By Pierce Hoover
I see water. Andy Goodwin sees fish. "Where?" I squint into the afternoon sun.
"Right off the end of that point, " he instructs. "I’ll bet there’s some vertical structure that’s holding bait, and most likely a bass lurking right by that water change where the creek flows in. "
Since we have no fishing lures or poles on board, Andy can’t prove his hunch, but he speaks with the confidence of the veteran bass hunter he is.
We are on Sutton Lake, a wooded reservoir tucked in the hills of central West Virginia. My original assignment was to tour the state’s lake district, but plans changed when I walked into Mid State Marina and met Andy. Instead of the runabout we originally reserved, Mid State offered up a 18-foot Nitro bass boat, along with their local fishing guru to act as guide.
Now we are giving our new fishing boat a shakedown cruise, and Andy is deep into his favorite subject.
Sutton is a typical highland lake. It’s really deep in the middle, with nothing to hold fish, he says. Your best bet here is to work the edges, especially the ends of the points and the shallow coves.
Structure and shelter are key, I learn. A rock or brush pile provides baitfish with some degree of cover and protection, and the bass follow the bait. Andy switches on the boat’s electronic fish finding sonar to confirm his suspicions.
The sounder’s screen shows the silhouette of a steep ledge surrounded by a cloud of indistinct gray blotches. "We are looking at a school of baitfish," Andy says. Suddenly, a much larger smudge appears. A trophy bass? Without a hook and line, we’ll never know.
A.M. BASS
Far too early the next morning, my wife Jeanette and I hitch the borrowed bass boat to our Jeep Cherokee. We negotiate a winding two-lane road in the predawn fog, stopping in the small town of Burnsville to pick up Andy and his collection of fishing gear.
Today’s destination is Burnsville Lake, Andy’s home turf. Having spent more than half of his 36 years pursuing bass on this lake, he and his brother Mark are the local guys to beat. We stop for bait and coffee refills at the Burnsville Dock bait shop, and notice that the walls are decorated with photos of Andy and Mark holding trophy-size bass.
"They win more than their share of fishing contests," dock owner David Waldron tells me. "Just two nights ago, they split the winnings at one of our local tournaments."
We launch at sunrise, but the parking lot is already filled with boat trailers, and we can see a number of fishermen working the coves nearby.
"Why do fishermen always start so early?" Jeanette asks.
"That’s when the fish are up and feeding in the cooler air," Andy says. "By midday, the heat sends them deeper."
Just then, we reach the end of the no-wake zone, and Andy punches the throttle. The low-profile bass boat leaps onto a plane and skims across the glass-calm water at close to 60 mph.
"Why does a fishing boat have to go so fast?" Jeanette yells over the wind and the whine of the 150-hp outboard.
Andy throttles back and aims for a brush-covered section of shoreline. "I wanted to get some distance between us and those other fishermen," he explains. "When the lake’s crowded, I head for the far corners where the fish haven’t seen so many hooks. And not just any piece of shoreline will do," Andy tells us. Like most experienced fishermen, he has his favorite lunker holes: sunken logs, ledges, brush piles, weed beds.
If a hungry bass is cruising one of these locations, the fisherman should be able to lure him into striking within a couple of minutes. If not, it’s time to pick up and run to the next spot.
And that’s where the extra speed comes in handy. The less time you spend running from one place to the other, the more time you can put baits in the water, and the more fish you’ll catch.
Turns out we’re cruising the lake on a tournament bass fisherman’s dream boat: Big engine out back, high-speed planing hull underneath, two low-slung seats to hunker in while running at top speed, a pair of pedestals to sit or lean on while casting, and plenty of storage and live-well space underneath a flat deck, with no obstacles to foul a fishing line or lure.
I don’t see any other tournament-style bass boats on the lake, and ask why.
"A lot of West Virginia lakes are small, so you don’t need a big, fast boat if you just fish locally, and for fun," he says. "I need a competition boat because I fish tournaments from Florida to the Midwest, but around here, a 14-foot aluminum boat is a lot easier to trailer on the narrow roads and in the mountains."
Andy’s run-and-gun style of fishing has us running the length of the 9-mile lake, with frequent stops to fire a lure into promising bits of water. By midmorning, Jeanette has landed and released a respectable large-mouth bass, and Andy has demonstrated the advantages of local knowledge. He seems to recognize every underwater ridge, stump and brush pile, and knows just what it takes to tempt a bass into biting.
