Something’s Fishy Day 1

I had a potential charter for Saturday morning that never materialized, but with conditions prime, this was the morning to cast care to the wind and go for it.

Equipped with a fast boat, two rods, a couple extra plastic baits, and bottled water, I headed out to Lake Decade before daylight in anticipation that this would be the day.

My special spot was waiting for my arrival, just before the sun peaked over the trees.  Hoping the trout were there, I wondered when they would be ready for breakfast.  All I could do was cast and see what happened.

It took a little trolling around, and a dozen or so preliminary casts, but by the time the sun shone fully on the lake, the trout were awake and feeding.

Off in the distance a clump of boats, bunched together, jockeyed for perfect position for trout catching.  I have this theory, though, that most fishermen are like sheep.  They rush to the lake, without a game plan, and once there, look around to see where the most boats are congregated.  Figuring that is where the trout are holed up, they head there with full force, and the competition for casting space is on.

Not me.   A couple honey holes have revealed themselves to me over years of fishing this lake and have consistently yielded fish when conditions were right.  One has only to learn to read a lake and look for the fishy water. Additionally, those ideal conditions make the difference between a good day fishing and a great day catching!

Typically, speckled trout and reds roam the same waters, competing for food; and while some people target reds, they were by-catch for me on this trip.  Unless I have plans to grill a fresh red the day of the catch, I usually give them away to road-side fisherfolks who look like they could use a fish or two.  Other times, they get tagged and released.

After a nice round of catching, I took a little break from the action and thought about my readers, wishing you could experience the magnificence of the morning  In so doing, I lost track of the fish.  Shortly, an older gentleman, also fishing solo, trolled closer and closer to my little area.  Before long, he found the fish and began reeling them in every other cast.

Not wanting to intrude on his good fortune, and since I already had a box full of trout, I nonchalantly cast on the perimeter of the hot spot. After my four nonproductive casts, he hollered at me,

“Hey what you fishing with?”

“A Blue Moon” I answered.

“Oh, you need to be fishing with a glow and chartreuse–anything that looks like a shrimp.”

Humoring him, and not wanting to refute his advice, I fumbled around in the on-board tackle box looking for a glow bait.  When I looked up, he was trolling over to me, a package of baits in his hand.

“Here.  This is what you need.  I been picking off fish along the bank since daylight, and the bite just now turned on!  That bait works good because it’s impregnated with garlic and it has great tail action!”

I thanked him, told him I’d also been there since daylight, and promptly slipped one of his baits on my hook.  A few casts later, the wind changed and the bite shut down.

He didn’t bother to ask me if I had caught anything.  If I had opened my box and shown him a limit of trout and one big red, I wonder if he would have asked for his baits back?  He was a nice man who was willing to help a gal out and share his favorite baits.  I was very appreciative, and therefore decided against showing him how well my Blue Moon had served me.

With the first limit of the Decade fall season under my belt, I felt on top of the world–almost euphoric.  As I pulled up the trolling motor and waved goodbye to my new fishing friend, a growing group of sheeple boats continued their trolling dance for those speckled yellow mouths.

I just idled around them, smiled and waved as I left them to their trolling ballet!

Most of these trout had empty stomachs, indicating that they were indeed very hungry and that I had hit them at just the right time.  One of them had  in its belly a shrimp so fresh I could have sworn it was still alive when it fell out of the stomach, its rostrum pricking my finger.

The filleted fruits of my labor, piled high, remind me what a wonderful life we live on the bayou, with an abundance of marine life just a short boat ride away.  Trout fillets like this are hard to beat when it comes to a versatile fish.  They are good pan seared, fried, baked, broiled, and grilled.

There’s just something so mind-clearing and invigorating about a gorgeous, productive morning of fishing and catching.  If you haven’t been bitten by the fishing bug, I feel kind of sorry for you.  There’s just nothing else quite like it.  If you’ve never fished for fall and winter trout in Lake Decade, what are you waiting for?

Day 2

Day two found me on the lake just at sunup.  With this fantastic sunrise came the promise of another beautiful morning.  It would be hard to pay attention to fishing with so many colors to observe in the sky, reflected on the water.

