Sooner or Later

Well, lets rip the band-aid off. I've fished 9 separate times this year. After my 8th time I caught 2 fish, averaging a magnificent .22 of a fish per outing. Thank goodness I'm not trying to feed a family.

I've been to Lake Erie, Conneaut Creek, Beaver Creek, Buffalo Creek, Kings Creek, Tomlinson Run and the Rocky River (all mostly with my Dad). I'd like to think we aren't fishing but rather practicing our casts for when the time is right. And man, those casts are looking good. But to our defense, aside from a few others, no one else was catching them either.

Rocky River Fishing for Steelheads

Last year, my my cousin Shane built me a beautiful fly rod. It has succeeded in capturing bass and bluegill, but never has it had the pleasure of  reeling in a trout. My itch to cross that off my list grew larger and larger each unsuccessful outing I've had in 2012.

While my confidence was as big as my size 6 fishing hook, I felt a little hope as I took my first step in the creek. Last year, King's Creek proved to be successful many times over for my Dad and I. We learned the holes, the current, the terrain; hopefully, it would add up to a good day.

I quickly made my way to a favorable hole. After a few short casts, my line was pulled under. A snag already. You've got to be kidding me. In fact, it was kidding me. That snag was a fish (I'm still getting used to the feel of the hit on the fly rod that it caught me off guard). I snapped it back, securing the hook. This fish wasn't just another trout; it was my dwindling confidence and my first trout catch on the new rod. I got him into my net and that was it Fort Pitt.

All together, I caught one more shortly before we were going to leave. This hit was different though. It was a runner and I quickly knew it wasn't a snag. It sure felt good bringing another one in.

Last year, I fished the creek with my spin rod. That was a great time. This year I have fly rod and waders. It's a whole new playing field and I am enjoying every new inexperienced minute of it. While my Dad was unable to reel one in, it was still a good fishing trip. We know they are in there just waiting for our return. ***Update*** I just went fishing there again and they were not waiting for our return. Definitively not waiting.

Cabin Fever

   It was January 2012. It was a new year with new fishing stories to live. We each got a pair of waders for Christmas/Dad's Birthday and were ready to get out and play with our new toys.

    Our first attempt took us to Beaver Creek, which is growing to be one of my favorite places to fish in our area. We were both skeptical but our longing to fish overcame the skepticism. After looking back, we have never fished this early in the season. The air was brisk but extremely refreshing. It was great to enjoy the outdoors in January wading through a stream hunting for docile small mouths.

   We threw everything we had at them, but fell short. The creek was high and fast and hard to get comfortable action on the lures. No fish? It didn't matter. We broke in our waders and got to enjoy the afternoon in the beautiful outdoors.

Scared Racoon

   Our second trip began with a lot more confidence than our last trip. Tomblinson Run Creek was stocked. Not since last spring have we fished for trout. And not since last spring have we both had so much fun catching a fish we haven't caught for years. Last year I really began to appreciate what fishing can do for you and I feel like trout capture than more than any other fish. It's not fishing in a field or fishing at a lake. You are knee deep in water wading through the outdoors to find a fish that seems more in tune with nature than any other fish we catch. We were both very happy to finally get back to that pursuit.

   The first thing I noticed was the snow; we have never fished with snow on the ground. It made me happy. It's nice to make new tracks every once in awhile.

   My Dad took the upper creek as I wandered down through the bottom. We both fished many great holes but were unable to reel any in. As I was walking back to my Dad, he actually found me first. I asked him and he asked me if I caught any. We both said no. It was funny because it wasn't a disappointing no but a very happy no. A no that showed it was a great time catching nothing this time but next time, it would be a very different story.

A Day to be Thankful For

It was two days after Thanksgiving. The sky was blue and the temperature was just right. And most importantly, the gang was still in for the holiday. The gang meaning my Uncle, Cousins, Pap, and Dad. Unfortunately my brother was visiting his in-laws in Minnesota (whatan idiot).

I'll be honest, I wasn't convinced we would catch any bass. It was late fall and the water temperature had dropped significantly.The pond was a great stop for top water action, but never really been tested for the deeper waters; today would be interesting.

We arrived at our country destination and the pond looked beautiful. I found my spot on the right bank. Apparently it was already a popular spot. My younger cousin found the same spot about 4 yards away from me. This was going to be a fun afternoon.

After around 40 minutes of fishing, I see my uncle reeling one in from across the pond.  My skepticism sank as the fish emerged out of the water; it looks like we were going to catch fish after all.

