An Unexpected Ending to a Weird Year

In a lot of ways, 2022 was an unsettling year for me on the fishing front. We had a few exceptional trips, but others that were merely good when we expected them to be great. Even on our November trip to Panama, we absolutely whacked a wide range of species, but had to suffer through near-constant rain and stiff winds to do so.

I headed out on December 30 for one last solo trip to a nearby lake. I’d had a couple of good days there in November, and one very good numbers day early in December. I wanted to close out the year on a high note, and while it was 31 degrees when I launched, the temps were expected to rise past 60 by midday.

Things looked good – as I walked down the dock to the boat I’d just launched there were bluegills and minnows flitting about. I didn’t even have to start up the big motor to get bit. Perhaps 75 yards from the ramp there’s a big beaver hut. I fired my bait over and after two cranks hooked up with a bass somewhere between 3 and 4 pounds. Two shakes of the head and my bait came flying back at me. Not a big deal, there was more ground to cover. I didn’t have to wait long because the first dock has a set of fish attracting lights – three more casts and I caught my first keeper, just a pound and change, but a December catch nonetheless.

And then, next to nothing.

I messed around with my new-to-me Livescope for a while, fruitlessly chasing some suspended fish (bass, I assume, but I cannot be sure) that I could find but not catch. I started hitting some usual December spots, and it was worse than usual. Five or six hours into the day, I’d nabbed two more bare-12-inch-keepers and a couple of short fish. I’d mostly put down the bubba gear in favor of playing small ball with a selection of Senkos, Ned Rigs, dropshots and Shad Raps. Barely even a tap.

Next, I went to a stretch of riprap that’s always good for something. Unfortunately, the first 100 yards of it set out to prove that wouldn’t be the case this time. I switched up presentations, kept on grinding, and at the 110 yard mark was surprised to see (on the forward facing sonar) a fish tracking my crankbait, and eventually eating it 10 feet from the boat. When it came up boatside, it was more elongated than a bass – in nearly 30 years of fishing in Virginia, and an equal amount of time on this particular lake, my first Virginia walleye. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s my first walleye south of Minnesota or Wisconsin.

The fish ate a Lavender Shad Norman Middle N that I’d bought at a convenience store at this particular lake probably 20 years ago. I’m not sure I’d even thrown it or changed out the hooks on it in the past decade. No idea why I chose it, or if it made a difference, but it kind of brought the whole story full circle.

Not being a walleye expert, I thought that I might have a sauger, so I went on the Google machine and confirmed that it was indeed a walleye. I also confirmed that it was big enough to keep, so it went in the livewell. What did we do before we had smartphones?

With that bit of excitement over, I figured that the day had reached its peak. I had a few more hours to fish before I needed to buck the holiday highway traffic, so I started working back toward the ramp halfheartedly. Once again, back to almost-nothing. No bass, no baitfish activity.

Then, across the cove, I saw a lone seagull swoop down next to the bank. He did it again, grabbing a small shad. And again, with the same results. The Ultrex got turned to 10, and as I approached the gull left, but I could see the occasional bass firing on the baitfish. I put a spinnerbait in the middle of them and immediately hooked up with keeper number four. By this time, I could see dark spots the side the front deck of my boat in the water – clouds of shad in a lake where the baitfish population had really suffered in recent years. I caught one more on a Whopper Plopper and another on a ribbed swimbait. The bait stayed more or less put, but the bass left, or at least became wary to my presence. I left not only with the satisfaction of “limiting out,” but also knowing that the lake has the potential to get better.

The day was already memorable enough, but now there was also a fire raging in a farmer’s field across the way. I couldn’t tell if it was purposeful or accidental, but it was large enough for heavy smoke to drift to me a mile or so away. Eventually, he seemed to get it under control, crisis averted.

So what at midday seemed like it was be a forgettable last hurrah for 2022, turned out to be memorable for multiple reasons, most of them quite good – except from the perspective of the walleye, who ended the day memory-free in a bath of hot grease. That’s what I still love about even the most mundane days of fishing, those little nuggets of new experience that keep things fresh.

Happy New Year to all of my readers and all of the Yamamoto fans worldwide!