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OK, that's it. We quit. It's been a great fall fishing season that just won't end, and it's not even close to ending! Surface water temperatures in the bay today were 38F, which means that there is a huge quantity of heat left in the water. Two more weeks or more of open water is a definite possibility. If you have put away your boat, get it the hell back out, the fishing has never been better!
Note: I told ya so! I told you all along the best fishing was yet to come, and not to put your boats away. But how could anyone have guessed we'd still have 38F water on January 3rd fer cryin' out loud.
After many years of trying, my longtime caving buddy Grog managed to join me and my dad for some fall fishing. He lives on Kasshabog Lake which is northeast of Stoney Lake, just outside the Kawarthas. So you can imagine his usual experience with walleyes. It was his first trip to Quinte.
In the parking lot, I knew we were in for a ripper. The winds were just blasting straight out of the west, and not far beyond Merland's we were into the whitecaps. Some other boats were fishing here, a few of them rental boats, and probably told by Merland's that the fishing is just as good there as anywhere. While this may have been true this day, certainly in the recent past it has not. You had to go farther out.
So we threw our lines in the water, and got blasted down in front of the cement plant ahead of 60 kph winds. Somewhere right in the middle I saw the side planer start pulling behind the boat, and handed the rod to Grog. Woo-hoo! I slipped the boat into neutral and we stormed along at nearly 2mph. The fish seemed to be winning, so I threw the motor into reverse, as the waves were not quite big enough yet to come over the transom. Grog was gaining ground, but surprise surprise, the other side planer was moving back. Damned if we didn't have a double header right off the bat. Suh-weet!
When the first sow reached the side of the boat, ol' Grog nearly shat himself, she was so big. I reached into the water, but she had plenty of play left in her, shaking her head from side to side and refusing to let me get my hands into her gills. "Mine's bigger," said my dad. He always says this.
Meanwhile Grog is showing incredible self-control as I'm fumbling around. "It's well hooked, don't worry!" I lied. Swish, turn, flip, almost got 'er, ooops. Sorry dude. Grog's fighting panic now. Try again. Finally after a full two minutes, I heaved 'er out - eleven and a half pounds of double digit walleye, a great start to the day.
"Mine is bigger," said my dad, still fighting the fish.
"Nah," I said, "it's just that we're drifting so fast, you think it's big......" But then suddenly I shut up, as I was now able to shift my attention to his rod, and I looked over to see the softer Shimano crap-O-rod bent over in an inverted U, the fish pulling hard straight towards the bottom, directly under the boat. Uh-oh, I had to admit he was right.
Well, eventually we got this one to the surface, and yet again I reached over the side of the boat into the two foot waves, bobbing in the 60k winds, but this one I managed to grab a bit more quickly.
The result? Our biggest of the season, about 13 3/8 lb. Damn, wish I had grabbed that rod, on account of it would have been my personal best by an ounce or two. Just look at the stomach saggin' on that sow!
Whatever. Ho-hum, another ten-plus pounder. Grog fired a few photos of us with the sun behind us - there was no way to change positions or move the boat, forget that! Equally impossible would have been to turn around and try to fish into the wind to go back over the same "spot", the term used loosely in this completely featureless area.
Note: Many years ago, some old timer local told my dad there was a secret weedbed between the cement plant and the point, and that he would go out there and catch fish there at this secret hotspot. My dad is certain we found it. However by the time we pitched his fish back in, we were blown a good half mile past it - wherever it is!
Unfortunately the seas were too stormy to stick around, so after a few more minutes of insanity in the spume, we hung a right and cut across the grain of the waves to the ferry, where we plopped in beneath the shelter of the cliff.
Here we enjoyed flat water, and we trolled beneath the cliff, then across towards the yellow house and Pull Point. Very windy, no fish. Back to the cliff, no fish, back to the yellow house, no fish. The wind had started to die down. It was 3:30.
"OK, look, if we don't catch a fish on this pass, we're outa here back to the cement plant."
Just as we were passing Pull Point, we nailed another eleven-pounder. So much for the cement plant. Another hour of trolling, nada.
Back to the cement plant just before dark, nothing, and then finished up in front of Merland's. Seizing the moment [Carpe swinem!] I grabbed the old faithful #9 silver Shad Rap, and threw it out on the side planer. Bingo, fish on! Grog pulled it in, then decided to give it the long-distance release.
Undeterred, I pulled another fish in on it five minutes later, same lure. Being the better fisherman [yeah, right] I managed to get him in the boat this time. Nothing to do with luck. Ho-hum, another 11 pounder. All of the 11's were 11 and change, so I'd say we had around 48 pounds of fish, a twelve-pound average.
Two on the Dr. Death, one on a silver Tail Dancer, one on the Shad Rap.
Nothing after dark. We met Tin Can at the boat ramp, and swapped stories. It was he who gave me the surface water temp. From the sounds of things we did pretty well.
I would recommend that if you are going out, you might want to start in closer to Merland's, and fish out towards the cement plant. They have probably "come in" a bit since last time we were out. I can't tell you what we "saw" because our fish finder is still buggered. While I can't say it helped us catch many fish, I can definitely tell you it saved us putting zebra mussels on the bottoms of our downrigger cannonballs.
Twice.
Have a great "fall season", eh? My dad and I and the rest of the gang are heading down south to Florida, taking the canoe for fishing in the Everglades, and seeing the wallygators and crocodoodles. My dad suggested a telescopic rod that we could quickly hide, thus saving us the thirty or fifty $US they charge you down there for a weekly fishing license. For fresh water. You pay the same for the salt water one, too.
Damn Merricans. Of course, I happen to be one as well, or so my US Passport tells me. A handy thing to have these days, lemme tell you, along with my Hoser birth certificate.
While down south on our cruise for a week, we'll probably be thinking of you guys enjoying yourselves out on the bay. Yep, we certainly will. As we lie on our beach chairs on the Lido Deck sipping beers we bought cheaply in Cozumel and Mobay and smuggled past the cruise ship security guys' X-ray machines, and apply some more suntan lotion to our puffy white raw swollen purulent flesh cuz we overdid it on the first day, we'll be thinking,
"Gee, I wonder how the fishing is? I wonder how cold it is? Do you think there's any ice? Wouldn't it be nice to be out on the Bay today."
{pause, sip beer, burp, pause, look at the sunset, holy geez here comes that hottie in the pink bikini again, dude - this is no time for fishin', whadya mean, hotties are like fish, you can't catch 'em unless your line is in the water, good point, but now that you're 82 don't you think you should slow down a bit, sip beer, burp, is it time for dinner yet?}
Then again, maybe we won't be thinking of you.
_________________
Self-unemployed and available for fishin' mid-week most days.
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to bad about the pics....
