Let us first look at clear water conditions.  Keep your distance from your target area, reduce shoreline or boat noise to a minimum.  Fish only small baits that will make as little surface movement as possible.  This is the perfect time to fish light lines with a six foot spinning rod and reel combo.  Pale green and pumpkinseed colors will produce well at this time of the year.  As some of you know, I like to use dipping dye and so a small section of the tail dipped in chartreuse will certainly get a lot of attention.  Jig and pork combinations are a natural presentation and will draw detectable bites from the larger fish.  The best color is without doubt black and blue.  I do however like to make the jigs as close to the local crawfish color that I am trying to imitate, so remember to try greens and browns with a touch of red in the body.  If I had a choice between plastic and pork trailers for bass fishing, I would have to choose plastic.  The versatility of this product is far superior to pork.  The buoyancy, texture and adaptability make it a number one choice.  You could also consider dipping the tail of the trailer in red dye to really dress up the latter presentation.

If you encounter suspended bass (perhaps due to a cold front situation), a jerkbait will catch a better quality fish.  Due to the size of the lure, smaller bass are less likely to strike at the bait leaving it for the bigger fish.  Of course, now I have said that you will probably catch a nine-inch bass on a six-inch lure!  That has happened to me so many times, it is no longer funny.  The spinnerbait fished with a Colorado/Willowleaf blade combination is a very productive lure at this time of year.

Stained and muddy water will allow the angler to become more daring in the presentation.  Larger baits with dark colors such as black, blue, and purple can be seen.  When worm fishing, I like to add a rattle just in front of the hook point.  Bass will track the sound before it sees the bait and will usually commit to the lure, once the outline can be seen.  Again, spinnerbaits rolled over stumps and rocks or lipless crankbaits ripped through the water close to the emerging weedbeds will draw savage strikes from any hungry bass.  I also like to Carolina rig early in the season in fifteen to twenty feet of water, for those previously mentioned, larger fish that will not come to shore until things really heat up.  It is worth the slow dragging presentation of this rig to catch a monster fish.

Bed fishing is a personal choice and one that I do not choose to do, however for those that like this style of fishing, lighter lines (8lb to 10lb test) with a 4″ lizard imitation, slowly dragged through the bedding area is deadly.  If you can drag a lizard into a bed, stop the lure and shake the rod gently to give the appearance of a creature trying to eat the eggs.  Believe me, the bass will attack it with a vengance!

In closing, I would ask all my fellow bass anglers and those of us who also like to catch other species, to please make a determined effort to release your fish back to their natural environment.  Take home your trash, loose line and discarded tackle and please leave the places you fish in the same condition you would like to find them.

Tight Lines!

Charles “The Bass Doctor” Stuart.

We all have our hunting ghosts that come to haunt us when we least expect them. Come along and examine mine as I have no intention of trying to exorcise them due simply to the fact that although I didn’t get the deer, something was learned from the experience.

I

I’d been hunting whitetails for six years, taken a beautiful little eight point with a rifle my fourth year, and in my fifth year put the final piece of a whitetail bowhunting puzzle in place five minutes before an ugly racked six point walked within 10-yards of me for a frontal oblique shot while I was hunting from the ground.  This being my sixth year I’d done some preseason scouting and had been invited to hunt a friend’s property.  His parcel of land was divided by a two lane highway, and while he planned to hunt one side of the road, I decided to give him some room and hunt the other side.

We were two weeks into archery season, and in Pennsylvania portions of the small game season opened the third weekend in October, so I was bracing myself for an incursion of squirrel hunters come opening morning, as the grey squirrels in those oak woods were fat and sassy.  I’d been hunting on the edge of a pipeline right away for the past two weeks, seen deer almost every day, but hadn’t as yet seen the buck that was rubbing some pretty sizable trees paralleling the right of way.  Two evenings before the squirrel opener I’d started back out to the road just before dark when I came upon a fresh scrape that was about seven feet in diameter, and that scrape hadn’t been there when I’d come into the woods walking along the pipeline in the predawn darkness.  I smelled it before I saw it, and in the waning light knew I’d be nearby the next morning.

As stated above, sometimes nature conspires against us.  The following morning when the alarm went off I got out of bed and turned off the alarm clock as a bolt of lightning hit close by.  The thunder following the lightning bolt was instantaneous and made me jump.  Laughing as my heart beat against my sternum, I slid open one of the glass doors in our bedroom and the rain was coming down in buckets.  There’d be no hunting this morning, but maybe if it cleared by late afternoon I might get into the woods; well that was my plan but it never came to fruition.

Working on my “honey-do” list, I’d checked off most everything, so I went outside in the drizzle and figured I’d fire off a few arrows.  When I nocked my arrow and my fingers began to draw, the arrow slid right up the bowstring. The upper nock set was missing.  It was too late in the day to head to the archery shop, so being creative I went to the garage and found a roll of masking tape and using the field expediency method of improvisation, made my own.  I could see the indentation on my string where the old nock set had been, so it was no problem putting a few wraps of tape where the nock set had been.  Returning to the backyard range I moved to within ten feet of the target to release an arrow, last thing I needed to do was shoot the neighbor’s cat.  The shot was right on, so I moved further back with successive shots until I was at the 30-yard mark.  I was dead on as I shot arrow after arrow into the bullseye.

I set my alarm earlier than normal for the next morning as I wanted to be in the woods and in position before the squirrel hunters began arriving.  A light snow had fallen during the night, a half inch of it coating the ground. I parked my car in my buddy’s driveway, walked across the highway and climbed across the guardrail and began moving into through the woods parallel to the pipeline so that should the buck making the scrape walk the pipeline also, he wouldn’t scent me, nor would he see my telltale footprints in the fresh snow.

As is my practice, I cleared all the leaves and tiny branches 360-degrees around the bottom of the oak that I’d chosen for my ground stand, and leaned against the trunk as I stared up through the branches at the stars twinkling overhead.  It was a good thing I’d gotten in the woods early, because twenty minutes later I heard a squirrel hunter making as much noise as he could, walking down the pipeline.  I wasn’t a happy camper when he stopped in the darkness about 30-yards away and began to clear brush from where he’d chosen to sit.  I thought about quietly saying in conversational tones, “The woods are big enough for both of us, and since I was here first, how about finding another spot a little further in the woods.” Instead I kept my mouth shut.

Fifteen minutes passed with no noise at all, then the hunter evidently changed his mind and began to wander around looking for a better spot to get comfortable.  At this point I was becoming angry, it was bad enough he’d made a bunch of noise coming into the woods, but now so close to dawn he was really making a racket and I was becoming fired up.  Once more I held my tongue; and silence again settled over the woods.

I heard the birds begin to talk in the trees above, and heard the claws of chipmunks begin to scratch the trees, and then as the sky grayed and I could make out the trees next to the lighter area of the grassy pipeline, all hell broke loose.  There was the pounding sound running hooves that I could both feel and hear, and then a large form began to thrash the bushes next to the pipeline less than ten yards away.  The violence with which the buck raked the brush sent adrenaline surging through my body.  The buck raced around with his head down thrashing every small shrub in sight, some being completely uprooted as he tossed them soil flying through the air over his back. 

He worked himself 20-yards away from me trashing everything in sight, spun on his heels and retraced his steps to stand broadside on the fire trail at ten yards.  I went to draw my bow, and as my fingers tried to draw the string back I had absolutely no strength in my arms.  I tried again and the cams wouldn’t roll over.  My fingers traced the bowstring from one end to the other thinking I’d picked up a stray twig somewhere and that that might be preventing me from drawing, but they found nothing. Returning to the arrow nock I tried to draw again and the bow rolled over smooth as could be until I was anchored at the corner of my mouth.  I sighted down the pin but there was a bush in the sweet spot, so I just continued to hold until the buck committed to taking a step forward or backward.  As I stood there anchored I began to count points, and look at the diameter of the thick, dark bases, and when I’d counted fifteen tines my entire central nervous system overloaded and I could not breathe.

I was completely unable to inhale or exhale and my mouth was working like a carp out of water as I tried to get oxygen into my body.  With the buck looking away from me I let off the bow and stepped behind the tree and collapsed against it, and suddenly my lungs began to work, the air coming great noisy gasps.  I tried to mentally compose myself, but my legs were weak and I felt I was going to collapse and fall to the ground.  Mentally I had to slow my breathing, felt my nervous system come back on line, peeked around the tree, and then watched as the buck again put his head down and began to tear up the woods around me.

The raw power he displayed was unlike anything I’d seen the previous five years hunting whitetails.  Five minutes passed as he worked the area in a circle around me, sometimes coming within only a couple of feet of my location, but it seemed like hours.  Finally he came to a stop broadside 20 yards away.  I drew my bow and tried to put the twenty yard pin right where it needed to be, but once more my central nervous system betrayed me and I could not get that pin to steady up on the buck.  The harder I tried the worse the bow behaved until I again had to let off.  Regaining my breath, I chastised myself for being weak and in the process regained my confidence. I drew back the bow, steadied the pin perfectly on a spot of fur behind his shoulder, and released. 

