Drinkbourbon and CBFishes go fishing

Anthony (@drinkbourbon) and I have been trying to do some fishing together for some time now. We've been corresponding via all the various internet ways like Twitter, Facebook; Anthony's got a blog, and it seems like we've got a lot in common. Obsessed with fishing, not sure how everything works exactly with the whole fishing thing, oh and did I mention obsessed with fishing?

I got to the pond a little while before Anthony, and had a great time almost catching a bunch of fish. I tested out some new lures I made, this time before painting them. I just wanted to see how they ran. A little crankbait I made with a plastic lip flipped over itself at any speed, suggesting I might need to change the lip position. I snapped on a weird looking lure I carved and finished with my new Dremel (that thing is freaking awesome). A while back I found a couple "flatfish" lures at Busse- I don't know if they're "Lil' Ikes" or "Flatfish" but the idea is the same. They were so unusual I wanted to see if I could make them myself.

The Beckfish (flatfish imitation)

I was immediately in love with the action of this lure. With a very slow retrieve, it wobbled a ton back and forth, so much so I almost took a swipe at it. On the second cast, I saw three bass come up and try and take it. One of them made it, got hooked right in the lip, but threw the hook in an impressive aerial display of power.

Well that was awesome. It confirms something I've been thinking and hearing from other anglers I respect a lot- it's all about the action. There was no paint, no eyes, no 3D holographic foil coating, no patented impregnated scent... Just some wood and some metal with some nice action. Maybe the bass apreciated the extra-smooth finish I was able to achieve with my new power tool.

I'm now the proud owner of a power tool

 I ended up catching a nice bass a few minutes later by dragging a t-rigged tube over some weeds and letting it drop down right at the edge. A big bass gobbled it up. Great idea Sam! Just like a frog but cheaper.

A few minutes later Anthony walked down to the water. Although we'd never met, we had corresponded a great deal via the internets, so we already went way back, so to speak. He started fishing, I did my best impression of a fishing guide and told him what had and hadn't been working lately. I kept my tube tied on, missing a bunch of hits and catching a few fish.

Anthony and I talked about our fishing background; how he grew up fishing, didn't fish for a long time, then recently picked it up in a serious way. We seem to have similar ideas about fishing- catching a little fish is still a fish; there's a big difference between catching one fish and zero fish but less between two and ten; we don't know why the fish choose to hit certain lures at certain times.

I managed to catch a few bass while we were talking, but felt bad Anthony wasn't getting any fish. I was the guide after all. It was cool to have somebody else around to take pictures- most of my fish pictures are from an arm's distance away.

After a few misses (the fish were biting really weirdly) he connected with his first CB's Secret Pond bass!

Anthony and a nice bass

It was a great time. The fish were certainly biting, although strangely. Most of my hits came from ignoring my lure for a minute while Anthony and I talked; then I'd have a bass on my line. No giant bulldozer hits, just a "gulp" and my line swam away. I suppose it is a cold front after all. I did, however, catch my second bass on my firetiger crankbait. I cast it out to the middle of the pond, let it sit for a few seconds; the bass inhaled it after two revolutions of cranking my reel.

Another fish caught by a hand-carved lure

We caught some more fish (I think I managed 6 bass total that outing on t-rigged plastics and my crankbait), talked about fishing, made a lot of casts; we each had some equipment issues, but it was a great time. Thanks for coming out Anthony! Next time I'll have to experience your secret pond.

Anthony and another sweet bass

Fishing in Kalamazoo

This weekend Claire and I were in Kalamazoo, Michigan helping my little sister move. Obviously I wanted to take the opportunity to do some fishing. I woke up at 5am EST (4am my time) on Sunday morning, headed to the nearest supplier of coffee (Starbucks wasn't open yet, McDonalds still did the trick) and made my way north to a small trout stream I'd read about on the Internet. I figured I could try for some stream trout for a while, then hit the Kalamazoo river since I'd be fishing very close to it.

There was supposed to be a street going to the stream, a street where I could park and not have to traverse any private property. Turns out this street was a dirt road, and it was closed. I spent about twenty minutes trying to find a way to get to the stream. Finally I found another part of it, farther upstream from the Kalamazoo, but it was clearly private property. The stream was about ten feet wide, and it most certainly ran through a series of backyards.

Well, I thought, I wouldn't be catching any trout this morning. I made yet another u-turn in the deserted country backroads and headed toward downtown Kalamazoo. Every now and then I'd stop and take a look at the map, trying to figure out some river access that wasn't private property. At one point I pulled into a seemingly abandoned industrial complex of some kind. There was river access, but it was behind very tall barbed wire fences.

I drove to a city park on the river, and when I got there I realized I'd actually fished there before. Last year, I happened to be in town and tried fishing from the bridge. Back then I didn't have a clue about river fishing (I still only have a clue, not much else) and was, as expected, skunked. This time I had waders, quickly made my way into the water.

A few years ago there was a major oil spill on the Kalamazoo, but cleaning efforts have been mostly concluded, except for a few stretches. There was no sign of the oil spill where I was; the river looked like a normal river. A lot more urban than I expected; reminded me of the Desplaines River in Chicago with its high banks that made me think of erosion. I was surprised by the depth and sandy bottom of the river. I was also surprised by the lack of current breaks in the form of rocks; there were some downed trees, and there was a bridge, and that was it. No boulders, at least as far as I could see.

I got some hits, then pulled out a monstrous 9" rock bass on a tube that immediately self-released from my hands. It was good to catch a fish- there's always a lot of (self-inflicted) pressure to catch at least one fish. After that I can relax a little.

Casting everywhere, I decided that if I were a smallmouth bass, I'd probably prefer an area with a rocky bottom and more current. The only place that existed was around the bridge, so I headed in that direction. I worked the downstream sides of the columns but no takers. Under the bridge there was a little riffle, and when I cast to it I was rewarded with my first Kalamazoo River smallie.

Pretty fish

Not a trophy, but a good solid fish with nice colors. I worked that area for another half hour, and when I decided to leave and find another spot, at least 10 tube jigs stayed behind, attached to various underwater obstructions. I couldn't retrieve them when I went to check out the spot, but I did notice a bunch of boulders; it appeared the smallies were hiding behind them. I also found a submerged stereo. I wondered if there were times fish gathered behind it, using it to hide from the current.

the "wet" knob on the reverb must have been turned up all the way (music nerd joke)

 

 

I got into my car and brought up Maps on my phone. I wanted to find a place with more current breaks, more variation in water depth. The river was mostly straight near me, but there was one big curve in the river. I know from the internet and some experience that in river bends the inside bend will be shallow, the outside deeper. I also have seen that bends like that tend to deposit trees and other current breaks as the current changes, providing more places for fish to hide. I headed to the curve.

It took me a while to figure out where to legally park and how to get down to the water. On one attempt I stumbled upon some homeless people living in a tent under a bridge. I suppose they could have been camping, but it looked like they'd been there for weeks. I wondered what I would do if I suddenly didn't have a place to live; permanently camping by a river seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution. I wondered if they would ask for some fish if I caught any, and if I should give them any. I decided I probably would give them some, even though the water quality wasn't the best. A contaminated fish might be better than no food at all.

