Lake Harding, Alabama 3/27/11 - 4/2/11

The stories I've heard from my Dad and my Uncle over the years would make Lake Harding sound like Guntersville on some hardcore narcotic.  After four - twelve hour days of bass and crappie fishing I found the lake to be needing a fix.  The nine-pounders and 80 crappie a day were less than active.  However, we did find fishing and had a blast.  One thing I realized, as much as I love to fish, 12 hours in a boat is a long time even for me and my aching back.

Lake Harding is a small lake by Alabama standards and sits along the Georgia/Alabama line.  Clear green water in the main lake and heavy muddy up in the creek, which we affectionately call 'Snipper' Creek.  The real name is something of a mystery to pronouce because everyone I heard say it, mummbled it into something foreign, not knowing how to say it as well (Osanippa Creek), Which is Indian language mean People of the Skunk (Creek).

We dabbled for crappie up in the creek pulling a few off the brush each day but nothing like the stories of days past.  We cranked up some bass, but it wasn't until I got frustrated and pulled out a 3in swim bait and started in on the boat docks, did we have some real fun. My uncle had never caught a fish on a swim bait, and as I can remember neither had I.  Let us just say its fun, a lot of fun.  When they crush it and you see it, its like a gun goes off in your arm. You slam back the rod and power down on a one pound spot like its a twelve pound largey.  Fun.  A white or silver fluke worked good too.

Docks almost completely line every creek and cove on the lake, they are everywhere.  Packed with Seadoos and Pontoons and speedboats.  "This lake was a backwater heaven twenty years ago.  Fallen trees covered all these coves before, now all these rich people keep cleaning the place up and putting in million dollar houses everywhere."  My uncle grumbled.  Evidently the cosmetic improvement of the land surrounding the lake was detrimental to the fishing, at least according to my uncle.  What was funny, was that the million dollar houses were surrounded by little cabins and shanties that I was surprised were still standing. Rusted and rotted, and slanted just a little to far to one side.  The cabin we stayed in was literally on the water, rusted and dilapidated.  Looking under the side from the front, lake water lapped up inside the floor.  I didn't get wet but the failing air mattress kept me at least a quarter inch off the floor.  We can put a man on the moon but can't develope a portable mattress that can hold air for a single night.

This most entertaining part of the trip was the accumulation of names and designations that had developed over the years.  This group of guys that had been annually venturing to Lake Harding for nearly 40 years had developed a system by which nearly every cove, creek, channel, bridge, and overpass had been described and labeled.  Such a system had been created so that one fisherman could explain where the 10-lb bass had been caught or where the school of crappie had been seen.  Years of careful thought and effort had been put into the creation of the labeling system and the five other fisherman each knew where each name was located and what lures had worked there, the depth of the water and what they had caught there in the past.  I was completely lost in the conversation.  The places I did learn were as follows: Rooster, Bad Dog, Blowed Out Duck Dam, Long Bridge, Train Wreck, Sail Boat, Rock Dock, Birdhouse, George's, Georgia and Pelican.  Now while some of the names were evident such as Sail Boat (big group of sail boats tied up)and Long Bridge, which was the longest bridge on the lake, others seemed to be beyond me until I heard a few stories.  George's was a cove next to a guy that lived in a shanty, his name was indeed George.  George had since sold out and moved.  Bad Dog was a point where this bad dog would come running out on the dock and not stop barking until you left the area.  This seemed to be a common occerence on the lake however, I couldn't tell the difference between one bad dog and the next.  Rooster was however my favorite. This area was related to an old man that had a bunch of chickens and of course a rooster.  The rooster did not confine himself to the usual morning sunrise wake up call, he felt it necessary to sound his call let us say outside the boundaries of the extent of his duties and screamed all day.  The man nor the rooster had been seen in twenty years, however the label remained.

We named an area or two that had yet been described in the Lake Harding book of fishin' holes, but no so as entertaining as above.

Overall, I did have a great time despite the slowness of the fishing.  The weather didn't help and the constant lowering and raising of the water level I'm sure affected the activity of the fish.  I'll be back.  I know fisherman lie but no one can lie so much as to say 'I caught a nine pounder under that dock right there', even if the story is an exaggeration anything remotely close to nine pounds is a mammoth fish no matter the line, reel, or rod.

See you again next year Rooster.

Cedar Creek Lake

Cedar Creek Lake April 3, 2010

Cedar Creek Lake seems to be the new hot spot in Kentucky big bass fishing. The timber laden water is usually clear and calm as it was on this day after a small front moved through and the winds died down in the late afternoon.

Reports at the dock were positive as I put in, around 3:00pm. My fellow comrades in arms had found good luck around various points and shallows, some in deep water off the main ramp near the dam.