Being the smart-thinking fisherman, I decided to start off where I left off the day before when the bite had shut down.  Further thinking that if the trout were really hungry first thing in the morning, it matters not whether you throw a Blue Moon or a Glow Chartreuse plastic bait at them.  Putting my favorite bait aside, I slipped on one of the glow baits donated by the kind gentleman from the day before.  Hey, I’m always open to trying new things and learning new tricks!

The boat configuration was different this morning, though.  There were only half as many, and they were not near the middle of the lake.  Instead, they were all trolling very near “my honey hole”, which disturbed me.  Did you know that fishermen keep binoculars in their boats so they can see who’s catching what and with what bait?  I kid you not!

My inquiring mind began to wonder how many of those guys were spying on me yesterday morning and were today trying to beat me to my spot, except that they weren’t quite sure where it was.  (That’s my alter fishing ego being paranoid, okay?)

Not to be outdone, I stopped short of my hot spot and dropped the trolling motor.  All the while watching them, I pretended to be tending to my tackle.  Hmmm. They were searching and had not found them yet.  All I had to do was be patient and wait for them to move on–away from my spot.

They did so in relatively short time, while I snapped a few pics of the sunrise for you all.  Trolling slowly toward the spot, I cast with my back toward the other boats, so they would not see me catch anything.  Approaching the watermark from the day before, WHAM! The bite was ON!

It is nearly impossible to pull a trout in quietly.  Try as you may to reel them in subsurface, the trout insist on rising to the top, shaking their heads, and making their presence and unhappiness known.

The so-called watermark, was actually a crab-trap buoy.  Dropping anchor would have made life easier, but it’s also a dead giveaway that one is fishing a productive spot, especially when there is no wind.  Therefore, using that 82-pound thrust troller enabled me to hold an optimal position relative to the buoy.

Three men, in a small boat just about 30 yards to the west watched with keen interest as I slung in trout after trout, dropping them on the floor, not wasting time putting them in the cooler while the bite was so fast. Even though they politely kept their distance,  they watched intently.

After I had nearly a dozen trout and two reds in the boat,  two men in a small boat began trolling toward my area from the east.  They had been watching me from afar, fishing with rattle corks.  When they got close enough to see that I was not using a cork, they actually stopped and re-rigged their tackle to fish tight-line on the bottom, like I was.

I hoped they knew that there really were enough fish for everyone in this lake, and that they need not crowd anyone.   As I watched them, acting like they had never noticed my catching spree, they trolled closer and closer to the imaginary edge of what’s considered acceptable.

Hoping they were seasoned fishermen, I continued to cast into my hot spot giving them a visual of how far they could come without disturbing me.  It’s fishermen language.   Even though unspoken, it still speaks very loudly.  They cast here and there, acting like they didn’t have a care in the world.  They trolled closer and closer, and before I could say STOP, they had trolled right over the fish, dispersing the school and shutting down the bite.

The really tormenting part is that they did not catch one fish in so doing.  So of what benefit was that?  Next time, I might have to muster up the courage to say something like, “Excuse me, gentlemen, feel free to cast just beyond my reach and see what you find.”  Maybe they were clueless.  Maybe they were rookies.

Even though it’s 2009, is it possible that some fishermen still don’t believe a woman should be on the lake fishing?  If so, would they go so far as to do something like troll over a productive area on purpose?  I prefer to think not, but I think I’m safe in saying they certainly would not take any tips from her.

Shaking my head in disbelief and disgust, I let them have the spot–now void of fish.  I trolled back east to my honey hole from the morning before, which was occupied by a few more men-laden boats.  Respecting their space, I waited and watched from a distance.  Zero.  They caught nothing.  So, I trolled on a little further to the east, waiting them out.

It was only about 8:30 a.m.  when one by one, they left—one, two, three boats raced back to the landing.   No sooner had the last boat left, than I cast my old faithful out there, and ZING!  One, two, three more trout in just about that many casts.

I’d like to think I’ve learned a thing or two about fishing.  I’d like to think I know what I’m doing.  I’d like to think I’m smarter than a fish.  I’d like to think that I could always catch like I did this weekend.  Truth is, it doesn’t work that way.  I’ll never outsmart a fish, or know it all, or always know exactly where to go and what to throw.

But I do know one thing, I sure love the trying and the learning.

Baby, it’s cold outside!  When the rain stops, I’m going fishing!

BW