Eventually, my Dad would reel one in himself. And then my cousin. And then my other cousin. And then my other cousin again, and again and again. He was fishing near the top with a worm and bobber and catching gullible bluegills.

I need to take time out real quick and say that bluegills need to learn how to have a little self control. I really feel bad for them. They get so excited and believe 100% that they are making a sound decision and then SNAP! A big ol' hook right through their jawbone. Poor irrational little fish.

Back to the fishing. So we continued to fish away the afternoon. The few bass we caught before ended up being the only bass we would catch. Honestly, I was very surprised we caught anything, let alone more than 2. We would soon pack up and head back into town.

One of the reasons I really wanted to get out was because of Thanksgiving. Fishing has always been a refuge for me that puts life into perspective. It helps you break the unnecessary commotion caused by always chasing that next "thing" you have to do in your life. If we never have a chance to clear our heads, we never really get to appreciate what's important in our lives, at least that's how it is for me. This trip did just that. Many people believe they have little to be thankful for. The truth is everyone has something to be thankful for, but you'll never find it if you never take the time to look.

The Gang 2011

Like Father Like Son...Like Son

   Last Spring I got to do two things I've wanted to do for sometime now: fish for trout and fish with my Pap. I'm not alone and can say my Dad was equally excited. But that was in the Spring and now the local trout are slim, so we had to find another place to take our adventures. On a beautiful Fall day, three generations of Hawrots hopped into a small fishing boat and headed out to hunt some bass.

   Normally, I could care less about the number of fish I catch. If I get a few, than that's an enjoyable evening. But tonight was different. It wasn't that I had to show anyone up but it was more of showing the person who taught me to fish and the person who taught him to fish that I have learned from them and have grown into a decent fisherman. Admittedly, I have recently fished this pond many times and believed I had an edge on them that night.

   My Dad started quickly, catching numerous bass off his mastered hula popper.

I thought no big deal, I'll catch up quick. That's when I caught my first bass. A small lil one but nonetheless a fish. Shortly after, my Pap caught his first fish.

And then my Pap caught his second fish. And then my Dad caught his third fish. And then somewhere in the mix my lures became irrelevant to the fish. I was no more than the boat captain at that point watching my more experienced shipmates catch fish on the same type of lure I was using. At one point, the boat became stuck on the top of an underwater tree. I thought about going down with the boat but persistence told me to move on and be patient, my fish will come. Well, they never came...for me. My Pap and Dad continued to catch them well into the end of the trip.

  
     Now the sun was set and darkness was showering the country pond; it was time to head home. Ya, I didn't catch really anything but it was an amazing night out with my family. Being confined to a boat, every time someone reels one in, you stop fishing and feel like you're catching it with them. It was actually fitting the way the night progressed. I wasn't keeping exact count but I'd say my Pap caught the biggest fish, my Dad caught the most fish, and I caught the least. And that's exactly how it should be. A progression of fisherman should always get better with more age and experience, especially through many generations.  I guess what I really learned was that I need to start having kids. Then we'll really see who's on the bottom of the totem pole.

My Friend, My Fish, and Ma' Boat

     My friend (Franco) recently bought a lifesize cutout of Taylor Swift. But luckily for his sake, I am a man of redemption.  I can publicly post this because he has indeed redeemed himself by purchasing a 12 foot fishing boat. It is indeed his boat but to everyone else it is known as "Ma' Boat." After a fresh paint and carpeting job, Ma' Boat was introduced to one of best strip ponds that Franco's coal company has ever created.
 
     The past few weeks have not been favorable for fishing. Finally, on my last day in Ohio before a trip to Milwaukee, the sun came out lovelier than ever; work was done at 5 and nothing else mattered besides getting out on the water.
 
     I started out with my go-to, a watermelon seeded worm with a small split-shot at the head. I was slightly successful but longed for larger fish. I went to my new hula-popper. Surely this would the cure for a month long cold. So I fished it. Popped it. Twitched it. Flicked it. Nothin'. I was thinking about going to my bull-pen when my luck changed. At about an hour before dark (6:30 p.m.), it was as if a switch went off. These bass were consistently hitting 10 yards from the shore and I was loving every moment of it.

     I could have fished that spot the rest of the night but there was something that needed to be done. For the past 3 trips to this pond, we have seen a very nice bass swimming in and out of an inlet leading into another beautiful pond. This day wouldn't be complete without a try to lure him in.

