Whitehall Reservoir

Saturday, 6/9/2007 – Whitehall Reservoir – less than an hour from Boston

It’s raining and thundering and I’m the only angler at this strikingly beautiful 575-acre lake. There’s amazing shoreline everywhere along which I throw lures for bass hoping I don’t get struck by lightning which is abundant.

This lake is deep and clear and I should probably use a boat – available for rent – to give it a fair try, but the nasty weather keeps me shorebound and keeps my visit short. (My raingear leaks and I’m wet and cold.)

The quick version of this outing is that my soft plastics never get a bite even though I throw them into some prime spots. But I do get 4 bass to hit a Pop-R. I see two of them clearly – both nice fish, at least 3 pounds each. But I land only one bass – a largemouth that is one inch longer than the Pop-R which is itself a rather short lure. All bass anglers have caught tiny bass on big plugs, but this is the smallest I’ve ever caught on a Pop-R. It’s nice to set personal records.

I walk the shoreline all the way to the wide earthen dam – perhaps two hundred yards wide – on top of which is a path leading to the opposite shore. If the lightning and thunder would just go away I would walk over and explore. But instead I crouch near the dam and cast among some visible rocks.

A pickup truck pulls up abruptly and two young men get out. They don’t see me. They aren’t wearing raingear and they walk quickly to the middle of the dam where the regulator controls are located. They’re getting wet. One of them carries some sort of metal gadget about the size of a grapefruit, and he kneels down and fiddles with it for five minutes while the other one stands there and looks about. Neither sees me. They’re both getting wet from the rain that continues.

They have no fishing rods, the park is empty except for me, and I wonder what they’re doing. Are they terrorists, and is the gadget a bomb that will blow the dam and flood downstream residents? All sorts of thoughts pass through my mind.

The kneeler suddenly stands without the gadget which he has left there on the ground. The two of them turn back towards their pickup truck and both of them simultaneously see me crouched there on the bank. They suddenly break into a run – as fast as their legs will move – all the way to their truck. I brace myself for the explosion. They climb into the truck, close the doors, and drive off. I memorize the license number. And then I see the side of the truck – a state park insignia painted on it. They’re park employees doing some sort of routine maintenance or testing or whatever. For some reason I’m disappointed.

Even worse weather persuades me to depart. But I am glad I found this lake on the www.takemefishing.org Web site, and I hope to give it another try in the future.