After some major bushwacking through a solid wall of foliage, I stumbled down into the river and saw exactly what I was looking for. Lots of rocks, boulders, downed trees, bridge columns, deep water, shallow water; Maybe it was luck or maybe it was me, but either way I found a great spot. My good choice was confirmed as a good choice when I caught another smallie hanging out in a bunch of riffles.

Kzoo river smallie #2

 I lost some more tubes, got a few hits, and really enjoyed the experience. I was fishing in downtown Kalamazoo, a half mile from the Union where I'd played more than a hundred gigs... But I'd never seen this spot, nor had I fished it. I wonder what other hidden jewels I miss as I drive over bridges.

I was almost out of tubes, so I thought I'd try another approach. I definitely use tubes and jigs too much for smallies; I've never caught one on anything else. I pulled out a gold and red spinner I made (with a paperclip for the wire shaft) and clipped it to my line. When I was testing its action in the water not two feet away from me, I saw and felt fish come up and nip at it! Awesome! I'd been standing still for a few minutes, and it appeared fish were using me as a current break. I had heard of that happening, but never experienced it myself.

So I cast out my spinner, downstream into the current break I was creating, and sure enough connected with a fish. Another rock bass. My first river fish on a homemade spinner! I made it extra heavy to dive deeper in heavy current. This seemed to be the perfect place to use it.

I made that spinner! First fish caught in my own wake

It took about 5 minutes to remove the treble hooks, but after a few minutes holding the fish in the slack water behind me, he came to and swam away just fine. As I was doing so some guys came upstream in a boat, giving me dirty looks. I wondered if I was in "their" spot. I asked them how they were doing, but they didn't seem interested in talking to me.

I caught another rock bass behind me, but couldn't coax anymore smallies. Nobody asked me for fish, nor did I see anybody in the tent. Maybe they were still asleep; it was early after all.

When the time came I made the reverse bushwhacking trip through the thick trees; it seemed clear to me not too many people fished this spot. At least not wading. I wondered if wading in the Kzoo was a bad idea after the oil spill; but I didn't see even the slightest indication of any topwater oil slicks or contaminated rocks or plants. I know that doesn't always mean it's clean, but I felt fairly protected by my waders. Except for the small leak they seem to have developed. I guess I'll find out...

Although I didn't do any trout fishing like I'd hoped, it was a good outing with some nice fish. 2 smallies, 3 rock bass. One of those guys was a GIANT! Not the best trip, but certainly not the worst. It's very encouraging to know that, at least in some circumstances, I can explore a new body of water and successfully find fish.

Green sunfish and the creek monster

The view from the water

Early this morning I headed out to the local pond, which is the answer to my fishing fix when I don't plan ahead. The pond is there, it's full of fish, I usually do pretty well there. For a while the bass seemed turned off, and now they are back biting at everything. Could that be the "post-spawn funk" I've been hearing about?

Last week my lovely wife suggested we get another fishing rod. Well ok, sounds like a plan to me. We went to the big store and looked through all the rods until I found what I was looking for. I should clarify that, because I have no idea what I was looking for. I was hoping for a very light rod that I could use for a variety of fishing situations- pond bass, panfish, maybe even smallies. I normally fish with medium rods, but I wanted to try catching big pond bass on a light rod.

Turns out, it's a hell a good time. (Did I say that right? Should I say "hella" instead?) This morning I missed 2 and landed 3 on my new 5'6" light action (action? weight? not sure) rod. Each fish felt like a river monster. It was awesome. 1 came on a texas-rigged tube (thanks for the idea Sam) and the others on a plain old t-rigged worm. Brown. They attacked the $%^# out of that brown worm.

Later in the day I headed out to good old Salt Creek. It's a fairly polluted body of water, as I understand it; but I've caught a fair number of small fish there before. Even kayaked there once. I stopped by for literally 10 minutes and caught 4 green sunfish and two bass. They were small, but I really enjoyed catching them. I tried throwing some new little spoons I assembled, but they only followed and wouldn't strike. The white jig and twister, which is quickly becoming my go-to lure, took them all.

For 10 minutes in the middle of the day, I'll take it. The bass hit like tanks; they didn't know how small they were.

This evening I had been planning on kayaking Mallard Lake, now that I've got the Dupage county license to do so... But with 15 mph with gusts up to 30, I knew it would mean a frustrating outing. At the last minute I changed my mind and decided to wade Salt Creek.

I've never heard of anybody targeting green sunfish- not for bait- but that was exactly my plan. I wanted to go wading on a Monday night, 5 minutes from my house, and catch a bunch of fish. Beside the gale-force wind, it was a perfectly fantastic outing.

Perhaps you might think it's silly to wade in a tiny creek only home to tiny fish; or a waste of time... But just like the local pond is a smaller version of a lake, the creek is a scaled-down version of a river. All the same rules apply. There are still riffles, pools; seams, undercut banks... It's just all in miniature. The water was surprisingly clear, so as I fished I could not only view all the structure in the river, but I could see where my fish came from. Learning to fish a little creek will help me understand bigger moving water, just like learning to pond fish pays off in larger lakes.

It was incredibly informative. I learned that, in Salt Creek this evening, green sunfish prefer to be in the shade, under trees if possible, and in whatever deeper water is available. In any given stretch, I took a long hard look, and made a guess cast to where the fish would choose to be. Most of the time I was right, which was a prize in itself! And then there was this feisty, underrated, and very pretty little fish that I kept catching.

Greeny

I was having a great time. I explored the creek, slowly wading downstream; I saw a raccoon crawl down almost into the water and disappear into a hole in the bank. I saw a muskrat waddling along, oblivious to my presence. I noticed tons of little baitfish hanging out in the miniature eddies that appeared occasionally. It seemed like the creek didn't have too many places for fish to be; no big boulders, not too much downed timber, no obvious fish-holding spots. I wonder if the channelization of the original stream caused those things to disappear.

Call me silly, but I was perfectly happy to catch these little fish. I was catching more fish in this outing than any of the 113 previous outings this year. It was great.

And then, after hooking into a little greenie in the shadow of an undercut bank, I saw a long green shape suddenly lunge out from the darkness and take a swipe at my hooked fish.

And then it was gone.

I froze, forgetting I had a fish on my line, and questioned the reality of what I just saw. It looked a little like a bass, but was much longer. I saw a flash of scales that appeared green through the water. But so did most things when viewed through this water... I estimated it's length at three feet, but it could have been less. I quickly ran down the list of possible species... I concluded it was either a bass- a BIG bass, a pike, or a musky.

It was a BIG fish. It dwarfed my 5" green sunfish. I know musky or even pike may sound ridiculous to you reading this, an account of fishing in a little polluted creek... But Busse Lake flows into Salt Creek, and they stocked musky at Busse. There's even a picture on the internet somewhere of a guy holding a Salt Creek musky. So it's not completely out of the question.

But even if it were a bass, it was certainly a very big fish. And for the water it was in, practically a trophy-sized fish.

Obviously I fished that spot for about an hour after the sighting.

I threw everything- I got some follows on my new little spoon, but I think it was just little greenies. I used a green sunfish as bait, which seemed like a great idea considering that's what triggered the attack in the first place.... But I never saw that large flash of scales again. Eventually, as the sun began to set, I decided to call it a day. As I waded upstream, it occurred to me how much more difficult it was than wading downstream. My thighs and calves burned. The wind tore through my ears and threatened to blow my hat off. I caught some more fish, and it was ok. I ended up catching 11 green sunfish, which is 1 more than my record this year of number of fish in one outing.

