Cold reception

The pond’s west shore deepens with amber shadows as the day dies.

I made a short jaunt to Polio Pond early this afternoon. I wanted to fish a 5-weight 9′ Versitex IM6 graphite rod that has a silky, glasslike feel, along with a 6-weight Edwards 35 quad of the same length. I thought comparing the two would be interesting, and catching fish wouldn’t be bad, either.

I worked the west side, which is my favorite, but was unable to fish the pool because the bullrushes have grown too high. Thankfully, I made friends with a groundskeeper who also spoke Spanish. We chatted for awhile and he promised he would speak to his boss about cutting down the tules.

There were few signs of fish, the most telling being that I didn’t catch any. In fact, I haven’t had a bite the past five or six times I’ve been there. Either I’m a very bad bass fisherman (very likely) or the fish have hunkered down for the winter.

Or most of them died off during the heavy algae bloom this summer.

The Versitex 9-footer pairs well with a Shakespeare Russell 1895.

Rods can be great lawn casters and yet do poorly in water. The Versitex—-an old IM6 blank long superseded by more high-tech graphite—did not disappoint on both counts, though I suspect it would do better with a 6-weight sinking line instead of a 5.

After casting it for an hour and then switching to the Edwards, I was taken aback by the difference. The quad felt like a lead pipe compared to the Versitex. And yet it casts more accurately and powerfully, and needed less false casts to get it going. It did make me pause, but I certainly won’t be switching to graphite anytime soon, although IM6 seems like a great compromise between high-tech rods and glass. I am a devoted fan of the latter, but my devotion is to bamboo.

Glass taught me to slow down; bamboo, to yield.

 

Choke hold

The east side as the algae bloom spreads, blanketing the lake.

Early this afternoon, despite being jet-lagged, I visited Polio Pond. I read recently, most likely in Jeffery Skeates’ Riverweather, that one must learn to fish home waters well if one cannot get away to more colorful destinations. I consider that a wise observation: One must learn to fish at least one body of water well, and learn something in the process. I had hoped to return to the Sierras for a week, but that seems unlikely at the moment, considering the inclement weather.

The Edwards 35 quad casts a 6-weight crisply and with authority. It’s my go-to bass rod at the moment.

The west side, which is my favorite part of the lake, was closed due to road work. I drove to the east side and noticed a massive algae bloom blanketed half of the lake. Though the water was clear on my side, my heart sank: a resident fisherman had told me awhile back that they had been finding dead fish. Algae blooms choke off the oxygen supply to fish. Still, I was hopeful. It had been a long, arduous journey, and I needed a tug to lift my spirits. I had a Gene Edwards 35 quad that I hadn’t fished, and I was excited to cast this addition to my Edwards collection.

I fanned my casts from the rocks, moving further down as I worked the shoreline for an hour. Nothing. I nipped off the Woolly Bugger and tied on a small jig with a curly tail.

Nothing. And then I noticed it.

The algae bloom covered the lake after the wind shifted.

The wind had shifted slightly, and I noticed the algae moving rapidly closer to shore. I dropped my lunch and cast to the diminishing patches of clear water. Shortly afterward, I snagged a bush. I clipped off my fly: there was no more open water. I broke down my rod, finished my beer and left.

It wasn’t a bad day: I enjoyed fishing the quad and pausing for salami and a brew. It was cool, a welcome change from the hot, humid weather.

But I knew I wouldn’t be back in a long time.

Size matters

I scored at the pond with a 9′ Granger Favorite with a J.W. Young Pridex spooled with a Type 3 sinking line. Almost all the bass I catch fall for a size 8-12 black Woolly Bugger. This is the first fish I caught with this 85-year-old rod.

I returned to Gopher Pond today after a week-long absence and was mortified to find a spincaster hogging the pool near the edge of the dam. He blanketed it near and far with a big popper for nearly two hours, and was joined briefly by a regular who had a popper that looked as big as a squid. It thrashed rapidly across the surface, making a commotion that resembled that of a gas-powered toy boat.

I wasn’t having any luck either at the bank off to the side, though I felt a change in the bass’ feeding habits had taken place. Maybe they had moved past the post-spawn blues, which had driven me to Lake Miramar in search of more willing fish.

I was preparing to call it a day when the spincaster left the pool and took off in a sleek black sedan. I noticed he hadn’t parked in the road above the bank, where most people park. He had damn near driven into the pool.

