Bass Idiology

Some would say that bass fishing all comes down to luck. Others say it's and intricate form of art that takes an almost zen-like approach to master. I say it is a perfect marriage of the two. Taking the fundamentals of statistics, adding its own randomness to the equation and the knowledge and physical skill only obtained by a seasoned veteran trained in targeting only three species of fish. I'll give you my reasons for truly believing in this theory (perhaps asking yourself why I waste the time).

First off, "skill" as they call it, in my opinion is a relative term. It comes in different levels. One of the things I pride myself on, is the fact that I know that this is the one angle that I can control. I can practice casting, rigging, etc. and become more efficient in these categories. Now, let's say I was me and I was lumped in with some Elite Series pros in a conversation about skill and worth out on the water... I would most assuredly come out with the short end of the stick in that debate. Then, say the same conversation, but I am among other anglers that fish on the same level as me and in the same state, body of water, quality of gear, etc. Now where do I place among those anglers being debated as the better? Probably still low on the totem pole but that's beside the point. My point is... exactly as I stated before. Skill is a relative term. Why? Because one can lack thereof if categorized incorrectly. You can only measure ones true angling skill if you gauge them appropriately. If you are measuring a source of electricity that pumps out only mv, and you have the volt meter set to a 200v range; you are bound to have a reading that is nearly impossible to comprehend. Ya dig?

Luck... Not a term of relativity but one that should be taken into consideration in terms of statistical behavior among the fish one is trying to catch. Yes, bass have habits. Papers have been written by scientists and patterns have been recognized by fishermen and general traits such as predatory behavior can be obviously expected. The catch (no pun intended) is all the variables that play into who is where and when. Let's pretend for a second that we could follow the biggest bass on the upper Chesapeake Bay. She is an 11-10 (let's just say) and she is hunkered down on a piece of timber near the shore about a 1.5 miles up the Northeast River. There is a tournament tomorrow with 150 boats. In order for that fish to be 'guaranteed' (100% probability) to be caught, you would have to have each and every angler fish every variation of lure, every single dock and piece of cover and structure within the limits of the species salinity tolerance. Every combination of every variable would have to be met. Now we could say the same for any specific fish. I just chose "the biggest fish" for interest. The figure in this equation that allows fish to be brought in to the scales, is the sheer fact that the fish are populated in a large whole number and disbursed among the entire area; of which is a variable factor its self.

If we take a lump of the statistical values and a lump of the fundamental skills we talked about, and welded that together, that is what gives us our KVD's and our Mike Iaconelli's. They take those two main bodies and mold them together in their own twisted ways and live by it. It allows them to catch fish on a level that makes us hate them for it or cheer them for it. You may call this post philosophical; you may call it bull shit. But there is always the one roll of the dice that says its truth.

Soggy Finish

Emerging from my front door, its 4:00am and the rain had the familiarity of standing in the shower earlier. I was ready from head to toe. My Colombian rain suit works like the feathers on a duck's back, the boat was hooked up and my gear was loaded. Garrisons lake, my destination, is just a large flooded flat area. It seldom exceeds 4 feet deep and in my book is a sorry excuse for a lake if there ever was one.

As bass clubs do, we all helped each other get our boats in the water. The ramp was a soggy mess as was everything else... boat carpet, soft plastics, any early morning breakfasts left uneaten until arrival at the lake. We all launched our boats and started our live wells with the implication that the fish would be placed there just as soon as wetting lines commenced. Tackle being tied, rods being taken out of their respective compartments, money being handed to the tournament director in five dollar increments. One angler making the point of the net worth of all the boats we had in the water. Can't remember the judgment he came up with but it was somewhere in the hundred thousand range.

As the first hint of the sun rose, boats began to take their positions. By first safe light the first boat took of with the blast of the trolling motor. Unlike deeper more expansive lakes, at take off all you heard was the hum of electric motors. Comical almost, the big over sized outboards would not even be used. I was second to last to take off but I hung back. I noticed a lay down that stretched from the shore out into the water about 6 feet. The water was at full pool from the rain and the lay down was still in about 9 inches of water. No slope to the bank. No fish on the lay down. I continued down the left side of the lake all the while covering water with a Penrod color/style spinnerbait. In the summer, about 50% of the lake is covered in spatterdock. It was just starting to poke through the bottom. I started fan casting across the future area of spatterdock land just after a point, in the mouth of a cove. Pulling the spinner through the sprouts about an inch off the bottom at a slow pace; I hooked my first fish. It was looking good for me. 20 minutes into it and I boated my first of the day at 1-12. I kept fan casting the area looking for another but it never came.

Looking outward onto the lake, I spotted a 4 pounder jump in a patch of spatterdock smack in the middle of the lake. I worked my way over, pretending I didn't see it. If you motor over with haste, others will catch on. I started by throwing a jig in the middle where I saw him (or her) and slowly bouncing it on the bottom. It didn't bite so I showed the spinnerbait I hooked up on the last one with. Still nothing. I moved over to a big lay down that sat in about a foot of water. Using the jig to probe different areas of it; trying to find the spot within the spot. Just at the perfect time the damn wind decides to pick up and starts blowing me all over the place. I get off one more flip and I get bit. To be honest, I wasn't ready. Instead I was pulling line off my reel from a little backlash causing me to miss the strike.