The idea of that giant fish swimming so close to my house will keep me up at night; I'll have dreams of catching whatever it was the next time I go down there. It's amazing, you just don't know what's in the water... until you catch it.

EDIT: Writing this now, after the fact, I suddenly remember I noticed that fish in the picture looked like it's pelvic fins were bitten off. Maybe there is some other reason it's missing fins, but for now I'm just going to assume they were taken by the giant aquatic creature I caught a glimpse of.

Adventures in Canoeing on the Rogue River

The Rogue River, through Rockford to its
mouth at the Grand River (our journey)

This post is tremendously overdue.

Although many details have faded due to the time elapsed (it's been almost two weeks since our trip to Michigan!) I feel obligated to record at least part of the story. As I mentioned recently, things have been pretty crazy. I left my job at Columbia College Chicago, started a new one at ChartCapture, and have spent most of my free time fishing. The idea of sitting back down at the computer has not been appealing to me, so I haven't done it! I sit here now, fueled by a big ol' cup of coffee, hoping to get this little story out there and get my personal fishing records all caught up.

I've mentioned my fishing mentors various times here; Mark, Rob, and Luke. They are the trio who introduced me to fishing, got me hooked, and have provided lots of hints and tips along the way. Almost every time Claire and I head back to Michigan for a birthday, holiday, gig, or whatever, I end up fishing with at least one of these guys.

The last trip to Michigan was no different- at 5am (4am my time) I was at Rob's house, trying to down enough coffee to make sense of things, ready for my first time in a canoe.

Turns out, three people in a canoe may not be ideal. Although I've spent a lot of time in kayaks (in the past two years) I'd never been in a canoe until then. It was hard for me to judge whether canoes are just incredibly unstable, or our canoe shouldn't have really had three big dudes in it. Rob, Mark, and I arrived at the Rogue river before sunrise and started casting. Our quarry was trout, and on one of his first casts Rob landed what turned out to be the nicest fish of the day, a 14" brown. Somehow, the only picture I got of it was right before we ate it a few hours later. It was delicious.

EDIT: I found the "before" picture...

What a nice fish right there

What a great fish: great fight, super pretty colors, very tasty

We hopped in the canoe, paddling downstream with the hopes of covering a lot of water. Almost immediately it was clear it was going to be an adventure; even the smallest set of rapids gave us grief, the canoe pounding the rocks, throwing us off balance, teetering closer and closer to the water. One of our first direct hits jolted the canoe, almost tossing us out into the river. Mark was in front "watching for rocks" (each rock would be announced milliseconds before we slammed into it! it made for exciting canoeing) Rob was in back "steering" (who knows where we were going) and I was in the middle doing my best not to rock the boat. Most of the time I crouched down in the canoe, my knuckles white as snow as I clutched the side, expecting a cold river-water ejection any moment.

We hit a big rock, the canoe tipped to the verge of flipping; Mark fell backwards onto me and his ultralight rod, snapping either the rod or me, I couldn't tell. Turns out it was the rod. I have to give mad props to these two gentlemen; for the amount of trouble we had getting down the river, I don't think I heard a single profanity escape their lips! Me on the other hand, well... Let's just say there were two streams that morning: the river, and what was coming from my mouth.

As the morning went on, Mark and Rob both caught trout on little tiny spinners. I was amazed such small spinners could even be cast, let alone land 8-10" rainbow trout. Rob graciously let me borrow one of his ity-bity spinners, which I tied on with haste. I proceeded to miss what seemed like hundreds of trout taking swipes at my spinner. Some of them launched clear out of the water, but none of them connected.

It was exciting and frustrating. I varied my retrieves, faster, slower, faster still; and finally somehow managed to hook my first fish of the day. Before a picture could be taken, the little rainbow propelled itself out of my hands and returned to the water. Soon after that I landed my first brown trout that wasn't a tiny 5" juvenile. Rob came over to document the moment for me; he also documented the exact moment the little brown decided it was time to return to the water, as I desperately tried to keep it in my hands.

Check out that pretty little brown!

..and then it released itself

Great! I caught a brown trout, something that is more or less impossible in Illinois (you can catch them in Lake Michigan, but I've never been able to).

We headed downstream, my knuckles burning from gripping the canoe so tightly, Mark's still functioning malformed and broken rod still able to catch fish, Rob trying to disguise his worry every time we heard scraping and breaking sounds come from the bottom of the canoe... It was a great time. Between rapids I shoved beef jerky and trail mix in my mouth. It was good I wasn't paddling; I would have definitely put us all in the water.

Every time we encountered a fishy spot, we hopped out of the canoe and fished it. As the day went on and wives inquired to our location, we realized we didn't know where we were. My phone had no service; Mark and Rob had partial service. We realized we had a long way to go, and decided to push down the river in earnest.

One of the two rainbows I caught that morning

As we headed downstream, I was amazed how the character of the river changed from stretch to stretch. Some places shallow and rocky with fast current, others deeper sand flats, others rocks and gravel and sand with slower current, others just mud. Astounded would be too light a word to describe how I felt about the water clarity; for the most part I could see completely to the bottom through the gin-clear water. It was awesome.

At one point we reached a set of rapids clearly too much for our overloaded boat. I got out to carry some gear through the forest while Mark and Rob- expert canoe-ists- managed the rapids. I filmed their journey with my camera, but upon later viewing it was clear what the camera saw and they experienced were too different things. What shows up as a .mov file on my computer looks like an easy float downstream I'm sure caused their lives to flash before their eyes.

We desperately paddled (by we I mean they, since I was on canoe-clutching duty sitting in the middle) as the clock ticked and the day aged. Rob suggested I cast a bit while we canoed, so I did. We reached an area that looked like smallie territory, and Rob confirmed indeed it was. Smallies and trout, in one river? My mind exploded a little, but it didn't stop me from casting. Every so often Mark or Rob would point out a particular spot, I'd cast there, hopefully not catching my lure on anything. There was one close call with a tube jig: I had to cut the line or else the force of the canoe might have pulled the rod out of my hands!

As we floated down river, I cast to a spot Rob suggested and immediately hooked into a fish- I yelled "Fish!" My fishing partners put the brakes on the boat as I fought with a small monster- a monster I'm much more familiar with than those Michigan trout... I pulled out a very nice Michigan smallmouth bass on my go-to white twister tail.

Check out those colors

That fish was enough to halt our journey; the other two guys jumped out of the canoe and started fishing. Almost right away I connected with another fish, and a few casts later got him to commit. Thanks to Mark for manning the camera!

Big ol' rock bass from the Rogue River

A few minutes later Rob landed a smallie as well, but I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge how much bigger mine was. I've learned a lot from my fishing mentors, including how to give each other &$%# for their tiny fish.

Rob and an ok smallie (just kidding, it was great)

Pretty soon it was time to head out. We passed a lot more fishy looking spots that almost certainly held fish, but we were already more than an hour behind schedule. Somebody had underestimated the length of our journey. (I'm talking to you Rob!) Not that I'm complaining, I thought it was great. I could have fished that river all day.

