News
I Won’t Be Home In Time For Dinner
2008-05-27
This morning when I began my to commute to work, I was wearing khakis, a crisply ironed dress shirt and a matching necktie. Unlocking the back door at day’s end, the shirt, tie, and pants were crumpled and balled up under my left arm. My undershirt was wet from my waist to my armpits. My bare feet left clods of river mud on the welcome mat as I tiptoed inside. Having stolen two precious fishing hours back from the work week, I’m now sitting down to explain why I fish from a kayak, even though I could afford the bass boat.
My first point needs little more explanation. If the kayak is always on the roof rack or in the back of the truck, you are always ready to go. Today’s trip was brief and satisfying. Eight bulldogging smallmouth bass reluctantly came to my net. Two were broad shouldered enough to pull the kayak cross current during the battle. Only a wade fisherman has the same luxury of a spur of the moment trip. The wading angler also has the tremendous access that the kayak angler enjoys. Having the kayak as a fishing platform bridges the gap between the access of a wader, and the mobility of a motor boater.
The dirt road bridge side pull off lead to a deer path ending where I dragged my Tarpon 120 into Maryland’s Monocacy River. Two weeks prior I had waded the area near the bridge, catching three small fish in as many hours. Discarded white plastic tubs of chicken liver and night crawlers told me that I wasn’t the first person to wade a short distance up from the bridge. Today, I paddled out of sight of the heavily fished bridge area within two minutes. My first cast to the base of a sycamore tree root ball confirmed a lesson I learn over and over again: big fish avoid pressured areas.
The action gets even better as you have more time to invest in a trip. Most of the kayak fishing classes I teach each year are held on the Rappahannock River in central Virginia. The lower Susquehanna, upper Potomac, and sections of the Shenandoah are all closer options for me. But I prefer the Rapp. Being protected by a large conservation easement, the river has the feel of how things were before suburbia encroached upon and eventually swallowed many of the other mid Atlantic rivers.
Unlike the Rappahannock, the other rivers I mentioned are accessible to jet powered bass boats. When the Susquehanna or Potomac swell from springs thawing rains, a jet boat is a convenient way to hop from eddy to eddy, flipping tube baits for aggressive bronzeback. But once the water table recedes to a certain level, jet boats are limited to the deeper pools adjacent to major boat ramps. Several of my kayak fishing students over the last eight years have been jet boat owners. Most of them still use and maintain their gas guzzling river rockets. They just know that their best option once the river gets too low, or gas prices get too high, is their kayak.
Aside from the convenience of a spontaneous trip, or the ability to fish where others can’t, the experience of fishing from a kayak has a unique and rewarding quality. One aspect that I particularly enjoy is the acceptance I receive from the wildlife. Herons won’t take flight as I drift past them stalking the shallows for minnow morsels. Muskrats and river otters curiously take note of the strange orange and yellow log floating by, but aren’t at all anxious about my presence. And most importantly, as long as I do my best not to bump the paddle on the hull, the fish don’t spook. A kayak’s glide through a pool is less disturbing than the shuffle of a waders boots. No trolling motor hums a tune to announce my arrival.
A tactic I use to kick start my fishing utilizes this exceptional stealth. Drifting motionless through a pool, my eyes scan for any movement. The dark tails of the smallmouth are usually the first thing I see. If a breeze ruffles the surface, the powerful thrust of a black tail may be all I see. But I see them nonetheless, and take notice of where they are cruising or positioning to ambush. With that location knowledge, I then know where to launch my lure.
Being closer to the water also gives you insight on what lure to choose. A kayak angler is in a better position to take notice of the color of the watersheds shiners, stone cats, or sculpin. Insect hatches are difficult to overlook from the lower perspective. The activity level and location of terrestrial prey is more apparent as well. Flipping a rock to inspect the coloration of the local species of crawfish or hellgrammite requires no time at all from the wet seat of a kayak.
I imagine that these advantages could be listed by saltwater kayak anglers with only slight variations in environmental details. If you aren’t already fishing from a kayak, hopefully these enticements will whet your appetite for more access, stealth, and insight. Wherever you like to fish, a kayak will get you there and back with a quality of experience that no other fishing platform can match.
Jeff Little, a member of Wilderness Systems Kayak Fishing Team has authored a book on freshwater kayak fishing, entitled, “My Life In A Kayak: In Pursuit of Trophy Smallmouth Bass” To order a copy of Jeff’s book, or read more of his articles go to www.blueridgekayakfishing.com.
