In all my years of fishing, I have experienced a bit of everything.  I've travelled around the country and chased a variety of different species.  If I am on or near the water, I'm thinking about the type of fish that swim there and how I would catch them.  I love to fish.  I am addicted to kayak fishing. But kayak bass fishing tournaments make me loose my mind.  I am competitive.  The thought of fishing against other anglers, on one body of water, for certain length of time, regardless of weather conditions . . . only adds to the excitement of catching a fish.

The emotional roller coaster of tournaments is something people enjoy or loathe.  Personally, I like the pressure, the anxiety, the frustration, and the gratification of competing.  You will loose more than you win.  You will kick yourself for decisions you made.  A tournament is like a little microcosm of life . . . all with in a span of 7 hours.   

And on May 17th at our Otisco Lake event, I was a total train wreck.  

The week prior to the Otisco event, my new kayak was delivered.  Life got in the way of spending sufficient time rigging and familiarizing myself with how it handles or fishes.  In fact, I only had it on the water for an hour the night before our tournament.  It was 2am by the time I was done rigging the rod holders and graph.  Not the best decision . . . a reoccurring theme for this event.  But I had a new toy and I was determined to use it.

The turn out was great.  We had a total of 16 anglers registered for our first official Kayak Anglers of Central NY event.  A few new faces, familiar faces, and a fellow kayak-angler member from PA that made the trip.  After our captains meeting, everyone had the choice of launching at the south end of the lake (thanks to our event sponsor, Otisco Lake Campground and Marina) or driving to the north end and launching at the county park.  I choose to head north because I knew of more spots near the dam and felt more comfortable up there.  Not the best decision.

About half the anglers stayed south and half travelled north.  That wasn't the main problem but it didn't help either.  Another issue was that there was a bass boat "paper" tournament the same day and they had 10 boats in their field.  Throw in the attraction of Otisco Lake and there were probably another 10-12 boats just recreational fishing on a beautiful Sunday.  The main problem is that the bass wanted to spawn or were spawning.  That means 90% of the bass population was in 2-10ft and with in a few yards of the shore.  Otisco isn't the largest lake, between the boats and the kayaks we had the shoreline surrounded.  The key was finding fresh fish that had not been beat up or harassed.

Let the train wreck begin.  By the time I helped clean up our gear from registration, drove up north, dragged the kayak to the water, loaded all my gear, and launched . . . it was 8:15 or so.  Part of being a director, last one's on and first one's off.  

I knew the narrows and the dam area would be filled with boats and kayaks because it is a well know spawning area.  I started on a under water point that is a prime staging area for big females.  In fact I saw one the night before on my brief trip with the new yak.  I wasn't shocked to see a bass boat working the same point because I knew who it was, my brother.  He was fishing the "paper" tournament and they had been fishing since 7am.  After a had made a few casts, another bass boat came down off plane and nestled into my back pocket.  Literally, about 10 yards behind me.  They dropped the trolling motor and started fishing.  I was a little rattled by the lack of curtesy.

As this bass boat slowing cut between me and the shoreline, the vibrations of my crankbait went slack and I set the hook on a feisty 13" largemouth.  I reeled him in, hooked him up to my fish grips and placed him back in the water.  I grabbed my hawg-trough, unhooked my identifier from my lanyard, and took out my phone which had a life-proof case.  I laid the hawg-trough across my knees, put the identifier between my teeth, and went to put the phone on the seat between my legs.  But I paused.  The seat was different from my other kayak, it was shorter.  I was afraid it would fall onto the deck of the kayak and possibly get wet.  So I put the phone on my right thigh.  Bad decision.

In disbelief, I frantically check the inside of the kayak but my suspicions were confirmed . . . my phone was gone.  I sat stunned for what seemed like an eternity and a thousand thoughts ricocheted in my head.  Do I go in?  The water was a brisk 64 degrees and the water was muddy from the prior week's storms.  What if I don't find it?  You couldn't see down more than 2ft.  Is it worth being wet and cold for nothing?  What if the water clears up a little?  It was a white phone in a silver case, easy enough to spot in 6.5 feet.  What to do?  What to do?  Without the camera on the phone, I couldn't take pics of my fish.  Without the service, I couldn't upload the pics to our leaderboard website.  If I couldn't do that, no sense of fishing.  Even worse, we were supposed to use my phone as a hot spot to run the judging at the end of the day!  It was 8:35 am and it seemed like the day was over for me.

