May 11th - 13th; Pt. II: Where Frogs Fear to Tread

It's now a little over one o'clock in the morning. I slowly cruise through a residential neighborhood. I cringe at the sounds of dogs barking, alerting the world to my presence. I make a pass. The hole looks secure. No signs of danger. Not yet, anyway. I turn down another street and find a car to park behind. It makes my car seem less suspicious, I imagine. I quickly shove a burger and fries down my gut. I eat in the dark as to not draw any attention. Then I grab my rods and am silently traveling down the brightly lit street. I make it around a bend and a gate comes into view. Using my "agility-based" build to my advantage, I easily slip between the gate doors. I am packing very lightly, carrying only a pack stuffed with various soft plastic lures (Five inch Yamasenkos, four inch YUM Dingers, four inch YUM tubes, and four inch Fat Ikas) and two rods.



Mean Green
Kistler Micro Mag Casting Rod 7' Heavy.....
Shimano Curado 201E Casting Reel
fifty# PowerPro Super 8 Slick (Aqua Green)







True Blue
St. Croix Legend Tournament Cast Rod 7'1" Med Hvy Fast
Daiwa Tierra Baitcasting Reel
twenty# PowerPro Super 8 Slick (Marine Blue)
eight# Berkley Trilene 100% Fluorocarbon Clear (leader)

5" Senko (Black/Blue Flk) + 2/0 Owner TwistLock Light Hook

I make my way through the grass and over the hill, disappearing behind a sand pit. From there it's just a short way to the lake. This place is a particular burn as it's private property. I must be extra vigilant of cops and security, as well as the FLIR capable police choppers that patrol overhead. This is ninja fishing at its finest. I plan to make it a quick run. A couple of hours at most. I want be in, catch a few frog fish and be out before anyone can react to my presence. I won't let down my guard. "I will be invisible," I tell myself. No mistakes.

Spro Dean Rojas Bronzeye Frog 65 (Midnight Walker)

As I approach the lake, the water is perfectly still. Directly in front of me is the middle of the lake; I can make out several aerators softly bubbling in the distance; to my right is a small bridge. A layer of matted algae (Filamentous Algae aka "pond scum," "lake moss," "snotgrass") covers the water from the bank out to about seven feet. I lay down True Blue and make a short side-arm cast with a frog to the bridge. I try to minimize splashdown as to not spook the fish.

Pause.... walk........ walk-walk.... walk... walk-walk-walk.....walk....walk..... walk-walk-walk....

I walk the frog quickly across the surface. I know the water is shallow by the bridge and so am confident that a shallow fish should be pretty active and would more likely react to a quick moving lure.

Nothing.

I make another cast. And then another. The opposite bank that the bridge connects to creates a short channel before making a bend and opening up the central part of the lake. Along its banks too is a border of algae. About ten uneventful casts in, I make a long cast to the outer edge of the snotgrass line. As I walk the frog parallel to the weedline, my expectations of a strike are high. As I exit the weedline and enter the open water between the channel, my expectations are lower, but still expectant. As the frog leaves the open water and returns back to the snotgrass on my bank, my expectations are to prepare for another cast. Just as I enter a small pocket at the edge of the algae, I get a light strike. Startled, I pause for a moment before I continue to walk the frog. About three twitches later... BLAM!

I see the explosion. I hear the splash. I feel the tug. And I swing. All I end up hooking up are my jeans as the lure shoots out of the water and into my leg. Well at least I'm getting closer to figure out the pattern. I make some pitches several feet past my bank's snotgrass line and walking it in without luck. I make another long cast. Suddenly, behind me, to my eight o'clock, I hear a voice.

"How you doing tonight?"

Awww fuck! I think it's the authorities and I'm dicked. I slowly turn to my left and see two guys, dressed in hoodies and holding rods. Whew, I think. Lucked out this time.

"Uhhhh kinda slow. Only one bite so far."

"Cool." One guys says. They walk up the water and cast out.

Shit, these  guys are going to fish in front of me, I better move now to get ahead of them. I quickly wind in and walk over to where the two guys are, right next to where I put down True Blue.

"What are you guys throwing?" They are using a couple of spinning get'ups. "Worms?"

"Yeah. My friends throwing a little craw that he's been killing them on."

"Little Texas-rigged craw?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

I continue on southbound on the east shore. About forty feet down, I pass a little hole in the algae that just looks too perfect. Having a rod in each hand, I had to just do a one-handed flip into the hole. I basically just gently place the frog on the opposite edge of the hole. Paused for a couple of seconds and then twitched it. BOOM! A fish erupts on the lure and I swing up with my arm. I can't wind the fish in so I lose it as it explodes out of the water and shakes me off. Fuck. I won't make that mistake again.

I hurry south, where I feel more confident. I pass what seems to be some sort of device that heats up sulfur and pumps it into the water. Perhaps that's what those aerated bubbles are? I approach a small cove that tangents the pumphouse. I hide True Blood behind some trees. I wanna do some Mean Green damage for a bit. The weather could not be more perfect. There is heavy cloud cover, which holds in the heat. The temperature is a mild sixty eight degrees. I am only wearing a softshell over a light fleece jacket and I am perfectly comfortable. There is still no wind and the water is glassy. It is going to be good fishing.

