Pickerel Pond?

    Last weekend I decided to hit the pickerel pond, this time armed with two dozen medium minnows in search of a big Pickerel.  The first observation I made was the fact that the grass was about to break the surface--a good sign that the topwater action is about to take off.  With the water temp. around 55*, I was expecting the Pickerel, coldwater spawners, to be burried in the deepwater weedbeds.  Thoughts of twenty-five inch Jackfish haunted my mind.

    With the first few casts it was evident that the only Largemouth I have ever caught here has a larger family tree than I expected.  My first fish of the day was solid 5-pound male off of a bed in about two feet of water.  We hit the spawn spot on this time, being the male fish, that fans the bed with his tail, it was almost dripping with blood.  This guy came off of the only crayfish in the minnow bucket.

    Unfortunately, the minnows didn't come through, and with the spawning story confirmed, I couldn't wait to tie on a Senko.  Countless fish came off of a 4", green pumpkin Senko, both Pickerel and Bass.  My trophy Pickerel did make a showing, a two footer that took a swipe at a waking senko--but did not commit.

    As the sun sank behind the houses on the opposite bank, the Largemouth bite turned on.  In multiple cases I managed to take both fish off of the beds.  Closer to time to go home, I returned to the dam side of the pond to fish the shallow weedbeds there.  To my surprise, these bass were not Largemouth, but Spotted Bass.  And how?  Its mysteries like these that accompany many bodies of water that keep the sportsmen interested.

    Unfortunately, I failed to take a picture of these fish, I will remember to next trip.  Its also worth mentioning that these Spot were nice chunks--about a pound on average, which is a decent Spotted Bass in the Commonwealth.  This trip was just the confidence boost I needed to start the spring fishing pattern.

More Fun WIth Pickerel

This week, at my other house, I was blessed with a no homework weekend (the first in a LONG time).  My desire to hit the pond again, as I had to leave on an adrenaline pumped mind last time, drove me back.  Snow had fallen overnight, and church took up the first part of the day, so the excursion was set for the afternoon.

My dad met me there because I now had him excited with stories of big pickerel.  The first fish came quick, off a grassbed again.  The pattern began to be apparent, and I theorized that the fish were gaurding their beds in the grass.  These fish all came on the Berkeley Rippleshad.

After a few fish we changed to yamamoto grubs, rigged on jigheads.  Casts into the depths of the pond began to yeild larger fish.  Soon a big splash and tailwalking thrashes came from my dad's direction, he lifted the big 20 incher onto the bank with a swing of his rod--the big fish of the trip.

Several fish later, we came across a shallow fish, who kept taking my dad's grub.  two, three, four, five times, then he was gone.  With my ultralight rod, I flipped a small, gold spoon into the fish's path.  As expected, he took it and ran.  Before I lifted the little guy out of the water, at my feet, the razor-like teeth of the pickerel severed the light four pound line--he was gone. 

A few minutes later, I hooked a small fish on my grub in the same spot, but in deeper water.  This time I got it in my hands.  As I worked him into shallow water, a small gold flash came from his head--my spoon!  We snapped a quick picture and removed  both lures from the fish's mouth.  after removing the bulky grub, I noticed a tail protruding from his throat.  Upon pulling it out, we identified his last meal as a creek chub.  We now know the main forage.

Naturally, knowing the main forage present in the pond, I started brainstorming ways to catch more fish.  I was excited to plan a trip with my brother who loves pickerel.  We figured we'd sein minnows and chubs from Cunningham Creek just down the hill, and then smash some pickerel under slip bobbers.  I can't wait!

A Spring Surprise

    The subdivision I live in in central Virginia sports a fairly empty (as far as fish go) pond.  Six years of second chances on this pond has produced far less than expected.  However, the next subdivision links to ours in the back, and they too have a twin pond.  Before now, never have I fished this pond, but the knowledge of its significant age instilled high hopes in my mind.

    On a wim, I took the last hour of light after spending a day raking leaves and playing with the two new Irish Setter, Maggie and Fiona, to pop over to the pond and fish.  My main mission that day was to determine the status of Cunningham Creek (fishy/fishless), but after finding no fish, my interests led me out of the woods to the pond.

    On the first cast, against a small grassbed, a short 9" Pickerel inhaled my 2" grub.  Pickerel were the last things I was hoping to find here (not because they are not fun to catch, but because they are not prominant many places here), so I released the green missle and placed another long cast outside the grassline.  My grup had scarcly hit the water before the line went tight, and limp, just as soon--I was bitten off.

    Bummed, because I had no other tackle with me (mistake!), I realized I had brought my fly rod.  Two casts with the new 3wt. rigged with a yellow CK nymph brought a football largemouth and a small bluegill to the bank.

