Smelt Strike

A week ago Sunday 1Rod and I took out to pursue smelt on Oyster River after a very promising report on Friday. I chatted with several gents who had gallon buckets heaped full with delicious smelt bodies, twitching their last. It was a beautiful day when I gathered my report. A beautiful day on Saturday, and Sunday morning I woke up to see 3 inches of snow on the ground with more on the way. It was good time, but we somehow came home with only 2 smelt in our grossly oversized bucket.

Again, Wednesday after the weather had cleared I headed out alone to attempt to gather just a few smelts for the family to enjoy for supper. Nothing.

Yesterday on Super Bowl Sunday Trisha, 1Rod, and I headed out before the game to get a couple hours on the ice at a nearby pond up in Chichester. Trish struck first with a bluegill then later a yellow perch while 1Rod landed two yellow perch. Forgive me if the report does not include a tally for me, as for right now I've nothing to report. I feel a great simpatico with the Patriots who have found a recent occasion to prove themselves human despite reports to the contrary. I mourned no fish. I mourned no New England victory.

So today in efforts to recover from a thwarted post-game celebration and a severe cold snap in my own fishing success, 1Rod and I headed out to give the smelts one last try before impending warm weather polishes off the remaining 3-4 inches of ice. We were determined. We were optimistic. We set our jaws to the task of gathering a mess of smelt for a late lunch, early dinner, or even an eating occasion in now way reflective of traditional eating timetables. I have a hard time writing what must be written in the interest of honest journalism. We were busted in the chops by a fish that rarely exceeds 12 inches and comes up river in schools whose number challenges the stars for their coveted metaphorical purpose.

I have but few options to end this horrible streak of skunks. First, I plan to fish like a mad seagull this weekend at the annual Meredith Rotary Derby taking two to three days to keep a line wet as often as possible. Second, I will sequester, eavesdrop, or even through illegal reconnaissance gather intelligence from folks who ought to know how to catch fish in order to adopt a method that increases my chances, and third I'm going to change my deodorant. For the sake of those fishing with me I will refrain from going without it at this point, but I will make fair warning now that if the change doesn't work I'll be without it next time out.

Happy fishing.

Lundrunner Chronicles Return

The Lundrunner Chronicles have returned. Please continue to check in as I will be doing my best to resume regular contributions, and perhaps solicit additions from all of you. I look forward to a year of great fishing, and keeping up with fellow fisherman through photos, storytelling, and generally sacchirine notions.

STRIPER ON 6LB TEST THROUGH KANSAS ICE

Wilson Reservoir was originally created in 1964 by damming the Saline river near the Russell and Lincoln county border in western Kansas. It sits nicely in the gently rolling terrain of this fine state and though it's creation was for the purpose of flood control, it has become a popular fishery for those searching trophy walleye and nice land-locked striper. I have enjoyed several trips with my dearest Kansas friends pulling walleye out of very deep water in late autumn of years past, but this last December we headed up toward the inlet where the ice had set in and sought to pull a few white bass, white perch, or even the occasional striper. Since moving to the East coast where striper fishing is a way of life for many anglers, it seems odd to be telling of stripers so far west, but they have existed in these waters for a long time now and have even gained some national recognition for the success of the fishery. Kansas Wildlife and Parks is a fabulous organization that has worked very hard for the sportsman, and I must say it is one element of my home state that I am most proud. Wilson Reservoir is just one example of their success, and I was happy to spend time there over my holiday vacation.

FATHER FISHERMAN

My father and I have been fishing together since the beginning of time. Well, since the beginning of MY time. Having fished the rivers, hunted the hedge rows, and explored much of the Kansas terrain as a young man, it must have been a happy reunion for him as he re-entered the outdoor sports for my sake as I was growing up. We discovered Kansas reservoirs together along with the many pleasures of boating and camping. It was on such an adventure I first met Barry. He was pulling crappie out of a brush pile seemingly three at a time while I was alone in our boat across the cove yet to see a spotted scale up close. Being a generous man and advocate for the sport, he waved over what he perceived to be a frustrated but determined boy. He gave me simple instructions, demanded I cast into his fishing lane and success was immediate. Imagine my surprise when retrieving my father to introduce him to my new acquaintance and share my new fishing discovery I learned they did not just know each other, but had been friends and fishing buddies years ago. Life had separated them as they were wrapped in their own new careers and families, but now an old friendship was rekindled and we've been fishing as three ever since.