I watched the arrow’s flight for ten yards before I lost it. The buck leaped into the air, wheeled, and took off deeper into the woods as I collapsed against the tree completely emotionally spent.  “With the fresh snow on the ground, tracking the blood trail should be easy.” I thought to myself. “I’ll give him fifteen minutes.”

During that wait I backtracked to where I’d come into the woods, and then picked up where the buck had come across the pipeline from a different direction and had begun to tear up the woods in the darkness. I saw where he’d stopped as he’d crossed my trail. What I’d thought was a squirrel hunter coming into the woods was the big buck stopping to both scent, listen, and see if he could find an intruder.  Had I spoken when I’d first heard the noise, or thought a squirrel hunter was dissatisfied with his first stand location, I’d have spooked him away.  I followed every one of his footprints, seen where he’d uprooted shrubs and raked bushes in his efforts to mark his territory, and then I arrived at the spot where he’d been standing when I released the arrow.

There was fresh dirt atop the snow where he’d been standing and bolted, but not one hair, drop of blood, or anything to indicate I’d hit him, nor could I find my arrow.  I began to follow his tracks atop the snow as the sun began to break over the hills, replaying the post-arrow-release scene in my mind, all the while hoping for an indication that the next step would reveal a hitch in his gait indicating a good shot. I was puzzled. 

Two hours I followed his tracks through the oak woods and crabapple thickets. I’d easily covered two miles, the buck’s track always in a straight line, and now I’d entered territory I’d never explored before.  Looking behind me back toward the highway, I saw that the snow was beginning to melt away.  It was at this point I admitted defeat, and began to backtrack toward where the adventure had started.

When I reached the tree where I’d shot from, I again lined up where he’d been standing in case there’d been a branch, twig, or some obstruction between where I’d aimed, and where he’d been standing, but there were none.  I again examined his footprints, and in the process cursed whatever had possessed me to fletch my arrows olive green and black. When it got down on my hands and knees to look back toward where I’d been standing, approaching the shot from the deer’s standpoint, it was then my hand hit something hard beneath the leaves.  It was my arrow.  It had buried itself just behind where his front hooves had been, and it was then I questioned, “How had I shot so low at 20-yards.”

Picking up my bow from where I’d leaned it against the oak I began to go over the bow with my eyes.  It was then I found what had caused the malfunction.  The previous day just as I’d begun to practice, I’d discovered the missing nock set. Being creative I’d used masking tape to create an impromptu nock set, and had then set about practicing the remainder of the afternoon.  During the lengthy practice session both the tape and the bowstring had become waterlogged.  Evidently that morning when I’d first nocked the arrow to the bowstring, the tape had remained in place, but with each successive draw and let down during my first experiences with buck fever, the tape had crept up the bowstring further and further, until at that moment of truth when I released my arrow, it had moved up an entire inch, thus I’d shot completely underneath the buck’s chest. 

Lesson’s learned from this experience include always keeping extra parts on hand, buck fever is a terrible malady that can humble the biggest man and haunt him for years to come, and there are times when a complete miss becomes the best hunt of all~

II

I’d forsaken the treestand because the trees in the area I planned to hunt were too slender for the climbing treestand, and being backlit, I’d be silhouetted against an open sky with minimal freedom of movement.  The area had been strip mined three decades beforehand, thus there were very few old growth trees for the Loggy treestand.  Those that were available were well out of bow range of the plateau trail the deer were using, but thus far the plan had worked to perfection.

This particular morning was the first hard freeze of autumn, the sky was clear, and the air that dry type of cold that instantly freezes moisture in one’s nasal passages making the hair inside prickly, and when inhaling that rarified crisp air, the throat raw.  Exhales produced a highly visible plume of white vapor that broadened as it rose directly overhead and seemed to point right back down at your location for any attentive wildlife.  Most of the leaves were still on the trees, but the morning was so cold that when the first breath of breeze moved across the plateau, they tinkled like wind chimes. Sitting on the trunk of a deadfall with a spider web of thick vine tangles at my back, my camo was working splendidly because right after daybreak three does paraded by, and with about a week until the full moon rutting activity was intensifying, the bucks had finally begun to chase does.

This area had been discovered quite literally by accident, a very close call for sure.  I’d been driving toward a public hunting area in the game lands in Washington County, when a buck had suddenly leaped over the guardrail in front of the truck. My foot jammed the brakes just missing him he bounded across the two lane highway and into a thicket.  I watched him pause in the thicket and look back at the truck, then he ran up the fold of a saddle and then about halfway up the hill he made a left and disappeared into the woods.  On opening day of gun season ten days later I took him with a rifle.  Every season since my first discovery of this early morning travel lane, the area had become a favored hunting spot as deer were plentiful, and drags short. 

The plateau itself was an escarpment that had been blasted out of the hillsides decades ago to make way for what was then a new highway.  The only exception was the draw where the deer had crossed the road.  Deer ran these ledges all year round with little notice from humans.  Releasing an arrow or even firing a rifle there was no danger of hitting a passing car, as the plateau itself was some 80 feet or more above the roadway.  Getting a downed deer out of that area was always a simple affair, drag them a hundred or so yards along the side of the ledge to the fold, and then it was downhill the rest of the way making for an easy one man drag. 

Over the ensuing years since the discovery of the highway crossing I’d taken many bucks and several does from this plateau. One particular buck never flinched after he’d been shot. He continued to walk the plateau edge and then down into the fold of the saddle, to finally collapse right at the guardrail as he paused to look for oncoming vehicles.  Once I walked down to retrieve my truck it was less than 15 feet to the tailgate; what a courteous buck~

Just after the sun cleared the hill across the draw in front of me I heard running and watched as a doe zipped past, her gait teasing and playful.  She’d passed my stand minutes beforehand with two other does, leisurely eating the acorns that were raining down from above.  After they passed I watched them with binoculars for awhile, and caught them frequently checking their backtrail.  I was so sure that a buck would be following I already had an arrow nocked, and the bow hung close at hand. 

I heard a deer run by above me but only caught the sound, never getting to lay eyes on the deer itself.  A shortened field of view is one of the hazards of ground hunting. Watching the doe prance saucily away in the directions she’d originally come from, there came the sound of grunting buck.  My hand eased toward my bow as a little four point came down the trail after her, his head low to the ground and thrust forward, sniffing where she’d passed, continually talking deer talk as he approached the stand.   

His actions made me smile to myself and made me remember when I too was a teenager.  My hands slipped back into my pockets to keep warm.  Passing the stand he began grunting in earnest when he sighted the doe paused at the lip of the draw. She looked back at him as if to say, “Catch me if you can.” Then she raced down the slope of the incline and turned to her left and took off up the gulley.  The little buck never broke stride but continued on her trail until he too went over the lip of the incline, paused at the bottom to sort out her scent, and then followed her scent trail as he heading uphill through the ravine.

I scanned the area with the binoculars, watched the two does she’d left behind bed about fifty meters away, heard running behind me where the doe and small buck had disappeared, and then saw the little four point running across the crest of the hill to run join the other two does.  As he ran toward them they jumped to their feet in alarm, but upon seeing him their body posture changed from one of alarm to greeting.  He ceased his run about ten meters from them, and as his steps slowly took him toward them the larger of the does walked out to meet him. They both stopped and then leaned forward to touch muzzles.  Greeting accomplished, all three began to forage for acorns, and after a few minutes bedded once more.

I sat back down and scanned the hillside across the ravine, expecting more deer to come across the shelf of the plateau I was sitting on, while at the same time wondering where the doe that had crossed to the other side of the hill had gone; the answer came quickly. She came racing back down the draw and then ran up the other side of the saddle to disappear into the trees.  Minutes later an eight point with a bright white rack raced down the same draw following the doe.  I could hear her bleat taunting him as she’d race through the woods, stop, wait for him to catch up, and then race away again. Now and again I caught sight of them as they meandered in and out of crabapple thickets, the doe hiding, and the buck seeking as they played in and around the oak hardwoods.  He was grunting up a storm, and during those moments he lost sight of her he would stand perfectly still, swivel his ears to listen for her, and then move toward the next sound she made as he followed the doe.  I could hear them running through the forest on the other side of the saddle, and now and again catching a glimpse of them, other times their hoof-falls would be faint. Their game of hide and seek continued for almost an hour with the buck either never getting into a bow range I was comfortable with, or being well within bow range but having a crabapple tree or tangle of vines in the way with no shooting lane.

Then the woods went quiet except for the chickadees and nuthatches flitting from tree to tree and walking head first down the trees in search of breakfast.  The wind had come up and was blowing from south to north along the plateau, and three squirrels got into a fierce, noisy fight over property rights and began to race across the fallen leaves and then up a tree trunk and across the branched highway high over head that only they knew intimately.

As it is sometimes with a crisp, frigid morning, once the sun began to climb overhead the air began to warm quickly, or so it felt as the sun penetrated the canopy overhead and the dark colors of my fleece camouflage outfit absorbed the sun’s rays.  Forest sounds are hypnotic, and at some point I passed from excited wakefulness to that trance-like intermediate zone between being awake and asleep.  That nether region allows the individual to be alert and know everything that’s going on around him without having his eyes open. Birds flit from branch to branch and squirrels and chipmunks forage on the forest floor, the change of wind direction is noted on parts of the face, but any other noise is a deviation in the forest harmony, an intrusion that causes the eyes to spring open in and effort to discover the source of the sound.