When all was said and done, we had traveled more than 7 miles on the Rogue River, caught a bunch of fish, almost died about twenty times, one of us got a leech on his leg (hint: it wasn't me), and we created some real nice memories. They will stay with us for a long time, maybe even longer than the deep gouges on the canoe.

Early Wednesday Fishing

As some of you may know, I am leaving my current job at Columbia College Chicago. Next week I will begin working at ChartCapture, doing tech support among other things. You may know about ChartCapture through fellow fishermen like Sam Bennett.

I won't be spending 3 hours a day commuting like I do now, I'll be working from home... That means I won't have the daily opportunity to fish downtown Chicago. Since this is my last week at Columbia, I decided I'd try and make the most of my last chance to fish while I'm there already. I woke up at 4am, downed a few cups of coffee, and hopped in the car, joining the already growing traffic on 290.

I parked at exactly 5am sharp, and reached Burnham Harbor Marina by 5:15. I was shocked and dismayed to find the gate leading to the choice spot at the pipe padlocked. Before I got too bent out of shape, I reminded myself fish can be everywhere, even away from "the good spot." I set up shop: one rod with crawlers under a bobber, the other with various jigs, cranks, spinners, and of course tubes.

Lake side at Burnham

I fish almost exclusively with lures, rarely fishing with nightcrawlers, and almost never with minnows. It's not that I'm against it, it's just convenient to carry all necessary fishing gear in my backpack as I go to work. Trying to transport minnows would make things tricky.

Because of that, I have this idea that if I use live bait- like worms- I'll have to fight the fish off with a stick. Turns out, this is not necessarily the case. I threw my bobber out, and was astonished it didn't get a single hit for at least five minutes. After a while, I finally managed to pull up a tiny bluegill, which of course is better than no fish.

Better than nothing!

I worked a small homemade inline spinner along the wall, perhaps hoping for any stray trout or salmon that might be in the harbor, and noticed many follows as I retrieved the lure. But they only followed when I burned the lure through the water super quickly. It reminded me of the baby trout on the Rogue River in Michigan; I only caught some when I increased the speed of my retrieve.

I had trouble keeping the spinner deep while I cranked it in, especially fishing from the pier six feet above the water. No matter what I did, I couldn't connect with any fish. I remembered some WCF members suggesting if I'm getting follows I'm close to the right presentation, so I tried a few other spinners and cranks. Some didn't get any follows, some did, but ony when I sped the lure through the water like a bat out of hell.

Frustrated, I decided to fish the other side, the lake side. I hauled my gear over a fence, jumped it myself, and found myself next to very calm water looking north to downtown Chicago. I set up at the pipe, and when I looked down I was amazed at what I saw in the water: a HUGE swarm of fish. The kind you see on the discovery channel on shows about the ocean. There were so many of them! I have no real way of estimating how many but I'd have to guess hundreds.

It was amazing! The water was very clear, and as the school swam around, the sun reflected on hundreds of tiny fish bodies like a chandelier in some underwater mansion. Occasionally I saw a much bigger fish chase some of the smaller fish. That was pretty cool; I don't often have the opportunity to see that.

And then I remembered to fish, so I did. I was sure one of those small fish would be interested in my night crawler, so I plopped it down in the water in the middle of the swarm. I couldn't figure out what they were... We're they shad? Baby bass? Alewives?

None of them were the slightest bit interested in my bait. When I tossed a jig and twister into their midst, they followed it around as long as I kept it moving, but lost interest when it was still. Just like trout.

Were these trout!!?

And then I saw a trio of giant carp, or at least what I thought were carp, cruising around the rocks near the swarm of little unknown fish. I saw another fish that wasn't a carp, but couldn't tell if it was a smallie, trout, salmon, or something else. Nothing I tossed into the water got any attention. Night crawlers on a makeshift crappie rig off the bottom, under a bobber, jigged; it seemed no presentation could entice these fish.

Finally I caught a goby. I may or may not have put it back on the hook. And it may or may not have elicited a strike from something, that may or may not have reminded me of a smallmouth bass... But alas, I missed the hook set and it didn't happen again.

After at least an hour and three gobies later, I decided to go back to the first spot. Some marina guys came and unlocked the gates, finally, so I made my way to the spot at the pipe. When I looked in the clear water, sure enough there was a swarm of fish there too. Still couldn't tell what they were, but I was excited to watch the fish. At one point I saw something I was positive was a big smallmouth bass, swimming casually a few feet under the swarm, but it was not interested in anything I dangled in front of its face.

And then I started to get follows again, burning a deep diving black and white crankbait through the water. It was very curious; there was a small window of speed, not slow but not like a bullet, where the little unknown fish would follow my lure. They lined up behind it, chasing it all the way back to me. It was exciting.

After about fifty casts parallel to the wall in front of the pipe, I figured out the right speed to attract the most fish. Suddenly, I felt a tiny amount of resistance on my crankbait that told me I had a fish on! And then I found out what those fish were.

Baby steelhead and the lure it took

That swarm of hundreds of little fish were baby steelhead trout! As soon as I realized what I had caught, I took a picture extremely quickly and got it back in the water in as little time as possible. I knew that these little guys would grow much bigger, and in three or four years would become the giant and delicious adult steelheads that I've had so little luck catching. I didn't want to mess up their childhood, I wanted them to grow big and strong. I marveled at the audacity of this little trout, to attack a lure about the same size as itself.

Now that I knew what they were, I stopped fishing for them. I wondered if these were stocked trout recently released by the DNR. Either way,  I didn't want to bother them and negatively affect the steelhead fishing in the future. Looking in the water, I noticed another school of fish that looked similar to the baby steelhead, but were brown. Could those be baby brown trout?

I threw a night crawler on the bottom on the off chance one of the giant carp might go for it, although there was no real way I'd be able to land one from the pier. I threw bass lures, trying to bring the smallies- supposedly "in the harbors now"- out of hiding. An hour later, it was time to go to work. I was really happy to add another species to my "species scoreboard 2012" and I hoped I didn't harm the beautiful little fish.

As I walked back to toward the city, dreams of adult steelhead and brown trout and giant lake Michigan smallies filled my head.

°°°

Although my haul of fish wasn't huge yesterday morning, I'm very happy with the variety of fish I've been catching! In the past 7 days, I've caught green sunfish, smallmouth bass, bullhead catfish, freshwater drum, bluegill, perch, walleye, gobies, largemouth bass, and this beautiful little steelhead trout. For a while I fished just for largemouth bass, but I see no reason to discount all the other great fish you can catch. They're all different, they all require different approaches, and I like the challenge of learning how they all operate. Someday when the zombie apocalypse happens, I might be glad I can catch more than just bass. 

Fish are awesome!

Big Busse Bass

Thanks to NATO, I ended up enjoying a four day weekend. Friday and Monday work was closed due to the big hullabaloo, which gave me plenty of time for fishing. Friday I hit a variety of waters, Saturday and Sunday we camped (and I caught that giant 28"+ drum) and Monday I had a hankering for some kayak fishing. Exhausted from camping and hiking, Claire and I both were asleep before our heads hit the pillows Sunday night... but my alarm was set for 4:30 am.

°°°

When I wake up at 4, usually it takes about 30 seconds for me to remember why the hell I'm awake at 4 in the freaking morning... Then I remember, run downstairs to make coffee, then head back upstairs to get dressed. Yes, that's right, I make coffee before I put clothes on. Priorities.

