Just Enough Action to Keep My Spirits Up

I got a chance to sneak out on Sunday after the kick off picnic for Vacation Bible School.  Hayden and Luke have that every night this week.  So far, they love it.  Back to Sunday night.  I got to the river at around 7:00.  I had no bait in the livewell, so my first mission was to catch a few suckers and rock bass.  I struggled at first, but finally found the suckers in some skinny water.  The depth finder read just 3 feet.  I quickly caught a couple and then headed up above the elbow to catch a few rock bass.

I was set up for flatties by 9:30 with a tub full of cut sucker and 5 or 6 rock bass in the tank.  I spent my first hour on that “perfect” spot just above the elbow.  Nothing was going on up there and the bugs were so thick I was breathing them in, so I decided to motor down to the big basin above the bridge where I anchored in 9 feet of water.  I dropped a rock bass right under the boat and threw the cut sucker straight back on one pole and out to my left into the middle of the river on the 3^rd rod.  It was that rod that came to life first.  I noticed the end of it twitching, so I moved into position where I could grab it quick if the fish committed.  It finally grabbed the bait and flew down river at 90 miles an hour.  The clicker was singing like a choir boy.  I knew that it was a channel cat.  I had a huge piece of bait and an 8/0 hook on this rod, so I didn’t hold out much hope that I’d hook up with this fish.  It ended up dropping the bait and scurrying away before I even attempted a hook set.  

I decided to skip the clicker and leave the reel engaged when I put the rod back in the holder.  Before too long, it got jumped on again.  This time it was bouncing violently and I was pretty sure that the fish had hooked itself.  I gave it a good jerk anyway and went to battle with a heavy fish that was flying all over the river.  When the fight ended, I hauled what I think was about a 9 or 10 pound channel into the boat.  I've hit 8 pounds several times in this part of the river, but have never topped it.  This fish looked bigger, but not quite as big as the 11 pounder that I caught earlier in the year down by the bayous.  I don’t know for sure because my battery died in my scale and I didn’t want to make the fish sit in the boat while I dug through my tackle box to find a replacement.  I took the above picture and released the fish healthy.

My only other action for the night was a very small flattie that ate the live rock bass.  I’m amazed at the size of bait a small flattie will take.  It makes me think that a grown flattie will eat a pretty good sized redhorse.  If I catch a one to two pounder next time out, I may just put it out on a 10/0 hook instead of cutting it up.  It might improve my personal best.  I’d be ecstatic to get above 30 pounds.  Might be a pipe dream.  There are probably a few over 30 in there, but there can’t be many.  The only way to find out is to put in my time, so Lincoln and I are going to catch some bait tonight and I’m hitting the river again tomorrow.  I’m still waiting for the big boys to wake up.  Hopefully tomorrow I’ll find them on the feed.  

Best Laid Plans

Yesterday was Luke’s big day to go fishing with Mort and I.  He was hugely excited and went to bed with a big smile on his face the night before.  I knew that the fishing was just  a small part of the excitement.  He was going to spend the night at my parents and then the next day with my cousin’s son, Colton.  The two of them don’t get to see each other nearly enough, but they are great buddies.

My plan for the evening was to spend most of the time still-fishing around the bridge.  I knew that Luke would want to see a lot of fish and this kind of fishing always produces big numbers.  I got an e-mail from my dad when I was at work.  He was letting me know that he wouldn’t be able to fish, but they were still planning on having Luke overnight.  No problem.  Luke and I got to the river by about 4:00.  I figured that he would like to start with a boat ride, so I put him in my lap and headed up river.  When we got almost to the elbow, I cut the engine and started getting my rods ready to troll for some walleye.  Before I could even get them set up, Luke announced that he was “pretty bored.”  I didn’t pay it much attention, thinking that he’d be fine once the boat was moving again.  We trolled around and did a little casting.  We weren’t able to pick up any fish, but I did notice a jointed Storm lure slapping against the shore.  I picked it up and Luke immediately claimed it as his.  He assured me that he’d let Lincoln play with it too.  I hadn’t even mentioned Lincoln.  I was thinking more about fishing with the darn thing.  I relented and took the hooks off for him.  Playing with the lure kept Luke occupied, but he continued to say that he was bored.  I had a pretty good idea that he was just excited about going to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s.  I gave them a call and set up a time to turn him over. 

