3/21/09 Fishing Creeks and the River, Mostly Creeks
Posted: Mon Mar 23, 2009 7:36 pm
3/21/09 Fishing Creeks and the River, Mostly Creeks
Before I left my house to head out fishing, I distinctly recall making two mental notes. They were both the same and said — don't forget the camera.
When I got to the creek, all suited up in waders, I was standing on the high edge of the creek looking down stream. Things had changed, dramatically. The floods we had just a few weeks earlier had apparently taken their toll on the creek. I knew the rivers had come up along with some of the creeks east and north of me, but I had never really headed south or west. I finished tying on a lure and reached for the camera. What camera. Apparently making mental notes no longer does me any good. I considered doing the round trip home, it would take about a half hour to get there and back, but decided to just go fishing instead. I could always take mental notes and write down the details later.
We see how that goes.
It doesn't matter what the weather is like by the third week of March when it comes to fishing. The weather for the last 7 days had been nothing short of outstanding for the ending of winter and the beginning of spring. We may be buggy to get out fishing on some water somewhere, the temperatures could be in the high 60's like it was this day, but it really doesn't matter. Unlike ponds, where the water isn't moving, doesn't really go up or down much and doesn't have near catastrophic flooding, they tend to warm up or get warm pockets faster. The fish start to turn on and the bite begins.
That doesn't happen on rivers. The Fox was flooded. Not as bad as just a couple of weeks earlier, but high enough to make it not worth wading. The fish of the river are still sluggish after tolerating 5 months of cold water. On the Fox, this cold water can continue for awhile no matter how warm it gets early. A lot depends on snow pack and temperatures in Wisconsin, where the river starts. The high cold water confuses the hell out of the fish. High water pushes them to the somewhat protected edges, but they're still not moving much other than out of necessity. Keep in mind that the word fish the way I use it is the same as the word smallmouth. That's all I fish for, for the most part.
So I headed for the creeks, which were pretty close to being back to normal. I know at this time of year the chances of fish being even this far up from the mouth of the creek, about a mile and a half or so, was pretty slim. That's a lot to travel for a cold fish. But the only way to find out if they're in there is to go find out.
I fished my way down the creek marveling at the sheer destruction the water had let loose on this stretch. The opposite shore, usually an impenetrable tangle of undergrowth and trees, had big holes punched through it. Where I was walking, everything looked like it had been mowed down to the ground. There was very little left standing and where there was an obstruction, big tangles of trees piled up in front of it. As I walked along the creek appeared to be a good 10 feet wider in some spots. The shores on both sides seemed to have been eaten away.
On the opposite side of the creek, the shore line being eaten away didn't surprise me. That side was primarily dirt and would relatively easily wash away. But where I was walking was always rock, cobble I guess you would call it. That pebble to football size rock that makes walking a true test of ankle strength. Back on the dirt side of the creek, all new structure had been created. Root balls sticking out into the flow was creating eddies along newly created undercut banks. I knew as I cast that nothing was back there, but there were an awful lot of nice new still areas along that shore and I was here to fish. You have to cast at that point.
I was going to walk along in the water like I always did in this stretch, but I was now standing 1 to 2 feet above the water with a pretty much straight drop to it. The rock here used to slope to the creek and I would walk along in ankle to calf deep water. Not anymore. The shore had been scoured away. Dropping down into the water would have now put me into almost 3 feet of it. That is a tremendous amount of rock that had been moved. I got up higher on the shore and looked down stream. Not much further down the creek made a sharp 90 degree turn to the east. There was all the rock. For about 100 feet and now sticking up to 2 feet above the water all this rock had been moved and an all new rock shore line created in the bend.
I heard voices far up stream behind me. A very unusual occurrence here. Floating down the creek I could see 4 boats. Based on how they were paddling there were 2 kayaks and 2 small canoes. I stood and waited for them to float by. My first comment was "you know that what you're doing is technically illegal, but then so is what I'm doing." You could tell by the looks on their faces that they knew this and didn't care. Also had to ask where they put in. The answer was Jericho Road. Big Rock Quarry Forest Preserve to be precise. We chatted as they slowed down for a few seconds and I warned them of the barbed wire that would be across the river just in front of the next bridge. More so, I warned them they would be going through a cattle field at that point. The cattle wouldn't care, but if the bull is there, he's not afraid of the creek.
