Todd and I launched around 6:00AM without delay within a steady stream of trailers cycling through. Todd cleared the invisible border of the no wake zone and put the hammer down. We rounded the horn, pushed the throttle to ahead full and made revolutions for the home of the giants.
We entered the cove and Todd decided to work us in along the northern shoreline. I put on rain gear. I tried the stuff that worked for me yesterday and nothing was biting. Todd moved inside and went on a run of senko fish while I stubbornly fished Texas rig for naught. Finally, I relented and cast out senko and reeled in a small largemouth, but that was to be my only senko fish of the day. The rain stopped and I took my raincoat off.
We stuck around for a while waiting on some cooperative fish but they had other plans. It started raining again and I put my raincoat back on. Todd ran us around to the western arm and we posted up on the outside edge of the western cove that had been good to us two weeks ago, but, alas, today yielded only one drop-shot fish. When Todd hooked that fish, I screamed, “WE NEED THIS FISH!!!” getting the attention of two anglers in a nearby Nitro. Todd modestly declared, “No we don’t!” as he swung a short fish so I clarified, “SORRY, FALSE ALARM!”
I took off my rainsuit and Todd ran across to the peninsula shoreline. We patiently fished some fishy looking bulrush. In desperation I’d regressed to finesse style fishing. For me that is a four-inch french-fry wacky-rigged, drop-shotted, double-dipped and center-punched on a number-one mosquito hook palomar-knotted to eight-pound flourocarbon line and a foot-and-a-half dropped quarter-ounce lead cylinder-weight. All that to catch a fish, right?
Well, it worked. I found that thin seam between the bulrush stalks and the naiad clump with an accurate pitch and let the lure settle in. My line swam out and I swept into some decent weight. I announced to Todd that I had one, and right when I wasn’t sure the fish had realized it was hooked yet, the singing drag confirmed for both of us that the battle was on. The fish pulled hard and swam under the boat. I screamed, “WE NEED THIS FISH!!!”
Todd moved aft to assist but before he could get to the back deck I reached down and lipped the bruiser. I stood and howled, the war cry echoing across the stock still lake and I’m sure the folks at the ramp could hear me. Never. Gets. Old.
We fished on down the peninsula getting lots of perch strikes and a couple peanuts in the boat. Todd ran us back around to the eastern arm and we lather, rinse and repeat, getting several more largemouth on drop shot from the inside edge. I put my raincoat back on for some moderate rain that fell on us as we ran to the ramp.
Today was a grind for sure, but we caught sixteen between the two of us. I got big bass, the four-six bruiser. Lots of boats running around the lake but we never saw or heard anyone else catch a fish. Off at 1:00PM.