So it was when I heard hooves scuffing leaves just before the first clash of antlers at the top of the draw.  When my eyes opened two bucks were locked together, head down vying for leverage about seventy five yards away.  The doe was standing on the opposite side-slope watching the combat, and as they pushed each other back and forth her body initially conveyed interest, but quickly changed to boredom as she turned to walk down the draw to pass down the trail I’d first seen her on earl that morning.  She joined the other two does and the four point as they stood to see who was coming, but the curiosity of the four point got the better of him as he passed above the deadfall to stand on the lip of the ravine to watch the two bigger bucks fight.  Both were eight points, but one was a mature buck with large bases and towering tines, the other a smaller eight point that had been keeping the doe company most of the morning.

The scrap was over in less than a minute when the larger buck was able to gain the uphill side of the slope.  He coiled his body and then with their horns locked together, forced his head low to the ground as he uncoiled and with seemingly no effort flipped the lesser buck onto his back.  Capitalizing on his advantage he continued pushing the body of the buck downhill like he was a runaway forklift trying to pick up a load.  The lesser buck was a tangle of hooves and antlers as he was rolled downhill, and then the lesser buck regained his feet and tore off down the ravine with his tail tucked and disappeared into a thicket at the base of the hill.  The mature eight point then turned to eye the four point standing above him on the lip of the ravine.  The four point avoided eye contact and when the big buck took a step toward him, he turned and disappeared over the top of the saddle.

I’ve no clue when stood and removed my bow from where it had been hanging, but I was hoping the buck would head in my direction.  He scanned the lip of the hill where he’d last seen the four point, turned to stare where the lesser eight point had disappeared, and then he walked to where the doe had stood watching the fight and briefly disappeared into the ravine and began to follow her trail.  He momentarily disappeared behind a thicket to reappear moving in my direction.  When his head went behind a tangle of vines I drew and anchored.  When he reappeared he was moving toward me, and as he stepped around a pair of small saplings he gave me a frontal oblique shot.  The pin settled just behind his shoulder and my fingers released the arrow.  The bright pink fletching was easy to follow and I saw the arrow hit the buck on what I thought was an excellent shot.

The buck rocked backward and fell to the ground as I congratulated myself on a great shot.  Springing from the ground the buck dropped over the lip of the ravine and ran downhill, leaped the thicket, leaped once more over the guardrail and crossed the road to the other side.  “He’s not going far.” I said to myself.  I gathered my belongings, set them at the base of the deadfall and then walked over to where I’d shot the buck.  The newly fallen leaves were covered in bright red blood mixed with clumps of dirt as he’d scrambled back to his feet and leaped into the ravine. My arrow was at the bottom of the ravine and I could see a blood trail leading to the bottom of the draw toward the road.  I picked up the arrow to examine it, and to my horror the entire shaft and fletching was devoid of blood.  Staring at the tip, only the first three quarters of an inch of the broadhead showed any blood.  The arrow showed no indication it had penetrated the body of the deer, however, the amount of blood on the ground lead me to believe otherwise.

Returning to where the buck had been standing when the arrow hit him, I retrieved some hair from the ground, examined the color, knew it was from the upper body of the buck, and with my curiosity satisfied began to track the buck.  The trail was easy to follow as he’d been running downhill, each time his front legs hit the ground blood was sprayed on the leaves.  There was blood on the leaves of the thicket he’d leaped over, as well as blood on the guardrail, and on the highway where he’d crossed to the other side.

I saw the hoof prints in the where he’d landed on the other side of the second guardrail, and where they’d disturbed the fallen leaves and loam beneath. It was then I realized that the probability of finding the buck was going to be an impossible task.  Whereas the flow of wind moving across the plateau had been broken up by the density of the forest, this side of the hill was mostly open hardwoods with very few thickets to impede the winds progress, and as the wind moved steadily across the forest floor, the morning dew had dried up and the leaves were now free to be cartwheeled across the ground.  It seemed every leaf was in motion, and although his first three bounds on this side indicated he was heading toward the cattail swamp about 100 meters away at the bottom of the little valley, nature was effectively and very completely erasing his backtrail while I watched. 

Other than the first three bounds and the blood droplets on those leaves, there was nothing to indicate where he’d gone. He’d become a ghost.  I lined up the blood drops on the road with his hoof prints on the other side and basing a guess that he’d head toward the swamp to bed, but I wanted to be sure so I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled on the forest floor trying to find more blood.

As pretty as fall leaves are, maple trees have a nasty habit of forming red spots that resemble blood droplets.  Each time I thought I’d found a drop of blood, it turned out to be a red herring.  Two hours passed, it was now afternoon and the leaves continued to turn over around me. I finally capitulated and began to move down the little valley toward the swamp.  I found where a deer trail entered the swamp and due to the drought we’d had that summer, began to follow the deer trail. I’d move maybe thirty meters down the trail moved down through the cattails a little way, and then found a swatch of dried blood on the cattail leaves. 

Removing another arrow from the quiver I began to move down the trail expecting to jump him any second.  I was halfway through the swamp when ten yards to my left a buck leaped from the cattails, took one bound away from me and then stopped broadside.  I’d reacted by coming to a full draw and put the pin behind his shoulder, and just as I was about to release the arrow I realized that the shoulder of the buck in front of me was the same shoulder of the buck I’d hit, except this buck’s shoulder was unmarked.  My eyes raced over his rack and I knew with no doubt it was a completely different buck.  Fighting with my conscience I dropped my bow arm. I had already shot a buck, and though this buck was a worthy consolation prize, I couldn’t shoot him without feeling guilty that I hadn’t exhausted every effort to find the original buck I’d hit earlier that morning.

The buck stood there staring at me, and then turned and bound away, pausing once to stare at me when he’d gained the crabapple thicket at the swamp’s edge.  My shoulders slumped as I exhaled and turned to continue following the trail through the swamp. Reaching the other side I’d found no more blood, and there were no hoof prints indicating where the buck had exited the swamp. Three more times I returned to the last place I’d seen blood and then examined every cattail leaf between there and the end of the trail to no avail.  At that point I gave up.

The lessons learned from this buck many.  Perhaps watching the fight had gotten me emotionally ramped up to make a bad decision. Maybe the wind pushed the arrow just enough offline to catch the ball of the shoulder socket rather than the rib cage just behind.  At the thirty meter distance he was standing away from me, a millimeter or two became extremely important. I’ve no clue why I didn’t wait for a better shot than the frontal oblique.  Though I’d taken other bucks at that angle while ground hunting, he was moving toward me and I should have waited. In hindsight there is no doubt in my mind he was following the doe’s scent trail, thus he would have passed inside of ten meters, and from where the arrow impacted to where I was standing, there were no other shot impediments. The type of broadhead I was using at that time had a conical tip, not great for splitting bone and because of their lack of penetration I never used that variety again. The good news is that due to the evidence left on the broadhead itself, and the lack of continued, serious, and prolonged bleeding, the buck survived our encounter. Although there was a quantity of blood at the initial site of impact, by the time he’d reached the bottom of the ravine and crossed the road to the other side, and then moved into and through the swamp, the bleeding had ceased; and I’m still glad I didn’t release an arrow on the consolation buck I encountered in the swamp. Sometimes good decisions immediately follow bad, or marginal decisions~

III

The roar of jet aircraft taking off and landing didn’t bother me, nor did it bother the deer in the area, those of us living in close proximity to Pittsburgh International Airport were quite used to it.  The airport authority had purchased the right of way along an old, asphalt country road, and since their purchase had quit maintaining the road.  It was fraught with potholes that turned into small lakes when it rained, and it wouldn’t have surprised me any to find some had been stocked with fish, but what attracted me to the area was the fact that whitetails were prolific.  It was not uncommon to drive the five miles of deteriorating roadway and see half a dozen or more bucks or does standing just off the side of the road staring back at you with quizzical expressions on their furry faces.  Deer trails crossing from one side of the road to the other were innumerable, as were large scrapes just a short distance into the woods.

Since Allegheny County had a high deer density, once doe tags went sale an individual could purchase as many as he or she wanted. I’d developed the routine of supplying single parent families with fresh meat in lieu of them having to spend their hard earned cash at the grocery store, and there were some older ladies and gentlemen that had given up hunting due to advancing years that still loved to eat venison, thus they enabled me to continue hunting when my own freezer was full.

Each season I’d purchase five doe tags, and once I’d gotten my buck, or if one of those on my list called early in the season for me to help fill their freezer, then I’d switch off buck hunting and take a doe.  Since the airport area had become overrun with whitetails, and it was not unusual for deer to be on the runways in the middle of the day, thus forcing pilots to circle a time or two until the runway could be cleared, it was my thought I was doing the airport authority a favor by doing my best to bring down the deer density.

