August 13 2007, C & O Canal National Historic Park, Washington D.C.
This canal is flat loaded with fish, and I’m walking a bit of the section between the Chain and Key Bridges. Like the nation’s very first canal in Richmond – designed by George Washington – this canal was built to transport goods westward alongside sections of rivers where navigation was difficult. Today this canal is concessioned with silver canoes, yellow and orange and red kayaks, and sturdy wooden rowboats. Upstream and down I see only one other angler.
Susan Graham watches as Nicky intently studies the business end of his spincast outfit that is dunking a worm among the shadows of tied-up rowboats. The red and white bobber bobs, Nicky lifts with a sky-reaching arm and swings the empty hook over towards Susan. Worm bandits again!
I say hello and ask them if they’ll walk over by the canal sign for me to take a photo. Susan says yes. Nicky shakes his head no as he readies another worm for sacrifice. I of course know his mindset: don’t interrupt me while the fish are biting.
This water is green and is bordered by manicured green pathways for walking and jogging and bicycling. Participants in all pass by frequently. The canal is about as wide as a long cast, and I throw my Senko to within an inch of an overhanging branch on the opposite bank. With my polarized lenses I can see plenty of bluegill, and usually bass will bite a Senko in bluegilled waters.
Nearby Nicky continues to feed his group of shadowed bluegill. I can tell that he is a novice. I can also tell that this is a most exciting venture for him. And I can tell that he won’t be wanting to depart anytime soon. Give a kid a series of tugs on the end of his line, and you’ve given hope springing eternal.
My Senko sinks for a few seconds and then I feel the tap. When a bass approaches a piece of soft plastic and then simply vacuums the bait into his opening mouth, what the angler feels is just a slight tap. You can’t learn this precise feel in any angling school. In fact, this little tap presents an extremely difficult learning curve for all newcomers to bass fishing. But I got lucky a long time ago on Green River Reservoir in Kentucky. I had years of fishing experience behind me, but had not yet clicked on the feel of this vacuum tap. Near the boat dock was a ten-foot-deep area where the water was perfectly clear, and I threw a Texas-rigged plastic worm and started hopping it across the bottom. A bass swam up, and as I watched, he came over and opened his mouth and vacuumed the worm. As he did it – and as I watched – I felt the tap. Delicate, slight, impossible to describe. I still remember that precise Eureka moment. It was one of the handful of significant turning points in my bass fishing life. From then on – even in muddy water, even during nighttime bassing – I could recognize that tap blindfolded.
And now on this canal I feel that tap. I pull back on the rod and set the hook and am into a bass. He’s not big – perhaps 11 inches – and I release him. Later today I will see photos of big bass caught from this canal. And I’ll hear about one bass angler who has devoted almost all of his bassing life to the miles and miles of this canal.
Nicky finally pauses long enough for me to take a photo of him and Susan,
but then he’s back to the bluegill. I’d like to fast-forward 10 or 15 years to see how many rods he will own then. My money’s on a bunch.
On the other side of the canal, submerged a few feet, is big, blue hydrilla harvester that I’ve been told was used downstream. I walk across the canal bridge and drop the Senko beneath the harvester, but no luck. Then I walk the canal for a hundred yards or so in both directions dipping the Senko in likely spots. But that one bass will be it for this brief outing.
This canal is so beautiful – luscious trees and foliage overhanging everywhere, gentle current drifting downstream, occasional wildflowers, and two- and three-foot visibility displaying small bluegill. I need to dedicate a whole day for exploration up-canal and down.
As I depart I watch as Nicky continues to work on those bluegill, his glasses perched expectantly on his nose, his back arched forward with anticipation, his eyebrows raised with hope.
This canal is flat loaded with fish, and I’m walking a bit of the section between the Chain and Key Bridges. Like the nation’s very first canal in Richmond – designed by George Washington – this canal was built to transport goods westward alongside sections of rivers where navigation was difficult. Today this canal is concessioned with silver canoes, yellow and orange and red kayaks, and sturdy wooden rowboats. Upstream and down I see only one other angler.
Susan Graham watches as Nicky intently studies the business end of his spincast outfit that is dunking a worm among the shadows of tied-up rowboats. The red and white bobber bobs, Nicky lifts with a sky-reaching arm and swings the empty hook over towards Susan. Worm bandits again!
I say hello and ask them if they’ll walk over by the canal sign for me to take a photo. Susan says yes. Nicky shakes his head no as he readies another worm for sacrifice. I of course know his mindset: don’t interrupt me while the fish are biting.
This water is green and is bordered by manicured green pathways for walking and jogging and bicycling. Participants in all pass by frequently. The canal is about as wide as a long cast, and I throw my Senko to within an inch of an overhanging branch on the opposite bank. With my polarized lenses I can see plenty of bluegill, and usually bass will bite a Senko in bluegilled waters.
Nearby Nicky continues to feed his group of shadowed bluegill. I can tell that he is a novice. I can also tell that this is a most exciting venture for him. And I can tell that he won’t be wanting to depart anytime soon. Give a kid a series of tugs on the end of his line, and you’ve given hope springing eternal.
My Senko sinks for a few seconds and then I feel the tap. When a bass approaches a piece of soft plastic and then simply vacuums the bait into his opening mouth, what the angler feels is just a slight tap. You can’t learn this precise feel in any angling school. In fact, this little tap presents an extremely difficult learning curve for all newcomers to bass fishing. But I got lucky a long time ago on Green River Reservoir in Kentucky. I had years of fishing experience behind me, but had not yet clicked on the feel of this vacuum tap. Near the boat dock was a ten-foot-deep area where the water was perfectly clear, and I threw a Texas-rigged plastic worm and started hopping it across the bottom. A bass swam up, and as I watched, he came over and opened his mouth and vacuumed the worm. As he did it – and as I watched – I felt the tap. Delicate, slight, impossible to describe. I still remember that precise Eureka moment. It was one of the handful of significant turning points in my bass fishing life. From then on – even in muddy water, even during nighttime bassing – I could recognize that tap blindfolded.
And now on this canal I feel that tap. I pull back on the rod and set the hook and am into a bass. He’s not big – perhaps 11 inches – and I release him. Later today I will see photos of big bass caught from this canal. And I’ll hear about one bass angler who has devoted almost all of his bassing life to the miles and miles of this canal.
Nicky finally pauses long enough for me to take a photo of him and Susan,
but then he’s back to the bluegill. I’d like to fast-forward 10 or 15 years to see how many rods he will own then. My money’s on a bunch.On the other side of the canal, submerged a few feet, is big, blue hydrilla harvester that I’ve been told was used downstream. I walk across the canal bridge and drop the Senko beneath the harvester, but no luck. Then I walk the canal for a hundred yards or so in both directions dipping the Senko in likely spots. But that one bass will be it for this brief outing.
This canal is so beautiful – luscious trees and foliage overhanging everywhere, gentle current drifting downstream, occasional wildflowers, and two- and three-foot visibility displaying small bluegill. I need to dedicate a whole day for exploration up-canal and down.
As I depart I watch as Nicky continues to work on those bluegill, his glasses perched expectantly on his nose, his back arched forward with anticipation, his eyebrows raised with hope.
Photo: Nicky and Susan Graham at the C&O Canal in DC.