One of these days I'm going to take that trip. But of course it would have to be in June. And of course it would probably take me all day. I've already fished over 5 miles of this creek and there was no way I was going to drift it without stopping at every promising looking hole.
I headed down stream but didn't go beyond the bend. I didn't have my camera which meant there was no point in exploring this further. I couldn't take pictures and the creek was devoid of fish, so I couldn't use the reason of excellent fishing opportunities to keep me going. Luckily, on the opposite side of the creek was a pond. As much as I hate pond fishing, this was worth it because nobody was ever here. Now and then I'd see footprints along the creek, but it was rare. It was even rarer to see any near the pond. The only problem was getting across the creek.
Based on the size of the new rock bar just to my left, and the fact that the creek channel had moved over by about 10 feet, I could safely assume that I had no clue what I was stepping into. I had walked across at this spot numerous times, but that's because I could see the bottom and I knew what was down there. I couldn't count on any of that this time. I did the old man shuffle all the way across. Mind you, it's only about 30 feet. Move a foot, make sure it's on solid ground, move the other foot next to it and start over. It was definitely a little deeper, but not too bad. I still didn't want to take a chance on any new scour holes that I couldn't see.
The pond was nice and clear, a little bit of moss already blooming in it and 6 of the noisiest geese I've ever had to put up with were wandering around it's shores. It's that time of year when the geese are in mating mode and getting ready for nesting. When that happens, they pretty much quit flying. I've already had 2 incidents during rush hour when these birds decided to waddle across a 4 lane road during. Everyone feels compelled to slam on their brakes to let these poor little creatures go by. What they don't know is that all you have to do is slow down a little, beep your horn and keep going. Two things happen at that point. All the geese crap at once and they all quickly get out of your way.
It was kind of entertaining in a way. I would be fishing, they would be honking at me and keeping about 40 feet away. Then they would quiet down. I would move down the shore, and the process would start all over again. When they realized I wasn't going anywhere and that I was bigger than them, they would take out their frustrations on each other. The honking would get hysterical, heads would go down and wings would go back, and they would start chasing each other down the shore of the pond. I guess I'm easily entertained.
While enjoying this little side show, I was able to pick up over a half dozen largemouth bass and a crappie. Biggest largemouth was only 14 inches, but fat and heavy. Since this pond also has a population of big gills, I fished with a 1/16th ounce jig and small pearl twister. Even though I primarily target smallmouth bass, I'm really not all that particular about it. I'll take whatever is hitting. So why not increase your odds in catching something by using something that everything hits.
When I got to the far end of the pond it was still early. I hadn't been here as long as I thought. I decided to go west to Somonauk Creek just above Lake Holiday. You never know when the fish will migrate out of the lake and into the creek. I've caught walleye, smallmouth bass, largemouth bass, crappie, white bass, rock bass and bluegills out of this stretch of the creek, but it can be a real hit or miss opportunity.
The short walk to the creek in the forest preserve that is in this stretch proved me right about the weather being good for the fisherman. There were foot prints all over the shore. But this was the easy shore to get to and I've watched the fishermen who come here. They are basically clueless on how to fish moving water. I waded across the creek and sure enough, not another foot print. The first few casts will tell me if I'm wasting my time and I was. There was nothing in here. I headed back to the car.
I initially stopped where Little Rock Creek empties into Big Rock Creek. I toyed with the idea of seeing whether or not any smallies had come this short distance up from the Fox River to get out of the faster flow. But there were a couple of guys in the parking lot unloading there lawn chairs. I had no interest in being around guys that fish like that. They cast across the creek to the most unproductive spots and let their line hang there. Heaven forbid I should want to get past that crap. Better to just leave.
It was still early. I decided to give the Fox a try. I agonized over this for a good 15 minutes because it really wasn't all that interesting, but it was still early. I wound up between Montgomery and Oswego in a stretch that has a lot of shore line rock and some pretty good breaks and eddies. I could tell in my first couple of tries that my heart just wasn't into this. I would rather fish streams devoid of fish than wander a shore line actually trying to catch something. At least in the stream I might come across something interesting.
