Penn’s Outdoors

Every Pennsylvania fisherman has heard of its reputation. The Thousand Islands region of the St. Lawrence river has been touted by national magazines as a fisherman’s paradise. Bass fishermen travel from PA to sample its largemouth and smallmouth bass fishing. Muskie fishermen tempt their fate at these potentially world record producing waters. Northern pike and walleye are also said to be plentiful. While I have done battle with the fish on this river several times, truth be told, the fish (and other creatures) have typically won.

First “The Good” dusk had set on the river during an evening fishing session. The trip to this point had resulted only in a few undersized fish. As we drifted over a shoal in Chippewa Bay, I picked up a #4 Mepps Aglia with a fluorescent orange blade. The spinner would run smoothly for a few cranks of the reel, make contact with the rocks of the shallow shoal and then return to smooth travels on the opposite side to the boat. One of my many casts to the shoal followed this similar pattern except after the familiar rapping of the spinner on the rocks came the slam of a freight train. It was nearly dark and all I knew was that the fish was big. I quickly ruled out a bass by how heavy it felt. My only conclusion was that I hit a monstrous pike or maybe my first muskie. After several minutes, the net was put under the fish and only after lifting it out of the water did I realize that this fish would not fulfill my desire to catch a muskie or a trophy northern but would set a personal best walleye. The walleye was a sample of the trophy fish potential of the St. Lawrence.

Actually that #4 Mepps with a fluorescent orange blade is another “Good” from my trips to the St. Lawrence. Upon the advice of the very kind folks at Schermerhorn Harbor who gave us lots of great fishing information even though we weren’t staying at their cabins, the #4 Mepps helped us catch some northern pike and smallmouth bass in addition to the big walleye. The next year, on an unsuccessful fishing trip to a muddy Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania, I noticed these spinners in my box. I had nothing to lose and began to throw the spinner. The spinner quickly got the skunk out of the boat by producing several feisty smallmouths. The #4 Mepps with a fluorescent orange blade has become a staple in my fishing arsenal.

Another outing on the St. Lawrence, found my fishing partners and I over a large grass bed. On another tip from the folks at Schermerhorn, I began fishing a hair jig with the back half of an electric grape rubber worm sprayed with a liberal dose of Dr. Juice. Let’s just say I had as much confidence in throwing this combination as I would fishing a mud puddle by the side of the road.

I threw my jig out and it would fall softly into the bed of weeds 10 to 14 feet below the surface. On my third cast, I felt a slight tick. What was that? I lifted my rod and a fish pulled back. Must be a rock bass or perch. No, up from the depths into the boat came a northern pike. Must have been a fluke, first of all no self-respecting northern pike would munch on the contraption I was using. Furthermore, northern pike crush lures not just swallow them sending only the slightest vibration through my rod. Over the next 45 minutes, many more pike would ever so lightly take this jig. I landed about 8 of them. Many of them were undersized but on a trip that had not resulted in many fish they made for a very enjoyable morning.

I suppose there were some other good moments like watching my fishing partner pull in a pot bellied largemouth that had to go over 4 lbs. This was before everybody carried a scale. But more of my fishing experiences have been bad on the St. Lawrence. This section will not be long as I hate thinking about the countless hours and even greater amount of casts that I have put into the river compared to the amount of fish I have caught. I can already hear the St. Lawrence apologists lecturing me on how I need to learn how to fish clear water and that the fish are there but you just need to be better at finding them. I admit that I am not the world’s greatest fishermen, but I am not the worst either, and I have a lot of trouble finding fishing in this river. (For those St. Lawrence fans, read the last paragraph before you send any viruses my way.)

Well, how about the ugly? There are so many moments to choose from. Fishing in weather so cold that I couldn’t cast anymore, cracking the bottom of an aluminum boat, miserable rain, tents collapsing, falling in the water launching the boat, having a squirrel eat my favorite potato chips, hmmm? Well, the ugliest moment for me was a beautiful early July day. While fishing a calm cove, I felt the effects of too much fluid in my system. Just as I am getting into position on the side of the boat, several people come out of their vacation home not more than 100 feet away. My need will have to wait.

The next cove we hit would repeat the same scenario. I’ll have to continue to wait but it is increasingly getting more difficult. Suddenly my fishing partner says “is that thunder?” A look behind us reveals a midday sky moving toward us that is black as night. Time to get back to camp in a hurry. “But I have to go,” I exclaim. It is pointless as the motor is already started, and we are headed out to the main river. As soon as the main river becomes visible, it is obvious that our wind protected cove was just a mirage as the river had two to three feet waves. These waves would be minimal for a bass boat or deep-v but the flat bottom jon boat that we were using hit every one of those waves, hard. Thus, every wave jarred my bladder like a heavy weight boxer repeatedly pounding me below the belt. Finally, I communicated to my fishing partner with graphic hand gestures what his boat driving was doing to me. He only pointed to the thunderstorm that we were outrunning and grinned wider and wider over the next 20 minutes as we continued to hit every wave?hard.

Its been several years since I have visited the St. Lawrence, and despite the little good, the lot of bad and the really ugly, the river is in my veins. I can’t explain it. As a social worker, by trade, I wonder if it is something psychological since it was the place of my first real fishing trip. Maybe it’s the potential to produce a trophy on every cast. Who knows? But invite me to St. Lawrence, and I will be there.