Whereupon I promptly cast into the pool, aiming my fly to the edge of the dam to my left, and caught a nice bass. He put a nice bend on my 9′ Granger Victory bamboo rod.

And that’s the way it’s done. Shortly thereafter, my leader got tangled on the shock tippet and I snipped off the size 10 black Woolly Bugger and called it a day.

The bass were feeding on half-inch baitfish. You could see them slashing at this tiny prey. Leave the 5-inch plugs at home and think small. Ponder why the dorky dude in a tweed cap with an 85-year-old rod is outfishing you. You’re scaring the fish, goddammit.

I bought beer and made the short drive home in my white Prius.

Cane sugar

Today, as in the past few days, I returned to Gopher Hole (never mind where it is: This may all be fictional) and caught my first fish on a split-cane rod—something I have been trying to do since I returned home last week. I had previously hooked two fish using a floating line but lost them, I suspect, because I didn’t set the hook aggressively. Fishing bamboo requires vastly different skills than those learned with fast-action graphite.

This morning I again started with a floating line, albeit with a short sinking leader. I really wanted to land fish with a more traditional setup, hence the floating line and Sal-Trout skeleton reel. My rod for the day was a 8’6 6-weight L.L. Bean “Bean’s L.L.” I did land a small bass, and shortly thereafter something fast and powerful snapped my tippet at the looped leader connection. It was as if my line had tangled in a speeding boat.

Monster catfish, I hope.

I switched to a 6-weight sinking line on a Daiwa SF 706. The bites on the size 8 black Woolly Bugger quickly picked up, and I pulled in two more, the last one a burly 14-incher.

I broke down the rod, slipped on my khaki fly-fishing jacket and smoked on a stone by the bank, tilting back my tweed cap.

Home at last.

Foreground

I returned to Gopher Hole today in the early afternoon.The water level had dropped considerably, and the fish weren’t biting at the wide pool where I have caught most fish in the evening. The fish had moved to cooler water, and I found them in the shallows at a nearby bank shadowed by overhanging trees. I only stayed for an hour-and-a-half, but landed four feisty largemouth bass that thrashed wildly, making the 9-foot Rainforest hum when they dove for the weedy depths. As usual, they went for black Woolly Buggers. I left shortly after landing the last one, not wanting to put too much pressure on the fish. I also had to finish packing for my trip to the Caribbean, where the ashes of loved ones will settle among the tarpon, bonefish and manta rays catching air.

Honey hole

Yesterday evening I returned to a nearby catch-and-release lake that stocks largemouth bass, catfish and bluegills. I have dubbed it Gopher Hole, and first went there when I started fly-fishing several years ago. Unlike then, I actually catch fish now because I actually know what the hell I’m doing. At least that’s what I like to think.

Shortly before I left, I received a custom rod I bought from a gentleman with a penchant for bamboo rods. It’s a 9-foot, 5-weight Rainshadow blank that has a moderate-fast action and a rattan grip. I took it with me and landed a big bluegill and two bass before darkness set in.  In the morning I had fished the Carlsbad pond and, for the first time, gotten skunked. My body ached from fishing all day, but it felt good to dip honey at last.

Thoreau search

I returned to the Carlsbad pond this morning as the sky darkened and raindrops dimpled the water. Not knowing much about largemouth bass and this pond in particular, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Judging from the many books on trout I’ve been reading, overcast days tend to be best for fishing. Well, bass aren’t trout, though they too can be picky. The bite was slow, and I only had one at hand after an hour and a half. It was a particularly aggressive 10-incher that trashed wildly as soon as it felt the sting of the hook. I caught it from the small bridge, which I had to climb in order to reach the fish below. It’s the first fish I’ve reeled in with a sink-tip line, and the first haul with my 7’6 Cabelas CGR 5/6-weight, paired today with a Lamson Liquid.

Earlier, I had fished a white Woolly Bugger to no avail. Once I switched to an olive pattern, my luck improved. As Lucky Ketcham repeatedly points out, “Dark flies for dark days; bright flies for bright days.” You don’t argue with a fisherman with a name like that.

I hope to fish this pond regularly. It is a good place to hone my casting skills in close quarters and learn about largemouth bass in a controlled environment. It’s much more than a place to catch fish: It’s a lab of sorts, a bucolic setting where I can try out different lines, flies, rods and casting strokes as I learn more about freshwater fish. Like Henry David Thoreau, I want “to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it.”

Click here for a short primer on fishing for largemouth bass.