The rod was handed down to me. Not from anyone I know, either. My brother’s coworker gave him a bunch of old gear he no longer used, and Fish Glove, being a magnanimous brother, divvied it up amongst his siblings. The bulk of the gear was 6+ foot medium action rods paired with medium or large spinning reels. The little red rod (she was 5’6″ at the time) looked comical in next to all the shit-kicking gear meant for monster bass and northern. I secretly hoped neither of my brothers had an eye for it, as I wanted it desperately. It didn’t take me long after I began fishing to realize that I much preferred light line, small baits and finesse presentation to the more aggressive style often associated with bass fishing. Sure, I’ve got big bass on frogs and huge spinners and crankbaits, but I’ve got just as big and just as many big bass with 4″ finesse worms on 4# line. Beyond that, I’ve got slab crappie and bluegill on 1/32 oz feather jigs and 24 inch carp with a wheat bread ball the size of a pea with the same light rod and light line.

The idea of versatility has always been important to me. You see fishermen on tv and talk to ones in real life who are so specific. They have a rod for topwaters, they have a rod for trolling, they have a rod for cranks, they have a rod for plastics. That’s all well and good, but if you walk into my garage right now, you will see nothing but borrowed and hand-me-down gear. I’ve purchased one new reel for myself since the original Shakespeare “catch more fish” combo that got me started on this whole thing 2 years ago next month. I’m not rife with expendable income, so I need something that can multitask. That little rod opened up a lot of water and species to me that I otherwise wouldn’t have targeted. Indeed, it made it possible for me to enjoy what is now my favorite type of fishing, wading small creeks.

Which brings us to Tuesday of this week. I stopped at one of my favorite creeks on my way to my night job. It was the first hot day we have had this year, and I knew the cold torrent of water would not only feel refreshing but would be holding fish. I come to this creek for smallmouth, but it has been a crappie haven all season so far, and Tuesday night my second fish was easily my personal best crappie, bigger than ones I had been pulling from the Fox River proper all April. I’ve come to love crappie, and have probably pulled at least 50 of varying sizes from ponds, lakes, creeks and the river this spring. They’re fun, they fight and I would never have learned that if not for my light rod.

The loss of this rod has been a huge bummer. Not just because it had a lot of sentimental value to me, but because, financially speaking, I just cannot replace it. It was small enough for me to take into tight spaces and cast. It was small enough for Grace to use. It was an important possession and I left it laying in a parking lot because I was in a hurry to get to work and I miss it.

Here are some pics of my favorite fish I caught on my old Berkley and Quantum.

But as I said, winter seems to finally be giving way to spring. I can drive with the windows open, I can stow away the snow shovel and the parka, and I can go fishing.

Today, the family went to a park in Crystal Lake, IL that has a fishing pond. I could find almost no info on it on the internet, so based on what I was able to glean from Google Maps and the USGS National Map, I figured it was a fairly typical pond and probably had bluegill, catfish and bass. So I packed 3 rods, brought all my gear and figured I’d choose my weapons after getting a look at the water. I disregarded the fishing pier. I like fishing around and under them, but not from them, for the most part. The shoreline east of the pier where the pond funnels into an outlet to a creek seemed promising while staring at it in my web browser, but that shoreline was elbows and assholes, and I’ve no patience for fighting over spots. So I headed along the west shoreline, looking for a break in the brittle, brown tall grass and bullrushes for a place where I would be able to cast.

First such location, a hundred feet or so from the pier, was a little cramped and the (presumably) high water level kept me pushed back to where I had to 3/4 sidearm cast under a tree and over a bullrush. Aside from a huge ruckus cause by what I am guessing is a spawning carp, I had no bites or nibbles. I had figured out, though, that there was a lot of vegetation where I was casting and the only bait I managed to throw and not bring salad back with it was a Texas rig.

I pressed on probably another 200 feet or so before I came to a drainage pipe. Over head trees would make casting kind of problematic, but the tall grass that had plagued my access was gone, so I decided to give it a whirl. As I bent over to drop my tacklebag, I noticed a sizable contingent of bluegill scatter in the water. I knew what to do. I tied on my 1/32 oz white and black feather jig and began “casting” out. Immediately the little guys were on the offensive, and I started pulling em in hand-over-fist.

There were even some crappie mixed in, and I’ve been getting pretty familiar with crappie so far this season, as between my local pond, this new pond and the Fox River I’ve probably landed 15-20 crappie and might not even be in double digits with any other species.

Clearly, these were, by no means, the biggest fish. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about them, save for the fact that I caught them. I walked until I found a spot that looked promising, found the fish there, and caught them. I never even picked up my heavier gear to cast for bass. I stayed there for an hour, getting my first sunburn of the year, catching and releasing beautiful, tiny fish, completely unburdened by the torrent of shitty, frightening things going on in our life at the moment. It was serene.

Welcome back, spring. Please stay a while.