I loaded the kayak, waders, wading boots, paddles, rods, and all other gear in record time. (Keep in mind it takes me at least one full cup of coffee to be coherent at all, so I always have to allow time for that to happen.) I arrived at Busse at exactly 5:23am, sipping my coffee and pleasantly surprised to see the gate open. I rolled in, unpacked, loaded the yak, and was in the water in a few short minutes.

The kayak

Why did I choose Busse, the water that keeps skunking? I suppose I could have kayaked the Fox, or some other body of water, but I really like kayaking at Busse. In some ways I know that water the best, I've fished it more than any other (except maybe the retention pond), and I have a special love/hate relationship with it.

In the past, I usually fished my usual spots when I was in the kayak. This time, I decided to fish primarily spots that are inaccessible to shore fishing, capitalizing on the fact I was in a kayak. As I began paddling, the sun began to rise and I noticed the water was extremely clear. Usually there is only a few inches of visibility in this water, but today I could see almost to the bottom. I don't know what caused the drastic change, but I sure enjoyed it.

I paddled, fished, paddled, fished some more, every now and then drinking my coffee and eating trail mix. The other reason I chose Busse is because I really wanted to go kayaking, the fishing was only something to do while kayaking. It didn't really matter if I caught any fish, and I didn't really expect to.

I worked my way along shorelines, throwing many different lures. Being able to see the bottom, the weeds, the structure; it was amazing. Usually Busse's water is like chocolate milk, but today it was more like lemonade. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement, got out of the kayak to fish (I was wearing waders) and was soon surrounded by tons of little bluegill. None of them would bite, and neither would any bass hiding nearby hoping for a bluegill snack.

I kept moving, following the shoreline. All of the sudden I noticed there was a steep dropoff, many weeds, and suddenly a giant bass calmly swam under my kayak headed for deeper water. Whoa! I cast out my 3" tan tube jig in it's general direction, and immediately the bass swallowed it up. Fish on!

This was my second largemouth bass in the kayak, and it was a big one. It fought me with pure force. Headshakes, topwater splashes; it tried to swim under my kayak. Somehow I managed to keep it hooked and bring it close to the kayak where I could lip it. Filled with adrenaline and excitement, I quickly took a few pictures and placed it back in the water. With a powerful tail thrust it covered me in water. Serves me right!

Busse bass!

That was awesome. It was the first largemouth I'd successfully landed in the kayak- the other one (at Busse a few months ago) threw the hook when I couldn't keep the tension.

Then I saw a school, more like a swarm of little tiny fish slowly swimming in a circle. I'd google image searched this before, I was pretty sure it was a bunch of fry (baby fish). Suddenly I felt horrible; did I catch the mom bass while she was supposed to be watching the kids?

But wait, I thought the males guarded the nests... And the little fish didn't really look like bass at all. Either way, I was happy the big female got away perfectly fine. Only out of the water for about a minute, she swam away immediately.

I let the wind push me along the shore, my polarized sunglasses revealing all kinds of cool stuff in the water. The normally hidden branches, weeds, holes, dropoffs. rocks, moss, and even tons of little bluegill were easily visible to me. Then I noticed what I was positive were spawning beds. I'm not entirely sure what they look like, but they were clearly areas where something had cleared away debris and made little round indentations in the gravel and sand.

Reading reports lately, there seems to be some disagreement on whether one should fish bass beds or not. Obviously, messing with the females- the ones in charge of making the eggs- could be detrimental to the bass population. On the other hand, I've had a very hard time getting them to bite the few times I've seen them literally on their beds. I decided to keep fishing, although perhaps I'll be scorned by other fishermen...

Soon after the first, I hooked into another beast! This one was even bigger, even stronger, and went straight for deep water. That helped my hookset tremendously, and I carefully brought her aboard and admired the fine specimen of a bass.

Number 2! I guessed around 20 inches, at least

I thought of all those times I'd been to Busse and left without even a bite... when all along, these fish are in there. Big bass; big, fickle bass. Maybe it's the kayak, maybe most largemouth anglers don't throw tubes, maybe it's because I was way off the beaten path. Either way, I was having a thoroughly fun Monday morning.

Almost immediately I hooked into another one, about the same size. I got it to the boat, and noticed the hook was barely in the lip. As I reached over to lip her, the bass exerted her considerable strength and threw the hook. Fair enough, I'm still going to count it as "caught." I'll just call it a "self-release" a la Ken G.

I kept fishing, kept watching the water, kept learning about what's under the surface at Busse. It was amazing. I didn't know how long the clear water would last, but I wanted to get everything I could out of it before it went back to chocolate milk. I found an area close to shore where there must have been fifty bluegill darting around. None of them looked particularly big, but it certainly looked like they were on spawning beds. I didn't know whose beds though... were the bluegill raiding bass beds? Were the bluegill themselves spawning? I didn't know. Still don't know. Need to learn more.

Spawning beds?

Nothing very interesting happened after that... I found some lures. Cleaned up some fishing line and trash. I saw a dead crappie, which was sad to see but enlightening, as I'd never caught a crappie at Busse before. Apparently they're in there. Farther down the shore I saw a dead carp. Neither fish had any obvious wounds, I wondered how they kicked the bucket.

After a really great time on the water with some fish I can definitely be proud of, I headed back to shore. In a few short minutes the boat was back on my car, my gear in the trunk, and I was on the way to lunch with the wife. A great Monday morning.

CB goes camping and catches a Mississippi River Monster

Just a slight bit of clarification: Although I did in fact go camping with my lovely wife, I did not technically fish on the Mississippi, and the fish I caught would probably not be considered a river monster by anyone.

°°°

My first time camping, ever, was last summer with some family. The Smerglias are expert campers, even Charlie (at the time I think he was five) was a pro and totally knew what was up. He showed me the ropes. Ever since that awesome time, I've wanted to do it again! Recently Claire and I got an awesome tent (thanks Smerglias!) and stocked up on camping supplies. After internet research for camp sites proved inconclusive, Ken G was nice enough to provide a wealth of information on good places to camp.

It was settled: we'd load the car, hit the road, and camp at Mississippi Palisades state park, just feet from the mighty river. It was a good two and a half hours away, but we knew as we drove west the cars would thin out. Thin out they did, especially once we hit the country roads.

I remember as a kid being so completely bored while riding through the country, having no interest in anything until we got back to civilization. I've done a full 180; it was awesome driving through the country, over the rolling hills, seeing the farms and animals. So awesome, in fact, I drove the entire two and a half hours myself even though Claire offered her driving services. I enjoyed the pastoral landscape, the curvy roads, and the lack of traffic.

We arrived at the park, admiring the giant river to our left and the rock bluffs to our right. Had a great conversation with a DNR guy at the entrance; told me about some largemouth bass at the lake (the campground is across the street from Buffalo Lake, which is kind of part of the Mississippi) and instructed us to find an open campsite and set up our stuff. Homestead-style; American western-expansion style. Find some land, make it yours, then pay the $10 fee.

After finding a suitable spot, it only took us an hour to set up our tent, and we were camping! Claire was a good sport, being a veteran camper herself. This being only my second camping trip ever, my camping skill set was severely lacking, to say the least. Walter rolled around in the grass, enjoying the experience much more than being stuck in a car for hours.

