Ponds
Probably like most fisherman, I was introduced to fishing at
ponds. Small and safe, accessible,
plentiful and sometimes generous, interesting enough but lacking the
distractions of bigger waters, ponds are the logical starting point to the
sport. If I have a fault as a fishing
father, it’s probably that I’ve done too little simple fishing with my
daughters. They’ve probably missed out
on many of the simpler joys and problems of being out on the water, having been
ferried about to larger destinations for larger, more glamorous fish. They’ve both participated in some pretty epic
catches, but their foundation of fishing experience and knowledge might be a
bit shaky because of this lack of pond fishing experience. But, as I currently appreciate, you can
always go back to simplicity, and re-gain what you might have previously missed
or lost. I’ll be there for them and
their children at the appropriate time, and ponds will be there for all of us
when we’re ready.
The Duck Pond was about a mile away, but easy to get
to. It lay right at the end of my road,
and traffic wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t walk or bike there with somebody
else. It was probably a couple of acres
and no more than 5 feet deep, so it wasn’t the grandest of waters. But it was accessible and it had live
things in it! My earliest memories of
the Duck Pond involve feeding the local waterfowl, but I also remember some
bluegills. I remember them as glistening purplish blue and spiky, and about the size of aquarium fish. By second or third grade, I’d graduated to
the occasional bass on a worm under a float.
My floats were wooden thread bobbins.
For some reason, we had an endless supply of these in the house. I find this fact somewhat mysterious, but
I’ll take it now as just an example of how much our lives have changed in the
last 40 years or so.
At about this same time, a bulldozer arrived in the wet,
swampy spot kitty-corner from my childhood home, and started clearing some
trees and creating a depression. This
just sat there for what seemed like the longest time, but in our wet fall
season, the soil became mud, the mud
held water, and by season’s end there was The Pond, just in time for
winter and ice skating.
The Pond could have claimed me twice before ever yielding a
fish. As it filled that first fall, one
day I was alone, throwing rocks from a pond-side boulder into the mud and
enjoying the pleasant pudding penetration of each toss. With clearly remembered, intentional youthful
enthusiasm, I tried to make my last throw really count; and I did a perfect,
unintentional swan dive off the rock. My
face-plant into the cold pudding-mud was complete, and I remember the struggle
to first release my face from the choking mud, and then to physically remove my
body and make it the couple of hundred yards home. The second incident is a more blurry (perhaps
in testimony to the seriousness of the situation), but it happened at the end
of that first ice season. Let’s just
agree that riding a bike on ice is a thrill, a thrill that is enhanced by the
visible buckling of the ice. Waves of
ice followed me and a playmate as we zoomed around. He was the first to go through, and I watched
him scrabble out of the water. I
remember my surprise as I simultaneously went through, but I remember little
else other than the shock of the freezing water. I also recall the warm bath (a weekday
afternoon rarity) where I regained my senses, but I have no idea whether I got
there myself or with some help from a sibling.
Let’s further agree that this is probably a situation that should have
been avoided, and that I’ve grown to appreciate good luck as a solution to
issues that I’ve no further control over.
Somehow bass got into the pond, and within a summer or two,
I was in hot pursuit. My first one came
on a Dardevle; I sought assistance from a stranger to remove the hooks. His ire helped me realize my need to develop
some self-sufficiency. Dardevles, Mepps spinners and Rebel minnows; the
occasional live frog; and later on, mass-produced flies, 12 to a card, both under
a float and with a fly rod; all these methods introduced me to every bass in
The Pond (or so I thought), multiple times.
Meanwhile, I figured out how to catch the sizable goldfish in The Pond;
and experienced my first real fish-fight when a sizeable and ornery horned-pout took my dough ball intended for a goldie. This variety of size, temperament and method
contributed to my interest in the pursuit, and I spent a lot of time at The
Pond over the course of the next decade.
If I’d already succumbed to the "al-lure" of fishing, my Dad
set the hook when he started taking me to Stump Pond to fish for bass with
shiners. From my first catch of a chain
pickerel, when my Dad enthusiastically jumped in the water to ensure its
capture, to my first bass with him later that night; through some exciting
top-water strikes and missed runs; my interest and skills progressed until my
Dad (happily) let me do all the fishing work.
I probably graduated from his tutelage on a mid-May day when I
free-lined a shiner (no float!) to a sizable bass, lost some line to an actual
run against the drag (a rarity!), fought the fish calmly and carefully released
her. He just watched and enjoyed
himself, and our fishing relationship and roles were cemented in place.