The previous two seasons I’d begun experimenting with mechanical broadheads, and the first season I’d used them I’d taken a mature eight point at fifteen yards, and several does.  I was satisfied with what I’d been using, but then New Archery Products came out with Spitfires that had a bone splitting head and used the scissor method to open rather than a plunger system, so I thought I’d give them a try.  I purchased the two blade variety, but what I liked best about mechanical blades was the fact that one didn’t have to tune each arrow like I used to have to do with fixed broadheads.  I could use field tips to practice with, and then the night before the season opened simply screw in my mechanical and I was guaranteed that the mechanical broadhead would hit precisely where I’d aimed, unless I made a terrible shot.

The night before the opener I’d received a call from one of the mom’s whose son I coached, and she’d asked me to take a doe for her. “Not a problem,” I told her, “put your butcher on notice I’ll be over before the week’s end.”  That night, like every night before the opener, I replayed scenes in my mind from previous archery hunts, things that had gone right and those things that had gone wrong, and the longer I lay there the more visualizing I did with drawing, anchoring, and being patient enough to wait until I had a clean shot.  Unlike rifle hunting, an archer must have a clear path for his arrow to follow. One very tiny branch can deflect the trajectory of an arrow enough to turn what should be an easy kill, into a messy kill, or transform it into a complete miss.  I don’t mind missing a deer, but I detest wounding an animal. It hurts me to my heart and does a darn good job of tainting the rest of the season.

Whereas in years past we’d been able to drive the old road, the airport authority had recently put up concrete blockades at each end of the roadway, thus if we still wanted to hunt it, you had to walk the road to where you wanted to enter the woods.  Unlike some of my friends, I’d gotten creative and decided, “Why walk when you can ride?”  Instead of walking the road I started throwing my bike in the back of the truck and biking onto the airport right of way. 

When the alarm went off I was already in the shower, thus I opened the shower curtain and trailed water in to the bedroom and shut off the alarm, then returned to the warm spray.  Everything else had been packed the night before, so after closing the front door I headed to he mini-mart for a cup of hydraulic fluid, double cream, double sugar please, and then drove the short distance to the blocked off road.  Careful to make as little noise as possible, I removed the bike from the truck bed, strapped the bow and quiver to the treestand, slung it over my back, and somewhat precariously began to pedal down the road.

Reaching the area where two days beforehand I’d discovered a fresh scrape along a natural gas pipe line I brought the bike to a stop, hid it in the thick brush across a tiny creek, and made my way toward my tree that was only 20 yards off the deer trail, and overlooked the scrape.  Arriving at the tree I set up the treestand, attached the bow and quiver to the pull up rope, and began to ascend the tree.  Reaching 29-feet I felt my bow begin to lift from the ground, so I secured the treestand to the tree, checked my safety harness, finished dressing while sitting thirty plus feet above the ground, and after slipping the head-net over my head and wriggling my fingers into camo gloves, I pulled up the bow and after laying it across my lap, nocked an arrow and put my head back and relaxed.  It was still an hour before daybreak, but I love to watch the woods awaken in the morning, and the heavens always put on a spectacular light show for early birds like me.

Daybreak was a grey mist that seemed to rise from the floor of the woods deadening all sound, and then a very light mist began to fall.  Fifteen minutes later the rain ceased, the sky brightened, and within an hour the sun was shining.  Nothing moved for two hours other than morning birds flitting from branch to branch.   At nine three does silently materialized from under the crabapple trees ten yards away, and as they grazed down the fire lane I hoped they would take the trail almost under my stand.  They did, and just after entering the woods they stopped to paw beneath the leaves for acorns.  While their heads were down and their minds occupied on filling hungry tummies, I chose the largest doe that had moved within fifteen yards.  She gave me a quartering away shot and I drew, put the pin far enough back to take both lungs, and squeezed the trigger of my release.

The arrow leapt from the arrow rest and covered the distance to the deer in an eye blink.  On impact the arrow did something I’d never witnessed an arrow do before.  When the mechanical broadhead hit the curve of her flank it started to penetrate, changed direction and the fletching whipped around to smack her in the withers.  She leaped in the air and bucked twice, whirled and then raced in front of the stand, the arrow disengaged from her side and fell to the ground just before she bounded over the secondary growth and was lost from sight. I stood there thirty plus feet above the ground with my mouth open not believing what I’d just witnessed.

I took note of reference points and shot an azimuth reading of where I’d lost sight of her, and sat down in the stand to wait.  While I waited I replayed the scenario over and over again in my mind attempting to make sense of what I’d just seen. Thirty minutes later I lowered my bow to the ground and walked over to where she’d been standing when I shot her, backtracked to pick up the arrow, and then returned to the base of the tree and after lining up the reference points and the azimuth, began to walk toward where I’d last seen her. 

The initial sign at the point of impact suggested that the arrow may have penetrated enough to have killed her and that I might have a long tracking job.  Although her footprints were clearly evident in the wet ground, forty meters from the stand the blood trail completely disappeared,   Twenty meters further on her tracks were no longer evident.  An hour and a half passed as I crawled on hands and knees examining the secondary growth for blood sign and the ground for any evidence of blood, but there were no signs of a deer having passed by.  Eventually I went back to the stand and walked the pipeline down to where there was a sever drop off, and at that point I reentered the woods thinking that if she went over that edge, when her front feet hit the ground there would be at least a few drops of blood to indicate her passing.  Instead I found where she’d probably bedded until I got out of the stand, at which point she’d fled the area.  A pint of blood was pooled and clotting where she’d laid down, a tiny bit of spray where she’d dropped over the edge of the incline, disturbed lichen where she’d crossed some larger rocks, but from that point onward no other sign of the doe. 

Emotionally, I was sick to my stomach. I don’t mind a miss and do my best not to take any sort of marginal shot. I was aghast as I had no clue as to why the arrow had behaved as it had. The angle of the shot was a high percentage shot which should have resulted in venison in the freezer.  Examining the mechanical broadhead, my best evaluation was that since it was a two blade broadhead and he side of the does is a curve, one foot of one of the blades made impact before the tip, thus it caught and began opening which pitched the shaft of the arrow offline before the triangular tip could pierce the deer.  At this point the kinetic energy of the arrow rather than being in line with the shaft, has not had its momentum changed, thus the arrow lost energy quickly, which when the tip did make contact, caused it to pivot further and whip forward to make the fletching end of the arrow smack the deer in the withers.

I spent the remainder of the day making an ever widening concentric circle in search of signs of the wounded doe, but to no avail.  Upon returning home I found a similarly shaped object and played with the idea described above.  That evening I spent a few hours in front of the computer drawing a diagram of what I believe happened, and wrote out my hypothesis regarding the change of direction of the arrow and the reasons why I though it had behaved the way it did. The following morning after reevaluating what I’d written and altering the diagrams until they were to my satisfaction, I called the broadhead manufacturer on the phone and discussed what had happened with their representative.  Later that evening my phone rang, and much to my surprise it was the president of the well known archery manufacturer.  We talked for several minutes and I emailed him the narrative and diagrams, and minutes later he received them and we continued to discuss the situation.  

The following morning the phone rang once more and once again he and I went over a few items he had questions about, at which point he told me I’d be hearing from him again.  Three days later a brown UPS truck dropped off a delivery, and much to my surprise and pleasure the company had sent me several of their three blade broadheads to field test, along with several other items that the public had not as yet been privileged to see as they were still in the testing phase of those products.  The afternoon I received the three blade broadheads I took to the woods once more after changing out the two blade for the three blade broadheads, and forty five minutes after climbing into my stand a dandy eight point gave me the opportunity to field test the new broadheads.  I remember drawing back the bow and feeling trepidation about releasing the arrow for fear a similar incident would take place. I overrode my fear, picked a spot, and the buck didn’t even go forty yards.  They work.

Lessons learned from this incident, expect the unexpected.  New products are advertised to perform a certain way, and although manufacturers may test products in controlled environments, sometimes in the real world afield things go awry.  Communication with a manufacturer when presented properly are rewarding for all concerned. I personally won’t use two blade mechanicals ever again, but I still appreciate the fact that there is no arrow tuning involved when using them.  In the future should I encounter a new product that interests me, I’ll first use it on the backyard range to see how it performs before taking it into a hunting situation.  That way my own confidence in the product will be intact, and as most experienced hunters and fishermen know, confidence is everything~

Mike Stewart

Whilst this method has a lower “strike to catch ratio” compared to other forms of bass fishing, it is still worth using and keeping nearby in case the surface comes alive with bait fish jumping out of the water for their lives!  The tackle required depends upon conditions, however, I believe that bass can be caught all day long on a top water lure.  For me, a small arsenal of top water lures is a must, but remember to alternate them to match the changing mood of the fish.  I prefer a 6 and ½ to 7-foot baitcasting rod with 15 lb. test line.  Whenever possible before using any store purchased lure, I always change the hooks to a premium hook such as Gamakatsu.  I have seen too many hooks straighten or break from a large fish, or the hook been thrown, because they were not sharp enough.

I will often start with the buzzbait.  This lure comes with single, double, treble and in-line, blade combinations.  I like to use smaller buzzbaits, but that is not to say that a large six or eight inch buzzbait with loud blades will not produce.  Correctly tuned buzzbaits should NEVER run straight.  If it does, something is wrong, fish do not swim in straight lines and neither should your buzzbait.  Bend the propeller or propellers to arch the retrieve in the water.  The more splash and noise it makes, the more fish will see it and attack it.