Luke and I trolled a little bit more while we waited for the grandparents.  We managed to pick up a baby flathead.  It was another one of those gross, blotchy looking ones.  I wonder if they all look like that up to a certain point.  We picked up a smallie just before the grandparents showed up.  I sent Luke on his way, happy as a lark.

There were quite a few boats out when I headed back up river.  I went right back up to the stretch below the elbow, but I had only made one trolling pass before another boat showed up and joined me.  There isn’t very much water there and I was in the mood for some solitude, so I dropped back down to a relatively deep section not far down river.  I hit a couple of my hotspots on the way and picked up a few more smallies.  No size to them.  I trolled until dark and didn’t pick up anymore fish.

For my night fishing, I set up over a hole that was 13 feet deep just up from a big downed tree.  One of my lines got snagged up just about as soon as I dropped it in, so I unhappily cut it and retied.  I was completely set up by just after 9:00.  At around 10:00 I got my first hit.  I set the hook and reeled up an average sized channel.  I had gotten lucky and set the hook up through the bottom of its jaw.  I’d be interested to see just how that happened.  It took until almost 11:00 to hook up with my first flattie.  Just a dink.  It hit on the rod behind me and didn’t move the spool one notch on the clicker.  This caused me to be a little slow to get to it and it ended up swallowing the hook.  I tried that through the gills hook removal method that you sometimes see in outdoor magazines.  It worked nicely.  That little guy is going to have a stomach ache for awhile, but I think he’ll live.  I was still in my first spot when I checked the clock and found it to be after midnight.  I started packing up my stuff when I talked myself into trying one more spot.  I moved down from the elbow and dropped anchor in 10 feet of water on a flat.  Too bad I hadn’t just gone home.  No bites.  I finally pulled up the anchor for the last time at a little after 1:00 and buzzed down river, dreading having to get up for work the next day. 

I don’t know what is going on with the flatties.  Terrible thoughts are going through my head like maybe they have been fished out.  I kind of doubt it because there aren’t too many other guys targeting them.  It is rare to see other boats out after dark.  I do still think that it could pick up.  I’ll blame last night on a cold front and spike in the barometric pressure.  I’ve got some sleep to catch up on before I give it another go.  

Back In Action

Michelle graced me with an extra evening of fishing last night.  After dinner and a little time with the family around the house, I headed to the river and dropped the boat in at about 7:30.  I talked river fishing with a guy who was dropping his boat in when I pulled up.  I think I converted him to a cat guy.

I've been keeping my creek chubs on an aerator in a 5 gallon bucket in the basement.  I checked at a pet store and found this magical stuff that neutralizes chlorine in tap water.  It works wonders.  I switch the water everyday and the chubs stay just as healthy as can be for weeks at a time.  I even dropped a few leaf worms in there and found that they had eaten them overnight.  I may just pick up some fish food.  Next it will be an aquarium.  One thing that I did notice is that the fish bleach out after awhile in the bucket.  I'm not sure if it's stress or just because they are stowed away in the dark.  Despite their pale appearance, they are just as strong and healthy after a couple of weeks as the day that I pulled them out of the creek.  All that to lead up to the fact that I had some 2 week bucket bound chubs in the livewell, but most were on the small side and I wanted to start out catching some more bait.  I tried a few different spots about halfway up to the elbow, but nothing was too interested in a crawler.  After awhile I decided that I'd just trade out my 10/0 hooks for 7/0's and fish the chubs.

Remembering the guy who caught the big smallie on  a frog my last time out, I grabbed a bass hook and my Ribbit frogs.  I only had two.  I fished them around a few snags without stirring up anything when I remembered a nice eddie down at Bear Creek.  I motored down and drifted into place even with the creek.  Nothing showed itself in the heart of the mouth, but I got a good swirl when I dragged the frog across that eddie.  I threw the frog again and it got snatched up immediately.  I set the hook and pulled back nothing but limp line.  It must have been a pike.  I stupidly tied on my last frog and dragged it back across the eddie.  The pike pounded it and tore off one leg.  On the subsequent cast it tore off the other leg.  The third time I threw out that crippled frog, the pike grabbed it and once again left my cut monofilament flapping in the wind.  I had a crawler harness on a different pole, so I hooked up a chub and dragged it through there a few times.  The pike ignored it.  I finally decided to tie on a Jitterbug.  On the first cast I saw a swirl about 8 feet away from my bait and then the pike porpoised on it and dragged it down.  It was a 30-incher, but it was pale and skinny as a snake.  I skipped the picture and released it strong.