     We slowly approached the inlet and latched onto a tree 15 yards from the shore. I was confident the fish was in his spot and I knew I had one solid cast before he was gone. Last fishing trip, my cast came up short to the narrow inlet; this time I could not suffer that same fate. I flipped open my reel. Double checked the amount of slack. Took a deep breath and let her fly. I looped a high cast that landed 6 feet into the inlet; I thought this was it. If she's in there, I got her. Before I finished my train of throught, BAM! She hit. I fired back on the line and saw the water break out of the shallow inlet. I became tense as my line did the same. But suddenly, slack followed. I didn't know if I lost the fish. In all honesty, I think I did. But then I saw another riptide in the water. My hula went completely under again; this time, I knew she was on and I wasn't letting her go.

3.9 lbs 21 inches

     There are three things to know about fishing. You either catch small fish, large fish, or no fish. And you know what the best part about it is? It doesn't even matter which one it is. I'd gladly catch no fish with my family or friends than not try at all, but here's the kicker: when you do catch those better fish, there's not a person in the world than can tell me it's not a special feeling. 

Beaver Creek Fleet

Some people go directly to happy hour after work on Friday and continue the charade into early morning. Instead of dulling our senses, we ignited them and drove into the wilderness of Beaver Creek Ohio.

The crew was back together: my dad, my brother, and myself. After a quick and ritualistic pine cone fight, the tent was set and we were soaking in nature and simply enjoying the warm summer night.

Sparky

Spidey

We eventually went to bed and anticipated the morning and fishing to come. To be more clear, going to bed does not mean you actually sleep or feel recovered in the morning. Nope. That's all nonsense when you're sleeping on what felt like a bed of rocks.

We arrived at the creek in the morning and were excited about the afternoon to come. We were kids in a candy shop. I cannot even explain the impact that a creek has over you. It takes every worry that you couldn't shake out of your head for five days straight and buries them where the bass are hiding. 
 

Beaver Creek

My brother struck first. Watermelon seeded plastic worm, you are a good friend.

Cool brother with a Small Mouth

My dad would pull ahead and not look back. Over the past week, he has become a master at the hula popper. He would eventually pull in 3-4 smallies. Well done Pops!

My trip was a little different. The night before I caught a nice one on my good friend (Watermelon worm), but today I chose my professionally constructed fly-rod courtesy of Shane Murphy. I tried everything in my fly box and...everything came up short. I've had the fly rod for less than a year and I already feel very comfortable with the action, now I just need to master the lures. I eventually switched to my spinning reel and had some success.

Eventually, we would stop to swim upstream and soak in the atmosphere. The fishing trip was coming to an end and I was already missing what we were about to be leaving. I do a lot of fishing by myself when no one else can go but nothing beats fishing with family. The experience we all share together is indescribable. I get more excited to see them catching the fish than actually catching them myself. I am glad I was born into a outdoor family. I am also overly confident that we would all become hermits and live in the woods for the rest of our lives if given the chance. Short of a nuclear war, I don't think we will ever need to but thank goodness it's always right where we left it.

The Zebco 404 SE

     My Dad proved me wrong. But before he proved me wrong, I caught a fish.

     Another beautiful summer evening at the Mouth of King's Creek, my new favorite 15 minute hideout. My Bro, Dad, and myself ventured down the to do a little angling. I was working a lime green chatter bait, something that still did not know what a fish felt like. That soon changed when I brought in two small white bass. Not thrilled about the size but two small white bass are better than two small nothings.

     My Brother wasn't having much luck. My Dad was getting bites but nothing solid.  He was fishing on the bottom with a big ol' nasty hook and a worm throughout. Suddenly he got a bite, more-or-less an attack. Immediately the fish took off deeper into the river. My Dad's line is at a stalemate, the drag needs adjusted. But his reel doesn't have a great drag, or much of anything else for that sake. He is using a Zebco Push Button 404 SE.

He has a regular spincast reel but always resorts back to the Zebco. I always think, there's goina be that time where he hooks a big one and then he'll be screwed. Well, he hooked a big one, but he wasn't screwed. He played this fish like there was a camera crew set up filming his show: The unknown would take off; he'd release the button for more line; fish would tire; he'd yank the pole back and play a game of inches and feet for the rest of the fight. Finally, the fish was his.

He caught a huge Freshwater Drum on an old little reel with a skinny little line, proving it's not about the rod, it's about the fisherman who's holding it.