I fished it twice this week. Entered at the same point each time, first day I went one direction, next day I went the opposite. This creek is not as deep as the first one I tried out, but it also contains a lot more rocks, timber and holes. The first thing I noticed in the first fishable pool I encountered were carp. I immediately regretted not bringing any bread, but the study I read showed no carp in the location I was fishing. Guess that is what I get for basing my tackle choice on old reconnaissance.

Can you spot the two carp?

Anyway, after a few minutes of trying to trick them into taking a feathered jig, I pressed on, in search of willing dance partners. I had my Cabin Creek 1/32 oz pop eye feather jig tied on. It’s tough to cast with 6lb mono and a 5’6″ rod, but the creek is small, shallow, and since I was wading, distance wasn’t important. I could walk near enough to the spot I wanted to cast to, and either drop it in vertically or flip it out a few feet. It was simple fishing, and it provided plenty of fish for me.

Beautiful orange bottoms on these sunfish.

Smallest mouth.

Big fish in a small pond

I didn’t keep a running tally of how many fish I caught. There were a ton of bluegill and green sunfish, a few creek chugs (big ones) and 3 or 4 smallies, most of them able to fit snugly in the palm of my hand.

Traversing upstream I encountered a lot of obstacles, all of which made me lament not having better equipment for wading. The combination of Crocs and basketball shorts are nice in that they are light, easy to clean and dry quick, but when it comes to climbing over submerged rocks covered in moss, slick tree trunks or climbing up a muddy bank, it can get dicey. If I had hip or chest waders, I could maneuver under a lot of the stuff that I am forced to bypass or climb over.

The traversal was worth it, though. Not because I found a great honeyhole full of giant smallies…but just because I felt miles away from civilization, even though I was not only 5 minutes from I-90, but because I was also only 5 minutes from my home. It is picturesque and quiet, two of the things I value most when I am fishing.

My crap camera doesn’t do this view justice.

One of the lessons I have learned in my limited experience wading is to travel light. For my second trip, I brought the same feather jig and one small bare hook to try and catch a carp. After the carp were ambivalent to my offerings, I headed downstream. There I found a lot more twists and turns, some stronger current, some deeper holes and much more negotiable terrain. Also found the same slew of greenies, gills, chubs and small smallies. Behind some downed timber at the end of an inside bend, out of the current, in deep, stained water, I found this guy.

CONTRAST

All in all, I have really taken a liking to fishing these small creeks. Sure, it would be nice if I could hook up with a keeper every now and then, but with the levels down and being this far upstream the river, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I still haven’t stepped into the Fox yet. I don’t know if I can/will until I can get out there with someone else more experienced. I also will have to sacrifice an old pair of boots when I do. Clear creeks where I can look at each place I plan to make footfall are sufficient for Crocs, but I’ve lost enough lures in the Fox to know that if I step on a treble hook in Crocs, it can mean a one-way ticket to tetanus town, and that’s not somewhere I want to go.

P.S. Is anyone else freaked the fuck out by how quickly crawfish can swim?

Days like today, when the dog woke my wife up at 6 am and she elected to take her out, letting me get a full extra hour of sleep because I have to go to work. My daughter doesn’t get up until after I am at work. I have to get up either way. She could have easily just kicked me in the dick, told me to take out the dog and go to work so she could sleep in. But she didn’t.

Then, when I finally shamble downstairs, she has not only fed the dog out and taken her out for her morning poop and done her usual morning “chores” of dishes and cleaning catboxes, she is kind enough to wait until I come down to make coffee so I can have a fresh cup. She is kind enough to bring it to me with a slice of pound cake as I sit on the couch and fight off dog licks while she remains in the kitchen, cleaning up the French press and coffee grinder.

Then, after a full day of caring for and entertaining the dog and our rambunctious 5 year old daughter while I am at work, she will find the energy and patience to cook dinner so when I get home and reassume my position on the couch, I will have a hot, delicious meal. This is the only time on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays where I get to spend a precious hour or two with the whole family, because when I come back late at night, my daughter is already in bed (hopefully) sleeping.

After I leave again for job number 2, she will do more dog walking, more picking up dog poo, more games and arts and crafts with the 5 year old. The cat will probably puke at some point and she will clean it. The daughter will get a bath and then want to play for another hour or two before bed.

A million things will transpire at home while I am at work lifting boxes or scrubbing toilets, and my wife will take care of all of them. Yet she still somehow finds time to make me coffee in the morning and dinner at night, even though I explicitly tell her she doesn’t have to do such things. It’s 2012. I don’t want her to feel like I expect her to be Laura Petrie or June Cleaver, because I don’t, but I also want her to know that, when she does those Laura Petrie and June Cleaver things, that they don’t go unnoticed or unappreciated.

Waking up to coffee, coming home to a clean house and a hot meal…these are not things I have ever asked for, but I get them. I am thankful and I am lucky.

So, thank you babe. You’re one in a million.

P.S. What’s for dinner?

Last night, I had the pleasure to meet and fish with someone whom I befriended on the internet. Chris Beckstrom, the man behind CB Fishes, shared with me his secret pond (a honeyhole so hole-like I actually drove right by it and had to turn around). We shared some conversation, we caught some bass and had a nice little time.