    About this time the phone rung and it was time for dinner.  Disappointed, but anxious to share my story, I headed home in the rain.

Strike 2

    In an attempt to take my second fish of 2011, I devoted my Saturday to fishing. 
      
    We piled into the suburban at about 11:00 to head over to pick up the Z8 from the shop and fish Anna for the afternoon.  However, upon arriving, loading the boat, and launching, the dreaded beep in the ignition told us the battery was dead.
   
    We arrived home at about 3:00, and my fire was still burning, so I said, "I'll hit the creek."  A half hour later I was standing next to the roaring creek tying on a black CK Nymph.  Thoughts of Pickerel are still running through my head.  The VDGIF calendar says that pickerel are now spawing, but of course that doesn't mean they're here yet.  Ten miles of bridges, waterfalls, and beaver dams have to be navigated first. 
   
    I hiked downstream this time, rerouting often to navigate beaver fields and overflows.  These guys are really affecting the fishery that once was, I need to do something about that--but I digress.


    It is quite easy to tell, just by examining a few pools in the creek, whether the fish have come or not--it is quite black and white this far up.  Even in the winter, the creek is devoid of the smallest minnows.  It was quickly evident that the run had not been made yet, even below the dam.  But as fishing is just as theraputic as it is fun for me, I enjoyed pretending, casting to fish who had not yet felt the spawing urge.

    Next weekend, yes, next weekend will be the time.  I'll be ready.

Spring Fever

    My Cunningham Creek outing was an annual marker of the release of the winter-time tension I regard as spring fever.  This weekend I made another attempt at my first fish of 2011.

    My grandparents have a lake house in a small town in eastern Va.  Every year we make several trips to visit them and our cousins.  Fishing is a major perk here, as the Crappie fishing is excellent.  This time, I only brought along my fly rod--I was going to make my first fish of the year come on the excellent rod I got for my birthday. 

    After two different ponds and three different flies, I finally pulled my first fish from the water--a small bluegill. 

    I usually catch my first fish of the year without knowing it was the first, I guess I'm just not a head counter.  However, I do enjoy setting goals for myself, and after seeing the headline in Field & Stream I thought I'd make it my February mission. 

    My little 3 weight handled a four ounce bluegill beautifully, and I can't wait to try it out on a thirteen inch trout!

Cunningham Creek in 2011

    I recieved a new fly rod for my birthday and decided that it was time to take a trip to Cunningham Creek, a small Rivanna River tributary near my home.  I had Pickerel in mind, but they shouldn't run up the creeks to spawn for another month. 
    Upon reaching the creek and finding my 7' 6" 3wt. to be casting nicely, I gave up fishing, as these tributaries are literally empty prior to the spawn.  My other purpose of this trip was to shed hunt.  A friend of mine informed me of seeing a few one-sided bucks around Fluvanna--no sheds were found.
    The draw of adventure pulled me farther upstream than I had ever been, helping me to discover better looking water than was present in the middle stretches.

    A bit of mystique accompanies adventure in most cases, so you will see how this event sort of creeped me out.  While crossing the creek, in new territory, I noticed the birds had stopped singing; my dog, Shannon, had started to whine; and a breeze was beginning to create a whine in the hollow.  I stopped to scan my surroundings when I noticed a tall, dark, object behind me!  Bigfoot!  

    No worries, this hairy beast was nothing more than a weirdly shaped stump.  When its time, give it three weeks or so, I can't wait to hadle a fiesty Pickerel on a 3wt.!

The Beginning in the End

I know inside its because I'm passionate, but I sometimes wonder why I would deprive myself of three hours of sleep in a warm bed to stumble through the woods and sit up against the base of a tree for hours in the cold.  Am I crazy?  Maybe.

Today, unlike the last closer, was relatively warm.  The thermostat hit 60* in Fluvanna, as opposed to the below zero temps of last January.  A relatively new moon should have had the deer moving out to feed just before sunrise, and with no grass on our property, I wasn't sure how to hunt them.  So, I took vigil outside of a bedding area to catch any of the stragglers......there were none.

What where there were squirrels, pairs of them running around to take care of their winter litters. So, after two hours, I traded in the boom-stick for the air rifle and claimed four of the frisky rodents for the freezer.

After some food and rest, I grabbed the 20 Gauge and hit the woods agian, this time still hunting.  With the wind and light rain, the deer were almost certainly bedded down.  Slowly, I worked my way through the laps on the side of the ridge, looking for any part of a deer I could see, always ready for a jump shot.
The last day of the Eastern Virginia deer season ended without even a deer sighting.