Start your retrieve quickly.  After a few casts if you are not getting any bites, slow down the retrieve until a fish swirls near the bait* or strikes it.  This is the bass telling you at what speed they want their meal moving.  Next come top water poppers.  This name is used to cover a large group of surface lures with cupped faces that give the “popping” sound.  This lure spits water when retrieved with small downward jerks of the rod tip toward the water surface.  The dimension of this lure is important.  Make sure you know the size and colors of the baitfish that live in that body of water you are fishing.  Referred to in fly fishing as “matching the hatch”, your lure color and size plays an important role on bright sunny days when the sunlight reflects off the body and flashes on the surface of the water.  On overcast days, color is not so important, as the bass do not get to see much more than the outline of the bait and will make a decision to either ignore the bait, or strike at it.  Again, if the fish swirl at the bait* you should be prepared to drop the rod you and use a floating plastic worm.

Next come the “spook” baits.  Zara Spook® and Zara Puppy® or similar cigar shaped lures.  (Often I will increase the size of the hook from a 1/0 to a 2/0 with this lure).  The best method of retrieval is “walking the dog”.  This snapping, twitching and slow line retrieval combination takes some practice but once mastered can be deadly when top water action is at its height.  When bass are chasing shad to the surface, this lure should be cast directly on top of the fish, keeping the boat a good distance from the area of activity.  Casting accuracy is vital, as a badly placed cast will waste precious moments until you can cast again.  To practice your casting in your backyard or in a park, use a rubber weight in place of the lure.  I often use an old car tire or a bucket as a target and practice for an hour a day.

When a fish takes a top water offering, WAIT.  Let the fish take the lure, feel the weight of the fish and then set the hook.  All to often, the initial reaction is to strike, but this often pulls the lure out of the mouth of the fish.  When the fish are biting, I usually count s-l-o-w-l-y to three, then set the hook.  Surface fishing spinnerbaits and jerkbaits often catch fish.  Again start with a fast retrieve and slow it down till the fish tell you what they want.

* The floating worm is often overlooked as a top water lure, but can be deadly when fish will not take a larger top water offering.  If fish continue to swirl near the buzzbait or popper, but will not strike it, pitch a brightly colored worm (pink or yellow works well) and chances are the bass will swallow this offering more readily

Tight Lines!

Charles “The Bass Doctor” Stuart

IMPORTANT NOTE:
One of the most important things to remember when discussing the spawn is water temperature.  Depending on where you live, bass can have one or more spawning opportunities based on not only the temperature but also the weather conditions.  In the north and here in Canada, we usually get only one spawn, however Texas and Florida can have as many as three or four spawns, sometimes back to back in different sections of a lake!

Pre-Spawn (As early as February, or as late as June)
Water temperature should be around 60 to 65 degrees Fahrenheit (a little cooler is acceptable for smallmouth).  Early on, look for partially submerged wood and rocks as these will hold heat and attract those fish that are ready to begin the process.

In preparation for the “big event” and dependant upon location, the male large and smallmouth bass both have similar functions to perform to attract the right female to the location he has selected.  The fish are preoccupied with their desire to mate and fishing for these fish, despite being highly visible, is very difficult and time consuming.  During this time I try to fish a little deeper for those males and females who have not yet made the decision to spawn.

Bed preparations are very important and location can make the difference between life and death for the eggs and ultimately the fry.  There is no doubt that an intimate knowledge of the environment makes for two types of bass, a smart bass or a dumb bass!

Commonly, a young, inexperienced male will rush to make a bed and herd a female onto it to begin the mating process.  younger females may well take the opportunity to spawn, however their youthful exuberance and lack of experience will result in the eggs eaten by predators or frozen to death from a “cold snap” which as we can all attest to is a possibility during the early part of Spring.  The smarter fish will hold off until the weather has warmed the area for more than a few days.  These smart fish are also larger and their ability to understand the climactic changes is the very reason they got so big.  Remember also that large, “smart” fish, pass on there genetic code making for more large and smart fish for your lake or pond!

Spawn
Water temperature should now be closer to 70 degrees Fahrenheit.  Once the eggs have been laid, nest raids take place soon after the female leaves the nest.  She will move to the first or secondary drop off in deeper (cooler) water to rest.  She will not however be too far from the nest as I will further explain.

The male or males (subject to the size of the female) must now stand guard over the eggs, however they tend to stray for food and it is the female’s job to keep a watchful eye on the males during this time.  I have also seen male bass chase predators away only to be pushed back by the female.  Sadly, if the male is heavily outnumbered by either bluegill or perch, one group will draw attention away from the nest, while another group “swoop in” and feast on the now unprotected eggs.

Anglers tend to fish these bedding areas simply because the fish are conditioned to stay on the beds which make them easy targets. I emphasize that returning the fish immediately will give the male a chance to rear the next generation of bass for your local lake or pond.  Taking a bedding fish and removing it from the nest signs a death warrant on those unprotected eggs or fry that remain.  In smaller waters, an entire year of bass could effectively be eliminated, so please think long and hard before attempting this mode of fishing.

Post Spawn
This is a tough time for the angler and it isn’t easy finding fish to take your offering after their exhaustive efforts of breeding and tending to the thousands of fry.  Fishing for these fish requires a stealthy approach and long casts.  Perhaps one of the masters of this style of fishing is Shaw Grigsby whom I have had the pleasure of fishing with on the BASSMASTERS tournament trail.  I’ve personally witnessed his ability to catch fish during this time frame.  If you can get your hands on his DVD’s or books, I highly recommend it.

Remember these fish are exhausted after the spawn so do not expect earth shattering bites.  Instead, watch for subtle line twitches and/or heaviness in your line.  Keep in mind that if the water cools, bass won’t exert themselves to chase a lure, so SLOW down those presentations!

Some Additional Notes

Pre-Spawn
Rod lengths: 6’ to 6’6” with a medium action.

Line strength: 10 to 15lb test mono for cranking.  Other lures require 10 to 15lb copolymer line with a fluorocarbon leader.

Lures: Crankbaits, rattletraps, football headed jigs with pork trailers.

Spawn and Post Spawn

Rod lengths: 7 feet and above and mostly of the spinning variety to ensure accurate casts.

Line strength: – No more than 10lb test copolymer line with a fluorocarbon leader.

Lures: Small grubs, micro jigs, the drop shot and my personal favorite, the four inch weightless worm.

Tight Lines.

Charles “The Bass Doctor” Stuart.

Copyright (c) Charles Graham MacLeod-Stuart. Permission is granted to copy, distribute and/or modify this document under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2 or any later version published by the Free Software Foundation; with no Invariant Sections, no Front-Cover Texts, and no Back-Cover Texts

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It seems that this should be a pretty simple answer, I mean; a net is nothing more than a flexible basket with a hoop and a handle.  Pretty basic stuff, right?  Well, yes and no.

There are many variables in landing nets.  Netting fabric, net hole size, frame design and handle length.  Let’s discuss these in a little detail.

First of all, there’s frame size and material.  For all intents and purposes, we’re not going to be talking about stream trout nets here, but nets for larger gamefish like bass, pike and muskies.  The only type of frame here to consider is a sturdy aluminum frame.  The yoke, the piece that connects the hoop to the handle should NOT be plastic.  A large fish thrashing about will break a plastic yoke.  The only material for a yoke is aluminum.  Obviously, you should size the hoop (and fish basket) to the size of the fish targeted.

There are different frame styles, with a standard circular hoop frame used.  These are fine for most applications, but many, especially trollers, prefer a triangular frame.  This type of frame works great for scooping fish at a distance with a long handle.

Handle length is important as well.  For most fishing purposes, a 3 – 5 foot handle is sufficient.  But a longer handle is needed when trolling.  Often, a long snell leader, sometimes 8 feet or longer is used and under these circumstances, a long handled boat net, with a telescoping handle is used.  Some of these handles will be 8 – 12 feet, telescoping out in 4-foot sections.  Most times though, a standard net handle length will work fine.

But quite possibly the biggest consideration is the fabric of the net.  Your selection is quite wide and varied.  Net mesh varies in size, and there are advantages and disadvantages in the different sizes.  The smaller mesh is easier on the fish, easier on the fish slime and won’t tear up a fish’s fins.  But it is more resistant to moving through the water.  The larger opening mesh is easier to move through the water and is usually found in larger nets, but a fish’s fins will take a terrible beating, getting split as the fish thrashes in the net.

One of the most popular is that green nylon stuff found on inexpensive landing nets.  This stuff is TERRIBLE!!!  First of all, it’s harsh on the fish, being rough, abrasive and it scrapes the slime coating from fish.  This slime coat is a protective barrier for the fish, isolating them from bacteria and infection.  The mesh diameter is usually quite large and causes split fins on fish.  This mesh also usually comes on low quality nets, which are made from substandard materials and easily prone to breakage.  Hooks also have a tendency to get snagged in nets of this material; do you really want to trust the fish of a lifetime to one of these nets?

