Sign of Spring Speck. The author caught and released this black crappie along with a few others as more temperate weather allowed for some shore fishing at a favorite warmwater lake. Simonson Photo.
By Nick Simonson
In the dinge of the surface water at the old powerplant lake, the bright sunny shimmer of the flash fibers on the back of my last orange-and-orange hand-tied crappie jig twinkled, despite the hazy overcast sky above me reflecting on the surface. With plans for the back half of the weekend, and a few open hours on Saturday afternoon with temperatures doubling into the upper thirties from the mirror opposite of negative thirties earlier in the week, it was as good a place as any to be as thoughts of spring began to crack the mental ice encasing my cabin-fever strapped mind.
Certainly, the world around me mirrored that desire to break free of the cold, as the resident Canada geese from the warmwater lake flooded the farm fields surrounding the small impoundment, as if hinting at the migration to come, which will bring back their more mobile brothers and sisters. The sun struggled through the ebb and flow of gray and white sheets in the sky above, but enough of its power under the increasing angle warmed the day and the wind stayed light at my back, allowing for just a sweatshirt and comfortable casting from the still snow-covered rocks on shore.
The crappies out in the water, however, seemed less excited about winter’s end, or at least the time we had been given together. My first one came on a slow retrieve – consisting of a drag and a slight shake of the rod – right up to the edge of the shoreline riprap that lined the discharge canal which wound about a mile from the stacks of coal-fired plant building, delivering the lake its unnatural warmth. With only one billow of steam from the two chimneys, there just wasn’t as much flow, and that usually meant slower shore fishing in the area that becomes a frequent draw for me this time of year. The crappies must have taken note as well.
While they were there, likely in a large school, they must have been stunned by the shift in the weather or were simply waiting for the clearing of the skies, the first hatch of midges in the sunlight, and a bit of a pre-spawn feeding frenzy that I’ve found more ideal conditions to bring on the reservoir.
The challenge then became the joy of the outing. How slow could I suspend the jig without letting it drop below my established strike zone? Could I feel the bite, or did I simply sense the dead weight of a papermouth inhaling my tiny offering as I tightened the line? How many more could I catch before my time was up and I had to head back to town? The answers came as the world around me resounded with the cacophony of honking geese – slow, both, and about a dozen.
A far cry from what will likely be another great spring on the water – where in the northern bays in my small puddle jumper I’ll catch 100, or 150, or maybe 200 crappies in an outing depending on who comes with me in just a few weeks – the trip was worth the time and a satisfying suggestion of the season to come. The light silver-green backs of the black crappies I caught and released will likely turn a deep ebony in the days ahead, and the bars on the pair of white crappies landed will become more pronounced as spawning urges settle in. The shores will fill with more geese, and they’ll stake their claims to the choicest spaces of grass for their nests, and shortly thereafter, be joined by their golden goslings as they swim the shallows in their family units. With those thoughts in mind, a few fish lifted from and set back into the water, and the trough of the cold weather season seemingly behind us for now, the suggestion that the world was waking up from winter’s slumber was a welcome one indeed…in our outdoors.