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As I was driving home from work this evening, I was lamenting the winds and the assumption they would keep me off the water. I had been watching the recent predictions and hadn't even considered a trip. When I got close to home, I couldn't resist driving by my local launch - Just to check it out, I told myself. It was like saying I only read Playboy for the articles...
I was pleasantly surprised at how sheltered the area was. The seed was firmly planted in my brain of going for it. I got home and touched base with my wife, who encouraged me to get out there (she is awesome!). I was on the water 20 minutes later.
It was still at least 1.5 hours before sunset, so I worked some traditional areas and had typically daytime success with the resident White Perch. The tide was beginning to flood and the winds were starting to lay down. The recent cold front cooled the water temps to 76 degrees - down from 81 a few days ago.
Over the next hour+, I managed to hook about a dozen Perch and was just enjoying the opportunity to unwind after a day at the store. The zen of casting was easy to get lost in as I worked areas I have had success in the past. I was accompanied by the traditional sounds of being on the water; Osprey calling, herons quaking, fish jumping and the random teenager talking way to loudly on his cell several hundred yards away....
Suddenly, my serenity was a shattered as I heard a squawk unlike anything I have experienced before. I turned and watched as a resident Osprey was dive bombing a working Blue Heron. The sound was coming from the heron as it stoically stood it's ground - spreading it's wings out wide and lunging as it tried to spear the osprey in mid flight while it was perpetrating it's intimidating aerial assault. I have no idea who would have won the battle, had it succeeded.
This happened repeatedly over the next half hour. The osprey would hover, dive and circle around to come in again. It would make 2 passes and then return to it's nest, content in the illusion it was a bad ass that could scare anything away. The Heron would have none of it, however. As soon as the osprey vacated the air space, it went right back to hunting it's dinner. I'd never seen anything like it.
At this point, the sun was setting and reflecting a rainbow palette on the now flat water and clouds. It was enough to make me stop and just stare so that I could enjoy this latest component of the natural experience.
Before the sun ducked below the tree line, I moved my kayak into position and dropped my anchor. I wanted to maintain my position in case the winds and / or tide had other ideas. I was floating in 7' of water, 15' away from the end of a dock I have fished often.
On a recent trip, I discovered that the light at the dock's end turned on automatically as the daylight diminished. As the lamp strongly illuminated the water, it cast a distinct line between shadow and light. it was like the Good Humor truck pulling up on a hot summer's day. The light drew in the minnows and the minnows attracted the perch. Unfortunately, on that trip, I was chased off the ravenous mosquito's that also heard the dinner bell.
This trip, I was prepared. I had my anchor and excellent bug protection. As soon as the light went on, the frenzy began. I was flipping a 1/8 oz Mepps and hooking up on every 3 of 5 casts. As the darkness deepened, so did the ferocity of the bite. Before long every fish was attacking the lure and swallowing all 3 of the treble hooks. The competition was so fierce that they were inhaling my tiny lure.
After de-hooking at least 2 that I was sure wouldn't survive, I changed tactics and pulled out a bigger bait that they couldn't swallow. It was a tiny 2" suspending Rapala. As soon as I would flip it into the feeding frenzy, I was connecting on 90% of my casts. The perch were racing to grab it before their buddy did. I was watching fish frantically swim throughout the "glow" zone chasing anything that moved.
Over the next hour, I hooked countless fish, mostly in the 8"-11" range, with one or two 12"ers thrown in. I was really hoping to hit the citation 13" mark, but it was not to be.
I ended up leaving the hot bite to head home and see my wife before reality required us to crash for the night. I conservatively estimate that I boated at least 50 fish and lost half again as many.
As I pulled up my anchor, I turned off my headlamp and was floored by the beauty I had been ignoring while I focused on the constant bend in my ultralight rod. The quarter moon was luminescent and tranquility of the flat calm water reflecting water front properties was stunning. As I took it all in, I thanked whatever powers that be for my amazing night. I slowly paddled my way back to the launch, already anticipating the next time I can repeat the experience.
I was pleasantly surprised at how sheltered the area was. The seed was firmly planted in my brain of going for it. I got home and touched base with my wife, who encouraged me to get out there (she is awesome!). I was on the water 20 minutes later.
It was still at least 1.5 hours before sunset, so I worked some traditional areas and had typically daytime success with the resident White Perch. The tide was beginning to flood and the winds were starting to lay down. The recent cold front cooled the water temps to 76 degrees - down from 81 a few days ago.
Over the next hour+, I managed to hook about a dozen Perch and was just enjoying the opportunity to unwind after a day at the store. The zen of casting was easy to get lost in as I worked areas I have had success in the past. I was accompanied by the traditional sounds of being on the water; Osprey calling, herons quaking, fish jumping and the random teenager talking way to loudly on his cell several hundred yards away....
Suddenly, my serenity was a shattered as I heard a squawk unlike anything I have experienced before. I turned and watched as a resident Osprey was dive bombing a working Blue Heron. The sound was coming from the heron as it stoically stood it's ground - spreading it's wings out wide and lunging as it tried to spear the osprey in mid flight while it was perpetrating it's intimidating aerial assault. I have no idea who would have won the battle, had it succeeded.
This happened repeatedly over the next half hour. The osprey would hover, dive and circle around to come in again. It would make 2 passes and then return to it's nest, content in the illusion it was a bad ass that could scare anything away. The Heron would have none of it, however. As soon as the osprey vacated the air space, it went right back to hunting it's dinner. I'd never seen anything like it.
At this point, the sun was setting and reflecting a rainbow palette on the now flat water and clouds. It was enough to make me stop and just stare so that I could enjoy this latest component of the natural experience.
Before the sun ducked below the tree line, I moved my kayak into position and dropped my anchor. I wanted to maintain my position in case the winds and / or tide had other ideas. I was floating in 7' of water, 15' away from the end of a dock I have fished often.
On a recent trip, I discovered that the light at the dock's end turned on automatically as the daylight diminished. As the lamp strongly illuminated the water, it cast a distinct line between shadow and light. it was like the Good Humor truck pulling up on a hot summer's day. The light drew in the minnows and the minnows attracted the perch. Unfortunately, on that trip, I was chased off the ravenous mosquito's that also heard the dinner bell.
This trip, I was prepared. I had my anchor and excellent bug protection. As soon as the light went on, the frenzy began. I was flipping a 1/8 oz Mepps and hooking up on every 3 of 5 casts. As the darkness deepened, so did the ferocity of the bite. Before long every fish was attacking the lure and swallowing all 3 of the treble hooks. The competition was so fierce that they were inhaling my tiny lure.
After de-hooking at least 2 that I was sure wouldn't survive, I changed tactics and pulled out a bigger bait that they couldn't swallow. It was a tiny 2" suspending Rapala. As soon as I would flip it into the feeding frenzy, I was connecting on 90% of my casts. The perch were racing to grab it before their buddy did. I was watching fish frantically swim throughout the "glow" zone chasing anything that moved.
Over the next hour, I hooked countless fish, mostly in the 8"-11" range, with one or two 12"ers thrown in. I was really hoping to hit the citation 13" mark, but it was not to be.
I ended up leaving the hot bite to head home and see my wife before reality required us to crash for the night. I conservatively estimate that I boated at least 50 fish and lost half again as many.
As I pulled up my anchor, I turned off my headlamp and was floored by the beauty I had been ignoring while I focused on the constant bend in my ultralight rod. The quarter moon was luminescent and tranquility of the flat calm water reflecting water front properties was stunning. As I took it all in, I thanked whatever powers that be for my amazing night. I slowly paddled my way back to the launch, already anticipating the next time I can repeat the experience.
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