With the sun setting, I scurried up river and set anchor just up from a huge snag that sits right on the elbow.  It was quiet for a good hour and then just as the moon was clearing the line of trees to the north, I got a hit on one of my rods.  It was a little flattie.  I released it, hooked on one of two rockbass that I had managed to pick up, and dropped it just behind the boat.  It got hit immediately by the twin of my first fish.  I didn't even have that rod back in the water before another rod got thumped and started bending.  This one was bigger, but not much.  I had apparently set anchor over a flathead nursery.  I waited around another hour for mama to show up, but she didn't make an appearance.  I spent one more hour near the bridge, but it was a waste of time.

It's good to see that the flatheads are turning on again.  Tomorrow night Mort and I are taking Luke out.  He and Mort will fish the before dark portion of the night with me, and then I'll get back after the cats.  I brought the kids to the park tonight and loaded up on some big chubs.  Here's to hoping that they get munched by monsters tomorrow night at about this time.

Tuesdays With Morty

Mort and I picked a perfect summer day last week to get back out on the river.  We fished the normal stretch up from the West River launch.  The sky was filled with huge, billowing clouds. They almost looked like they could hold some rain, but we never got a drop.  It was hot when I started out early in the afternoon, but it cooled quite a bit by the time I picked up Mort at a little after 5:00. 

I had committed my alone time to fishing for smallies and walleye.  I ended up spending most of the time trolling for eyes.  I tried a chartreuse Wally Diver and a crawler harness with a Berkley Alive worm in place of a live crawler.  I thought that it would hold up better against the snaggy bottom.  I ran through all of the deep lanes, spending a solid couple of hours plodding my way up river.  I believe that I briefly had a walleye on the crawler harness, but it was gone after a few head shakes.  Not much of a pay off for all of my efforts.  For the sake of being able to say that I had caught fish when I picked up Mort, I spent the last hour drifting and casting for smallies.  I caught 3 or 4 before heading down to the launch to meet him. 

When I picked up Mort, I suggested that we continue the pursuit for walleye.  He was game.  I gave him the rod with the Wally Diver on it and I continued to troll the crawler harness.  I was still letting my line out when he announced that he had a fish.  It turned out to be a 16 inch walleye.  It was the first walleye that we had seen come out of that part of the river in a long time, so we were quite pleased.  I think that I'm going to focus on them a little more throughout the rest of the summer.  I'm starting to hear stories that guys are doing well for them around there. Later that evening we saw a couple of old boys floating leeches along the bridge pylons under slip bobbers.  They reported that they had also caught a 16-incher.

We spent most of the rest of the evening still-fishing just up and then just down from the bridge.  Mort fished crawlers and I decided to lip hook some smaller creek chubs on a one hook crawler harness.  I figured that the current would spin the blade as it sat stationary at the bottom of the river.  The smallies were hot.  They were jumping on the worms and the chubs.  We caught several.  Most of them were smallish.  Our biggest was a 15 incher that bit on a chub.  This fish really had some shoulders and was built like a football.  It stayed deep like a hog.  I was pretty impressed when I saw that it wasn't a very big fish. 

While we were fishing just down from the bridge, we saw a guy fishing a frog in some slow brackish water that pooled around a small snag.  He threw the frog into the snag and began to steadily bring it back.  When it had just cleared the wood, a big smallie came completely out of the water after it.  She completely missed the frog on her first attempt, but came right back and got hooked up.  The guy said that he had caught another nice one in the very same place earlier in the week.  I think that I still have a couple of those Ribbit frogs.  Something to try.