I start making short pitches to the outter algae edge. On one of the pitches, the frog lands and I give it a twitch. Less than a second later, a fish explodes on the lure! I lower my rod tip, wind in, and swing! I hit meat. It jumps once. It jumps twice. On it's third jump it lands on top of the moss and gets buried into it. I winch it in and it feels like three pounds. I get soon get, what appears to be a big pile of muck, to the bank. I grab a handful of scum and lob it back into the water. Free of it's constraints, the bass begins to buck and thrash. I scoop it up and attempt to unhook it. The fish is a nice buck-fifty, but it swallowed my frog like it was a five pounder. My fingers get pretty roughed up as they are pressed up the fish's vomerine teeth while trying to leverage the frog out of its throat. I finally manage to undo the hooks and toss the fish back in the water. Ordinarily, I try to gently place a fish back into the water, but this time, the algae was so thick, I thought I should help the Serpent by-pass the barrier by chucking it over the moss.

I continue to fish, using a variety of patterns. When I could, I would make long cast trying to parallel the outer algae edge and work the lure back maximizing time in the strike zone. Otherwise, I would pitch the frog a foot or two beyond the edge and just give a few walks back to the mat, before winding in and pitching to another spot. Once in a while, I even made long casts into open water along points, but those were never too productive. What was interesting was that when I caught fish, it was always in a short flurry. Maybe two or three fish in a ten foot bank space in ten to fifteen minutes. Then I would have no action for the next two hundred feet, even though it didn't look obviously different than the productive bank. I'd move down some more, then another flurry.

The time nears three o'clock - the Dark Hour. My allotted time is coming to an end and I must make a decision. Stay and continue fishing the golf course (CC) and risk helicopters and patrol drive-bys, as well as nosy neighbors and an earlier curfew, or head out and hit up the no fishing-access pond (CN), using up valuable time and risking looking for a new bite, but experiencing beautiful surroundings and longer safe fishing period. Why would I go looking for another bite, when I already found one right in front of me? I've decided.

I keep walking around the east shore and I keep getting action. The average fish being about a buck and the biggest, pushing a buck seventy-five. Nothing huge, but the consistency makes it a great night of fishing. As the night grows longer, my list of "frog bites to get" grows shorter. Cast, pause, one twitch, bite: check. Pitch to moss, immediate blow-up: check. Cast, walk along the edge, boil: check. Hopping frog over moss, miss, twitch, blow-up: check. In terms of variety and quantity of action, this is the best night of topwater frog fishing I've ever had.

5" Senko (BBF) + 2/0 TwistLock Hook Texposed

Before I know it, it's almost four in the morning and soon there will be activity on the course. The workers will be out preparing for the new day and I will need to make myself scarce. I make my way back around to retrieve True Blue, still hidden behind a tree. I switch rods and cast out towards an aerator, on the end, a five inch Yamasenko (tex-posed, fly lined, black blue flake [BBF]). It hits the water and I count it down as it sinks. Before it even hits the bottom... tic. I do the deed and swing. During the fight, the fish jumps and I see my Senko flying off out of it's mouth and into the water, never to be seen again. I let the fish go after a little peck on it head. I reach into my pocket and randomly grab a worm. It's another five inch Senko, but this time watermelon black and red flake (WBRF). I thread it on the hook spring and leave the hook slightly exposed on the top. Another cast towards the aerator. It hits the bottom and I let it soak for a moment. Then lift, drop, lift, drop. I work the worm all the way back in. Hmm. Let's try that again. Another cast. Then another. Five casts later and I am still empty handed.

I decide to switch colors. I grab a handful of worms and pick out another BBF to thread on. A cast to the aerator. Again, before the lure hits the bottom, I get a pick up. Wind in, release, and another cast. This time it hits the bottom. One second... two seconds... thr... I get a bite. As I am bringing the fish in, I see the headlights of golf carts in the distance. Shit. I crouch down and quickly hook the fish. I let it go and swing around to pick up Mean Green. I make a beeline towards the gate.

I make it to the far end of the lake, nearest to the gate, and where I started fishing. I figure I can get in one more cast. Another long cast into open water. About a second after the Senko hits the water, I feel my line pulling away from me. I give a hard set. Perhaps too hard. With a *bink* my line snaps (surprisingly at the braid and not the leader). Oh well. I guess that's a sign. I wind in my loose line and head towards the gate. I silently slip out and am out of danger. I look at my watch... four thirty seven am.  It's too late for the CN, so I decide to go fish the gray light at the El Dorado Ranger Lake. Specifically, the east bank shallows full of stubble. Hopefully, there will be some cruisers looking for an easy meal and I want to be the one to give it to them. I'll fish until eight, then head out to my car to meet up with a new fishing buddy to work ED during the day.

I lean back my seat and stretch out my back. My back aches and my shoulders are cramped and I'm physically exhausted, but I couldn't be happier. I just had an amazing session and the knowledge that it's not even close to over yet, gives me the energy to push on. I soon pull off into the street, El Do bound and hungry for more...