BARRY, LEADING THE CHASE

In college I met Woodie as a fellow resident assistant for the dormitories. A few meals and even more stories of geese on his family's property, and we were soon skipping class to fill the sky with steel shot and doing our best to rid the waters of any fin who dared come near. The countless stories of our boating and hunting adventures never cease to fill an always pleasant evening, and we made it a point to catch up while I was back. He joined Barry, my father, and I on our final trip on the ice. I am sad to say it was our least successful trip of the week, but a fine time we had. I am already looking forward to my next trip when the waters will be warmer, the fish on the move, and keeping good company with longtime friends.

WOODIE, SNIFFING OUT A COLD TRAIL

Kansas is a beautiful state. As I have now lived on both coast lines I am confident this is a secret that will remain safe no matter how loud I shout from the roof top. Many Southern Californians regards it as a "fly-over" state, and some New Englanders still believe we ride horses to work and practice circling the wagons instead of fire drills. Regardless of the varied responses I get from people I meet, I have yet to meet anyone who is eager to invade Kansas. I have to say I'm fine with their ambivalence, for when I take leave for a relaxing trip home it is refreshing to view a lake with 15 people on it as quite a crowd. Aside from the fine fisheries and wildlife management, there are big skies, stunning sunsets, and a few friends to make any journey west a welcome one.

KANSAS ICE SLED AT SUNSET

Summery Summary

It is nearing the end of September. SEPTEMBER! Wow, where did the summer go? The last Lundrunner entry was at the end of May! Did the summer go by and no fishing? I think not, however, the summer did go by and no blogging. Relax. It's back, and for you faithful few who actually read this blog, I would like give a quick recap of the summer, show a few pictures and then in a few days you will have the old style/poetic blog voiceback in action, and hopefully keepin you updated from here on out to the end of my fishing days (provided blogs don't become telekinetic thoughts transmitted to subscribing friends who have downloaded a chip in their...ear).

Anyhow, back to fishing. To our left you will see my trusty fishing buddy and some guy standing next to her (I gotta million of them...) Really, that's Christopher (aka Asa) Cote, who appears in almost all Lundrunner Chronicles and our steed, Big Flip. She's been giving me some fits this summer, but at 34 years old I guess she deserves a little extra care. We have done quite a bit of fishing since May 30, and I'm afraid I can't cover it all here. June was a pretty quiet month. We fished we caught some, but nothing of extrodinary happenstance. We did get back out on the Lamprey a few more times to chase nighttime stripers. One particular night we couldn't shake 18" stripers off our rigs, but that has been about it for Linesides. We just haven't seemed to have the furvor of good striper fisherman this year. Perhaps it has been the beauty of the freshwater Lamprey, or just the ease of floating on a gentle river, but that's has been about it.

We did take an extraordinary trip toLakeville, Maine. The Cote family has a camp up there on Duck Lake, and were gracious enough to host Trisha, Magnolia and I for a 4th of July weekend outing. It was a wonderful trip and a fun time was had by all, but that would have been the case regardless of the fishing. It's all in the attitude.

The fishing did help. Our first morning out we found the Smallies in shallow water, presumably getting ready for the spawn. It wasn't super hot fishing, but we managed to land half a dozen nice ones. We would soon pine for such numbers. The weather changed, the fish clammed and it was hard work the rest of the week. My biggest goal of the weekend was to land a Smallie on a fly rod, and alas, this goal was accomplished.

The next month offered more various terrain as we headed West to my home waters. Asa and I joined my life long Captain (Dad) for a few VERY HOT days sliding chuck bait for beautiful channel cats in Kansas. We did well, thanks to a wonderful guide service. I fear I have no pictures in my possession at this time, but I'll add them as I get them. The highlights outside of the great fishing included seeing my parents with Magnolia, an evening with Trisha, Chris and I enjoying two dollar drinks at a local hotspot in Salina, and driving across the plains (Ah, Kansas). This trip could easily turn into a tradition. The only thing mission was an appearance from my old friend Bonzo the California Dreamer.

Wringing Out

Two weeks ago a good portion of my hometown (Newmarket, New Hampshire) was either very wet or under water. With three or four days of on and off rain followed by two days of solid rain the Lamprey River, as well as many others in New Hampshire swelled like an infected bee sting.


My lovely wife, baby, and myself live in a basement apartment (bad news), but our apartment building is on the top of a hill (good news). The result was our humble abode stayed drier than a Lundrunner post. Not everyone fared so well, and my thoughts and prayers went first to those who were injured or lost loved ones (fortunately, very few), and then to those who lost a great deal of possessions (unfortunately, very many).