And, just now, as I hopped over to his blog to copy the link to insert it in the intro above, I noticed he has already written much of what I was going to write. And since I forgot to upload the pictures I took to WordPress and/or Dropbox last night and can’t access them from work, I will just drop another link to his post here so you can see the photographic evidence and read his much more measured, considered words.

It is obvious that the same time and effort Chris puts into his blog also goes into fishing, too. We talked about our experiences learning the ropes, the evolution of our attitudes, approaches and theories in this relatively short time we have been serious about the sport.

Most importantly for me, though, was seeing Chris catch fish on one of his homemade crankbaits. I started carving baits out of scrap pine I found laying at work, but aside from giving one a bitching firetiger paint job, I have yet to get one in the water. Witnessing his lures being taken by nice pond bass is enough motivation for me to get off my ass and not only get my baits wet, but get cracking on some new designs.

All in all, it was really cool to meet another internet friend in person. Being able to chat online and meeting up to fish removes a the huge, awkward “introduction” conversation barrier which has always prevented me from making friends the way most people do. Even though it was the first time I was able to shake his hand, we were able to launch right into conversations like we had known each other a long time.

Thanks for showing off your secret spot, CB. I will keep it under wraps. Hope we can fish it again soon…maybe with one of my homemade cranks.

Seems like it is going to be another slow day at work…where’d I leave that boxcutter I’ve been whittling with…

Now, I still haven’t figured out what that means for the river. True, I am starting to see that lower levels pushes the fish from the slack to the current, but I have years of data to acquire and compile before anything becomes second nature to me on the river.

The pond, which I had been neglecting through this extensive rainless period, started to intrigue me. I knew that if the water level had dropped as much as it had on the river, that meant the water temperature would also be going up and, in turn, might mean more active largemouth. The spawn is over, we have had 4 or 5 straight days of 90 degree weather with cloudless skies and I guessed there would be a lot more exposed shoreline and a lot more underwater vegetation, and I hoped this meant hungry, aggressive bass.

So I decided to head to the pond on my lunchbreak yesterday. 12:30 PM. Bright sun directly overhead. Few clouds. Wind gusting between 20 and 30 MPH. You know…ideal fishing conditions. I was certainly correct on the shore. Standing on a now dried out bed where I was catching bluegill a couple of moths ago was a bit weird, but also gave me a new angle at some of the known largemouth hangouts.

I’ve mostly been using the baitcaster lately, simply just to get the hang of using it. The thing is cheap and not in great condition, but, my hope is that someday when I have the money to buy a nice one, I won’t have any problems learning to use it. I tied on one of my largemouth wormhooks. I have been crimping down the barbs on a lot of these hooks I have been using at the pond. Aside from them being obviously better for the fish and much easier to unhook, my hope is that it will also help me to learn better hooksetting and how to play a fish better. I have definitely lost a few fish and senkos this way, but it also makes each fight a little more of a valuable learning experience. Plus, I am only using these hooks at the local pond where, until yesterday, I assumed any bass I lost was worth losing. Not only because I assumed they’re all cookie cutter carbon copies of the same clean, 12 inch bass I always seem to catch there, but because I know I would be back to catch it another day.

I threw on a green pumpkin Strike King Shim-E-Stick and begun casting. Had one, lost it on a jump. Had another, pulled the hook out of it’s mouth and lost the worm. Reaching for another one of the same plastic worm, I decided, for fun, to throw on the bubblegum pink senko that had been given to me by a coworker. I had caught a fish or two on this color before, and given how aggressive the bite had been in the first 15 minutes, I figured it was worth a shot.

First cast went down at the edge of the submerged weeds that marks the barrier between a shallow bay and the deeper part of the pond. I quickly felt two small taps followed by a hard slam. I did my best Bill Dance impression and made a big, theatrical hookset. I began to retrieve. As soon as I got that fish out of the weeds and into open water, she began to pull in such a way that I actually verbalized “holy shit!” to my audience of nobody. I briefly thought it might be a big carp, as I doubted any bass in this pond could pull that hard, but I also have not seen a single carp in there and also had my doubts as to whether a carp could get it’s mouth around a big 3/0 hook.

Rod tip doubled over pretty well, I tensed up, realizing this was not the ordinary bass. I suddenly got very nervous about that crimped barb. I got very nervous about the weeds I knew she would dive into when I got her close to shore. As expected, she buried in deep in the weeds and I pulled up a clump of vegetation that looked so big that I thought I had lost her. Once I pulled some of the weeds back, though, it became apparent that it was, in fact, mostly fish on the end of my line, not weeds. I knew immediately this was my personal best largemouth. A big fatty that I guessed to be around 16 inches. It was not until I hoisted it up that I felt the weight of what was easily a 3lb fish. It was not until I lipped her and got almost my entire fist into her mouth that I took a better look. This fish was pushing 18 inches long. This was a real, proper lunker. And she wasn’t caught by happenstance while trolling a crankbait in a stocked lake. This was earned, and it felt great. After a few photo-ops and a whole lot of whoopin’ and hollerin’ I returned her back, hoping we could dance again some other day.