Our awesome new tent

We got some ice for the cooler, wood for the fire, and settled in to our temporary home. I thought the lack of wooded areas was strange; it's as if they cut down all the trees to make room for campsites. Personally I think it would be sweeter to camp among the trees instead of across the street from them, but it was still awesome.

I headed to the water with every intention of catching some dinner. Although I was originally intrigued by fishing by the lure of little meals swimming around, I've caught and eaten very few fish. Partly because many of the waters I fish don't have the best water quality, partly because I'm not usually equipped to deal with keeping fish fresh. Like when I'm fishing before work. I figured this would be an ideal time to catch some bluegill or crappie and cook them up over a campfire.

I think it was about a mile to the water from our campsite; I crossed the highway, train tracks, and found myself in the Lazy River Marina. There were a few people fishing already. I found a spot, rigged my gulp minnow under a slip bobber, and cast it out. That's when I realized I had forgotten my stringer back at the car. Doing my best impression of a camper, I fashioned one out of some thin rope I had and some sticks I found. I had visions of walking back to camp with a full stringer on my back. That would be cool.

Walter likes camping

I fished for about an hour, and got a few small hits, but wasn't able to bring any fish in. I hiked along the shore looking for other spots, and soon found myself in what seemed like a boat graveyard. Lots of big houseboats, cranes, trucks, debris; I think the marina also doubled as a boat repair shop. I concluded I was definitely on private property, and decided to make an exit. On my way back I saw a giant turtle hanging out in the grass, far from the water. I would have taken a picture but was eager to get off private property! I didn't have the dark to hide my ninja-fishing activities.

Got back to our campsite, somehow managed to build a fire- that didn't fizzle out- on the first try! Last summer with the Smerglias, we had a hard time keeping the fire going. After doing some "research" (internet) I wondered if we had prevented air from circulating and feeding the fire. This time I propped up the wood on another piece of wood, kindling underneath, and it worked! Since I couldn't find any fish, some delicious polish sausage grilled over a wood fire was on the menu.

I totally made that fire

When we visited the store to get foodstuffs and whatnot, we came to the beer aisle with an important decision to make. Which beer? How many? And then we saw the Newcastle keg, and our decision was made for us. And let me tell you, best. Idea. Ever.

We were camping, but had draft beer. Awesome.

I had not experienced anything quite like sitting by the campfire eating sausage and drinking draft beer out of those tin camping mugs. Simply awesome.

After many mugs of beer, a bunch of sausages, night had fallen. That meant two things: the wife and the dog were going to sleep, and I was sneaking back into the marina to go fishing. I made some campfire coffee, drank it quickly, and I was off.

My camping coffee maker. No power necessary.

The mile walk in complete darkness was another new experience for me. Although I've night fished many times, most has been in a suburban area where there is plenty of lighting even at night. Here, the only source of light was my flashlight, and that only lit a small area in front of me. As I walked a few frogs or toads caught my eye on the pavement. We made eye contact, and I'm sure they were thinking "what are YOU doing up? You're supposed to be asleep by now."

I left the campground and crossed the highway, headed to the water. It was eerily dark, the surprisingly loud sound of frogs got louder the closer to the water I got. I almost stepped on a snake that scared the $%#@ out of me, which is my excuse for the blurry picture.

snake!

I got to the marina, which although it "closed" at sunset, the gates were open and there were some people listening to metal in a parked SUV. Each to their own. I think I'd rather listen to death metal while fishing instead of just listen, but hey. Turns out I did end up listening, until they left after about fifteen minutes.

I started fishing right about 11pm, and threw everything in my tacklebox, and worked the entire weedy shoreline. Although the night was extremely dark, there was a single orange light right at the boat launch, making the fishing easier. I heard fish jump everywhere, at least once or twice every few minutes, but couldn't connect with any of them. I didn't mind though; the weather was incredibly nice, the bugs were attracted to the light instead of me, and I was having a great time. All that beer had been nice too.

A few hours and hundreds of casts later, I was still fishless. Not even a hit. Crankbaits, spinnerbaits, jigs, plastic worms, chigger craws, they were all ignored. It was about 2am, and I was ready to bust out my secret weapon: the tube jig. Last year, or a while I fished exclusively with tube jigs, and caught many fish. Since then I've learned to fish other lures... but when times get tough, the tube jig comes out.

I tied on a brown one with gold specks, cast it out as far as I could, and let it sink to the bottom. I hopped it off the bottom, let it fall, and then BAM! Fish on!

And so began the most amazing fight I've ever experienced fishing.

Although it realistically only lasted about two minutes, it felt like an hour. At first I thought it was a catfish, but instead of swimming down, this fish just swam away. It felt big. Very big. Not like any catfish I'd caught, not like any other fish either. This fish was making runs; I would reel in some line, then it would speed away in the opposite direction, my drag screaming in protest. Thankfully I had set it loose enough the big fish could take line without breaking my 10 pound line!

It made four or five runs, each time I was able to gain a little bit of line before the next one. Finally, after an eternity filled with profanity and giggling, I caught a glimpse of the giant right when it saw me. In a few feet of water, it splashed like the prop of a boat motor running aground. Even standing a few feet away I got some water on me.

As I approached the fish, I could barely make it out in the orange light. It was indeed big. Definitely the biggest fish I'd ever caught. First cast of the tube jig no less! I thought it was a giant smallmouth bass, but quickly ruled it out. With it's tall body and clown-like lips, it wasn't any fish I recognized. As I grabbed it with my boga-grip-knockoff I ran through all the fish I knew might be in these waters, and the only one I didn't really know was the drum. I'd seen someone catch a sheepshead aka the freshwater drum on Lake Erie last year, but that was small and looked quite different.

The tube jig easily fell out of it's mouth, as if it had barely been hooked. I was amazed my line hadn't broken, that I had managed to bring it in. Shouting, giggling, ecstatic, exclaiming with frantic happy profanity, I managed to weight the giant fish. My scale said 8 pounds, but I believe that figure is highly suspect. The scale hasn't been too accurate in the past; I would estimate more than 8. Using my rod as a guide, I estimated the length of the fish was at least 28 inches. 28 inches! My longest fish was the pond catfish in October.

New personal best! Weight AND length! And a new species to boot!

My shaking arms, lame iphone camera, and poor lighting all contributed to my out of focus, grainy pictures. Please forgive me.

After a flurry of pictures, none of which do this amazing fish justice, I returned it to the water. After a few minutes, it slowly swam away, not too phased from our fight.

I know many consider the drum a "trash fish," or "bycatch." Both those terms suggest the angler isn't happy catching the fish. Obviously the opposite was true: this fish had given me an amazing fight, an awesome night fishing experience, and my new personal best (i.e. biggest) fish. I would have been happy with a small catfish, but I got this guy instead!

I fished the tube for a while after catching the drum, but nobody was around. I wondered if all the commotion had spooked any nearby fish. A few minutes later a water snake at least four feet long spooked me, it's outline made into many shadows by the orange light.

Incredibly satisfied with my amazing catch, I packed up my stuff and hiked back to the camp. I couldn't sleep much, still so excited, but when I did I dreamed of drum.

