Ice Fishing New Jersey's Hemlock Pond

A few days later, I returned to the Water Gap. This time, I had my mind set on a loftier goal: Hemlock Pond. Hemlock is located two miles north of Blue Mountain Lake, and is accessible via hiking/cross-country skiing trails. After thinking about my options, I decided to hike the two miles, carrying all of my equipment either on my back or in my hands. This is what I did to ease the burden: I emptied out my ski-boots bag, and filled it with my tip-ups, ice strainer, water, food, and extra clothing; I then loaded my bait bucket with bait and placed it in an empty, larger bucket that usually contains the bulk of my equipment; and, finally, I broke down my ice-cutting bar into a smaller 2-foot size piece. I placed the bag on my back, carried the bait in my left hand, and the bar in my right.

The only problem, though, was the 10 inches of snow that had fallen the night before. A two mile hike is simple enough, but when you combine ankle-deep snow with undulating elevation, it becomes slippery, difficult, back-breaking terrain. And yet, I remained undeterred. What awaited me at the end of the journey was the promise of a 13 acre pond, at 1200 feet, all to myself.
As I started my climb, I noticed how alive the woods seemed after the freshly-fallen snow. I saw the woodpeckers I heard the week before, their shiny red heads standing out like tiny beacons amid the white background; I noticed bright red holly berries glowing through the undergrowth; I heard the chirping of nuthatches, juncos, and cardinals; and I saw the yellow-green mountain laurel leaves desperately clinging to the mother-plant, attempting in vain to withstand the 15-mph wind gusts that lashed the top of the ridge-line. When I reached the apex of the ridge, I could see out into Pennsylvania, with the rolling hills of the Delaware Valley giving way to the strange flatness of the Pocono Plateau. In the distance, I noticed a few stray water towers and the lights from a nearby ski area.

Besides those interlopers, the landscape seemed devoid of human touch, covered under whiteness. At moments like this, it’s easy to think about things like peace, purity, virginity, and calm. It’s easy to come up with hollow lines about beauty, about place. It’s even easier to note a feeling of smallness in a massive universe. This is what whiteness does to us; it’s what hundreds of years of cultural symbolism have embedded into our collective consciousnesses. Our brides are bathed in white, our babies swaddled in its protective sheen. It is associated with privilege, and with progress. It is all encompassing, and it completely surrounded me as I stood alone, gazing upon the Keystone State from the top of a mountain.

It was then that I remembered the lessons of Moby-Dick, a foundational text in my graduate education. A victim and a victimizer, Herman Melville knew that whiteness had another side, a meaner side, even a darker side, that few of us ever notice. As he wrote over 150 years ago, “Or is it, that as in essence whiteness is not so much a color as the visible absence of color; and at the same time the concrete of all colors; is it for these reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide landscape of snows- a colorless, all-color of atheism from which we shrink?” At the top of a Kittattiny ridge, I thought of this passage, one I had memorized in college. The all-encompassing whiteness around me suddenly seemed terrifying: what if I broke my leg and I was stranded in the blinding cold, with nothing but the stark white snow to stare at? what does the white snow do to the birds that ostensibly seem so happy? does it cover their food supply up, so that their chirps are nothing more than hunger-shrieks? is it fair that the whiteness can transform an abusive home into a paintable winter landscape so beautiful it brings tears to your eyes? In the end, I thought, does whiteness like this make us all like Melville’s harlot, who paints her face to hide the “charnel-house within”? I wasn’t sure then, and I’m not sure now; but I did become frightened, as the trail extended forever onward, and I could never seem to reach the end of it.

But like all of our strange quests, mine eventually did end. Hemlock Pond was right where the maps said it would be, and I spent the next five hours ice fishing. I didn’t break my leg, get lost, or fall through the ice. I even caught a fish: a solitary yellow perch, about eight inches in length. I emerged from my journey with a sore back, sore feet, and a pound or two lighter. It was a pleasant day, replete with exercise, and I drove back home content with my first attempt at “extreme” ice fishing.

