Bucket List Alert - Fishing

I am very fortunate to have some compassionate friends who want to help me fulfill my bucket list.  On Thursday evening, my friend Pat G. from Baker invited me to go fishing with him on the Susquehanna River.  He has a nice bass boat, and told me all I had to do was show up and have a valid PA fishing license - he would supply everything else.  We agreed to meet at his house in Marysville at 5:30PM.

The last time I went fishing was in my backyard in Lancaster, which backed up to the Little Conestoga Creek and was stocked with trout by the PFBC.  That was probably at least 14 years ago.  The only fish I ever saw in the creek were some healthy carp.  I tried to catch fish quite a few times during the 7 years we lived on Bob White Lane, but can't remember ever catching anything other than our wet dachshund who slipped into the creek.

I spent quite a bit of time fishing with my buddies in South Charleston in my youth through age 23 when I stopped working for the phone company and dropped back into college, including many weekends on banks of the Kanawha River near the storm sewer outlet in Kanawha City.  I still have many of my fishing rods and lures from 30+ years ago. 

The biggest bass I ever saw was a large mouth that my friend Webster caught on Sherwood Lake in eastern WV.  Dave, Webster, Mike and I spent many a night on the Kanawha River and on various camping/fishing/drinking trips, and we did catch some fish.  Like fishing on the Susquehanna River, fishing on the Kanawha was catch and release because we knew the river was polluted.

Since it had been such a long time since I had been fishing with someone else - easily 30 years - I was very excited to join Pat and fish on the river.  It was a beautiful fall evening, warm when we started, slightly cloudy, and a half moon in the sky.  We drove down to the I-81 bridge in Marysville and put the boat in the water.

Captain Pat
 

Pat motored us up above the bridge several hundred meters, then we stopped the motor and drifted back down.  It was neat to look up under the bridge and Pat had some interesting stories to tell about it.  He pointed out the pins that are supposed to keep the bridge from falling into the river in case of a structure failure, and pointed out where all the piers had cracked and how they had placed the steel turnbuckles around the top of each bridge pier to strengthen them.

It's not easy for me to hold a smile these days due to weak facial muscles, but I had a big smile on my face the whole evening!

 

We were fishing for small mouth bass using plastic worms.  Pat had about 8-10 fishing rods ready to go.  When it gets dark it is difficult to see to tie knots in the boat, so everything was already baited.  They were all spin casting rods - raise the bail, finger the line, and cast.  Work the crank and reel it in, working the tip to try to interest a fish.  Like riding a bike, I figured it out quickly.

I caught the first smallmouth after about 10 minutes, a nice sized 12-incher.  It put up a pretty good fight, and Pat took a picture.  I caught one additional 12-incher the rest of the evening and had several on the line but failed to set the hook.  You forget a lot after 30 years absence!  Two of them seemed much larger than the 12-inchers I did land, but since we didn't get them near or into the boat, not sure how big.

Pat caught a very nice 15-inch and a 14-inch and also missed several that swallowed the bait.  We motored upriver a total of 3 times and drifted down past the bridge before heading back up each time.  It was pretty quiet when we were several hundred yards above the bridge but got increasingly louder as we drifted closer.  With the half moon, lights from the bridge, and lights from the Enola train yard it was easy to see even after it turned dark.

We left the river in the dark around 7:30, a successful night!  Thanks, Pat, for helping me with my bucket list and for being my friend!  Now I have my fishing license and hope to go again soon.  I need to check my rods and lures, replace the old and probably rotten fishing line, and figure out my next excursion.