Happy with that outcome, I headed back to work to finish out the day. Knowing it was unlikely to top the feat I had already managed at the pond, I decided to make a trip to a small creek that I have been meaning to explore on my way to my second job later that evening. A 2002 DNR electrofishing study of this creek revealed alarmingly high numbers of smallmouth at one particular location. I had stopped at this spot last week sometime, landing a smallmouth on my first cast. Recon showed that hitting that spot from shore was going to be extremely difficult, though, so I decided I would put on the knee-high galoshes I commandeered from my dad and walk through the shallows along the shore instead of fighting the thick forest of trees and thorny bushes that comprise the land surrounding the water.

This would be a first for me. I have been trying to get myself a pair of waders for a long time, but so far the appropriate funding has escaped me. Things keep coming up that postpone the purchase. As the postponements have worn on, I have seen more and more people “wet-wading” in the Fox. That is, wading without the aid of hip or chest waders. It seems simple enough, albeit perhaps unnerving and messy. But, since this is a relatively small creek and I know the water to be shallow and clear, I thought it would be a decent place to get my feet wet, so to speak.

It was within about my 10 first tentative steps when I became aware of the fact that “hey these galoshes clearly have holes in them because they have already filled up with water.” Now that I was pot-committed, I figured I would just try my best to keep the water below the bottom of my shorts, as I was going directly from the creek to work and, of course, was not smart enough to bring a change of clothes. That, of course, did not work so well either, but I was able to stay mostly dry. Certainly dry enough to get through work.

I caught some fish. A few smallmouth, sunfish and creek chubs. But this adventure wasn’t really about catching the fish as much as it was about my first time wading. In an effort to cut down on increasing verbosity, I’ll bullet point some of the things I feel like I learned, as well as the highlights.

• Be deliberate. I am an oaf. I trip and fall a lot and dry land, so I knew I would have to move slow and pay attention or else I would end up quite wet. The galoshes were big and clumsy and, as clear as the water was, looking down through water distorts depth perception quite a bit, so I made sure to secure each foot before moving the next one. It paid off, as I didn’t fall once.
• Be patient. Walking through a muddy, silty, rocky creek disturbs the terrain, obviously, and it is important to find the spot I want to cast from, stand still as possible and let everything settle again. The fish, surprisingly, weren’t frightened off by my presence as long as I wasn’t clodding about.
• Be observant. It isn’t just as simple as getting in the water and casting to the places I couldn’t cast to from shore. Once in the water, the viewing angle changes in such a way that I noticed spots I didn’t even see from shore. This is not just limited to deeper pools, but things like undercut banks and submerged structure creating current disturbances below the surface. Also, seeing the fish swimming around, often within feet of me, gave me some insight as to where they position themselves in relation to current and structure, which will have an impact on how I approach fishing from the water in subsequent trips.

NOTE: This was started earlier in the week and written over the course of a few days, so days that refer to “yesterday” are actually referring to Monday or Tuesday. I don’t even remember, man. I am too lazy to go change it all.

My whole family has never gone on a vacation together before.

I haven’t been on a vacation of any kind since my honeymoon.

My wife has never been to (nor really ever wanted to be in) the south.

My daughter has never been on a road trip.

Read on if you want the unabridged version.

Friday morning, my wife, daughter and I packed into my parents’ lovely new Dodge Caravan. We filled the whole back with our baggage, snacks and other road trip provisions. Aside from the 3 of us, my parents and sister were also in the van, filling it to capacity. In my brother’s Mitsubishi Galant, we packed my fishing gear alongside all of my brothers’ luggage and fishing gear. The two of them were piloting that car and we all headed down to Kentucky Lake. The 8 of us were to share a “cabin” at Ken Oak Resort in Aurora. Ken Oak Resort turned out to be a bit dumpy, but considering it was around $400 for 3 nights and 8 people, things like a bathroom door that wouldn’t close, lightswitch fixtures sticking an inch or two out of the wall and that the cable box seemed to believe we were in a different time zone than we actually were could be overlooked. The fact that the place was dirty and dusty wasn’t even a huge problem. The owners were very amenable and we really didn’t need the place for much other than sleeping and eating. The air conditioner kept the place downright frigid, there were no bedbugs or cockroaches milling about (that we saw) and the fridge and freezer kept our perishables from perishing. It was certainly not as nice or roomy as we were hoping, but, in the end, it was sufficient, particularly given the price, laid back atmosphere and proximity to the marina where our rented boats would be making berth.

All was completely acceptable about the place until my wife found a box fan for us to use in closet. After going through the trouble of cleaning the dust of disuse off of it, she knelt down to plug it in and found a dead mouse in the bottom of it. That…that’s not cool.

But I digress. My family is not afraid of tight quarters or mess, and we didn’t head down to Kentucky Lake for the “resort,” but for fishing and Land Between The Lakes. And to take my daughter on her first road trip, which, I’ll have you know, she handled like a champ.