Suddenly I was aware I still had the bass in my left hand.  I released him back into the water and used my graph to put a way point on my position.  For some reason, I had thrown my video camera and my old phone into my kayak.  The thought was to document some of my fishing and the tournament.  But I never video during tournaments because I never feel like wasting the time to set it all up.  But I had my old phone.  It had a camera.  I could still take pictures and upload them at the end of the day.  It looked like my day wasn't done.  I decided to fish and come back later of the day to see if I could find my phone.  Maybe the water would clear?  Maybe I'd take a swim?

I tried to fish but my brain was mush.  I rotated between a crankbait, chatterbait, and a chigger craw but I couldn't get bit.  Doubt began to grow.  To make matters worse, my brother decided to stop by to inform me of all the fish he had caught earlier that morning.  Including a couple in the 18-19" range, exactly the size I needed.  I got to share and relive the story of my phone swimming with the fishes.  He took off and I was left with the whole point to myself.

A previous client got in touch with me this spring and wanted to book a trip but wanted to fish some new water, some where he hadn't been before.  I liked this idea.  There were a few places that I had not been but wanted to try too.  We settled on Labrador Pond and met up around 8:30.

Labrador has a nice hand launch in a little cut out and parking for a few vehicles.  I got Mike all squared away and he paddled out to the main water.  By the time I launched my kayak and started paddling, Mike was already reeling in a 14" largemouth.  We had a little laugh because a few minutes earlier we were discussing a concern that the long, cold winter and thick ice might have caused a fish kill.  This had happened in smaller ponds all over NY. Labrador Pond is only 5-6 feet at its deepest point, so the fear was that we would see dead fish along the shore and on the bottom.  But Mike's first fish proved that was not the case.

We surveyed the pond and the bank.  There was all kind of "fishy" places.  We saw lay downs, stumps, lily pads, weeds, and bog clumps.  After a quick discussion, we decided to paddle to the south end where there was a little inlet and started to fish.  Mike was using a 1/4oz Colorado blade spinnerbait and I decided to pitch a 3/8oz Blk/Bl jig around the bogs.  The water temp was in the 60's and most of the bass would be looking or on spawning beds.  In shallow soft bottom ponds, largemouths often spawn on the roots of bog clumps, lily pads, stumps, or any other wood.

Well they were right where they should have been and we caught a mess of them.  Labrador only has largemouths and we were catching mostly males but they were all very healthy looking. We fished the bogs.  We fished the stumps.  We fished the lay downs.  We fished the pads.  We even found a stretch that had a rocky bottom. 

This rocky stretch was where we caught the largest bass of the day.  A classic spawning and staging area.  The bottom gradually sloped from 1 to 3ft, about 10 yards from the bank.  Then there was a distinct drop-off into about 5ft.  Now a two foot drop-off doesn't seem like much but when the whole pond is 1-6ft, it was significant and it was rocky.  It wasn't a monster but probably 3.5#, maybe pushing 4#.  We didn't stay long on this stretch because there was a lot more to go explore.

Everywhere we tried, we got bit and it turned out to be a great day. The sun was out, the winds were kind, and the hills that surround the pond made you feel like you were in the Adirondacks.  A very cool place . . . and one that I will be back too in the summer.  With a frog tied on!  Thanks for reading.

May 2nd was a big day for me personally and hopefully a historic day for NY kayak anglers.  Kayak fishing is not new to NY, there have been anglers utilizing kayaks to catch fish for a long time.  But on May 2nd, ten guys showed up at Tully Lake for the first gathering of a new chapter of Kayak-Anglers.com.  

Kayak-Anglers is an organization out of Pennsylvania.  It all started with six guys near Pittsburgh, who went from a small club to a conglomerate of 5 chapters, spanning two states, and over 150 members in three short years. Their success comes from their enthusiasm and passion for growing the sport of kayak bass fishing. 

On Jan 8th, a phone call resulted in an opportunity to start a chapter here in CNY and Kayak Anglers of Central NY was born.  With the help of KA members and infrastructure, we got to work here in NY. Organizing local anglers, creating a schedule, promoting our events, gaining sponsorships, recruiting members, and increasing the awareness of our sport.  The experience and people have been awesome.  The interest has been overwhelming and kayak fishing in NY is ready to explode!

Tully Lake, May 2nd.  This was not an official event but rather a social get together.  A chance to reunite with friends and meet new ones.  A chance to hold a "practice" tournament and knock the rust off a long cold winter!  The weather was good, the water was clear, and everyone was excited.

After registration, we had a quick captain's meeting and discussed the format of how official events will run.  To be honest, I was nervous the morning wouldn't go smoothly but luckily it did.  We agreed to meet back at 3pm for "measure-in" and then everyone headed out on the water.  