Cotton nets are easier on the fish, but they also have a problem, ROT!  They have to be dried between uses, if put away wet, they will rot quickly.  Then, should this happen, when you do get that fish of a lifetime, the net is going to have all the strength of wet toilet paper and chances are, you’re going to lose the fish.  Hooks getting snagged in this type of netting is a problem as well.  A couple advantages to these nets are that they are light in weight and they move easily through the water.  But they must be well dried between trips and checked often for signs of rotting and wear.

Nets made of heavy, black nylon are much better, easier on the fish, stronger and easier to get hooks out of.  If a hook does get snagged, you can usually “untwist” the strands and easily remove the barb.  Nylon is also rot resistant and will last a long time under normal use.  With the larger diameter of the netting material, there is some resistance when scooping the net through the water.  This has to be accounted for when attempting to net a fish.

An even better netting material is rubberized nylon.  This is my favorite and although slightly higher in price, I feel it’s worth it.  Rubberized webbing is very fish friendly, as the rubberized coating doesn’t scrape the fish slime.  It’s also more hook resistant and the netting won’t snag.  But, it IS heavier and there is some additional resistance moving it through the water.  This type of net, when made of smaller opening mesh, is great.

There is a small diameter mesh net that is made of a fine, soft nylon.  This is great stuff. Light in weight, it dries quickly and will not rot.  It doesn’t split fins or scrape slime coat from fish.  But, it does snag hooks fairly easily (at least the ones I’ve used).  It’s good stuff and I like it a lot, but it is expensive.

There are rubber nets available.  These are the ultimate in fish (and fisherman) friendly nets.  The solid rubber nets will not damage a fish’s protective coating, and it’s virtually impossible to snag hooks in them, which is a bonus, but there are problems with these.  Rubber nets are heavy and cumbersome to use.  They have a great resistance when being moved through the water.  The “basket” on these nets is supposed to increase in depth with the weight of the fish, and to a certain degree it does work.  But, especially in cold water, the rubber becomes stiff and doesn’t stretch as easily.  Then, the net can act as a “springboard” with the fish going out of the net often times faster than it came in!  Believe me, there’s not a more sinking feeling than watching a four-pound walleye flip and go sailing out of the net.

One problem with landing nets is “Where in the boat do I put the darned thing?”  If it fits in the rod locker or storage compartment, they’re usually too small to be of any benefit.  If they’re large enough to do some good, the darned thing won’t fit anywhere.  With this in mind, several manufacturers have come out with a line of collapsible nets.  From a storage aspect, they’re great.  But you must examine these carefully before plunking down hard earned cash on the first one you see.  Make sure to examine all hinges, fittings and connections.  There is some high quality collapsible nets out there but there are also some real clunkers out there too.  Collapsing nets are pricey but if storage is an issue, they can be worth it.

So there you have it, nets in a nutshell.  Which one is right for you?  That, I can’t say, it all depends on what type of fishing you do and for what species.  When I was guiding in northern Wisconsin, for most of the year, I had a huge muskie net strapped down on the front deck of my bassboat.  I would just step on the thing and it didn’t seem to bother my clients or me.  So, give it some thought, take your time and consider all the options.  After all, the right choice in a net could make the difference between landing that wall-hanger and just another fish story about the one that got away.

Until next time, see ya!

Steve

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Two years later, I was fishing a tournament in Alabama with another angler who was catching so many fish I had to stop to see what he was throwing.  When I saw the rattletrap on his line, I watched how he would change the retrieve constantly and move the rod tip from left to right and well as up and down.  Have you ever heard the expression, “the light suddenly came on”?  Well I realized that the lures I had won all that time ago could actually catch fish, but I still needed a lesson in how to use them correctly.

I tied a “trap” on the line and tried to mimic his retrieve tactics.  Once again I hooked wood and weed.  Maybe it was just me, but I could not get the damn thing to run the way he did!  Then I realized that the reel I was using had a retrieve speed of 5.1 to 1.  I looked at his reel to see that he was using a 6.3 to 1!  Click! On went the light (again) and I switched to a high retrieve reel.  After the second cast, I hooked and landed my first “trap” bass, a nice three-pound fish.  I caught 4 more fish that afternoon and placed well in the tournament standings for the day thanks to this bait.

So, here are the tools you will need and a few tips on “working the lure”.  I prefer a six to six and a half-foot medium action rod with a high gear ratio (6 to 1 and above) baitcasting reel for larger baits.  A spinning reel will work better with the smaller sizes but again, check the ratio. 

Perhaps for those of you who are not familiar with gear ratio, I should explain.  When you turn the handle of a fishing reel one complete turn, you will have gathered a certain amount of line back as the spool turns.  The higher the speed ratio, the more line you bring back on each turn.  For crankbaits, spinnerbaits and lipless crankbaits, a high retrieve is excellent.  Of course there are situations when you may need to slow down a spinnerbait or regular crankbait, in which case you should choose another reel with a lower gear ratio.  However, for the lipless variety of crankbaits, a high-speed reel is the key.

Line diameter and breaking strain should be your next consideration, Heavy line with a larger diameter will keep the bait higher in the water than a thinner and less pound test line.  Situations dictate what line you can use, but as a rule of thumb, if the water is deep, you want the bait to run deep.  Use ten to fifteen pound line with little or no stretch.  This type of line will allow you to “feel the bait” as it runs through the water.  Do not use a braided line unless you feel comfortable using it.  To me, the monofilament or co-polymer lines are excellent for this particular style of fishing.  In skinny shallow water presentations, choose a fifteen to twenty pound test line which will allow you to muscle fish out of shoreline structure without too much difficulty.

Lure size selection!  Well they come in many sizes, so try to match the size of the baitfish in the area.  If you do not see any bait fish to “size up with”, start with a small quarter of an ounce offering and change up until the fish bite.  As for color selection, try chrome and blue, chrome and black and the white with a green or red back.  All these work for me in most situations.  Of course, your lake or river may need another color, so do not be afraid to experiment.

Finally, as you retrieve your lure, speed up and slow down.  Also move the rod slowly as you retrieve from left to right.  Then on the next cast, up and down.  Try to remember when you fish any artificial bait that it is supposed to imitate a fish, and fish do not swim in straight lines!  So why would you just throw a lure and turn the handle of your reel until it comes back?

Tight Lines!

Charles “The Bass Doctor” Stuart

Copyright (c) Charles Graham MacLeod-Stuart. Permission is granted to copy, distribute and/or modify this document under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2 or any later version published by the Free Software Foundation; with no Invariant Sections, no Front-Cover Texts, and no Back-Cover Texts

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There’s no doubt in my mind that a seven year old isn’t going to be able to use the auger to successfully drill through the ice, but I’m not going to deny them the opportunity to succeed.  I’ll start the hole so the blades aren’t a safety threat, then I’ll encourage them to give it a shot and I’ll step back and enjoy the show. They appreciate the fact that you got them out, introduced them to a world they previously didn’t know, and let them try something new. Each trip is another layer, and surprisingly they retain most of what you presented to them on previous trips.  How do I know these things? Suffice it to say I was trained well by my daughters on their very first ice fishing trip.

The final leg home was a white-line haze, one of those fifty-mile stints when you can’t remember how you’d gotten to where you are, because you’re fatigued and after so many hours behind the wheel, each tree or billboard appears the same as the last several hundred you’ve seen along the interstate.  The good news was that tomorrow was the beginning of a long weekend, and I planned to have my derriere planted firmly on a plastic five-gallon bucket in the ice shanty. 

Previous trips, from first-ice to the present had been spectacular.  The crappie, gills and perch had played, “I want it.”

“No, I want it.”

“Me first!” From dusk until dark on each trip, and they’d been voracious, not a light-biter in the crowd.  It doesn’t take long to fill up a bucket when hand sized, yellow breasted gills, wide-mouthed, shimmering, green-blue crappies, and the plump, tiger striped perch put on the feed bag. I was pumped.

I parked the pick-up, got out and stretched, and almost made it through the front door of the house, before my three and four year old daughters pushed me back outside, and did their best to knock me over the porch rail, as they smothered me with hugs and kisses.  God bless little girls~ “Guess what we had for dinner last night daddy?” Said Sarah, my youngest.

“I don’t know hon, what?”

“Fish!” Exclaimed Krista.  “Mom got fillets from the freezer and she cooked ‘em for us.”

What!  My secret stash of fillets had been exhumed from the bottom of the freezer and devoured.  The nerve~ But looking at the proud, glowing grins on their faces, who cares.  Picking up the girls and walking through the door sideways with one on each hip, I could still smell the faint delicious aroma of the fillets from the evening before.  Whine~

Later that evening I began calling around to my friends, looking for a partner for early the next morning, but they either had previous commitments, or they weren’t home.  What to do?  I don’t mind fishing by myself, I never have, it’s a great time for introspection, and the serenity one feels when cloaked in a blanket of silence, with the hiss of the heater and the glare of the lantern for company, well that’s hard to duplicate.  “One more call, and if I can’t find somebody, I guess I’ll just go alone,” I thought to myself as I dialed Kenny’s number and got his fiancé on the line. “Hey Barb, Mike here, I was planning on heading up to the lake tomorrow to do some ice fishing, and was wondering what Kenny was up to going with me?  Oh, he’s working…okay; well tell him I called please.  Thanks.”