After unpacking and getting settled, my dad wanted to get down to the marina and get our boat rentals set up. He had two john boats reserved with 15 HP motors, and if we could get in before the boat shop closed, we could take the boats out at sunrise before the shop opened up at 7 the next morning. Given the heat that we arrived to and was forecasted for the weekend, the idea of getting out at sunup was extremely important to us. Alas, we were too late and would have to wait until the owners opened up Saturday morning to get on the water.

In the meantime, we were all quite hungry after the drive. We headed back up to the “cabin” to round up our womens and form a dinner plan. We intended at first to make use of the Weber kettle grill that came with our cabin, but were disappointed to find that the nearest stores did not carry the hamburgers and hot dogs we requried. Not having the time or patience to drive to the nearest Wal*Mart to buy stuff to make, we went in search of an eatery. After getting a few rave recommendations from locals, we headed to a place called Belews, a drive-up-and-eat-in-or-on-your-car-or-more-likely-your-giant-pickup-truck type of place. The smells were tantalizing and everything about it screamed to me like it would be my kind of place, but, alas, they only took cash…something that would prove to be a recurring theme of our trip that my parents were unprepared for. So we went in search of a place that would accept plastic payment methods and ended up at a steakhouse called the Brass Lantern. Sitting down to eat at a restaurant was not really what we were hoping to do. We wanted something quick and cheap, but it was either this or eat the remaining road snacks for dinner, so to the Brass Lantern we went. My brothers graciously agreed to split the bill  for dinner, as it was an unexpected expense and one that they both opted for instead of waiting any longer for food.

The Brass Lantern is a beautifully decorated place, the menu is big enough for everyone to have an option (and there are a couple picky eaters in our group) but not so big that you get lost trying to decide. I ordered the catfish because, hey, I am in the south and I haven’t been unable to find good catfish up here outside of Popeye’s. The catfish and snap peas were both great, as was the chopped steak my wife ordered and the fried asparagus dippers my brother ordered. The food was great. The staff were all considerate and helpful. The ambiance was lovely, with the walls decorated with sheet metal art and sculptures, some of which were for sale. The only complaint I had about this otherwise wonderful restaurant was the the time it took for us to get our food. We probably spent at least 90 minutes there, and at least 60 of that was waiting for our entrees to arrive. While the food was delicious and I would recommend anyone in the area to eat at the Brass Lantern, I would do it with the very implicit warning that it is definitely NOT the place to go after you have spent 8 hours on the road and you are both extremely hungry and tired, because by the end of that wait, we all were at our wit’s end.

Well, we headed back to the ‘cabin,” full and ready to try and relax. After the kiddo went to sleep, as well as my dad (who had been up for close to 24 hours), those of us remaining hung out, talked a bit, watched some TV and drank some Crown Royal. Knowing I had a big morning of fishing ahead, I turned in a bit before my wife, but not after outdrinking her. The beds in our “cabin” were abominable, but, hey, so is my old crappy Ikea mattress at home.

Roused by the sound of my mom making coffee (the coffee maker leaked about 1/2 of the water you put in, yielding half the volume at double the strength), I got up, and put on a liberal slathering of SPF 50 and some shorts (a decision my sunburned knees would later rue) and we made our way to the marina.

I had my ear to the ground, reading every report I could on what was catching at Kentucky Lake, and most of them all concurred that the largemouth were being caught in medium-to-deep water off of secondary points with craw mimics and creature baits on the bottom or with deep diving crankbaits. I loaded up on football head jigs, craws, creatures, salamanders and every other odd-looking plastic thing I figured I would never have an opportunity to use. I brought 4 rods with me. The 3 I properly own and the 1 baitcasting rod and reel my brother said I could use since he was having trouble with it. I was certainly not unprepared.

I asked one of the fellows at the marina about how the smallmouth were biting, and he said they were out there, but you needed $3000 of electronics on your boat to find them, so I abandoned all hope then of getting a bronzeback. Still, though, he said the largemouth were still being taken in spots that were suggested in the reports I had been reading.

After my dad squared away details on the boats he reserved, we headed off. The 15 horse outboards on the boats were not close to the most powerful on the lake, but easily the most powerful I had ever been on, and making our way over the wakes of the big boats in our little aluminum john boats gave the feeling of the LSTs storming Normandy in Saving Private Ryan. Bouncy and noisy and turbulent and awesomely fun.

Chris and I were in one boat, my dad and Alex in the next. We worked creek and bay mouths and any points we could find, always anchoring parallel to shore for casting into the shallows on one side and working the points and deeper water on the other. The strategy was sound, but also proved to be ineffective, as a dinky largemouth for Chris was all we managed that first morning. I spent most of this trip dragging the bottom with various creature baits on football head jigs, although I mixed in some crankbaits here and there. We also headed out to the bridge crossing Kentucky Lake to discover that we were in at least 100 feet of water, probably more judging by how long it took bait to reach the bottom. In all honesty, I didn’t have the patience to actually let it reach the bottom. I think if I had, I would have been far too creeped out by the depth to stay in that spot and fish. My Dad and Alex had a little more luck, however, with Alex catching the first bass and biggest bass of the trip on a deep diving Rapala. Dad boated a little smallmouth, a fish of indeterminate species (likely a white bass or drum) and another fish…I don’t even remember what it was, to be honest.

