Knapp: Out on the boat, pondering what makes fish bite when they do
Spend enough time on the water, and it’s natural to come up with theories as to what turns fish on and off.
Take, for instance, a trip aimed at crappies made recently by my friend Dave Keith and me.
The fog was lifting off the lake as I motored to the second spot of the day, a portion of a tree that sits submerged along the edge of the original creek channel. Though the cover is located relatively close to the bank, there’s no evidence of its location above the surface. The tall shoreline trees shielded us from the warming rays of the sun.
Holding the boat a short distance from the woody cover, we pitched out light jigs dressed with 2-inch Bobby Garland Baby Shad, working the baits through the unseen branches, an effort that was soon rewarded with chunky crappies. When we left the spot a half hour later, the fish counter showed 26 fish, with all but six of them coming from isolated cover.
The day proceeded under a cloudless sky. We visited several other locations, all featuring some sort of offshore wood cover that at one time or another has been productive for crappies along with the odd bass, yellow perch and walleye. While some fish were taken, none came close to providing the earlier action.
Our conversation posed the question of what made the earlier spot so hot. Could it have been the morning shade? Crappies are known as low light biters. I’ve had many days when the last 30 minutes, under the evening twilight, saw the fish fire up, catching a crappie on nearly every cast.
We felt obligated to return for a second visit to put the theory to the test.
Now under sunny skies, the sonar unit showed the fish were present, displayed on the screen as medallions suspended in the branches of the tree. Dave’s first cast brought a fish as well as a response of “they’re still here.”
The next 30 minutes provided the same kind of response as the earlier visit, adding 20 more crappies up to 14 inches to the counter. So much for the shade theory.
The day’s conversation brought up another interesting theory, this one based on Dave’s experience the prior day on a section of the Allegheny that can provide exceptional, though inconsistent, fishing for smallmouth bass.
“It was slow during the morning,” Dave said. “But they turned on later in the day.”
Sticking it out proved fruitful indeed as he and his boat partner landed several lunker smallmouth bass up to 20 inches during the afternoon hours.
So why did the fish turn on? Dave reasoned the combination of a full moon and clear skies the prior night. Perhaps the bass had fed heavily then, aided by the brightness. Only after some time had passed were they prone to begin feeding the next day.
In my nearly 20 years of guiding on the Allegheny, I’ve seen such a pattern: poor morning fishing around the full moon, especially when the water’s clear. Admittedly, I’ve seen plenty of exceptions as well, great morning action during full moons as well as slow fish activity when the moon is dark.
It’s fun to conjure why things happen as they do, fishing-wise. Thankfully we’ll never figure it all out, which would put an end to much of the enjoyment.
Jeff Knapp is an outdoors columnist for the Butler Eagle