This was only my third time on the water since the ice left the lakes, so I was chomping at the bit to catch a few fish.  The water temp was around 54 degree and the surface was like glass.  Immediately I thought the bass would be aggressive and biting.  I quickly found out that wasn't the case.

The north end of Tully Lake is narrow and has deep water that transitions into a spawning flat.  The idea was to start shallow and work out deeper until I ran into them.  One of the other anglers I was with started shallow, so I went deeper along the drop off.  I could see the bass cruising and I was graphing them out deep but nothing was biting.  In fact, whenever I threw a moving bait like a jerkbait or crankbait . . . the bass spooked and took off.  Something wasn't right, so I left. 

My past history on the lake in the spring had over powered my original plan.  I knew of an area where I have caught nice bass before, so I checked it out.  The middle part of the lake is a large flat, with deep water surrounding it.  Bass like to spawn on the hard roots of the reeds that grow in the summer.  I knew there would be bass on or around it.  The water was clear and shallow.  I tried to be as stealthy as I could but every bass I saw, saw me first and scattered.  I tried anchoring in one position and let the cruisers come to me but I soon lost confidence in this decision.  So it was time to move. Again.

The wind had picked up and there was a nice steady breeze, so I let it drift my kayak across the flat.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a piece of wood.  It was no bigger than my arm but arched off the bottom.  Without thinking, I picked up a 3/8oz black/blue jig and pitched it to the wood.  My jig never sank more than a foot when I felt it.  The best feeling in the world.  Thunk.  The strike rattled through my line, rod, and hands.  I set the hook and a healthy 15"er came to the yak to be measured.  I looked at my phone, 11:58am!

Unlike bass boat tournaments where they weigh the heaviest 5 fish, in kayak tournaments we measure our 3 longest bass.  This was just great I had fished almost four hours and only one measurable fish. And, only three hours left.  Hate to admit it but I was in panic mode.  

I headed to a shallow reedy bank in hopes that there might be some more scattered wood.  I thought I might be able to duplicate my last bite.  After several casts it was easy to tell the fish weren't there.  I was about to leave when a friend and fellow kayaker came through a narrow cut.  I shared my struggles and how I caught my fish.  I guess fishing was tough period.  He had spent the whole morning in the southern end of the lake but zero fish.  We decided to paddle to a near by bay and see if we could figure something out.  It was now 12:38pm.

I took one side of the bay and he took the other, both of us fishing jigs.  Minutes later, my friend landed a nice 16"er off an old stump on the bank.  That was two fish, on a jig and next to wood.  It was not much to go by but at least it was something.  I immediately hit every wooden dock in that bay.  It seemed like every other dock held a fish.  I ended up with 5 bites, 5 fish.  Two of them were just over 14" and the rest were in the 13" range.  I had my limit and a pattern but only an hour and a half to fish. 

Frantically, I covered as much water as I could and hit every dock I could but couldn't upgrade. I knew of a large fallen tree that extended into deeper water but I saw another angler fishing down the bank.  He was further off shore and I waited until he left.  With time running out, I paddled over and anchored just off the deeper end of the lay down.

Nothing doing . . . the time was up. I headed to the launch to prepare for our measure-in and awards.  Although the weather was great, the bite was tough across the board.  Nobody found a huge female in the 18-20" class.  Most the fish measured were males, who were up shallow looking for places to bed.  We announced the winner(s) and raffled off prizes donated by our sponsors. Before everyone headed home, we took some pictures and discussed our up coming official events. You could see the excitement on everyone's face and there was even a little trash talking.  All in all, our first get together was a great success and it was hard to feel anything but extremely proud of what we have started!

Everyone likes to explore new water, the chance of new spots and potential fish that only live in our imagination.  A long time ago, my brother told me about a trip he made to Little York Lake.  During his trip, he took his small aluminum multi-species boat under Interstate 81.  On the other side was a large pond called Goodale Lake.  He was there early July and he found the water filled with lily pads.  He didn't stay and fish because the water was (in his mind) too shallow and he was worried he wouldn't get back to the main lake.

Apparently, the water under I-81 was shallow and had current.  I guess he banged the prop a few times.  

He did say one thing that stuck in my head, even to this day.  "Looks like great frogging water". That's all it took.  

I love to fish a floating frog, over mats, through the pads, next to laydowns, under docks . . . its all good!  Because when you get that blow up, your heart stops.  Like the first time you felt scared. Then you have the uncertainty of the hook-set.  Will the fish be there or will the frog come flying back at you?  Its a part of the fun.  Once you feel the weight, they all seem like monsters for that split second.  You think you have hooked the new state record!  Fishing the frog gets addicting and its hard to put down.