We made our way back to the marina so we could meet up with the ladies, have some lunch and hit the pool at our “resort.” The pool, in stark contrast with the “cabin” itself, was immaculately clean and cared for. The pool was small so the water was warm, but not so warm that it wasn’t refreshing and helpful in cooling off, and we all 8 of us ended up taking a dip. We decided that the next activity would be to head to Land Between The Lakes.

We headed across the huge, narrow bridge and entered Land Between The Lakes without a definite plan in place. We happened across something called the Bison Trail. Unbeknownst to us, it cost $5 to get in, but by the time we found that out there were other cars behind us and we were pot committed. The Bison Trail turned out to be real nice. It is a small, scenic, winding road through a hilly preserve that, until the last 5 minutes, appeared to be home to exactly 0 bison. The last stretch before leaving, though, provided us with an up close view of a whole herd just chilling out by a watering hole. We were able to stop and open up the door to get some nice pictures and a good look. My daughter really enjoyed seeing the bison.

After leaving, we pressed on and decided to try visiting the Nature Center so Grace could see some more animals, something we had been promising her we would do since we told her about the trip. It was on the drive to the Nature Center where the enormity of Land Between The Lakes came into focus. What appeared on the map to be right around the corner took what must have been 30 or more minutes of driving. The scenery is beautiful. A mostly untamed wilderness with a handful of two lane roads criscrossing it.

Upon arriving at the Nature Center, a family from Tennessee were walking back to the car as we were exiting ours. They were telling us the place is a ripoff, that there were no animals there and it was just an educational tour. Feeling the wind go from everyone’s sails, I went in to find out what was up and was told implicitly that, yes, there are plenty of real, live animals on the premise that we could all see up close in person. Perhaps those parents from TN didn’t have the $20 it would have cost to get them and their kids in and were making excuses. Whatever the case may be, it was their loss. Alex was kind enough to pay for us to all go in. Immediately in the lobby there are tanks with all sorts of different creepy crawlies, including some impressive snakes. Heading out to the walking tour area you are greeted by a lovely gravel path meandering through more beautiful wooded are with enclosures for a decent range of animals. This, however, is not quite a zoo, as it is more a rehabilitation facility for animals that suffer from injuries and/or other conditions that prevent them from being in their natural habitat. The level of human interaction and domestication they experience also makes them a little less shy than reclusive zoo animals, so we were able to see up close a bald eagle, a variety of owls, a red-tail hawk, turkeys, deer, a bobcat, deer and a few others. It’s not a huge place, but given how hot it was and how anxious we all were to get back into the air conditioned van, we didn’t mind it not being huge and sprawling. After Grace picked out a couple souvenirs from the gift shop, we got back in the car and made our way back to the “cabin,” where my mom planned to grill the Wal*Mart procured burgers and dogs while we boys and my sister headed back out for some sunset fishing. My dad had spoken to someone at the Nature Center and procured a nice, larger map of the lake and come to realize that we had spent the whole morning fishing in a large bay off of the main lake and outside of our marina…not actually in the main lake. The land mass we thought was Land Between The Lakes actually just turned out to be a peninsular point jutting out from the western shore of the lake. As it turns out, the world is also, not flat.

This time, the boat arrangements were Chris and Alex in one, my dad, sister and me in the other. We immediately headed out across the lake…actually across the lake, this time. It took a good 15 minutes, and the water was extremely choppy and the ride was quite bouncy and fun. I was still stubbornly clinging to the recon I had gathered from the fishing reports I had been reading and told from asking around. I focused a little more on Carolina rigging salamanders, creature baits and worms this time, but it was still all for naught. We again focused in on bays and points, but they just didn’t seem to be there. Working up the west shore of Kentucky lake, we set up north of one of the fishless bays about 80 feet from shore. By my estimate of the length of the anchor rope, we had about 25-30 feet of water below us. My dad and sister both started getting bites on nightcrawlers. My dad just tipping a regular old round jighead with a worm and letting it sit on the bottom. Were he not such a nice dad, he probably would have just thrown the container of worms at me and said “HERE, IDIOT. USE THESE.” Instead he passively mentioned how every fish he had caught in the morning had been on worms and how the couple of striped bass he had just caught were on the same.

Reluctant to neglect my fancy tacklebox full of meticulously organized soft plastics and hardbaits for live bait, I decided it would be worth a shot…particularly as I didn’t want to be skunked. Since he hadn’t exactly been pulling up monsters, I knotted on a quarter ounce round chartreuse jig and tipped it with a one inch chunk of live worm on my ultralight, which I had relined with 6 lb low vis Trilene before leaving.