I hadn’t even hung up the phone yet, when both girls were standing in front of me in their footy-pajamas, with their big sets of green and blue eyes staring into mine, when Krista said, “Dad you asked everybody to go ice-fishing with you tomorrow, but us.” I think at that precise moment I must have resembled a carp lying on the bank, mouth agape, gasping for breath, as I searched for excuses that would be palatable to a three and four year old.  I looked across the living room to my wife for help, but she pulled that nasty, mother-wife trick of putting a half-smile on her face, and then turned her head to stare up at the ceiling in that womanesque, the sisterhood comes first, non-committal pose. 

Nothing immediately came to mind, other than the fact they’d never been on the ice before.  They had snowsuits, gloves, mittens, felt-pack boots, toques, and everything else one needs to go ice fishing, except the experience itself. The silence continued as I searched for more reasons, okay just one reason that they couldn’t go…bathroom facilities~ Well they can use one of the extra five gallon buckets if they need too, I can take toilet paper, they’re not that shy, and they can use the shanty while I fish outside, that way they’ll be warm.  Food, well I can pack along a gallon jug of water for hot chocolate, we can take instant soup and sandwiches for lunch, and snacks and we’ll hit the mini-mart on the way out when I get my morning coffee. The more mental excuses I tried to conjure, the greater the number of solutions I came up with. Mouth tight, my eyes flicking back and forth from one daughter to the other, I took a deep breath and capitulated, “Okay girls, you can go.” I knew little girls could squeal, but the decibel level they attained at that moment would make a jet engine hang its fins in shame, it’s a wonder every glass object in the house hadn’t shattered.  I was now legally deaf~ 

The next morning was one of those crispy winter days when the snow squeaks with each footstep, and the girls could hardly wait to begin their first ice-fishing experience. Every outdoor outing to a child is an adventure, especially when they’re challenged with accomplishing certain tasks in preparation for the event.  Scaling down “kid size” participation efforts can sometimes be a challenge, especially when you’ve become used to either doing things yourself, or with adult help.  Their eagerness to begin this trip was evident in the energy they expended in making their own sandwiches, packing and organizing the rest of the food with mom’s help, and then venturing out to the garage to do their part in loading ice fishing gear.  Not once did they need to be asked to do something twice, instead after loading one item, it was followed up with, “What’s next.” Once we were loaded and ready to roll down the highway, they kissed mom goodbye, whereupon I heard the words I was to hear many times before future outings, “Don’t come home without them.”  Although they’d needed their snowsuits to help load the truck, they were quickly stripped down so they wouldn’t get overheated on the hour long drive to the lake.

Although I was filled with apprehension about taking them on the ice so young, in the same light, their eagerness to participate overrode any misgivings I might have had. As we pulled into the bait shop, they were handed the minnow bucket, and the empty snuff containers for the wax worms, and maggots.  As I stepped up to the counter with the minnow bucket, I slid two, clear plastic, snap lid containers in front of the girls, and let them pick out six ice-ants apiece; if they were going to take up this sport, they may as well begin to build their own ice fishing tackleboxes.  After fielding their questions about which colour and shape was best, and watching the faces of the other patrons in the store, I was proud of them, even though they hadn’t yet wet a line.

At the boat ramp they were once again willing participants in helping to unload the truck, and stacking the gear on the ice shanty for the trip out onto the lake.  Fortunately the channel runs right next to the shoreline, so we didn’t have to go more than 75 meters before I stopped and announced, “We’re here!” Once again my little helpers pitched in and helped to erect the shanty, whereupon I began the instruction of Ice-Fishing 101.  They were shown how sharp the blades on the auger were, and cautioned that if I ever forgot to put the cover back on after drilling holes, they were to immediately remind me. I showed them how the heater worked, and explained what it would do if it were running out of fuel, and how we’d remedy the situation. They were taught how to clean the shavings out of the hole, and why it was important, as I made a mental note to acquire another couple of ice scoops. After showing them how to operate the tiny reels on the ice rods, and what the spring bobber would do if a fish were to bite, they were almost set to begin fishing, but first they were given the opportunity to make their own decision regarding which type of bait they wanted to use first, along with each of them having a container of their own with maggots and wax worms. Fishing with children is no different than any other aspect of child rearing; each new step is accompanied by new questions.

Settled onto their buckets in the shanty with the heater blazing behind them, I was now able to attend setting up my own gear, but before I could grab a rod from the bucket, Krista announced with a yelp that she had a fish on. Frantic moments ensued as she tried to reel in the fish in the confines of the shanty, made doubly difficult with her sister’s head directly over the ice hole, looking down trying to see the fish.  Seconds later a chunky gill emerged to a squealing welcome from the girls.  As I removed the hook from Krista’s fish, Sarah too hooked into a fish, and the excitement began all over again.  Removing the hook from Sarah’s fish, I began to throw it on the ice with Krista’s, when she announced, “I want to let my fish go home.”  “What?  Don’t you want to take it home and eat it for dinner?” I asked her.

“Nope,” she said, tears filling her three-year old eyes, “his mommy will miss it.  I want to let it go home.” I didn’t argue, attempt to reason, or try to persuade her further, her reasons were her own.

“C’mon,” I told her, “come out here with me.  Do you want to release it yourself, or do you want me to let it go?”

Out of the shanty she came, and taking her fish from my hand with both of hers, she bent over and let it slide back into the depths.”  Catch and release is a wonderful thing, especially when it comes naturally from a three year old~

Mid-morning came and went, and the ice was littered with freshly caught fish as I fired up the Coleman stove and began to fix hot chocolate, while they dug into cheese curls and apple slices, adorned with mitten fluff.  As I prepared something warm to drink, unprompted, they walked along the shoreline picking up litter off of the ice that other anglers had left behind, then brought it back to the shanty and put it into our garbage bag.

With the day having warmed, the girls decided they now wanted to fish outside with dad, so I backed the shanty off of their holes, and got them set up, using the shanty as a windbreak. The fish never let us down and they continued to bite throughout the entire day.  Other than her first fish, Sarah began adding her share of fish to the evening dinner. Despite repeated cautions to “Look before you step, Sarah managed to step into an ice hole, her leg going in all the way to her hip.  Snatching her from the ice I ran her to the truck, stripped her down and got her into dry clothes we’d packed along “just in case.” It was at this point their first outing ended.

As I drifted off that night remember the sights and sounds of the day, I came to several realizations that my children, and now other children have benefited from.  First, going to second hand stores helps to defray the cost of additional snow suits, sweaters, and extra pairs of insulated shoes that are so necessary if like Sarah did, your offspring step into an ice hole.  It’s far easier to do on bare ice, then it is with snow on the ice, and if you’re planning on introducing your offspring to this great winter sport, pack along extra clothing that first trip, and keep adding to your extra gear supplies.  Does the extra clothing have to fit properly?  No, there are only two criteria the extra clothing and boots have to fulfill, and that’s warm, and dry.

Take the time to teach and not fuss.  Fussing only frustrates them, and decreases their enjoyment of spending quality time with you, and that’s precisely what they want to do. They want to do fun things with mom or dad, and take on adult responsibilities, no matter that it’s literally accomplished in baby steps.

Scale down the gear, if possible, let them handle a small spinning reel or one of those small plastic ice fishing rods while riding to the lake.  If they are allowed to figure things out on the ride with simple instructions, the less likely they are to mishandle the equipment while on the ice.  If they get bored on the ice, spend time doing whatever it is “they” want to do, so long as it’s a safe activity, and the next time you take them out you’ll find that their “fishing attention span” has increased substantially.

I’ll reiterate, don’t fuss or yell or scream, unless it’s a safety issue and their action needs to be halted immediately so someone doesn’t get hurt.  Take the time to explain things again and again, reinforce it and they’ll eventually get it.  Trust me, you were no “trip to the beach” (unless it was Omaha, or Juno) when you were a rugrat and someone first took you fishing.  Mentor them, and I promise you you’ll have a fishing partner for life.

Introduce other youth to ice fishing by taking along some of their friends. Unlike adults, kids aren’t going to fish for eight hour straight without wanting some sort of distraction. On a recent outing with several young boys ranging in age from six to ten, they gave it an honest effort for three hours, and nobody had had so much as a nibble.  The kids got bored and wanted to know if they could wander around a bit. We got together and talked about what was safe and what wasn’t; we discussed limitations, and I sent them on their merry way exploring the shoreline.  It wasn’t long before they were having a snowball fight, and that progressed into throwing waving around cattails until they burst.  They had a ball for thirty minutes burning off excess energy, and soon returned to fish some more.  What a sight, but what fun they had. None of us caught fish, but it’s an adventure they’ll never forget.  Will they go again?  They already have, and the next trip made up for getting skunked as many of them connected with smallmouth and walleye adults would be envious of, and for some of them, it was the first fish they’d ever caught.