Ice Fishing New Jersey's Lower Blue Mountain Lake

Yesterday, I traveled 150 miles to the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area, where I ice fished New Jersey's Lower Blue Mountain Lake. I had been dreaming of hard-water fishing ever since the cold spells of late November, but a recent warming trend in the northeast delayed my first trip until the beginning of January. I chose Lower Blue Mountain Lake because it sits above 1000 feet, and the extra elevation helps create a little more ice underfoot. Lower Blue Mountain, though, is an isolated public lake that requires deft navigation and a bit of hiking. To my surprise, I had the lake to myself. Think about that for a second: in the middle of ice fishing season, I was alone on a body of water in the nation's most densely-populated state.

While I sat on an island-based rock ledge overlooking my equipment, I attempted to come up with encomiums worthy of this place. And I kept failing. I tried to write in my head, which inevitably led me to start thinking about writing itself (such are the pitfalls of my profession). In particular, I thought about the act of writing about nature - perhaps the most basic of any type of writing. Words and concepts like inspiration, hermeneutics, beauty, alienation, and sublime floated through my head, while the birds sang above, and the fish swam below. I concluded that it is remarkably easy to write about the outside world, with its overwhelming combinations (a brightly-colored blue jay in a barren shagbark hickory tree), and otherworldly constructions (wind-swept wisps of snow blowing on the frozen lake like ghost-snakes). Just look at this blog and others like it: I write about nature and my participation within it, and people I've never met read the post, comment on my writing, and email me. In a sense, the moment I put these words on the page, I become united with readers who encounter or seek the same experiences. And no paragraph or sentence, no poem or novel, no blog-post or article, can convey the way I felt yesterday at Blue Mountain Lake. I'm simply not that good of a writer.

At one point, I focused on the silence surrounding me. I knew I was the only human within miles; I had no cell phone reception, and I didn't bring any other media with me. But then, an airplane would fly over-head, and I would hear its powerful engines echoing off the ridges. Or, I would hear the distant rumble of an ATV or the crack of a rifle, as hunters pursued their quarries. Man-made sounds like these pierced the quiet, and these eruptions showed me that the lake wasn't silent at all. In fact, it was a cacophony: roaring wind, singing jays/cardinals/juncos/flickers, hammering woodpeckers searching for food within the bark of wintered trees, and the thickening, expanding, and separating of the ice. And there I was, all alone at the top of the mountain. I may have caught six fish (three yellow perch, two largemouth bass, and one chain pickerel), but I still would have been endlessly happy if I had caught none.

Long-form Project Excerpt

Hello everyone. During the colder winter months, I plan on writing a longer form piece on my 2010 fishing experiences. I will likely provide excerpts on the blog, so check back often to see some new writing about the year. Without further ado, here's a few words I wrote about my memories fishing Pennsylvania's Monroe Lake:


Sometimes, though, fishing is about the memories you create during the experience (to be completely honest, this is usually something fishermen say when they fail). And on that January day, family and friends had a chance to catch up, little kids got to run around on the frozen lake, and first-time ice fishermen took up a new challenge.

At one point during the festivities, my best friend and I talked about our favorite memories of the lake. We reminisced about rowing out in the middle of a hot summer day, with him stuck in a full blown leg cast. What would we have done if he had fallen in? We talked about how we once witnessed a real lake monster: a three-foot long snapping turtle swimming with an upside-down catfish in its mouth. From afar it looked like something out of a horror movie, but that didn’t stop us from rowing out and investigating it. We laughed about the time my fishing pole was literally ripped off of the dock, shooting out into the lake like a cannonball. I thought my rod was gone forever, the victim of a largemouth bass’s ferocity. Thirty minutes later, though, we saw the bobber pop up about one hundred yards away. We hopped in a row boat, paddled over to the bobber, and I grabbed the line. Out came a plump 4 pound, 20-inch bass. I tossed it in the boat and began carefully pulling the line with my hands, eventually retrieving my once-lost rod from the depths of the lake. We retold the story of my play-attack on a friend who refused to net a giant catfish for me. My mother heard us yelling from across the lake and thought we were hurt. Finally, I recited the best story of all: the legend of the phantom bass. The phantom was a monstrosity that mysteriously appeared on the end of a stringer hanging off the edge of a dock. A full 8 pounds in weight (enormous by our northern standards), the bass had eaten a 15 inch yellow perch I had placed on the stringer earlier in the day. It got a nasty surprise when it ended up “catching” itself. To this day, the phantom bass is still the biggest bass I’ve ever “caught.” And all I had to do was lift the stringer out of the water!