The whole time I was out this day, starting at the moment I realized I had forgot the camera, I kept thinking of when I could get back out to the creek to get the pictures I should have got today. My time is limited these days. But there had to be a way.
Before I left my house to head out fishing, I distinctly recall making two mental notes. They were both the same and said — don't forget the camera.
When I got to the creek, all suited up in waders, I was standing on the high edge of the creek looking down stream. Things had changed, dramatically. The floods we had just a few weeks earlier had apparently taken their toll on the creek. I knew the rivers had come up along with some of the creeks east and north of me, but I had never really headed south or west. I finished tying on a lure and reached for the camera. What camera. Apparently making mental notes no longer does me any good. I considered doing the round trip home, it would take about a half hour to get there and back, but decided to just go fishing instead. I could always take mental notes and write down the details later.
We see how that goes.
It doesn't matter what the weather is like by the third week of March when it comes to fishing. The weather for the last 7 days had been nothing short of outstanding for the ending of winter and the beginning of spring. We may be buggy to get out fishing on some water somewhere, the temperatures could be in the high 60's like it was this day, but it really doesn't matter. Unlike ponds, where the water isn't moving, doesn't really go up or down much and doesn't have near catastrophic flooding, they tend to warm up or get warm pockets faster. The fish start to turn on and the bite begins.
That doesn't happen on rivers. The Fox was flooded. Not as bad as just a couple of weeks earlier, but high enough to make it not worth wading. The fish of the river are still sluggish after tolerating 5 months of cold water. On the Fox, this cold water can continue for awhile no matter how warm it gets early. A lot depends on snow pack and temperatures in Wisconsin, where the river starts. The high cold water confuses the hell out of the fish. High water pushes them to the somewhat protected edges, but they're still not moving much other than out of necessity. Keep in mind that the word fish the way I use it is the same as the word smallmouth. That's all I fish for, for the most part.
So I headed for the creeks, which were pretty close to being back to normal. I know at this time of year the chances of fish being even this far up from the mouth of the creek, about a mile and a half or so, was pretty slim. That's a lot to travel for a cold fish. But the only way to find out if they're in there is to go find out.
I fished my way down the creek marveling at the sheer destruction the water had let loose on this stretch. The opposite shore, usually an impenetrable tangle of undergrowth and trees, had big holes punched through it. Where I was walking, everything looked like it had been mowed down to the ground. There was very little left standing and where there was an obstruction, big tangles of trees piled up in front of it. As I walked along the creek appeared to be a good 10 feet wider in some spots. The shores on both sides seemed to have been eaten away.
On the opposite side of the creek, the shore line being eaten away didn't surprise me. That side was primarily dirt and would relatively easily wash away. But where I was walking was always rock, cobble I guess you would call it. That pebble to football size rock that makes walking a true test of ankle strength. Back on the dirt side of the creek, all new structure had been created. Root balls sticking out into the flow was creating eddies along newly created undercut banks. I knew as I cast that nothing was back there, but there were an awful lot of nice new still areas along that shore and I was here to fish. You have to cast at that point.
I was going to walk along in the water like I always did in this stretch, but I was now standing 1 to 2 feet above the water with a pretty much straight drop to it. The rock here used to slope to the creek and I would walk along in ankle to calf deep water. Not anymore. The shore had been scoured away. Dropping down into the water would have now put me into almost 3 feet of it. That is a tremendous amount of rock that had been moved. I got up higher on the shore and looked down stream. Not much further down the creek made a sharp 90 degree turn to the east. There was all the rock. For about 100 feet and now sticking up to 2 feet above the water all this rock had been moved and an all new rock shore line created in the bend.
I heard voices far up stream behind me. A very unusual occurrence here. Floating down the creek I could see 4 boats. Based on how they were paddling there were 2 kayaks and 2 small canoes. I stood and waited for them to float by. My first comment was "you know that what you're doing is technically illegal, but then so is what I'm doing." You could tell by the looks on their faces that they knew this and didn't care. Also had to ask where they put in. The answer was Jericho Road. Big Rock Quarry Forest Preserve to be precise. We chatted as they slowed down for a few seconds and I warned them of the barbed wire that would be across the river just in front of the next bridge. More so, I warned them they would be going through a cattle field at that point. The cattle wouldn't care, but if the bull is there, he's not afraid of the creek.
