|
When to call in sick and go fishing
Occasionally, a set of weather conditions develop that demand that you not go to work. A few times each year, weather or river conditions are perfect for catching two or more huge river smallmouth. Over the last 5 years, 35 percent of my nearly 60 trophy river smallmouth have come on a day when two or more 20 inch or longer smallmouth were netted. This article describes one such set of optimal conditions.
Meteorologists scrutinize the barometric pressure to forecast the when, where, and how of the next few days of weather. On a national weather map, you can see barometric pressure lines. When several of these lines are stacked up close to one another, you have a strong front. This matters to fishermen when it’s a strong front of lower pressure approaches your river or lake. Low pressure means rain.
Rain on a river means increased flow, and stirred up minnows, hellgrammites, and crawfish. But somehow they know what’s coming before the first big raindrops fall. The sharp drop in barometric pressure is a known feeding trigger to lake fish. Even though the rise in river level is the best predictor of feeding activity, the passing of a strong front can kick start a feeding frenzy of the biggest river smallmouth.
One such strong front passed last November. As I mentioned earlier, it can happen in any season. Early spring warm fronts bring warm rain that spur heavy feeding even better than cold fronts. My friends Ron and Josh joined me on a float trip in Ron’s inflatable raft last November. When we launched, the air was still and warm. In fact by noon, the air temperature had reached 75 degrees. When trailered the raft that evening, we were experiencing a deluge of rain, 40 mile per hour gusts, and an air temperature 30 degrees lower.
That morning, while enjoying the unusual late November warmth, we noticed the first signs of the impending front. Ron, who guides several Virginia rivers from the raft, allowed me to man the oars for the day. We were approaching a part of the pool that I knew had been productive in previous years. I eased the raft into position, and asked Ron to lower the anchor. He did and we were set up to cast at the productive bank. But mother nature had other plans.
We had just made our first casts when a screaming wind slammed into the raft. Before I could get to the oars, we were beached. We had just crashed the best spot on the float. Making the best of the situation, we decided to stay put and fish. The air was becoming warmer and more unsteady. Ron commented that in a two minute period, he had felt wind from all directions on the compass.
After shedding some clothing in the warm November air, I heaved a purple tube toward a twig, sticking out from the middle of the pool. The tube settled to the bottom, and before too long I felt a thump. I reeled all of the slack out of the fluorocarbon line, and wailed on the big fish. Following two long runs, I had the fish boat side. The 20.25 inch fish bulldogged as Josh dipped the net toward it.
After taking pictures and releasing the trophy smallmouth, we probed the depths for a sibling. Ron was next to hook up. Through the corner of my eye, I saw him lean forward like someone was going to tell him a secret. He recoiled violently against his bowed rod. The fish took several drag peeling runs, the last of which severed his line as I peered into the water, ready with the net.
Meanwhile, Josh was busy landing his second 17 incher from that pool. Wasting no time, I dropped the net, grabbed my rod, and launched the tube out to the submerged wood. This time, the tube didn’t even reach bottom before I could see that it had moved in an unnatural direction. I leaned in to hear the whisper, just as Ron had a moment earlier, and with all of my 6 foot 4 inch frame, set the hook. With my arms extended over my head, I could see the 21 inch smallmouth clear the surface of the water. I yelled, “There’s a twenty!” I landed the fish, Ron took the photo, and she was released.
Ron’s disgust of breaking off his last fish didn’t last long. He was flipping a mudpie colored HawgHead tube off the front of the beached raft. I knew that he was about to connect when I saw him lean forward again. He grunted at the end of his solid hook set. The heavy fish carved a path out into the open water. I knew Ron was thinking of the spot that the last fish had broke him off, and how to keep this one away from it. Josh and I stopped to watch the battle, and before too long, Ron quickly uttered the phrase, “Get the net!” This time, Ron got his picture taken. All three of the 20 plus inch smallmouth, along with several 17 inchers were landed within a half hour period.
We were about half a mile downriver when we heard thunder. We looked downstream into the thunderstorm, and were able to see a rare November rainbow. An hour later, we looked upstream and saw the approaching front. The sky looked like a pint of Guinness settling into clearly defined layers of light and dark. The first gust sent my half full can of soda into the river. I quickly turned the raft, and put my back into getting to the ramp. Luckily, the 40 mile per hour gusts were pushing us downstream, towards the ramp, not away from it.
When I checked the USGS stream flow website the next day, it showed that the flurry of big fish activity was well before any rise in river level. The big fish knew what was coming and prepared by eating what they could. If you look at the forecast, and see several barometric pressure lines close together, expect windy weather. If the front is unusually strong, call in sick, and get ready for a multiple citation day!
|