It didn’t take long for it to reach the bottom, and then it didn’t take long to start feeling nibbles, and then it didn’t take long for me to reel in my first fish of the trip, a striped bass. My first striped bass. Not a lunker, but also not the skunk. I was happy, the worm was still on the hook, so I dropped it again and found the same result. Then my dad had a couple more. We took the snell and bobber off my sister’s line and set her up with the same rig. All of a sudden, we all 3 were pulling in these striped bass like nobody’s business. We had not only found the pattern, but we had found a school.  Were we so inclined, we probably each could have taken a stringer of just stripers home for dinner…something I will probably do next year if/when we go back. Mixed in was the occasional bluegill, green sunfish and a channel cat, but the bulk of the catch were these, beautiful striped bass of decent size, all of whom put up a fair fight, particularly on my extremely responsive ultralight rod. This went on for an hour. Our anchor was in the water, but we had drifted out far enough that it wasn’t on the bottom and we just let the slow current lazily take us from our original starting position almost up to the bridge. If my interpretation of Google Maps is to be believed, this was almost a mile of drifting north in slow current, pulling fish in hand-over-fist, and it was glorious.

Sometime in the midst of this frenzy, my dad got a call from my brothers stating that they had brought in the boat and were waiting by the car for us. My dad informed them of our success and urged them to come back out. When they chose not to, he informed them that we had an hour until sunset and intended on fishing every last minute of it, which we did.

After it was clear we had drifted well past the school we must have been sitting on, we made our way back across to the western shore, nearer the marina so we wouldn’t have as long a trip on our unlit boat as the sun was going down. We set up just as we had previously. Parallel to shore in about 20 or 30 feet of water. Since I had spent the past 2 hours or so fishing nightcrawlers on the bottom with my ultralight, I decided to give my neglected shit-kicker another go. I had a Carolina rigged Zoom Finesse worm and casted out towards shore, feeling the egg sinker clinking and clanging against the rocky bottom. It was here after a few casts that I hooked up with my only largemouth of the trip and, regretably, he shook free at the surface as I attempted to horse him towards the boat. I say “horse him” like it was a record breaker, but truth be told, this was an average 1-2 lb largemouth bass that I very well could have caught at the pond 5 minutes from my house and I wasn’t all that heartbroken about losing him. It is another lesson I learned the hard way about being overmatched with gear. I should have been using a smaller rod, reel, line, sinker and hook and I should have played it more. Presentation and technique have landed me a lot more fish than huge hooks and heavy line. No matter. There were plenty of fish to be had still. Nothing as large, but fish all the same, and it was beginning to dawn on me that the joy in this was not about the size or species or even the amount of fish we were catching, but to be in a boat on Kentucky Lake with my dad and kid sister having fun with nibbly little bottom feeders. It was a blast, and it was a blast to head back to the “cabin” and tell everyone about it, which is exactly what we did.

The evening was similar to the previous evening, in that it involved a lot of people crashing early and me drinking some Crown Royal. Alas, though, come sunup, we wanted to be back on the water, so I headed to bed before my darling wife, who stayed up to imbibe with my mom.

We rose and headed out to the baitshop around 5:30 am. Much to our surprise, one of the servers from the Brass Lantern was at the counter. He sold us nightcrawlers and we headed out. This time, Alex and I shared a boat with my dad, sister and Captain Gayhab in the other. We only had the boats reserved until noon. The three members of the other boat were going horseback riding around 9, and I wanted to get Grace out on the boat before we left, so we only fished for a couple hours before heading in. The fishing was ok. It was nice to see Alex get some fish. He got a yellow perch, drum, sunfish, bluegill and a hybrid striper, too, IIRC. Apparently my sister hooked my dad something fierce at some point, too, but he was no worse for wear.

At the cabin I liberally reapplied sunscreen to myself and applied some to Grace. She, Alex and I headed back, excited to get her out on the boat and get a few more fish in before our time on the water was done.

Grace had and absolute blast on the boat. We took her across the lake, making sure to cut perpendicularly across as much wake as we could, bouncing and splashing about like crazy. We just cruised for 10 or 15 minutes before setting up camp in the last spot I fished with my dad and sister the previous evening. Grace caught a couple fish. I caught one. Alex caught a few. It was fun, but it was also stupid hot, so we headed back after a while and squared the bill for the boats, which, by the way, was surprisingly reasonable.

We headed back and met up with everyone else. The fishing portion of our trip concluded. We had half a day to drive into Tennessee to visit my grandparents and decided that, instead of spending another night in the “cabin,” to push through and head home Sunday night after returning from the grandparents visit.

The drive home was uneventful, although people would have you believe I almost killed us during my stretch of the drive, which, for the record, is the worst leg to drive. From Champaign to Hanover Park. After being up since sunrise.

The vacation was a blast, and I hope we can do more of them as a family from now on.

These are the pictures from our camera and my brothers’ cameras. Lots of images. Enjoy.

So what is new? Not a whole lot, I guess. I have a write up of our vacation to Kentucky Lake saved as a draft that still needs finishing, and I also still need to get the images from everyone else’s cameras before posting it.