My thoughts then strayed to our fishery. Newmarket has boasted a tradition of great fishing for much longer than I've been enjoying it, and will hopefully remain so long after I'm gone, but I have to admit I was more than a little concerned. Just a week earlier, Asa and I were rippin' the lips off of paper mouth crappie up in the shallows for a little romance (the fish, not Asa and I), and now all those shallows are washed and new ones created. A bit of reading assured me fish will survive fluctuating water levels with ease, as I should have remembered from the resevoir fishing in Kansas, but that doesn't mean their spawns wouldn't be drastically affected. The largemouth should have been building nests if not already on them, and the crappie were obviously doing their thing. Would they be washed out to sea?



One week later, Asa and I were at it again, and the crappie were right where they were two weeks prior. I also indulged in a new favorite game of mine; pulling bluegill from the shallows with a fly rod. The water level was still a little high, but NOTHING compared to the wash out we experienced the previous weekend. We also slid the Lund into the salt side to see how that water was doing. Asa pulled our first striper of the year, and I began to relax.






Just this weekend, Asa and I put a good deal of time into working the top of the salted Lamprey. We were not sure these rumors of Striper were true. First, at low tide from Heron Point, Asa pulled a pretty 25", and then after a dinner break when the water came up enough we put the boat on. This was an after dark reconnaissance mission, so no camera was available on the boat, but I'll leave you with a few pictures. Fulfilling our goal of "catch a keeper" we both landed these two beauties along with a couple 25" fish. Not big fish by veteran lineside hunters' standards, but you'll never tell us we fell short.

The Future of Fishing

If you give a person a fish, they'll fish for a day. But if you train a person to fish, they'll fish for a lifetime. -Dan Quayle


I had the great pleasure of fishing with 3 of my nephews and one niece while in Kansas. It is a vital part of the future of fishing to take young people out and fish. Not only does this introduce new friends to our sport, but also gives families and friends the opportunity to do something beyond eating (another great sport) and the rather disconnected sport of watching television. My sister's kids are very special to me, and I miss them terribly, living so far away. I am grateful they have the opportunity to fish with their grandpa (my dad), as I can attest he is one of the greatest trainers of future fisherman to ever tread the shore. He and I with four very energetic kids, and it was easy to see who the veteran father between us. His patience, encouragement, and understanding of the value of snack time was a great lesson to me. I look forward to chasing my daughter Magnolia up and down the banks when she is old enough to net a frog.

Malachi: The oldest of the group and the only one I had a chance to spend a significant amount of time with when he was just a baby. He is an incredibly nurturing soul and is very patient with his siblings. An exploratory fisherman, he is destined to grow into the type of fisherman who may not always catch the most fish, but will find a way to catch them when no one else can manage.



Gabriel: Not pictured here, as he was not present for the trip. A beautiful and tall boy who's mind is difficult to connect to, but he is always willing to share some of his heart. While most of the world will spend their time feeling sorry for him, he will spend most of his time keeping his family bonded and showing those nearest him new ways to love.

Jariah: The seeking mind of the group, I look for this one to be my fly tying buddy. Never is he outside without seeking creepy crawlies or various other living things, which will prove very handy when we go to match the hatch. Watch yourself, this one can be ornery.




Genesis: Yes, she is as sweet as she looks, but don't be mistaken, with all these brothers she doesn't back down from nobody or nothing. It was her shoes that got the muddiest, and her smile that got her forgiven. A little young to give two hoots about the actual fishing, she had a great time keeping everyone in line.


Hezekiah: It has been said this little one gets his charm from yours truly, but that is flagrant flattery and I know it. Quiet and well behaved, we not once had to entertain him. He marches to the beat of his own drum, and I can't wait to hear what it sounds like as he grows. Grandpa had him casting for the first time on this outing.






My father, when I was young, would take me fishing and I remember a fabulous time of fishing, but if you were to ask him he would tell you we didn't really fish together until I was almost a teenager. So what did we do if we didn't fish? I think I got stuck in shin deep mud multiple times, I almost always ended up at least a little wet, I caught a few frogs, I killed bait both mistakenly and torturously, and I snacked. My father tried to fish with what bait was left. I have to give him credit. He never once stopped me from skipping rocks though it most likely spooked a few potential prizes, he didn't scold me for ruining clothes though it cost him to replace them, and he never told me to sit still or we wouldn't catch any fish. So here we are, many years later. I live a long distance from home, but when we see each other we go fishing. I no longer get too stuck in mud, or get as wet, or kill as much bait, and I've traded in frogs for fish, but we still have a great time. Most importantly we still go, and if God wills it and we end up living within a boat drive from each other someday, we will go a great deal more.

