Newman!

Newman!

How are you with the Rock Bass of your life?  I’ve led a tumultuous adult existence with them, and after 30 years of love and hate, maybe I’m approaching a peaceful acceptance of them.  How can a single species of panfish cause so much emotion?  Am I at risk of other panfish relationships?

I caught my first rock bass (Ambloplites rupestris) when I was 18 or 19.  Like many first timers, I had no idea what I’d just encountered.  I’d never seen anything like it before, and yet it was strangely familiar.  After a ferocious top-water strike, this denizen of the Mink Brook depths had come to hand fairly easily.

Rock Bass - from the web

I offer the following simply as an example of the dangers of a colloquial up-bringing.  I grew up in Little Rhodey, where there are no Ambloplites, and apparently we have no cause to discuss them or include them in the available fishing literature.  Here I was, a full-grown man, on course for degrees in zoology and aquatic ecology, and I couldn’t identify this fish.  Its head and fin structure indicated that it was a Centrarchid  (in the sunfish family.)  I knew we had Black Crappies in Rhode Island, but that there were White Crappies out there, elsewhere.  So I concluded, tentatively, that this was a White Crappie, but its girth suggested otherwise to me.  And so the next day I was in Dartmouth College’s Baker Tower stacks.  In pretty short order, I was able to identify my catch as a Rock Bass, for which the Connecticut River reportedly served as a sort of range boundary.  So not only had I captured a new species for me, I had tapped into one of the eastern-most populations. Surely these Rock Bass existed within 60 or 70 miles from my home; and yet they were entirely alien to me.  What else didn’t I know?  What else don’t I know?

Anyway, Rock Bass became a welcome addition to my New Hampshire-based college fishing.  Rarely did they plague me like perch sometimes would; their strikes were fun to detect, and often impressive on top; they were heavy enough to bend my rod, and all in all, they added to my experiences.  They weren’t smallmouths, but they helped pass the time between bass.  

Things changed, however, when I spent some time on Gull Lake in Michigan.  My key to success on this lake was locally trapped minnows, and these were seasonally scarce.  Here on Gull Lake, the likelihood of a Rock Bass strike became inversely proportional to the availability of such bait.  So when bait was running low, the rock bass would appear; and I could virtually guarantee that the day’s last fish would be a Rockie.

This phenomenon followed me to other lakes.  The early 90’s introduced me to Seinfeld!, and Rock Bass became my personal Newman!  Much like Seinfeld’s neighbor “Newman”, they were my omni-present, yet loathesome companion.  There were times when I really couldn’t get away from them.  Plus, they’re fat, goggle-eyed and a little ugly, too.  So Rockies became “Newmans” aboard my boat.

And yet there were plenty of times when Newman was endearing.  I’ll be honest, some of those Gull Lake rockies were fun to catch on ultra-light tackle; and they saved the day on my first trip to Gull Lake with my new Tracker boat in May, 1990.  While the Atlantic Salmon didn’t want to play that day, and it was way too windy to control the boat in most parts of the lake, an isolated early-season weed-bed seemed to hold every pre-spawn rock bass in the lake.  These were fun and big, and they provided the necessary diversion for me and a friend all afternoon.  I didn’t fish with this friend for many years (20?) there-after, but when we did hook up again, we both fondly recalled that day of quick action.  Newmans also saved a couple of days while fishing with kids, when nothing else would bite or the motor couldn’t get us safely across the lake.  We found them quickly, they were willing biters, and kids don’t care what kind of fish it is.  Parents-in-charge-of-the-trip probably shouldn’t care, either, but rather should make hay when the sun shines.  Finally, I recall a trip to Platte Lake, where, as always, the weather was off and as a result the bass fishing extremely difficult.  I know I trolled up a bunch of walleyes and a really nice pike that trip, but I most vividly recall a giant spawning rockie that eagerly accepted my tear-drop/wax worm combo.  What else could I say, even with gritted teeth, other than “Hello, Newman!”