I dare you to present this question to the kids in your life: If you could spend an entire day doing whatever you want on a computer, or the entire day fishing, which would you choose?
Today on a hot, sunny, no-fish-biting day at Lake Cuyamaca I ask that of Jamelle and Janaya Mitchell (ages 8 and 9) and their neighbor Kemon (12), and all pick fishing. Parents Clinton and Cheryl Mitchell have brought the family, with friend, here for the day. They do a day trip every weekend, each centered on fishing.
“It’s a way to keep our kids involved in something positive and their minds in the right direction,” explains Clinton.
Cheryl adds, “It’s relaxing – a good way to get away from it all.”
Relaxing? Cheryl has packed food and drinks and folding chairs and towels and other stuff. Clinton untangles a jumble of rods and reels and hooks and lures and as he talks to me he removes two hooks that have stuck his hand.
“Look, a fish!” points Janaya. “There’s another one!”
“Where’s the net?” shouts Jamelle.
There are trout everywhere – mostly 12-inchers – jumping and swimming and even dying. The park ranger tells me that they’re starving for oxygen because the water temperature has reached 73 degrees.
This is one of those clear San Diego County lakes that gets stocked with trout that provide a smorgasbord for jumbo Florida-strain bass like the 14-pounder Mike Long holds in the framed photo in the tackle shop.
Or rather it WAS clear until the wildfires hit three years ago. Since then the lake has remained muddy – visibility less than a foot.
“Everybody was crying after the wildfires came,” recalls Clinton. “everything up there,” he points, “was so pretty and green. You would see mountain lions and wild turkeys, but they haven’t come back.”
Cheryl Mitchell grew up with a love of fishing in Queens, New York where her step-father took her fishing at Rockaway, Coney Island and other places. Clinton was born in Louisiana where he gained an immediate love of fishing from his parents, grandparents and everyone else.
“Kemon,” instructs Clinton, “Here’s what you’re gonna do. Get this pole; let me fix you up here.” He fiddles with hooks and sinkers, then adds, “Tell your mom for Christmas you want a new fishing pole.”
The park ranger has told me that during spawn you can catch some bass on swimbaits, but the rest of the year it’s tough. Today is a Saturday and I count easily 75 anglers on the shores and in boats on this small lake. Not one is bass fishing. Most are fishing for trout and I see a sprinkling of 12-inchers on their stringers. Others are fishing for catfish and small crappie.
“Patience,” responds Clinton instantly to my request for a fishing tip. “That’s the best tip you could ever give a person trying to fish.”
I throw a chrome and then chartreuse Rat-L-Trap hoping one will be noticed by a bass in this muddy water. Nothing. I throw a worm into the very scarce shoreline grass with no results. Finally I catch one scrawny crappie on a white mini-jig. Nothing else.
I stay for a couple of hours and walk the shorelines. Each time I look at the Mitchells the kids are active and laughing. Clinton is continually attending to fishing poles. And Cheryl keeps an eye on all.
Photo (left to right): neighbor Kemon with the Mitchells: Janaya, Jamelle, Clinton and Cheryl