Well, today was the day to explore.  To see if I could make it under the bridge.  To see if Goodale was really too shallow.  To see if there was fish living there.  To see if I could catch some bass.

Launched around 7am and paddled out into Little York for the first time.  The water temp was 45 degrees.  Water was clear, visibility to 6-7 feet.  The bottom was silt and muck, common in shallow weedy lakes.  The large flat to the north, still had last year's vegetation on the bottom.  Small schools of perch cruised in 3-4ft.  There was life up shallow.  Good.

As I round the point that leads to the bridge, I was immediately conscious of current.  As I heading into the small canal that parallels I-81, the current increased.  On a normal paddle, I usually average just under 4 mph but my GPS was only reading 1.5.  As I neared the bridge, I laid my rods flat because the opening looked like a tight squeeze.  The current increased as it was funneled through the pass. No turning back, I headed under the concrete bridge.

Paddling was made difficult as the ceiling was just above my head.  I had to bend low and flatten out my strokes.  It quickly became apparent that if I couldn't make progress, I was in trouble.  I flood of bad scenarios flashed in my head.  No room to turn. Turtling. Water temp. Pinned.  I remember thinking, I'm an idiot.  I paddled a little harder and was just about to emerge on the other side but debris from the winter was jammed in the other opening, channeling all the water to my location.  I powered through, barely.  And there I was . . . in Goodale.

The chill of the morning became a heat wave after my little burst of energy.  It turns out that my bridge adventure was the most exciting part of the morning.  I found that Goodale in not too shallow and that the only fish I could find were pickerel.  After all the fuss to get into this body of water, I left and headed back into the main lake.

I started shallow.  Nothing.  I tried a little deeper along a drop off.  Nothing.  Over the span of an hour, I only had one bump on a jerkbait.  And I'm pretty sure it was a perch.  By the time I resorted to the idea of dragging a drop shot in 25-30ft, I saw Matt making his way towards me.  Matt is a fellow kayak angler and offered to meet me on Little York that afternoon.

After a quick discussion and debating our options, it was confirmed.  We were headed back to Goodale.  Back under the bridge. The only issue, Matt has a Hobie PA14.  The water under the bridge was too shallow to use the fins and the PA14 is a beast to paddle.  In the end, he hopped out and dragged over the last hurtle but we made it.

The Sun had disappeared and a steady north wind made conditions a little less comfortable.  We quickly started working the edges of the deepest hole and caught a mixed bag of perch, pickerel.

Matt landed the first bass of the day but nothing consistent.  I ventured toward the mouth of where the West Branch of the Tioughnioga enters Goodale.  

As my graph showed the depth change from 13 to 9 feet, I made a cast into about 6ft. I was going to let the wind drift me back into the deeper hole.  My drop shot never reached the bottom and I reeled in the first bass of 2015.  Not the size I was looking for but it was past 1pm and it had been a long day of searching.  If felt good. 

I released the bass and duplicated the same process.  Again, I was greeted with an immediate bite. Turned out to be my best of the day. 

Matt and I continued to work this little drop off and boated a few more bass.  I continued to use a drop shot and Matt bounced along the bottom with a texas-rigged tube.  Matt also hooked up with a 16 inch chunk and we called it day around 3pm.  

Despite the fishing not being great, my real life experience has only magnified my imagination even more!  I saw the lily pads starting to grow.  There is deep water, surrounded by shallow flats.  Goodale should be excellent for fishing the frog!  I'll be back.

Because the water was so cold, I wanted to troll streamers but with the visibility so poor, that was out of the question.  I rigged a couple of rods with some small spoons and started to troll.  I tried to stay inside the pin buoys that mark the 5-6ft range.  As I headed toward the west shore, I past the mouth of Grout Brook and hit the mud line.  The water went gin clear and the water temp dropped to 34 degrees on my graph.  If the fish were any where, they would be in the warmer, muddier portion of the lake.

After a few passes and no hits or signs of activity, I decided I needed something with more vibration so the fish could find the bait easier and maybe trigger a strike.  I tied on some Jr Thundersticks but the results were the same, nothing.  In fact, I only saw one fish surface in the warmer water and I'm pretty sure it was a perch.

