Joel Spring - The Ultimate Guide to Kayak Fishing: A Practical Guide

Copyright 2017 by Joel Spring

Photos included in this book courtesy of Joy Spring, Jennifer Spring, Randy Bergin, and Joel Spring.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Tom Lau

Cover photo credit: Joy Spring

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-1112-9

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-1113-6

Printed in China

Contents

Part One

An Introduction to Kayak Fishing

The author with a nice cold-water largemouth bass.

Introduction

I needed a break.

My legs were stiff. My back was sore from a combination of slouching and paddling. My arms? Forget about it. If they had ever been in shape, that time had long since passed, and I could feel aches in places I didnt even know there were musclesor used to be muscles, in any event. Why had I chosen such a long haul for my maiden kayak-fishing voyage? Why, indeed. It had been foolish. The wind was out of the east and surprisingly brisk for an early May morning on the Lake Ontario tributary. Dressed for a warm morning, I endured an unpleasant combination of exertion sweat and cold air. It reminded me of my early days of deer hunting when Id climb a mountain during deer season, only to spend the rest of the morning freezing due to poor planning and the wrong clothes.

Now two miles up from the mouth of the creek where I launched, I quietly paddled the kayak to a small point at the bend in the creek and beached it on the broken shale bank. Clumsily getting my footing with little help from my cramped legs, I hop-stepped out of the kayak, knocking the paddle into the water. Thankfully it was attached to a lanyard and stopped before sinking out of sight into the greenish, cloudy water. I retrieved the paddle, clipped it into its holder, and stretched on the creek bank. Dark clouds raced overhead, and the wind whipped the creek, despite its being sheltered by steep banks on all sides.

What a miserable day.

Slipping my cell phone out of its waterproof box, I called my wife, Joy, at work. I let her know that yes, I was safe; no, I hadnt caught anything; and yes, I was having fun. That last part was a bit of a stretch. It was a bad day to fish, and having fished this tributary for the last forty years, I knew an east wind and cold temperatures also made it a bad day to kayak. But I wanted to get out and try my new fishing kayak, and here I was.

I hadnt brought any of my go-to fishing lures or my tackle bag. What I had in mind were the big pike and bowfin that frequent the tributary. However, I didnt want to be slinging heavy weaponry and landing heavy, toothy fish before familiarizing myself with the latest in a long line of fishing tactics that Ive adopted over the years. Being my first fishing trip and not knowing what to expect about kayaking, much less kayak-fishing, I brought a rig that Id been familiar with since I was seven years old: a spinning rod, bobber, hook, and a box of worms. If you cant catch something on that, you might as well go home, right? The few times Id been able to stabilize the kayak in the stiff breeze long enough to cast, I couldnt even coax a bluegill from one of the many submerged trees. No perch. Not even an ugly bullhead from Bullhead Point. I was failing miserably, due in no small part to having no clue what I was doing. Kayak fishing seemed easy on paper. That wind, though And then that long paddle was always in the way. And casting? Not only having to do it from a seated position, but with the added calculation of that very low angle? More of this was new to me than I had accounted for.

As I talked to Joy, I absentmindedly picked the ultralight rod out of its holder and checked the worm. It was still intact and reasonably lively. Its not like any fish had bitten it. Casting the bobber into the center of the creek, I watched the gentle current carry it in slow circles behind a large boulder. I slipped the rod back into the kayaks rod holder. When the conversation was over, I put the phone back in the dry-box. I settled myself back into the low kayak seat almost as gracefully as Id exited it. Utilizing a technique you probably wont find in any instructional guide to kayaking, I pushed myself off the bank, soaking my left arm, and the kayak slid back out into the deep, green water.

Trying to make the most of the abysmal morning, I attempted to relax for a moment and take in my surroundings. Not a house to be seen. My only company had been a bald eagle that zipped past high above on the heavy breeze and a banded kingfisher that played hopscotch with me at several different points along the creek. Other than the wind, it was peaceful enough. I chided myself for my bad attitude and reached for the paddle.

It was then I realized, somewhat disconcertingly, that I was already moving. Even more jarring, the kayak was moving backward, against the slight current and into the wind. It took me a moment, though it seemed at the time like several minutes, to realize I was being towed. Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I saw the rod bent nearly down to the water. At that moment, the reels drag began singing. Wrenching myself around far enough to reach the rod, I yanked it from the holder and held on for dear life as the change in balance shifted and the kayak turned completely around. I was dragged sideways for about ten yards up the creek, and, during one particular moment of fear, I slipped between two boulders that might have upended the kayak had whatever was dragging me taken a slightly different route.

I assumed from the strength of the fish that Id either hooked a giant bowfin, known for their violent fights, or a large pike. I also assumed that, since the ultralight rig was only outfitted with six-pound test, whatever it was would be breaking off shortly. Naturally, everything I assumed was wrong.

It was just that kind of day.

When the fish finally broke the surface, it came up with such a splash that I couldnt get a positive identification, other than confirmation that it was a big fish. When it came up the second time, I recognized the mirror-chrome sides of a fresh-run steelhead. The steelhead run that Id fished hard up until a week earlier had already ended in the upper stretches of the creek. I assumed all the fish must be back in the lake by now. Apparently not.