The flatties are still off, or I have completely lost my touch.  I fished deep water around some beautiful snags.  I used live chubs and cut sucker.  Neither got touched.  At closer to midnight I moved up into the flat next to the snaggy holes looking for some cruisers.  Nothing up there either.  I anchored one last time just above the bridge.  When my third spot didn't produce a whisper of a hit, I finally packed it in.  July has been cruel to me in regards to flatheads.  I've probably just got one more chance to avoid a big goose egg for the whole month.  I may try to get my hands on some different types of bait to better my chances.  I've still got a good supply of chubs, but I'll probably try to get some gills and bullheads before my next outing.  Something's got to work.

Week of Freedom

Having 3 small children, I just can't leave whenever I want to spend some time on the river.  Most of my trips are the result of some planning and more than a little bargaining with the wife.  It's only fair.  I know that being at home with all 3 kids is quite a bit of work.  If I'm going to leave Michelle with this responsibility, it's only fair that I offer to reciprocate at some time in the near future.  The thing is, my whole being is screaming to fish much of the time, so all of my planning and focus is on fishing trips.  It gets old.  The wife wonders when I'm going to actually plan a little family vacation, a day for the two of us to get away, a date, anything.  I don't have a good answer for this.  There are plenty of good intentions, but admittedly not much follow up as of yet.  On my end, I do spend almost all of my time either at work or with my family.  I consider myself an active and involved dad.  Is it too much to ask to spend one or two nights a week fishing, especially when most of my time away is after bedtime? 

You're probably getting the idea that this can get pretty complicated in our home.  That is why I couldn't believe my ears a few years ago when Michelle was talking to her sister, Heather, in Boston and it sounded like they were planning for Michelle and Hayden to go out there for a week.  I was pretty sure that the grandmas would be willing to watch Luke for me (We didn't have Lincoln yet).  A full week of nothing but fishing hadn't even been close to my radar before this.  As it began to sink in that this was, in fact,  going to happen, I calmly walked into the bedroom away from the family and threw down the best white boy dance I could muster.  Until then I hadn't dared to dream of a full week of freedom, of 168 straight hours in which I could fish whenever I wanted.  Now, it was coming and it was all that I could think about.

It was 4 or 5 months between that phone call and the actual trip, but it eventually rolled around.  Luke was already up at Grandma's and I dropped Michelle and Hayden off on a beautiful Sunday morning.  As luck would have it, Michelle knew someone who worked at the airport and he was able to get me into the terminal to wait until it was time for them to board the plane.  Oh, good!  Thanks, guy!  My drop and run turned into an hour-and-a-half in a crowded airport terminal.  I was thrilled.  I was just starting to twitch when their flight was called and I was finally sprung to the river.

Murphy showed up a few days before Freedom Week and dropped several inches of rain on West Michigan.  I knew the river was high, but I had no idea what I was in for.  I pulled into the parking lot and found the launch and most of the dock under water.  The river was swelled far beyond its banks.  The current was pushing by at an extremely high rate and it was full of everything from small branches to huge uprooted trees.  I've got a stubborn side, so instead of heading to a local lake, I backed the trailor into the dirty foam that was swirling in the submerged gravel drive above the launch and got ready to head up river.

The bridge generally sits several feet above the water surface, but with the river in the state that it was I could practically touch its girded underbelly as I past by.  There was so much junk floating in the current that I couldn't go at much more than idle speed for fear that I'd run up on a bobbing tree trunk.  For months I dreamed of 18 hour days on the river filled with big green flatties and an assortment of other gamefish.  Those dreams were quickly being replaced by a sickness in the pit of my stomach.  I knew that the fish were just down there holding onto something.  They wouldn't think about eating for well over a week.  Still, I found a big snag outside of the main river channel and anchored.  I figured that maybe something was sitting down there trying to stay out of the current.  If I was lucky, it would hit a big piece of cut bait.  I sat at my first spot for close to 2 hours.  I quickly developed the frequent habit of looking over my shoulder to make sure that I didn't get run over by an errant  tree.  Three times I had to pick up anchor and move out of the way while the waterlogged remains of an oak or maple with branches still full of bright green leaves pushed through my spot.  I found too that it was useless to try to keep my lines in the water, as there was just as much stuff bouncing along the riverbed as there was on the surface.  I stayed until dark, and then went home fishless and defeated.