I decided to deviate from plan A and go in search of some smallmouths.  The water was muddied for a mile or so down the eastern shoreline, where the bank becomes steeper and the bottom rockier.  There were several places where small ditches and brooks emptied into the lake.  I fished a jerkbait around these areas as slowly as I could, allowing the jerkbait to sit suspended for 5-10 seconds.  It was painful.  This method is extremely difficult when your looking for bites but an affective method when the water is really cold.  I only kept at it because my graph was filled with arches in 10-12ft.  Some on the bottom and some of them suspended.  My efforts in patience were only rewarded with a chance to stretch my legs and a sun burn on my neck . . . which felt better than wind burn from our -10 degree winter!

In a last ditch ever, I tied the spoons back on and made a few more passes.  End of the day resulted in zero fish caught, trout or bass.  This being said, it was a successful trip in my mind.  I got back on the water, made a few casts, felt the sun on my face, and met a potential client. 

If your on the water, early spring . . . just a reminder, wear your PFD.  Thanks for reading.

After a long winter and the mental anguish of cabin fever, the sun came out and the temperature climbed above 40 degrees.  "Momma" suggested I take our six year old son fishing.  By the time she uttered the second syllable, I had Jack over my shoulder as we ran out the door.  A quick and simple trip, fishing from shore, at one of my favorite early spring spots.

During the drive, we discussed the game plan.  I spoke of being careful around the extremely cold water and sharp hooks.  Jack was oblivious to the sound of my voice, staring out the window, mumbling something about different types of fish . . . and what they look like.

In our haste, I accidentally grabbed the "wrong" rod according to Jack.  I had snagged his sister's rod, which is identical to Jack's.  I guaranteed him there was no difference but Jack did not agree and  nobody was going to convince him otherwise.  Already off to a rough start.  

As it turns out, Jack was right, which occurs more than I'd like to admit.  He had trouble holding the push button in and the line wouldn't hold.  Every time he went to cast, the lure dropped to the ground.  This of course was all his sister's fault and mine. No problem, during the cast I controlled the button and then Jack reeled it in.

This worked for a while until it was time for Jack to take a break.  It's amazing how many things there are to do next to the water . . .  like . . . digging  through the soft plastics, knocking over your father's water, seeing how far you can wade before filling your rain boots, continuously reaching into the pretzel bag with muddy fingers, poking at a dead perch with a stick and dropping rocks into the water to hear that cool "plop" noise.  Jack was able to do all this, while completely ignoring his father.  An incredible skill!

Eventually, we got back at it but I could tell our day at the water was almost over.  We made a final cast and I turned to start packing up.  Thats when a heard a grunt.  The type of grunt that comes from lifting something entirely too heavy. A man's grunt.  Except is wasn't coming from me.

Jack was doubled over, desperately trying to crank the hand of his tiny push button reel.  He was slowly losing groung as his feet shuffled toward the fish.  By the time I said, "you've got one!" there was a whimpering cry for help.  Smiling, I reassured Jack he was doing fine and gave him the usual coaching pointers.  Then the fish made a run for the bank and the silhouette broke through the slightly muddy water.  It was big.  My first thought was that he hooked a nice rainbow, which are commonly caught in the area during this time.  But then she gave us a side profile and I lipped her as she glided to the bank.

Jack's face lit up, his eyes popped and his smile made him look like the Joker.  Very similar too when you inform him that we're going out for ice cream.  Normally Jack refuses to hold any kind of fish, but since this was his personal best and the largest fish he had ever seen in person . . . he agreed.  Even at age six, I think he understood the magnitude of the situation.

We took a few pictures, shared them using the phone and fished some more.  The ol' man even got into a good one too.  As we drove home the congratulatory comments poured in, as we reminisced about the day.  I was shocked by the overwhelming sense of pride.  The wee man stuck his first pig.

  

Kayak Fishing is one of the fastest growing sports . . . why?

10 REASONS WHY

1 - ACCESSIBILITY:  all you need to launch a kayak is a shoreline.

2 - VERSATILITY:  kayaks can go shallow or narrow, where larger boats and motors can not.

3 - STEALTH:  kayaks give you a low profile and are as silent as you want to be.

4 - FREEDOM:  the ability to throw a kayak on your car, truck, or SUV and go.

5 - VALUE:  kayaks are one of the best ways to spend your time on the water.

6 - EXERCISE:  paddling a kayak and catching fish might be more fun than the gym.

7 - COMBAT:  kayaks put you face to face with the fish and eventually they end up in your lap.

8 - ECONOMICAL:  kayaks are inexpensive and you don’t have to pay at the pump either.

9 - MAINTENANCE:  wipe it down, store it in the garage or basement and your all done.

10 - GREEN:  zero emissions, enough said.