to move on, working my way up the coast. Wasn't getting any action, although I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I had come a long way, had caught fish, and the day was still young. After hitting some nice-looking spots (and seeing one of my heron friends again) I decided to move toward the south pool/main pool dam where I'd caught some nice bass in the past. Actually that's where I'd caught my largest bass ever, at night, on a black spinnerbait.

The sun was up in full force, not much wind, not many clouds, and I tried to think where I would be if I were a fish. Well first of all, I'd be in the shade. I headed to a promising spot- sunken wood, weeds, shade, and I cast.

what a pretty fish

more perch

Fish on! This was turning out to be a great day fishing. I caught some more gills, and pulled out another perch. What!?? How is it after all the times I'd fished Busse, I'd never caught a perch, and now I was catching a bunch of them? Maybe they prefer to be as far from shore fisherman as possible, maybe they know how tasty they are.

As morning turned to early afternoon, the bite died down. I worked some more spots, to no avail. The fish were taking a siesta in either deep or in the shade, and I got the hint that maybe I should do the same. My lovely wife agreed to come pick me up, as I wasn't mentally prepared to do the reverse portage and long paddle back to my car. I headed toward the boat launch, completely satisfied with my suburban kayak angling adventure, happy that I made it in one piece, caught a new species (for me, on that lake), and all-in-all had an incredibly great morning.

next time I'll be sure to tip my guide with a nice juicy bluegill

An evening of multi-species firsts

Fish are awesome!

or "The Magic of the Green Tube Jig"

Headed out to the new spot on the Chicago River yesterday evening after work, scarfed some Jimmy John's down on the #124 bus (didn't want to waste time eating when I could be fishing), which was filled with Navy Pier-goers.

Daiwa Peanut Crank in prizm black shad

Got off before they all did, ready to hit the spot. I already rigged a chigger craw per Jeff's suggestion, and took about 30 seconds to piece together my collapsible rod. When I got to the spot, I noticed the same security guard was there - right by the water - so I decided to fish from the other side of the river and wait until he left.

I think I'm getting much better at casting, because I was able to consistently get my lure in what I thought was the strike zone from about 50' (?). Although this was great casting practice, I wasn't getting so much as a nibble. I remembered one of the many fishing mantras I've heard over and over again: "If what you're doing doesn't work, change!" Since I wasn't ready to change my location (the security guard was still chatting it up with some ladies) I tied on a Daiwa Peanut Medium Crankbait in Prizm Black Shad color. I had never caught a fish on a crankbait, but I know there were little fish swimming around, so I'd give it a go.

The spot. Notice the security guard in the upper-right-hand corner. Outside the frame is the "No Fishing" sign

My first cast, the crank landed exactly where I wanted it- I waited for the ripples to stop, and I twitched it a few times (this crank floated on the top until you started retrieving it. Maybe that's how all crankbaits work, but I've barely used them...) On the third twitch, WHAM! Fish on!

This was no tentative bite, this was "Hey gimme that right now I'm hungry! MMmmmmm!" I set the hook, and began the short battle. I pulled up, reeled, pulled up, reeled - Jeremy Wade style - to keep the fish from going down into the rebar that I knew was on the bottom. As it came closer, fighting voraciously, I saw it was a fair-sized fish. Whoohoooo!

My 30 minute skunk-fest ended, I pulled up a good sized bluegill (pumpkinseed? I always confuse them), which was not only my first crankbait catch, but my first Chicago River gill!

A real nice-sized fish, who gave me a great fight

It took me a while to get the treble hook (actually 1 part of it broke off, so there were only 2 hooks in the fish) but once I did, I snapped a quick picture and let my new best friend back into the water. She (I think) was happy to go and quickly darted to the bottom.

Alright! I thought- I found something that worked! I cast to the same spot, and twitched it the same way.... and... nothing. Worked that lure for another 20 minutes, and again, not even a nibble.

A mom and her 4-year-old (?) son came down to watch. The little kid thought my pretend fish was pretty awesome, and it "swims just like a real fish!" It sure does! I think it's pretty awesome too. "There's a lot of trash in there. Fish don't eat trash. Ducks don't eat trash." He was right- it's too bad people are so careless with their McDonald's cups and candy bar wrappers.

The security guard gone, with a chigger craw tied back on, I tiptoed to the other side of the river and threw my lure in. This, mind you, was in front of a very large "NO FISHING" sign. I worked the bait against the wall, bunny-hopping it along; dragged it along the bottom near some falling water (fish love oxygen, right?), and again, nothing.

Around this time I noticed two ladies having a smoke break by the water, giving me some dirty looks. Obviously they didn't like me fishing there, but I'm not sure what they didn't like.. All my gear was in my backpack, on my back, and I wasn't casting anywhere near them. Any monofilament line went right back into my backpack, and I wasn't making a sound. I wasn't smoking, drinking, shouting, or littering.

