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Warm enough to fish
Cold is not my favorite weather, but I don’t cower at home when the mercury plummets.
It’s admittedly tempting to stay indoors where the snacks are plenty, the TV remote is handy and the fireplace is crackling, but if I get a chance to go fishing, I will more often than not take advantage.
And so it was last weekend when the thermometer registered a brisk 38 degrees as I slid the BassCat off the trailer into Shenango Reservoir. I was not alone that day, as fishing friend Ted Suffolk, one of The Vindicator’s bosses, said yes with enthusiasm when I invited him to join me.
Dressed to ward off the chill, we looked better suited for an ice fishing trek or a few hours in a tree stand.
But it was the prospect of casting lures for hungry fall bass that warmed our souls as I throttled the Mercury up and the boat’s nose settled on plane for a quick, forehead-numbing dash to the morning’s first stop.
It wasn’t long – a few casts, in fact – before a bass took a bait. Then a funny thing happened. It air seemed a little warmer.
Soon another bass bit. Then another and another.
Ted and I marveled at the circumstances. The lead-gray sky was low against the muted red and yellow treetops, and it sure didn’t look like it was going to be a great fishing day, but with each strike the temperature seemed to rise a degree or two.
We’ve caught lots of fish over the years on days when the temperature was less than pleasant.
I’ve shivered in cold rain on walleye, crappie and steelhead trips in early spring and late autumn and have nevertheless caught them pretty well.
But 38-degree days are hardly the kind that a bass angler awakens to with a resounding, “Yes!”
No one would have blamed Ted and me if we’d opted instead to head over to Starbucks when we met up in Boardman for the ride to the lake.
I admit I had my own doubts about proceed with our fishing plans – even as late as the moments at the dock when I was pulling rods from the under-deck storage compartment.
The last pole I selected was one to which I’d tied a topwater plug. Turns out it was the first rod I picked off the deck as we started our fishing day.
Doubts were dashed after a half-dozen casts when that first bass – a largemouth of better than 3 pounds – slurped the lure after mistaking it for a dazed and wounded baitfish.
Three-quarters of the fish we caught last weekend fell prey to the topwater. Ted and I continued to marvel as the hours rolled on and the bass continued to show interest in eating off the surface.
We drove home happy. I can only imagine what mighty mood would have powered the drive home had the clouds cleared and temperature soared.
At home in the garage as I was putting order back in the tackle that gets jumbled during a day on the lake, I enjoyed a few moments of reflection about the quality of the fishing.
Enough of that, however, as I felt the cold penetrate my bones. I went inside where the snacks were plenty, the TV remote was handy and a hot shower awaited.