I kept a close eye on the water level that week and tried it a few more times as the river dropped a couple of feet per day.  Eventually, the posts of the dock were most of the way out of the water.  I used it once, but discovered that hundreds of spiders were taking refuge on those posts.  I still get a shiver thinking about  laying my hand on the post nearest to shore and having the surface go fluid as a layer of big, white spiders either moved to get out from under my hand or climbed aboard in hopes that my arm was the way to solid ground.  I sputtered unintelligible curse words and shook my hand with an adrenaline charged violence.  I could feel them crawling inside of my clothes for the rest of the night.

Eventually the river shrank back down to something close to normal.  The first fish I caught that week was a sucker.  This is probably the happiest I've ever been to see one of these dumb looking fish.  I picked up a few channel cats, but things just never got right until a week or so after the family returned.  My dad talked me into hitting a local lake during one of the evenings, but we happened to hit it on tournament night.  We stopped fishing to watch 25 boats race to their spots, and then decided to head in early as there wasn't much shoreline left to fish.

I've had a few more Freedom Weeks with the family in Boston since then.  I look forward to them with intense anticipation each time they are made available.  I probably shouldn't admit this, but by the time the ends of those weeks roll around, I'm ready to get off of the river and spend some time with the family.  I think that I'm in the best situation that I can be in.  I fish just enough to keep the hunger.  Having all of the responsibility that I do and having to work for my outings makes them all the more enjoyable.  If I could go all the time, I think that my outings would actually lose a little of their luster.  I wouldn't mind testing that hypothesis.  I don't think Michelle would go for it.

Speaking of Michelle, this Sunday is Valentine's Day.  To demonstrate some growth, I've devised a plan and I'm actually going to follow through with it.  She's been extremely busy and stressed with a new teaching position this year.  The spa is her ultimate relief.  I've saved a little money and I'm planning on taking Monday off to be with the kids while I send her to the spa.  There's hope for me yet.

Take A Kid Fishing

This is a noble mantra that is plastered throughout fishing magazines and is ritually cited at the end of a number of fishing shows.  It sounds good.  What can be better than a day on the water with a mini-you?  Before any of my kids were born, I pictured how it would be to share my passion for angling with them.  I'm sexist so the picture was generally of a little boy.  Detroit Tigers hat pulled tight and low over his eyes to guard from the sun, he'd sit next to me with fishing pole in hand.  All focus would be narrowed in on the end of that rod, and all conversation would revolve around the excitement of catching the next fish.  I'd look down at him with pride, and he'd look up at me wanting to make me proud.  It was going to be a beautiful moment between father and son. 

At the same time, I've always said that I wouldn't pressure my kids into fishing or any other sport or hobby.  I would support them in whatever interests they had.  The reality of it is, when Dad talks fishing, watches fishing, constantly tinkers with his fishing gear, and is gone on these mystical fishing adventures, the kids are naturally drawn to it.  My oldest son, Luke, was 3 last summer.  He started asking to come out on the river with me.  He seemed ready, so I came up with a plan to fish with him for a few hours one evening and then have my parents pick him up and let him sleep at their house while I stayed out to fish for cats.

I've heard that the key to any successful fishing trip with a kid is to stock up on snacks.  Luke and I stopped at the gas station on the way up to my parents' and picked up several kinds of candy and this sugary liquid called "Bug Juice."  This stuff made the whole trip for him.  Not because it tasted good, but because of the name.  I think he'd drink motor oil if they put it in a squirt bottle, covered it in cartoon spiders, and called it Bug Juice.

Luke was excited to drive the boat, so I put him on my lap and let him feel like he had full control of the great vessel.  Once we were pointed into open water, I let him push the throttle forward and more or less steer us up river.  I stopped at the first spot and helped him cast his Spiderman rod out.  I was so into this being a trip all about Luke, I even kept myself from fishing with my own rods and reels.  The line wasn't out for more than a few minutes before Luke declared, "I don't think this is a very good spot.  We better move."  "Really?  Okay."  Out came the half drowned worm, up came the anchor, and off we went.  I picked another spot that was a pretty good producer and got us all set up again.  "I don't think this is a very good spot.  We better move."  I was sensing a pattern.  "Why do you want to move again, Luke?"  "Dad, I don't really want to catch a fish."  "What's that?"