I noticed the security guard come back around the corner, and started talking to the ladies. They spoke in hushed tones, but then one said loudly "Go get'em!"

I heard the keys on his belt rattle as he walked in my direction, but I kept fishing because I got a few nibbles in the spot, and I thought it would be awesome to pull out a smallie or something right when he came down. He came up about 10' behind me and whispered "Hey"

I turned around, and he recognized me from last week. He explained that he didn't care if I fished there or not, but those ladies were complaining. He told me to go back to the other side, but I could come back to this spot when the ladies left. If the sidewalk I was on was in fact city property as Jeff said it was, then this was all total mierda, but I wanted to keep fishing. So I went to the other side, and continued fishing.

Fish #2

They left about 3 minutes later, I went back to the other side, and the security guard gave me a thumbs up. Ok, cool. I wonder what he would have done if I complained about the ladies' smoking. Seems to me that is a lot more disruptive than a silent, careful, respectful angler wearing a backpack. Not to mention the ~20 people who stopped to talk to me, seemingly sincerely interested that there are fish in the river. I'm guessing some of them will come back and fish sometime!

Back to fishing, I tried some more lures, to no avail. Chigger craw, cranks, minnows on jig (worked last week), and nothing. I decided to bust out my all-time favorite lure, that has caught me more fish than any other, probably because I fish with it so much- my green tube jig.

Of course, immediately, first cast, I got a hit! and reeled in a nice looking rock bass. Cha-ching! I'm in!

It had a very interesting pattern I hadn't seen before, with dark splotches. Kind of pretty. This is rock bass, and not some other species, right? Remember, I'm still super new to all this.

Kept working the tube jig, got LOTS of little hits. Saw a brown colored fish in the water hanging out with a bunch of dink 'gills. Couldn't tell what it was (smallie? smallie? smallie?) Pitched the jig ~4' beyond the fish, and crawfished it over toward the brown fish. WHAM! Fish on!

This guy fought even harder than the previous two fish, and I was very surprised to see a ~10" catfish come out of the water attached to my green tube jig. This was my fourth catfish ever, first one on the river, and first one on an artificial! Whooohoooo!

My new friend, the catfish, fish #3 of the day

Fish #4 - My first Chicago River crappie!

This was kind of weird; usually when I get into some fish, I'll get into some more of the same kind in the same place on the same bait, but not today. Today was multi-species day! And it kept going- a few minutes later I got my first Chicago River crappie... on the same green tube jig.

Awesome! None of these fish are huge, but hey, it's great to catch fish. It's also really cool there is such a variety of fish right here- I know there are also LMB and smallies around here, and I'd been seeing carp jump all evening. To think a few 20 years ago this river was a disgusting trough of toxic waste, it speaks volumes of the river cleanup and awareness that it can support all these fish today.

I caught mussels! (Fish #4 1/2?)

I kept with my favorite lure, and was getting battered by hits. Missed a few hooksets, and got caught up in some branches a few times. One cast I got into a fish, it pulled the jig down, and when I reeled in I got another very interesting catch. I wasn't sure if they were zebra mussels or not, I should look that up so I know if they are nice mussels or bad mussels. I thought of how much I like eating mussels... Don't worry, I didn't eat them.

Anyway, I persisted, and hooked into what seemed like a VERY nice fish. Could it be? Finally? After all this time and effort, could I have finnally hooked a smallie?? Is this the moment I've been daydreaming about?

This fish gave me a GREAT fight- I estimated it was bigger than the bluegill I caught earlier in the evening; it was taking me all over the place, my rod tip bent and pulsing, my drag squealing as I struggled to keep it out of the weeds, rebar, and rocks on the bottom...

I finally get him to the surface, and I was a little confused, to say the least..

Confused because it's very small size, un-rock-bass-like shape, and extreme fight. I didn't think this was a smallie, it's fins and pattern seemed to be wrong for that... It didn't seem like a rock bass, or did it? It was a lot darker than any other rock bass I'd caught.

Here's the fish I caught...

... here's a picture of a "shadow bass"

..and here's a similarly-sized rock bass

And here I was, thinking I was all fancy and good at identifying fish now... and now I was stumped. I took a few pictures, and let the little bugger go. It was time to leave to catch my train, so I could see my wife for a few minutes before we both went to sleep.

All in all a great outing- but it really made me wonder about the green tube jig. Is it that is really that effective, and can catch basically anything that swims? Or could it be that since I've fished with it more than any other lure, I am better at working it in the water than any other lure... Or maybe I just suck at all the other lures I try using...

I'm not sure; I'm going to keep varying up my lures and not automatically start with the green tube jig on my line... I would like to get better at other lure styles, and learn to be a well-rounded all-species angler.