One of these days I'm going to take that trip. But of course it would have to be in June. And of course it would probably take me all day. I've already fished over 5 miles of this creek and there was no way I was going to drift it without stopping at every promising looking hole.
I headed down stream but didn't go beyond the bend. I didn't have my camera which meant there was no point in exploring this further. I couldn't take pictures and the creek was devoid of fish, so I couldn't use the reason of excellent fishing opportunities to keep me going. Luckily, on the opposite side of the creek was a pond. As much as I hate pond fishing, this was worth it because nobody was ever here. Now and then I'd see footprints along the creek, but it was rare. It was even rarer to see any near the pond. The only problem was getting across the creek.
Based on the size of the new rock bar just to my left, and the fact that the creek channel had moved over by about 10 feet, I could safely assume that I had no clue what I was stepping into. I had walked across at this spot numerous times, but that's because I could see the bottom and I knew what was down there. I couldn't count on any of that this time. I did the old man shuffle all the way across. Mind you, it's only about 30 feet. Move a foot, make sure it's on solid ground, move the other foot next to it and start over. It was definitely a little deeper, but not too bad. I still didn't want to take a chance on any new scour holes that I couldn't see.
The pond was nice and clear, a little bit of moss already blooming in it and 6 of the noisiest geese I've ever had to put up with were wandering around it's shores. It's that time of year when the geese are in mating mode and getting ready for nesting. When that happens, they pretty much quit flying. I've already had 2 incidents during rush hour when these birds decided to waddle across a 4 lane road during. Everyone feels compelled to slam on their brakes to let these poor little creatures go by. What they don't know is that all you have to do is slow down a little, beep your horn and keep going. Two things happen at that point. All the geese crap at once and they all quickly get out of your way.
It was kind of entertaining in a way. I would be fishing, they would be honking at me and keeping about 40 feet away. Then they would quiet down. I would move down the shore, and the process would start all over again. When they realized I wasn't going anywhere and that I was bigger than them, they would take out their frustrations on each other. The honking would get hysterical, heads would go down and wings would go back, and they would start chasing each other down the shore of the pond. I guess I'm easily entertained.
While enjoying this little side show, I was able to pick up over a half dozen largemouth bass and a crappie. Biggest largemouth was only 14 inches, but fat and heavy. Since this pond also has a population of big gills, I fished with a 1/16th ounce jig and small pearl twister. Even though I primarily target smallmouth bass, I'm really not all that particular about it. I'll take whatever is hitting. So why not increase your odds in catching something by using something that everything hits.
When I got to the far end of the pond it was still early. I hadn't been here as long as I thought. I decided to go west to Somonauk Creek just above Lake Holiday. You never know when the fish will migrate out of the lake and into the creek. I've caught walleye, smallmouth bass, largemouth bass, crappie, white bass, rock bass and bluegills out of this stretch of the creek, but it can be a real hit or miss opportunity.
The short walk to the creek in the forest preserve that is in this stretch proved me right about the weather being good for the fisherman. There were foot prints all over the shore. But this was the easy shore to get to and I've watched the fishermen who come here. They are basically clueless on how to fish moving water. I waded across the creek and sure enough, not another foot print. The first few casts will tell me if I'm wasting my time and I was. There was nothing in here. I headed back to the car.
I initially stopped where Little Rock Creek empties into Big Rock Creek. I toyed with the idea of seeing whether or not any smallies had come this short distance up from the Fox River to get out of the faster flow. But there were a couple of guys in the parking lot unloading there lawn chairs. I had no interest in being around guys that fish like that. They cast across the creek to the most unproductive spots and let their line hang there. Heaven forbid I should want to get past that crap. Better to just leave.
It was still early. I decided to give the Fox a try. I agonized over this for a good 15 minutes because it really wasn't all that interesting, but it was still early. I wound up between Montgomery and Oswego in a stretch that has a lot of shore line rock and some pretty good breaks and eddies. I could tell in my first couple of tries that my heart just wasn't into this. I would rather fish streams devoid of fish than wander a shore line actually trying to catch something. At least in the stream I might come across something interesting.
The whole time I was out this day, starting at the moment I realized I had forgot the camera, I kept thinking of when I could get back out to the creek to get the pictures I should have got today. My time is limited these days. But there had to be a way.