Bass seem to be staging in deeper water ready to move up into shallow waters to spawn. The spawn is coming and the great feast just prior to it, should be on now.

I found not quite the same luck as my fellows, however as I moved into a small cove up from the second ramp, mainly to get out of the winds blowing my small jon boat around the lake. I tossed a black and red flake Chigger Craw on a jig head up against a tree for which the lake is so aptly named and took a swing and a miss on a interested party. This may have been an early spawning sow that only wanted to move my lure out of her well prepared nest. I was unable to get her to take it again.

I tried a few other tactics in the area with little luck. They seemed not aggressive enough to attack any type of small crank bait. I was sure my Sexy Shad diver would anger them enough, it did not. I decided to try something a bit bigger and through an over-sized spinner, of the same color, at them. After a few unsuccessful attempts I tossed it way back into a pile of floating lay-downs. I was attacked with vengeance nearly as it hit the water. She was a very angry girl and not happy with my disruption. After careful pulling her up and over a few logs and dislodging her from under another she came into sight. She was indeed a fat girl, more of a lineman than a wide receiver. She was a healthy 3 pound 12 oz lady at about 18 inches.

I stayed in the cove until some crappie guys came to run me out, actually they were very nice and asked if it was ok it they fished for some blackies behind me. I really didn't mind I just wanted out of the wind.

I decided it was time to venture back out into the breach. The wind had died and the water was flat calm.

I tried the flats with a lipless crank and the spinner without any luck. I went to the roadbed where the bottom drops from 6-8 ft to 12-15 ft rather quickly. The depth finder showed some activity but my soft plastics where unable to do the job. One big swing One big miss.

I decided to try the creek channel at the north end where I sight fished spawners last year. None yet.

Then as always to the berm. Everyone knows it, everyone fishes it. Well, it is a highway. Road bed, big drop, rocks and timber. If I was a fish I would go through there too. Nothing.

Beside the berm is the second highway (deep creek channel), I decided the big watermelon lizard was a good choice. And as I hooked up on something heavy, it seemed I was right. And she ran, the problem was she ran through the woods and pinned herself under a tree. I tried to convince her I would let her going and that I only wanted to meet and chat for a min, perhaps take a photo. Evidently she didn't care and tossed my bait and hooked it into the same tree in which she made her temporary home. I dislodged my lizard and tried again. She had spread the news of my arrival. No takers.

As I put my small Jon boat on the trailer the guy at the dock seemed to think they were staging in about 20 foot of water, where he had plucked 5 earlier. 2 over 5 pounds. His pictures showed that he was not a big fat liar, if they had indeed been taken today, one can never tell.

Mackie Pike

Mackie Pike - 4/13/10

After work is a great time to go fishing. Now that I think of it there no bad time really, unless perhaps there is a tornado or some such.

Yesterday, I decided that life was too oppressive to go without fishing for another second. So I crept to the nearest fishin' hole I knew of, which in this case was a small creek I know as Mackie Pike. It runs along a road of the same name which is only a few miles from my house.

I threw a small spinning rig in my truck and my creek box of lures. My creek box is only about the size of a pack of cigarettes. The lures I take to Mackie only consist of a very few essentials. I take a bare hook and split shot in the rare case I use some type of live bait, which I assure you is very very rare. I also take a small Rebel grasshopper and crawfish diver. They only dive about a foot or so. And of course I have a white Rooster Tail and a yellow, 1/8 oz I think and that's it. They all throw quite well on the ultra light spinning rig. And If you can't catch everything that swims on one of those baits you really should consider doing something else with your time.

Really, if you go to a creek with those in a small box you can catch any manner of fish pretty much all day. Despite their small size you can catch some reasonably large fish as well. The fight of a one pound fish on my three foot ultra light is too fun for words. You really have to work them hard.

Anyway to the fishing. I pulled up on the side of the road with my little dog at my side and away we went. The spot I fish is where two forks of the small creek come together. My dog (Dax) was very happy to be out and about and very curious about every blade of grass stick she could find. We hopped the guardrail...well she went under I hopped, and walked the short distance down to the water.

The two streams of water come together and create a pooling area with swirls and wakes and calms areas. The spot also has a rather deep area to the left hand side near a large tree on the bank. Aim for the deep hole. Fire. I decided it best to start with the 1/8 oz yellow Rooster Tail. My lure was ambushed by the third cast. The fat girl jumped and splashed violently. She was a very respectable small mouth, very bronze in color with nice vertical stripes. I would have to guess that she weighted about a pound and a half.

After a few more unproductive attempts I switched to the grass hopper then the white Rooster Tail 1/4 oz and had no luck.

Then I went to my last lure, the crawfish (natural color). This was a good idea. I caught another fairly quickly. This one was not quite as large as the first but it will keep me sane for another day.

Go fishing.