My first freshwater drum

Kids throwing rocks, me catching fish

Suburban fishing

Originally Claire and I were thinking about going camping this weekend. We had a tent (thanks Kim and Leo!) and sleeping bags, but not much else. Instead of scrambling to purchase everything we needed at the last minute, we decided to get stuff now and camp next weekend. That meant two things: we ended up at L.L. Bean, I got some early birthday wading boots (!!) and we wanted to be outside. The temperature and sun were just right. Claire suggested we go fishing at a local reservoir, so we did.

We brought our new camping chairs, a little cooler, three rods, beverages, and Walter the Boston terrier. I'd like to call him our fishing dog, but he doesn't seem to care about fish whatsoever. He'll sniff for a second, then wander away, unimpressed. I visited this water before, noticing a couple doing exactly what we were doing: relaxing with a bunch of rods in the water. I remember looking down on their style of fishing. Why would you want to just sit there when you could be actively fishing? Only now do I think I know the answer. Well, there are two: carp and catfish. In fact, the same trip (in the kayak) I found what I later realized was a whole mess of catfish fry. I'll need to do some catfishing here later...

So we hung out, enjoyed the sun, and I watched what I could only assume we're carp wakes all over the water. I tried corn on a hook, then white bread squeezed around a hook; I even threw out little smushed pieces of bread to try and bring the carp in. I wonder if that technique is more of a cumulative thing, meaning I should do that every few days to create some awesome carp fishing...

Retention pond crappie

Claire hopped on her bike to do some laps around the trail, and no sooner had she left than I got my first and only fish of the day: a white crappie, around 8". My first of the year! It attacked a gulp minnow under a slip bobber, and didn't mind I used a piece of grass to keep the bobber in place. It works remarkably well, and grass is readily available and biodegradable. Walter was unimpressed. He was much more interested in watching the bike path to see who would be riding by next.

After a couple hours enjoying the sun, Walter rolling around in the mud like a little pig, and one single fish, we headed home.

Not too soon after getting back home and unloading the car, I got back in and made my way back to the Fox River. I have a great wife who lets me go fishing frequently and for long periods of time. The one stipulation is usually that I prepare some kind of food to eat; this time I fed her tomato soup and cast iron grilled cheese. I'm not a grilled cheese fan, but I'm fairly positive grilled cheese in cast iron is superior to every other kind out there.

Muddy dog

Anyway, soon I found myself back on the fox, the weather even nicer than the day before. I didn't even bring my jacket. In fact, I wore shorts and a t-shirt under my waders, and must say I enjoyed wading barefoot, so to speak. There was some kind of bug hatch going on, which started docile enough but would eventually crescendo into an all-out Chris attack-fest. At least it felt that way.

It must have been my third or fourth cast when I hooked into the first beast of the evening- and it felt very big. Based on my luck the previous day- 3 smallies and 10+ almosts- I was excited to jump back into the fray and fight some scrappy river smallies. This first one seemed big; it headed down, fighting with raw power. It took a minute or two to horse it in, and that's when I realized why it felt so big.

Somehow I had gut hooked it, the hook stuck in its chest instead of its mouth. I brought it close, and quickly lipped it so I could get the hook out in as little time as possible. This is where I face the eventual certainty of fishing: although I never want to hurt an animal for the sake of hurting it, and will only kill if I intend to eat it, the very act of fishing can hurt the fish. Although I certainly didn't mean to harm the fish, I was after all dragging a very sharp hook through the water, hoping a fish would out it's lip through the sharp point. There's some debate on whether fish feel pain or not, and like most people I can't know whether they do or not. I could rationalize and explain how it is I sleep at night, but the short answer is I try to avoid hurting fish as much as possible when fishing.

I felt horrible having harmed this beautiful creature in this way; I looked at its wound and it reminded me of some bird-inflicted wounds I'd seen on other fish. It occurred to me that although I don't intentionally hurt fish, there are plenty of animals who would love to make a quick meal out of any smallie, and we certainly can't find fault in that. They are animals, and all animals need to eat. Including us.

For a moment I considered keeping the fish for the table, as it was at least 14" (the legal minimum) and would rather eat it than let it suffer and die wantonly. But as I carefully removed the hook, I noticed the wound wasn't deep at all, and the fish seemed fine. I got the hook out, and held the bass in the water to see if it could swim away on its own. After a second, the bass chomped down on my thumb - hard- as if to scold me for injuring it. It burst away like the annoyed little rocket it was.

I'm new to the outdoors, to nature, to animals, but there's something that seems to be a recurring theme: nature doesn't care. A blade of grass growing in the sidewalk doesn't care it's not in the forest; a heron doesn't care if it eats an endangered fish; nature doesn't care if you're there or not, it will continue to do its thing. To the smallmouth bass, I was just another predator, and a dumb one at that. What predator would voluntarily set his prey free?

I was happy the bass was fine, hoped it would prosper, and wondered if the run-in with me would make it smarter and more wary in the future. Perhaps it would live longer because of this brush with death. It had a new lease on life. But perhaps it would die in a day due to an infection or something else. Either way I was pretty sure nature wouldn't loose sleep over it, even though I might.

Pretty nice fish right there, I think

But back to fishing. I managed to pull out two more bass with that same tube jig, standing in the same spot from the night before. One jumped from the water a few inches, shaking its head when it saw me. The other swam so fast and seemed so strong I was convinced it was some species new to me. Then I saw its bronze back, stripes and fiery red eyes and knew it was another smallie.

There were some teenagers hanging out near the shore, having an animated leaf race as they put leaves into the current. Then they started throwing rocks into the water. Although they were quite far from me, I found myself getting angry at them for disturbing my peaceful (well almost) fishing. Then I thought back to the few times I'd been on the water as a kid, and my first instinct had always been to pick up rocks and throw them into the water. It makes a fun splash!

Instead of yelling at the kids, I wondered what the fish thought of it. Stuff falling into the water happens all the time naturally, so really this wasn't anything fish hadn't seen before. I guessed they would swim away from the rock explosions, which just so happened to be in my direction. Turns out I might have been right, as that third smallie was caught seemingly escaping the rock explosions. It didn't care what or who was causing them, it just wanted to get away.

I kept fishing, but just like the day before the fishing suddenly dried up. As usual, I was faced with a few choices, not sure which would be the right one. Should I try a new spot? Should I switch lures and/or vary up my presentation? Did I catch all the fish in this part of the river?

What an awesome looking fish

The current was very strong, and a few cursory attempts to wade to other spots convinced me not to continue. Since I was pretty sure there were more fish there, I tried to entice the fish with a variety of other lures. Crankbaits, twisters, spinners, more tubes, but nobody would bite.

Recovered gear! And trash cleanup

Reluctantly I tried heading downstream, staying close to the shore and wading very slowly. The water was rushing fast even though I was far from the main current; a few times I felt close to loosing my footing in the river. I made my way to some fishy looking spots, managed a few hits on a twister, but no other luck. Besides the big eddy I'd been fishing in, almost the entire remainder of the river around me was a gushing torrent of water, constantly threatening to push anything and everything downstream. Nature didn't care.

When I looked over to pick up a Gatorade bottle trapped in some branches by the current, to my surprise I saw my lure from yesterday! You know, the one that snapped off my line and went flying downriver in the dark.