You know all of that mumbo jumbo about not pressuring my kids into becoming master anglers?  I was finding that easier said than done right at that moment.  Somehow, I was able to reach deep inside and not allow myself to get stuck there for too long.  I realized that Luke's favorite part about coming out on the river was driving the boat.  Sitting in one place must have felt pretty boring to him when he compared it to captaining the ship.  Out came the half drowned worm, up came the anchor, and off we went.  If this was an episode of Super Nanny it would be time to roll the credits as she squeezed into the back of her little car feeling all good about herself.  The ignorant parent had finally realized what a fool he had been and he had changed his evil ways.

I always wonder what really happens after the Super Nanny crew leaves those families.  I'm pretty sure that they all fall apart again within a few days, maybe a few hours.  I got it, Luke would rather drive the boat than sit in one place.  I let him.  You would expect that he would be just as happy as he could be.  Instead he got mad because we were going too slow.  "Go ahead and open it up, boy."  Pretty soon we were going too fast.  "C'mon, buddy.  Let's go ahead and get back down by the bridge and you can take a break and drink your Bug Juice."  "I've got to pee."

Throttle down, shorts down, hang him over the edge.  Like his dad, the boy gets the stage fright.  Everything has to be just right to get the stream flowing.  I guess spinning down a river with his dad hoisting him over dirty water wasn't Luke's idea of "just right."  I looked around the boat and my eyes landed on the Bug Juice bottle.  Luke wouldn't have any of it.  Finally, I had to get out my tupperware container that usually holds my cut bait.  I figured the flatties might like a little salt flavoring on their sucker backstraps that night.  This larger container allowed Luke to finally relax enough to flip that psychological pee switch.  We were both pretty relieved.

We finally made it back down between the bridge and the launch.  Our new plan was to use Luke's fishing pole to catch some suckers for Dad to use later in the night.  "Dad, I have to poop."  "Where's my cell phone?  I'm pretty sure that Grandma is ready to pick you up."

Take a kid fishing, but don't get too set on fishing.  Be ready for anything.  Despite my depiction of that evening, we really did have fun and Luke still talks about it.  Somewhere in there, he caught his first catfish.  It was a tiny little channel cat that jabbed me in the hand with its spine when I went to release it.  My hand swelled a little bit and itched for the rest of the night.

Just the other day, Luke asked me when we could go back out in Grandpa's boat.  "Really, you want to go fishing again?"  "Yeah, I want some of that Bug Juice."

An Introduction

I'm a bit out of place.  Not because I'm a fisherman in Michigan.  West Michigan is a great place to live if you love to fish.  I'm out of place because I live in Michigan and I'm not quite whole unless I'm sitting in a boat in the middle of the pitch dark river begging any of my 3 rods to dip towards the black water with the weight of a big flathead catfish.  I am a fisherman, but first and foremost, I am a flathead fisherman.  There are so many states that are better suited for a flathead fisherman.  In fact, I imagine that some would be surprised that we even have them up here in our yankee state.  We don't have the 50+ pounders, but we have them.  For that, I consider myself fortunate.  To add to my good fortune, I live within minutes of the Grand, a lazy old river that has a pretty good stock of them.

I'll get into my love of the river, of flatties, and of my passion for all kinds of fishing in future entries.  For now, I should inform the reader of my general intentions for this blog.  Like most guys who love the water, I get out maybe twice a week in the spring, summer, and fall.  I get out maybe once every week or two in the winter when the ice is good.  The rest of the time, I'm either thinking about fishing, reading up on fishing, watching a video about fishing, or getting ready for fishing.  I have a one track mind and those closest to me, even fellow fishermen, tend to go glass eyed when I inevitably turn the conversation to exactly what hook I like to use for some specific application.  To spare them, I decided that I'd better find another outlet for this need to spew all things angling.  This is my forum.

I look forward to next spring when I can share fresh experiences as they occur.  Until then, I'll dig into some of my best and maybe worst memories and share them with you.  I'll talk tactics and share some general observations that I have about what is going on in the fishing world around us.  Hopefully people out there who share my obsession will find some value or at least some entertainment in my ramblings.  I'm spending New Year's Eve on the ice with my brother-in-law and nephew.  Time to go start getting ready.