Sunday, April 19, 2009
Cruiser bass in sight, but hard to snag
Mark Taylor
Mark Taylor's Outdoors column and notebook appears regularly in The Roanoke Times.
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With the unusually cool weather we've been having finally giving way to something resembling spring, fishermen will be out in force this weekend.
Many will load bags of gear and quivers of rods and reels into their boats and head for the big waters, where they'll burn miles and time in their quests.
There's nothing wrong with that, but some of us have other things in mind.
For me, it's two other things.
They are largemouth bass. One is about 6 pounds, with a gut like a guy who spends too much time eating chicken wings and drinking pitchers of beer.
And that's the small one.
The other will go at least 7 pounds, and probably 8.
I spotted them during a recent scouting trip to a little pond I have permission to fish. I didn't have gear, so I could only watch as they cruised the shallow shoreline.
On the next decent weather day I was back, with my two little fishing partners in tow.
We scouted from the bank first. The fish weren't in their spot. So we kept looking.
I spotted them -- OK, maybe it was just two other big bass -- hanging around a submerged shoreline bush about 100 yards farther down the bank.
In bass fishing terms, you'd probably call these things cruisers. They weren't spawning, nor were they actively feeding.
They were just up in the warmer waters of the shallows, casually looking for the place they would build their nests when the water temperature told them it was time.
Cruisers can be tough, but they can be caught.
There was no way to cast to the fish from the bank without them seeing us, so a waterborne assault seemed in order.
I was pretty sure the bigger of the two bass would be my personal best, topping the estimated 7-pounder I caught about a dozen years ago.
That was a pond bass, too, and the catch remains one of my greatest fishing moments.
I was in my float tube in a small public pond near some condos in Virginia Beach. It was a Friday evening and a bunch of people were partying on a balcony, probably wondering what that nut in the inner tube was doing.
Then the bass hit a little Charlie Brewer slider worm and went airborne.
The revelers stopped partying and started watching.
When I grabbed that fish by the lip and hoisted it skyward, I went "Ike," long before anyone knew what going "Ike" was.
The audience roared, and cheered again when I slid the bass back into the pond.
Would my smaller audience have something to cheer about on this afternoon?
There's a boat at the pond, so we launched it and I started sculling over to the spot. On the way I let the girls troll crappie jigs and one of them had several hits but couldn't hook up.
Quickly, it became evident that this wasn't going to be easy. The wind was gusting, and it was tough to keep the boat tracking straight.
But eventually we made it to about 20 yards out from the target zone and I dropped the anchor.
Cruisers tend to require a subtle approach, especially in clear water. Something like a wacky-rigged Senko can work.
I went a step further, threading a live nightcrawler on a needle-sharp Gamakatsu Octopus hook.
Yes, a live nightcrawler. That's not exactly a purist's approach, but it doesn't get much more subtle than that.
My line was scary light 6-pound test mono, a risk I was willing to take because the pond is pretty clear of underwater obstructions.
I told the girls it was Daddy's turn, and made a cast. The big, wriggling worm was just settling in when something tapped it.
It couldn't be that easy, could it?
But the line never moved so I gave a little tug. There was nothing there.
Not even my bait.
The only part of the nightcrawler left was the piece on the hook. I'd been robbed by a sunfish.
I thought about trying a Senko, which the sunfish would leave alone. But I'd give the real thing one more try.
Several casts produced nothing, not even a sunfish bump.
By then the girls were getting antsy, and banging their gear against the aluminum boat as they made casts.
I pulled anchor and eased toward the bank, confirming that the bass were gone.
So we eased on back across the pond, unloaded the boat and stowed it.
And then we walked over the check the spot.
The bass were back.
And I will be, too.