As the day heats up, the fish move into deeper, cooler waters. To compensate, Andy switches to smaller sinking lures. "In midday, they get lazy, so you have to get the baits down right in front of them," he says.
By noon, the fishing and our enthusiasm wane, and we decide to call a time out and regroup for lunch. Like most bass fishermen, we have released everything we caught.
P.M. BASS
After lunch, we load the boat back on the trailer for a 30-mile drive north to West Virginia’s newest lake. While other area reservoirs date back to the 1950s or ‘60s, Stonewall Jackson Lake was created in the late 1980s. In addition, it is situated among rolling hills rather than the steep mountain valleys typical of the state’s southern lakes.
Remembering Andy’s observation that a reservoir’s underwater terrain usually mirrors the topside surroundings, I guess that this lake is shallower, probably dozens of feet deep rather than hundreds. Surveying the acres of decaying tree stumps created when the rising waters flooded forest lowlands a decade ago, I also guess that this will be a particularly fishy lake because it contains lots of structure and shelter.
Andy confirms both guesses, then pulls out his tackle box to re-rig with smaller, darker lures. "Dark lures for dark water," he says, "and small lures because the warmer water will make the fish less aggressive. Days like this, you have to present the lure right to the fish, and you have to work it nice and slow," he says.
We spy a group of standing tree trunks. While Andy maneuvers us into position with the electric trolling motor, I survey the scene and recall what I have just learned about bass.
Hmmm. A tree on the bank is casting a distinct shadow over a fallen log, and nearby some clearer water from a tributary stream is mixing with the muddy lake water. If I were a bass, I’d hide in the shade, and in the muddy water right under that log, then I’d wait for a tasty snack to wander in from the clearer stream water. I could see them, but they couldn’t see me.
I cast into the edge of the clear water, a little past the log, then work my bait slowly toward the darker water. Nothing happens as it moves past the log, then a half-second later, I feel that expected but always unexpected spasm of a striking fish.
I didn’t catch it, but at least I’d learned how to read the water and think like a fish.
THE BIG BOAT
Saturday morning, we traded our 18-footer in for a 20-foot Nitro powered by a 200-horse outboard. "This is a big-lake boat," Andy says, "a favorite of fishermen in the southern states where reservoirs may be 50 miles long and choppy."
In addition to a couple of extra feet of length and more width, the Nitro 20 has about 600 pounds more heft. It sits on a tandem-axle trailer with substantial hydraulic brakes. "We’ll appreciate the bigger boat on the waters of Summersville Lake," Andy tells us. "It’s the state’s largest and most popular reservoir, and on weekends you can expect a lot of boat wakes."
The day’s first task, however, is the safe transit of some 50 miles of mountain roads. Fortunately, the Jeep has more umph than expected, and I’ve learned a few things about mountain driving from my days in Colorado: Leave plenty of reaction room, downshift on the steep downhills, pull over to let faster traffic pass, and generally take it easy enough to conserve both the transmission and the brakes.
We arrive in midmorning, and the Summersville boat ramp already is lined with weekend boaters waiting to launch. Not many fishermen today. It’s all ski boats and runabouts.
"I don’t fish this lake very often," Andy says. " It’s deep and a lot of the shoreline is rock cliffs. The only places where I do any good are in the finger coves and in the shallows right by the boat ramp."
We run past towering sandstone cliffs, watch children leap bravely from overhanging rocks, and discover hidden coves where families have set up beachfront camps. It is a day that summer vacation memories are made of, but not to the liking of a dedicated bass hunter like Andy. Too many boats, too hot and too little structure.
A WAY OF LIFE
On the drive home, Andy talks about his time on the tournament trail and of his ambition to make it on the professional bass-fishing circuit. For him, bass fishing is not just a weekend sport, it is a way of life.
I must admit that until a few days ago, I considered fishing to be a convenient way to escape household chores while tipping a few beers and telling a lot of lies. Now I can see the sport through Andy’s eyes. Rather than simply tossing a hook overboard and hoping for the best, I now try to read and understand the waters, visualizing the what and why of the underwater landscape and anticipating the actions of both predator and prey.
It’s the difference between going fishing and being a fisherman. And while I’ll probably never fish with the dedication Andy brings to the sport, I’ve begun to understand the urge that lures fishermen from warm beds at unreasonable hours of the morning.
Jeanette tells me that she has also gained a new respect and understanding for the sport, but still wonders why fish can’t learn to sleep in until a decent hour.
© 2006 BoatingLife.com
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