I see the Wayne County Parks sign and turn into this gentle park with a picture-book pond: lily pads, fallen trees, fishing pier, and three swans. It’s a weekday afternoon and I’m the only angler here. The water is brown from a week of pounding rains. A dozen ducks play in the parking lot puddles. I tie on a Senko for what should be a cleanup operation on these bass.
I drop it in the shadows of the 100-foot fishing pier, but no bites. I drop it among lily pads, but no bites. I swim it along the shoreline lane of open water, but no bites. I see a big fish roll out in the middle of this five-acre pond: carp! Then I see another carp at a nearby lily pad; it raises its back, then its head as it looks at me with brown eyes as it lips the edges of a green pad. Other carp rolls out in the middle.
A green heron circles and flies within 25 feet of me and then circles away – just cruising by to take a look. Green herons are known for their curiosity. One of the swans on the far side of the pond lifts off and begins a wide circle over the pondside road, and then back in front of me, so close that I hear his hoarse lungs wheeze with the flapping of his wings. He circles again, then loses altitude, lowers his diamond-shaped webbed landing gear, and skids to a splashing stop 100 feet away. Then he swims casually towards me, all the way to within a couple of feet from the fishing pier on which I stand, and makes a few chirps. He dips his neck gracefully, sips water, and then points his head 45 degrees skyward as he swallows.
I switch to a buzzfrog and pull it enticingly across pads, across holes, alongside fallen trees, and
across open water. Nothing. I see more carp roll. I switch to a finesse worm – at least I might feel a bluegill tap it. But nothing. This pond is so fishy looking. Why is nothing interested in my lures?Over to the right, past the little building with the restrooms, I see a concrete barrier. I walk over and find that it separates the pond from a 50-foot-wide stream. Later my map will confirm that this is a tributary of the Rogue River. The stream has some current and some depth, so I start again with my selection of lures. But nothing. I even try a Mepps.
Sometimes even the most hopeful anglers get to the point where they think nothing will bite. This is dangerous. It generates carelessness, mistakes, and unreadiness.
This is wildflower season and I see purple dandelions, blue violets, sunnyside daisies, and a shoreline tree with maple-like leaves and holly-type berries. Next to it is another little tree with elm-shaped leaves and blue berries. I taste both – acidy. An occasional bumblebee visits the wildflowers.
The Mepps should attract something in this little river, but it doesn’t. I throw it to the shallow sandbar that blocks an eddy within a hairpin curve. And I throw it under overhanging trees and alongside this concrete restraining wall on which I stand. Nothing.
In the middle of the river I see a swirl and then another. I watch as a carp – maybe 10 pounds – reveals itself. Then I see another one swimming alongside. They play out there near the sandbar the whole time I’m here.
I hear a blue jay jeer from a distant treetop. And I see a little bird – gray back and white breast – walking on a stand of lily pads. He’s the color of a dove and has a black tip on his tail.
I switch to a four-inch curly-tail worm and cast it alongside fallen trees, into shaded shorelines, out near the sandbar. Nuttin honey. Then it happens and I’m not ready. I have tossed the little worm into a skillet-sized shady area next to a submerged picnic table (where I’ve already cast several times), and simultaneously notice a tree, twice as tall as me, overhanging with a bunch of tiny green apples with reddened tops. My eyes are on those apples as I lift my rod and feel tension. Must be hung. As I pull to unhang it I suddenly realize that it’s a fish pulling. He’s off before I get a chance to set the hook., but he was obviously a nice one. (All that get away are.) My only bite at this very nice pond and stream park.
It takes some doing to pick one of the reddest apples – it’s out over the pond and I have to balance on a wet part of the trunk – but I do get one and take a bite: apple and alum. Another week or so . . .
Photo: John Bryan at Wilcox Lake