Give them small tasks to do and they’ll respond with enthusiasm. No, sometimes they won’t be able to accomplish the task by themselves. They will soon forget the initial failure, but what they won’t ever forget is that you stopped what you were doing and let them try something new.  They will realize for themselves that the task is impossible, they don’t need you to tell them, “You won’t be able to do that,” instead let them try and come to their own knowledge.  Soon they’ll get the hang of it and be able to make it happen, and on that day their smile will be like that of a lighthouse guiding ships to safe harbor. Today my girls are in their thirties, and they have forged new links in that family fishing fun chain with their own kids.

If you take the time to show kids how a stove or lantern works, in a couple of years they’ll be proficient at the task, and suddenly you won’t have to cook or fix hot chocolate, or hot soup for them, they’ll be doing it for you.  Mine were seven and eight when they were able to send meals out the shanty door to me and any adult partners I had along on a winter fishing foray, and it only got better with time. 

Due to the fact that they live in the states, and I’ve migrated to Canada, I’ve found a host of other children that have never been ice fishing but want to learn.  I accommodate new kids on an annual basis, and cherish each outdoor outing, and take the time to chronicle these outings in photos not only myself, but far more importantly, for them and their parents.  Another rewarding part of these outing is making contact with the local newspaper and sending them the photos, and then the child discovering him/herself in the newspaper.  Can you spell “THRILLED?”

Take a kid ice fishing this winter that has never been on the ice, and remember: The echo of a child’s laugher in the outdoors falls upon God’s ears, making Him smile~

Mike Stewart

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Jerkbaits (sometimes referred to as stickbaits) average 6 to 8 inches in length and are shaped like a slim cigar, sometimes straight, sometimes slightly curved or you may find them with a jointed mid-section. Not to be confused with top water lures, jerkbaits have a small lip, which assists in the diving process.

With the use of adhesive lead dots or strip weights and water fillable apertures, these lures can be adjusted to any depth, giving an “in your face” presentation, something a bass cannot resist. Several types are available on the market, however few of them offer versatility or “out of the pack” performance with (in my opinion) the exception of Norman Lures and Rapala the use of which I will detail after I have explained the tackle and types of retrieve.

Lure retrieval is dependent upon location. In deep water, I prefer to cast with a 6 and a half to 7 foot medium-heavy action pole as far as I possibly can, then immediately crank the reel to make the lure dive. Remember, the more you crank, the deeper the bait will travel. It is important to note that the deeper you crank, the less time you will have to keep the lure at the optimum depth, as you are not only diving the lure, but bringing it back towards you. This will shorten the life of the presentation, so accuracy is critical and long casts are vital. Light line will aid you in the speed at which the lure dives. I prefer 12 to 15 pound test for this application.

Reel ratio is not so important as mentioned in previous articles, however for my own use, I personally prefer a lower 4.5 to 1 ratio. I like to leave the lure motionless for at least 10 seconds before I twitch the lure and retrieve two or three turns of line onto the reel. This should be repeated until the lure is back at the boat. Watch for fish to follow the lure also. I have caught bass right under the boat when they strike the lure as it moves upwards to the surface. If this method does not produce strikes (usually on the pause) I like to drag the lure with a sweeping motion and return the rod tip towards the lure retrieving line as I do so, thereby keeping in constant contact with the lure. Again, strikes will usually occur on the pause or as you begin the retrieve.

For shallow water, a shorter 6-foot to 6 and a half foot pole, is best with a medium heavy action. Heavier line will keep the lure higher in the water and will help minimize snagging the tops of weedbeds or submerged bushes. The retrieves remain the same, however I speed up the presentation, as the bass tend to get a better look at the lure in shallow water than they do in the darker depths.

As mentioned, the two lures I would use for this application, as are follows: Norman’s RIP-N-RIC are water fillable, using a small syringe supplied with the lures. Injecting small amounts of water gives neutral buoyancy to the lure when cranked to the desired depth. I will occasionally add lead adhesive weights to these lures if I need a rapid fall, especially in moving water, where the strike zone is only accessible for a limited time. Rapala lures require little or no adjustment as they suspend when you stop turning the reel or pause on a sweeping rod movement, they do rise very, very slowly when you stop reeling. I occasionally like to add even amounts of lead to the head and tail usually around the hook mounting, to ensure stability and balance. The only major change I will ever make to any store purchased lure, is to remove the hooks and replace them with higher graded hooks such as Gamakatsu if they are not already equipped. So next time the fishing slows down, try a jerkbait. I have on occasion caught two fish at once on these long lures which I can only describe as awesome!

Tight Lines!

Charles “The Bass Doctor” Stuart.

Copyright (c) Charles Graham MacLeod-Stuart. Permission is granted to copy, distribute and/or modify this document under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2 or any later version published by the Free Software Foundation; with no Invariant Sections, no Front-Cover Texts, and no Back-Cover Texts

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Weightless worming is one of my favorite methods of fishing, using just a hook and the worm.  To successfully use this method the line must be lighter than you would normally use for Texas or Carolina rigging.  I recommend no lighter than 6-pound and no heavier than 12-pound test.  A 6-foot light spinning outfit will work well.  Use a 1/0 hook for 4- to 6-inch worms, a 2/0 for 6- to 8-inch worms, 3/0 for 8- to 10-inch worms and 4/0 or 5/0 for the really large worms over 10 inches in total length.

Simply cast the worm into cover or at the edge of a weedline.  Allow it to fall slowly, watching the line for twitches or a sudden change in direction.  To the fish, the worm will look as if it has fallen from the overhanging tree or from the top of the weeds.  Allow the worm to reach the bottom.  Do not retrieve line.  Just shake the rod and the worm will twitch on the bottom as if it is struggling to get back to the surface.  This method is often very productive if the fish become finicky caused by fishing pressure, a sudden change in the weather, or water levels going up or down.

Using a floating worm over cover is also a very exciting method of worm fishing.  Bright pink and yellow are perfect for this application as you can see the worm clearly and often watch the worm disappear as a bass engulfs it!  Drag the bait in small movements over the cover, and then let it sit in spaces between pads or at the edge of weedbeds.

Texas rigging is used with great success because it will get the worm to the bottom quickly through thick cover.  Heavier line to 18-pound test and a heavy action rod are required so that you can muscle fish out of weeds or fallen tree cover.  A 6- to 6 ½-foot baitcasting or spinning outfit will work with this application.

A needle-nosed or cone-shaped weight should fit tightly on top of the worm or slightly away from the head dependant upon conditions.  I like to place the weight against the head if I am fishing deep, thick cover.  I find that the worm cuts through the weeds and surface cover quickly, minimizing snags.  I will place the weight a quarter of an inch away from the head of the worm if the cover is not too dense.  I have found that using a toothpick will secure the weight to the line.  Just insert the toothpick into the lead head and snap off the excess.  The wood will expand in water making the fit tighter.  Placing the lead away from the worm allows a more fluid movement and gives the appearance that the worm is following something small.  Bass like to ambush other smaller fish or creatures when there are apparently chasing something else.  Your presentation should be hopped or dragged along the bottom and paused so that the fish can get a look at the offering.  Slow to moderate retrieval is best.  Set the hook with a firm upward movement, this will ensure a good hook set.

Carolina rigging is not so common here on Long Island but if you find yourself in an open water situation without too much cover (KentuckyLake is a perfect example) this method can prove very effective.  With a 7- or 7 ½-foot baitcasting rig, your main line can be as heavy as 20-pound test.  Rig a ½- or ¾-ounce ball or pear-shaped weight and attach a link swivel. In rough weather conditions you can upgrade your lead weight to 2 ounces if necessary.  (You may like to add a glass bead in between the weight and the swivel, which can be effective as a sound attractor, but I have often had fish bite the bead rather than the worm and so given false bite indication).  This will stop the weight from sliding down to the hook.  Next attach a length of lesser breaking strain line (12- to 15-pound test) to the swivel which will determine at what distance from the bottom you want your worm to rise and fall.  I like to use a four-foot length of line but dependant upon water depth and clarity you may decide to make the leader from 18 inches to six-foot in length.

Attach your hook dependent upon worm size (as mentioned above) and make your cast. The retrieve is slow and deliberate, dragging the weight along the bottom of the lake or pond.  Long agonizing pauses may also be necessary, waiting to feel for those tell tale tugs from hungry bass.  When you feel the resistance from a fish, your strike should be hard and to the side, not upward, as that can often pull the bait out of the fish’s mouth.  A sideways hook set will pull the bait into the corner of the mouth and your hook-up ratio is increased.

When Carolina rigging, you may also want to use a floating worm.  This is often used if there is structure on the bottom, which might snag the bait if dragged.  If you do, allow time for the worm to return to an upright position over the weight before beginning the retrieve.  Many other lures can be fished by this method.  I have Carolina rigged small crankbaits, floating rattletraps, and even jerkbaits with great success in open water.  

Tight Lines!

Charles “The Bass Doctor” Stuart.

Copyright (c) Charles Graham MacLeod-Stuart. Permission is granted to copy, distribute and/or modify this document under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2 or any later version published by the Free Software Foundation; with no Invariant Sections, no Front-Cover Texts, and no Back-Cover Texts