I’ve been doing as much fishing as possible. Had some luck on some new baits. I’m in a place now where I am kind of petered out on largemouth and have been getting to the river as much as possible, but, the subject of new baits, new techniques and new species is deserving of it’s own write up, one that I will, admittedly, probably never get around to.

The biggest news is the puppy. We are fostering a puppy through One Tail At A Time. Her name is Mallory, she is an absolute sweetheart and things, so far, are going splendidly. We all are getting used to living with each other. The cat has stopped hiding for the most part. A semblance of routine is beginning to form and, most importantly, my previously held experiences and assumptions about dog ownership are being shattered. Last night when I got home from an annoying day, I sat on the couch, Mallory jumped up next to me, put her head in my lap and stayed put for an hour. I just sat there watching Gilmore Girls with my wife and pet the dog. For an hour, she just laid there and absorbed my crabby mood like a sponge via petting. My previous plans to take a hot bath and drink a beer to unwind went completely out the window. Had no interest in getting up and spoiling the moment. So I didn’t. And it was awesome.

I hope things continue to go well with Mallory. She is a very chill, very affectionate and very cute.

Just like me.

I have never had a pet dog, and this is all very exciting for me. I only wish that instead of being at work I were able to be home when she gets dropped off so I could help my wife and daughter with what I am sure is quite a large task of acclimating a puppy to new people and surroundings, but my wife grew up living with hundreds (ok that may be an exaggeration) of pet dogs and has enough experience working in animal hospitals that I know she is ready for the task.

Anyway, with warm weather and fishing season upon us and with us getting a puppy, I will somehow have even less time to post things on here which, of course, is almost impossible, but, hey. Life. Whatever.

PUPPY DAY.

Fishing has been good. The pond has been producing, and not just for me. Grace and I have hooked and landed some nice largemouth, and she is not timid at all about handling them, which is nice to see.  She still needs a lot of practice playing and landing bass, but she seems to genuinely enjoy fishing, which warms my heart.

Speaking of the pond, I have been stopping to fish it in the mornings on my bike ride in to work. How’s the bike riding going? Well, it’s going well. I rode in every day last week, which is about 50 miles. Probably closer to 55 when you add in the random rides I took on my lunch breaks when the mood struck me. The pannier has held pretty well so far, and I have not had any major catastrophes besides a flat tire since the great rim-cracking of 2012. Enjoying riding more and more each day, look forward to taking a long-distance ride at some point, if I ever find the time. I’ve been using a site/app called Strava to track my rides, and it is real nice. It allows you to block off certain segments of your rides and gives you time, distance, elevation change and average speed for those segments, so now I know the big hill outside my apartment complex is a 91 foot elevation change at a 6% grade and my best time going up it is 1:50 at 9.4 miles an hour.

As I recall, I couldn’t walk for a few hours after doing that, too.

Speaking of Apps, Turntable.fm, a site which I have been a fan of for a while now, has finally released an Android app, and it is surprisingly good. If you are unaware with Turntable, I will spare you the details of what the site is and recommend you go check it out for yourself, as it is a great way to listen to music. The Android app sacrifices a few things that you can do on the website, like song previews and viewing the list of what has been played in the room, but overall the features are pretty closely in line with the website version of the service. I’ve encountered some buginess and crashing, but not anymore than any other new app.

I don’t have a segue into the portion of this post that relates to TV, and I am also tired and should go to bed, so here is a few sentences about a few shows.

GRIMM: This show has been a pleasant surprise. The season ended on a bit of an eyeroll, and the show in general could do with a lot less CG and police procedural, but in the end the show has created characters I actually want to sit down and watch each week, and that is a lot more important.

SHERLOCK: Yo…you should watch this show. It is really good. It’s got a British X-Files vibe to it. Not just in a “monsters/government conspiracy” sense, but, more importantly, in tone and in the dynamic relationship between the main characters.

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER: This once great show is just a big steamy pile of shit. Nobody even has the courtesy to put it in a bag and set it on fire so someone can stomp it out. They just kept trotting it out there at a blistering one-new-episode-a-month pace and, somehow, despite the weeks off between episodes, were unable to not only come up with any new ideas, they also seem to have forgotten how to even write cheap jokes. It’s unfortunate what has happened to this show, and even more unfortunate that I still bother watching it for some reason.

RIVER MONSTERS: Jeremy Wade is great, and I love watching him fish, but I really wish this show would drop the whole dramatic angle. If it was just dude going fishing for crazy weird fish throughout the world it would be a much better show. The whole dramatization of fish attacking people thing is dumb, but, whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers, and if the only way I can get Jeremy Wade on my tv is by him making a big deal about attacks, so be it.

I am fucking exhausted and should get to bed. Gotta get up and ride tomorrow.

Also, tomorrow (fuck me…it is after midnight it seems…so…today, I guess) is Grace’s preschool graduation. As slow as this last year has been for me, trapped in a vortex of 60+ hour work weeks, Grace’s first year of “school” seems to have ended as quickly as it started. Even though it is only preschool and she only had 6 or 7 classmates, I am trilled and proud and excited and so happy to see her grow up like she is doing, even if I feel like I am missing most of it.