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| Golden shiner - from the web |
My interest in fishing was in full bloom, when as a young
teenager, the first Bass Pro Shops catalog arrived. It was full of stuff that I’d only been able
to read about in Bassmaster magazine. I
was given the very generous clearance to purchase some lures (I still have some
of these!) , and my experience widened.
Topwaters, frogs, buzz-baits, cranks and worms all entered the tackle
box. I spent time with each, made some
mistakes, had some success, and started to form some opinions about what to use
when, how to use it, etc. I also
experienced that first “Aha!” type moment in my fishing, when one sweltering
summer day, for some innate reason, I just KNEW the bass would be active on
topwaters and frogs in The Piggery. I
made the mid-day hike through the woods and could have just slaughtered the
bass, had I known anything about matching my tackle to conditions and
presentations; how to tie a reliable knot; when to set the hook with different
baits and so forth. I did catch a couple
of nice, multi-pound bass while missing and/or losing a whole bunch of other
chances. It was almost like the fishing
described in my magazines, and I’d done it all by myself.
Now with wheels and often accompanied by Amy, my future
wife, ponds continued to assert themselves as I found sporadic success in a
variety of small, local waters. Some
ponds were for ‘gills, others were for Texas rigging. Another was for frogging and swimming
floating worms through pads and slop, and I publically learned that Carbuncle
Pond was for “How the hell should I know?” (what) kind of fish. Quite often the biggest bass of the year came
to hand in these small settings, so in addition to the local lessons learned,
they consistently provided a quality experience. They also offered a reprieve from the bigger
waters I was now likely to fish here in Michigan. Hassles associated with these waters (wind,
changing conditions with multiple environmental options, seasonal bait
invasions, boat control and general recreational over-use) were mitigated by
many of my ponds and kept fishing fun.
It was about time I realized that when I recently acquired
half ownership in a small tin boat, motor and trailer combo. This boat and fond memories of our previous
pond experiences led to the discovery of “Amy Lake”, right under our noses. The
first excursion on this quiet, undeveloped pond yielded a nice keeper bass to a
twitched Rapala right away; and several more keeper-size bass, including one
approaching four pounds. The quality of
the bass, the interesting setting, the different birds and the general
experience offered by this lake has kept me coming back. I’ve learned to simplify my approach on this
lake to the extent that I have confidence that a top-water, a frog, a
Texas-rigged creature or worm, or a Senko will take the available bass. I don’t have to worry too much about colors
or location, either, and this pond offers a Busman’s Holiday to me after the
difficult/intensive fishing of Lake Michigan, or even Reeds Lake.
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| Amy Lake at its finest |
Earlier this June, circumstances led me to a day on Dewey’s
Mill Pond in Vermont. Not yet
weed-choked for the season, it reminded me very much of many of the ponds I’ve
mentioned already. While Katie received
guided instruction in the front of the boat, I fished on my own from the
back. When top-water fishing proved
slow, I turned to the guide’s Texas rigged black worm at the ready. We ended up having an excellent day, and we
even caught a bunch of quality fish on top of that, even though the fishing was
not easy. Katie incorporated an entire
childhood of bassin' instruction into a single day.
She got pretty good with the worm and turned the biggest bass of the day
(and maybe the season.) Fishing a black
plastic worm around weeds and wood for large-mouth bass; does it get any
simpler?
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| Katie with her largest bass of the day |
Somehow Katie and I had skipped this step in our rush for salmon,
stripers and mahi, but this single day grounded us both; and waters such as
this gem of a pond offer a safe harbor, hopefully forever protecting and
renewing our interests in fishing. Marie’s
exclamation of “Holy Crap!” when she first saw a solid keeper pike beside the
boat, and the family’s recent enjoyment of a quick Reeds Lake summer outing
remind me that the simplicity, ease and focus of fishing these ponds is the
flip side of the excitement and gamble of big-water fishing for glamorous
species. Neither of these experiences
can be fully appreciated without an appreciation of the other. A two-pound bass reflects nicely against a
Great Lakes steelie; and the technology, equipment, excitement and effort involved with Great Lakes trolling contrasts
with stumbling out of the tent, sleep-walking down the hill and chunking a
mackerel or floating a worm for a Madokawando striper. Ponds need to be part of my fishing
equation. They stand by themselves, but
they enhance my other fishing quests, too.
I’m ready, right now, for that next pond trip!
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| Vermont pond bassin' |
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| Great Lakes Steel |
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