Yarcraft Adrift

Kansas is a tough place to live. The wind always blows. The summers are hot. Very hot. I would say it gets up to about 2 million degrees on a regular basis, and the mosquitoes (from flying in all the wind) are built like flying body builders. The winters are treacherous too. The temperature drops to sub-arctic temps and then the wind chill factor brings it down to "life unsustainable" levels. And fishing? Forget it. If you COULD put on a boat in all the wind, it wouldn't do much good because there aren't any fish. If you're really good, you might catch a brown bull head. So don't go to Kansas. Ever. There isn't anything there but dust, wind, and mean cowboys who shoot out of towners on sight.


My friend Barry drives a Yarcraft. I'm sorry. Being the Lundrunner, I have to say my loyalty rides with Lund, but Barry is a smart man and he chose Yarcraft. He used to own a Lund, but he doesn't any more. Because of the wind in Kansas, holding a boat stationary with an electric trolling motor gets tricky. The Fiberglas tends to stay put better, and Lund only makes aluminum boats. He fishes quite a bit, and has spent many hours on boats, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say Yarcraft makes a pretty fine vessel. He was kind enough to take my father and I out last week while I was visiting family back in Kansas during the single weekend of tolerable weather, and we managed to pull a few fine finned friends along for a ride in the Yarcraft. It's a Fiberglas boat with a great hull design that provides what they claim as the driest ride available. The 140 horse Suzuki idles down and trolls 2.5 miles an hour with no trouble, and thanks to the 4 cycle engine we could speak to each other at normal levels while doing it. The floor plan was great, as three of us fished quite comfortably.














I could go on and on about how great the fishing was, and give away all the secrets to our success, but I won't. They aren't mine to give away. I will say this: Nothing is better than fishing with family and friends after a long absence. Even in Kansas.






"As the angler looks back, he thinks less of individual captures and days than of scenes in which he fished." - Lord Grey of Fallondon

You Can Lead a Horse to Water...

A week ago I spent an evening pouring jig-heads using a melting pot and a Do-It mold , both given to me by my parents as a recent birthday present. There is something very satisfying about the process. To melt down old lead equipment or scrap and bring about a new and very useful piece of tackle, trim off the excess, paint them with cheap fingernail polish, top-coat with sparkles...ah, it's primitive, manly. Some would argue the process boring, but with no T.V. to soak my brain what else should I do?

Here in New Hampshire we just passed a new ban on both the use and sale of lead fishing gear. Rest easy, there are stipulations in the new law I was careful to adhere to and consequently am still a law abiding and upright citizen. The new law states,

"The law prohibits the sale in New Hampshire of lead sinkers weighing 1 ounce or less and lead jigs less than 1 inch long along their longest axis."

In the brochures promoting this new law there are certain pieces of this new law that are left out. "Weighing one ounce or less," and "less than 1 inch long along their longest axis," are often omitted in favor of simply saying, "remove lead jig-heads from your tackle box, It's the law!" I checked and double checked the verbiage of the new law before proceeding, and even used much of my illegal stock to supply lead for my new gear.

As I carried out this beautiful process of manly arts and crafts time, I pondered the new laws and wondered what the stink was all about. I knew from coffee talk that it was brought in effect after a study directly linked the death of loons to slip shot sinkers. Apparently there aren't many lobbyists for the lead fishing tackle industry. We HUMANS are supposed to limit our consumption of fish due to mercury content. Last time I checked I don't have any gear containing mercury, so where does that finger end up pointing?

I did a little investigating on my own. I know this is common sense for many people, but there is a suprising amount of information out there confirming lead as a VERY DANGEROUS substance. I paint houses for a day job, and every can of paint I open has a "removing lead paint can make you dead" warning on it. Some blame lead for the fall of Rome, and some accuse our own imperial leader of biting down on one too many slip shots while fishing with his Daddy. Some who would like to remain using their lead tackle use the "better than Detroit" argument (similar to my mercury quips). Regardless of what angle taken there is one common thread; everyone agrees lead is dangerous. With a new baby in the house, and the warnings of where the airborne particles can land, I believe I have poured my last lead head.

So, what now? The ready alternative is Tin. Tin is touted by many, Cabelas included, as being not only a safe alternative to lead, but also a superior metal. It doesn't damage as easily, it doesn't tarnish, and Stripers voted 3 to 1 in favor of tin over lead. I'm sold. I'm using tin. My obstacle now is where to find it. Finding lead has never been much of a problem. People don't want it. It's dangerous (who knew?), so they are fine with giving it to me. Tin, on the other hand, is more expensive, and apparently not as readily available. So, my quest continues to find a good source of tin. So far, I have had no luck, but I will keep trying. Apparently there is little room for the old adage, "You can lead a horse to water, but a jig-head must be lead." Now days, my fellow anglers and I will spend our free time "pushing tin."

For my favorite commentary on the dangers of lead fishing gear visit http://www.straightdope.com/mailbag/mfishsinkers.html.