By now, the sun was up behind the thick cloud cover. I decided to move into a patch spatterdock furthest back in the lake. I had switched my spinnerbait out with a buzzbait and was slowly working it back to the boat, causing it to sink the blades just under the surface. Just as it tapped one of the pads a 1-11 took it. Fish number 2 in the live well and feeling pretty good about the next few hours.

I swung back around to the law down I got bit on. The wind slowed and I could maintain a good position on the structure. No takers there so I moved around the corner into a long skinny cove, almost like a creek. Very shallow in the back so I could not fish it all. I concentrated my efforts on the edges but not wasting too much time, as I knew it had been pounded by at least 2 other anglers earlier that morning. One thing stuck out though. A beaver lodge stood close to the right bank where I have ALWAYS had great results in hooking up. Beaver lodges and dams are the favorite place for flipping a jig for me. 3 quarters of the time it's big fish too. I started at the deepest side where it appeared that the resident had dug into the sediment to create a front door. Just as my jig hit the wood under the water I felt the "ding ding ding" from the other end of the line as the cue to set the hook. Once I set the hook I felt the most monstrous pull on my line I have ever felt while bass fishing. Mud churned as the surface thrashed about with disturbance. I was thinking to myself "I just locked up the lunker pot". I gave my G Loomis Mossyback a hard two handed pull and towed it out of the sticks. But instead of seeing a green scaled creature, I saw a brown furry animal, falling into phylum classification of my own (mammal). I get back to the boat and it seemed I had hooked into the tail of the resident of the 'house' I was fishing. As one could imagine, he was not happy with my antics, participating of a series of attempts to swim away followed by surfacing near the boat and releasing a growl that would prove good competition for your run of the mill Raccoon. Finally with it's head below water and tail up, I could see the hook had just barely pierced the tough skin on it's signature tail. I reached over with my free arm and grabbed one of my rods and used the butt of it to knock out the hook, freeing him to return to it's residence.

I continued on with the same pattern as I did earlier that day but it did not produce any more fish. I went to the scales with my two catches of the day (the beaver did not count) weighing in at 3.38 lbs. enough to lock me onto 5th place. All in all, the day amounted to a dose of soggy consistency.

Haven: First of the Season

Just wanted to work out the cob webs and see if I could get back in the full swing. Went out to Haven and threw a crank and spinner, but to no avail. Funny because the day before i was just up the road at Griffith sinking structure around the lake, the air temp got into the 70's and I know the shallows had to have heated up to the high 50's at least. Next thing I see is bass running around in the shallows like it's recess at the local elementary school. Back to haven, the day was for sure not the same as the day prior. A little windy, the night before had fallen into the low low 40's and snow melt runoff flowing like a river into the lake all week long. The temp that day got up into the 60's by 12:30 PM, but I just could not coax a bite. I think I cranked the paint off a Rapala DT6 in Fire tiger and spun the blades off a Strike King Perfect Skirt in blue and white. We started at a relatively shallow flat that made up the mouth of a creek coming into the main body. Water temps in the morning read 49.7 and by 1:00 PM the temp rose up by 2 tenths of a degree. Didn't matter... Not even the pickerel were willing to give my Strike King a try. Hard to tell what it was that locked up the fish, but between the pressure already mounted on the place, snow melt cooling down the water and a high pressure system rolling through, I'm guessing the fish were more like rocks at the bottom than, well, fish. And we all know that rocks won't bite a hook.

Winter's Last Stand

It's snowing like crazy right now and I was just saying yesterday that I thought spring was on it's way. Just as the first day of March rolls in, it's demeanor thus far expresses unkind intentions for this year. I am glad made the decision to force a fishing trip yesterday. I spun off the cover to the boat, loaded up the gear I took out for the winter, hooked up and took off for the Seaford boat ramp at the Nanny. (Nanticoke for those of you who don't know the slang) As soon as I launched, I fired up the big motor and headed up river to find some skinny water with good structure. The water temp was cold at 44 degrees, tide was way out and and still running out with the wind. All the spatter dock is still dead and has not even started to punch through the mud yet. Motoring up into some clear looking water I grabbed my G Loomis spinnerbait rod and tied on a Booyah spinnerbait with a gold and silver blade and a white skirt with a little chartreuse in it. Before I started throwing that, I also tied a green jig on my flipp'n rod and started putting it right in the bottoms of cover near deep banks. No takers there. I swam the spinnerbait across the cover a couple times and then fan casted more out toward the deeper water in the center. After repeating this in about three different places all in line with each other, I picked off a nice 4.5 - 5 pound fish, slamming my spinnerbait in about 5 feet of water. After that, the air temp was steady falling every 30 minutes and I could tell the ride back would be hell. Overall it took me about 35 minutes of fishing to catch a fish worthy of some notoriety. I picked the right place to go, and I am confident that I could have filled a limit in that area. The thought that I am learning the Nanticoke is a delighting prospect. I had a hard time with it last year and I thought i would never get it. The tide kills me every time. Well I can say as sure as it is snowing right now, I will be a force this year on the Nanny. As soon as this crappy winter takes a hike that is.