The sun was setting; I had hoped to fish a trench I knew of just a few yards out in the river. As I slowly attempted to wade out there, the sound of water bombarding my waders became deafening. The river was bullying me to go back to shore. This wasn't a fight I would win, so I let the river push me around and made my way to the shore. I found a trail and hiked back upstream to the eddy.

On the way back I saw a little snake, which turned out to be dead. Although nature didn't care, I enjoyed seeing a snake up close. Too bad he died, I thought, but he'll be a nice meal for some racoon or fish or bird sometime real soon.

I've been paying close attention to the ground lately, curious about what other animals hang out around the rivers' edge. I saw some shockingly big footprints in the mud, next to a few bike tracks. At first I though it was just a big dog, but I'm fairly positive they were coyote tracks based on some Internet "research." Don't know why I didn't take a picture. Maybe because it was dark and there was a coyote running around.

I fished the eddy until it was definitely dark, throwing most of the arsenal in my fishing vest. Even the stuff in my little backpack. No walleye obliged, nor did any more smallies.

Once again, my last cast was chosen for me, with a snap I saw my lure slowly arc into the air, flying away into the darkness. Maybe I'd find it next time.

Sparring with smallmouth bass

After a delicious meal of various BBQ'ed meats, beans, and cornbread with my lovely wife, there was only one thing I could do. Night fishing!

I started the "2012 Fishing Season" (i.e. January 1-December 31) with a few goals- catch a walleye and a pike. Since then I've been adding things like "catch a carp" and "catch a monster catfish on a live bluegill." I decided to try for the latter this outing. But first, of course, I'd have to catch a bluegill.

The pond was almost completely covered with thick, mucous-like weeds. In the dark, I could see only a few spots where the water surface reflected the cloudy sky. The rest was weeds. Using my new glow-in-the-dark bobber and my not-so-new glow-in-the-dark charger thing (looks like a glasses case; you put a lure inside and it flashes to make it glow) I was able to fish with a bobber in the dark. Pretty soon I had a nice bluegill that went after a 1" Gulp minnow.

Night fishing for bluegill

It seemed too big to use as bait, so I carefully tossed it back into the muck. That was a mistake, because I wasn't able to catch another one. That one must have told it's little brothers and sisters to avoid my offerings. I suppose I could have used it as "cut bait" (which is a nice way of saying "disassembled bluegill pieces") but I'm not ready for that yet. Seems cruel unless I'm the one eating it. Then again I don't feel that way about cutting up nightcrawlers, so where is the line?

I enjoy night fishing tremendously, especially when the weather is nice. Things are quieter than usual, except for the constant roar of the many expressways that surround our suburb. Sometimes I dream of living somewhere where there isn't an expressway ever few miles, but then I think of how inconvenient that must be. I wonder if I would prefer the convenience or the silence. Not to mention the planes flying overhead every three minutes or so; the pond is due west of one of O'Hare's landing paths, so there are always low-flying planes passing by. Sometimes loudly.

But yes, I still like it- and I also enjoy the new sound of frogs at the pond. I heard at least two different types of frogs croaking. Every time I hear frogs I'm amazed at how freaking loud they are. The whole pond was filled with the sounds of frogs, which helped drown out the expressways and the planes.

The next day, Saturday, I hit the road and headed west. I was standing on the bank the Fox River with my new wading boots 45 minutes after leaving my house. It was a beautiful day- warm enough I immediately took off my jacket and enjoyed wearing short sleeves while wading. Haven't had too many of those occasions since my first time wading back in October.

I walked up to the edge and saw a boil on the surface- I've been seeing a lot of that lately. I think it means big fish chasing smaller fish. I happened to have a black spinnerbait tied on (from the previous night at the pond) so I casually tossed it into the water. One hit, then another; seemed like I was getting stuck on branches.

And then in an erupting of water, a big smallmouth bass came to the surface, shaking it's head at me. From the shore, this looked like the biggest smallie I'd ever hooked into! My drag was set too loose, and it was able to pull out a ton of line. I couldn't keep the tension, especially not standing from the shore. As I admired it's size and tenacity, I noticed the spinner fly out of it's mouth and land on the shore next to me.

Well, that's ok, I thought. Maybe there were more.

After fan-casting the area, I carefully entered the water. Pretty soon I sacrificed my black spinner to the river gods, and tied on a lure that has been successful for me so many times before: The tube jig. Lately it seems the smallies want a very particular color- olive- and will pass up anything darker or lighter. I usually carry a variety of colors, and I've been testing them to see which ones get more hits. Perhaps it's more than just the color, but the smell or the material (I buy various brands indiscriminately) but I feel like it's the color.

And so began one of the most fun times fishing I've had yet this year! Hit after hit, smallies attacking the lure and quickly throwing it out of their mouths. Some came to the surface and I was able to see them. Most stayed down in the water, but I could feel them. I hadn't had this kind of action, well, maybe ever! Even though I wasn't catching any, it sure was fun to spar with strong river bronzebacks.

All of the sudden something changed, and I caught three in a span of ten minutes. Three! Most of my fishing trips this year ended in the skunk, only a few had a a single fish to post; this was excellent. I found them everywhere along the shore. I was standing in a big, extremely slow eddy that was far from the main current or any seams. These fish were just hanging out by the shore, ignoring the seams and current where I have found them in the past. My new buddy Sam Bennett and the internet tell me higher waters will push fish toward the shore, and this certainly was happening. With all the rain we've gotten recently, the Fox was high and strong, and these fish were chilling out feet from the shore.

I was glad they were, because when I tried to get close to any current, the strong flow gave me reason to turn back around and go back to the shore.

One of three nice fish caught on Saturday

All three were about the same size- around 12" and somewhat beefy. I find myself returning them to the water very quickly most of the time, not even thinking about weighing them or measuring them. I was just happy to catch them and return them safely to fight another day. Then again, if I caught a really big one, you can bet your ass I'd bust out the scale so I could brag to the nearest ounce and closest inch.

Another one (this one was fatter)

Just as soon as the smallie-fest began, it stopped, and they weren't hitting my tube anymore. I tried spinners, cranks, some new home-assembled swim jigs (football head jigs.. are those swim jigs?) and good old reliable twister tails, but no more takers. I tried a few other spots; I saw a carp swimming in very shallow water, it's dorsal fin sticking out of the water like a vegetarian shark, but no other fish volunteered to be pulled around the river.

The sun set, and I kept fishing. I really, really, really want to catch a walleye. The main reason is because I haven't done it before. Once I catch one, maybe I'll be satisfied. But until then, every chance I get, I'll be bombarding the river with skinny crankbaits at sunset, looking for Mr. Walter.

I tried casting my cranks along deep holes I had inadvertently discovered earlier. I hear they like holes and trenches. I also tried casting parallel to the banks, because I also hear they like to swim along the shore around sunset. If you've read ahead, you'll notice I don't have a picture of a beautiful walleye and me together. I did not hook into anything else after those smallies, as hard as I tried as night fell.

My last cast was decided for me: I made a hard, long cast downstream. Immediately I heard a small "ping" and watched my little crankbait fly through the air, untethered by any kind of fishing line. It was dark, and the water was rushing all around; I didn't even hear it splash in the water. Another lure sacrificed to the gods of the river, that they may someday permit me to find one of their elusive walleyes.

Sunset