Ice Fishing Wrap-up: Lake Aeroflex, Lake Hopatcong, and Lake Musconetcong

Over the last month, I've ice fished in northern New Jersey three times. Each experience was unique, but there was one common thread: NJ ice fishing is, and will continue to be, absolutely superb.

Lake Aeroflex
My trip to Lake Aeroflex took a little over two hours. Located outside of Andover, NJ, Aeroflex was dug out by the Army Corps of Engineers a few decades ago. Because of its man-made origins, the lake takes on an industrial look. Indeed, it looks like an old quarry: there aren't many inlets, no islands, and it is very, very deep. I struggled with the depth, and didn't catch any fish. My time wasn't completely wasted, though, since it was a beautiful February day. One of the nicest parts of the lake is the adjacent regional airport. I enjoyed watching the planes take off and land. Without any flags flipping, I certainly had the time to watch.

If you decide to go to Lake Aeroflex this summer, or even next winter, prepare to deal with the lake's depth. 100 foot-deep lakes aren't too common in New Jersey, so be ready to face this obstacle. If you get lucky, though, you may hook into a land-locked salmon. Aeroflex is one of the only lakes in the state that maintains this specific fishery.

Lake Hopatcong
The largest lake by area in the state, Lake Hopatcong also maintains the most diverse fishery in New Jersey. In the lake, you may encounter walleye, muskellunge, chain pickerel, yellow perch, largemouth bass, etc. I had hoped to catch a walleye or musky, but I ended up landing 9 pickerel. All of the fish were relatively small, but it was quite a pleasurable fishing day. The area I fished was shallow and weedy, which is essentially a pickerel paradise. It's my belief that a world record pickerel swims in Lake Hopatcong. As it stands, the lake's biggest pickerel is a state record - a record that is only 3 ounces behind the world record fish.

If you go to Lake Hopatcong to ice fish, you must pay careful attention to the integrity of the ice. Various hot water spots exist, and the lake's shoreline can also become quite thin. But you may walk out with a musky!

Lake Musconetcong
The last ice fishing experience of the year was at Lake Musconetcong. I went with my Uncle Howie. We had a great day, catching over 30 fish between the two of us. We lost about a dozen more. Most of the fish were pickerel, with a few scattered bass. Because of Musconetcong's weedy nature, it wasn't surprising that we caught so many pickerel. The lake, though, is robustly fecund and has a bait shop right on the shoreline.

It was a great day. I encourage all of you to give the lake a try this coming summer. You are all but guaranteed to catch a few pickerel.

Image #1 - Lake Aeroflex
Image #2 - Lake Hopatcong pickerel
Image #3 - Nice 24 inch pickerel from Lake Musconetcong

Ice Fishing New Jersey's Budd Lake

About a week and a half ago, I ice fished New Jersey's Budd Lake. One of the Garden State's largest glacial lakes, Budd Lake offers New Jersey anglers the unique opportunity to catch northern pike. Indeed, the state has established a healthy population of pike through an aggressive and effective stocking program. Because of this effort, Budd Lake is now one of the top producers of northern pike in the state.

I drove north early on a weekday morning, stopping only for bait and a sandwich. Although the trip took almost two hours, I was able to get through the eight inches of ice rather quickly. I was fully set up by 10:45, and I didn't pull off the lake until 5:30. In the end, I caught two northern pike, and a white crappie. Three fish over seven hours isn't exactly a lot, but I was excited to have caught my first pike.

Budd is a wonderful place to spend a few hours: its location off of Route 46 makes accessibility quite simple, its boggy/swampy atmosphere facilitates an atmosphere of wildness, its robust pike are a pleasure to catch, and its status as the head-water of one of my favorite New Jersey trout streams (the Raritan's South Branch) engenders warmth in my fly-fisherman's heart. However, Budd Lake may not be the right location for those ice fishermen who seek quiet. Its proximity to the highway makes it all but impossible to drown out the noise of passing cars. In addition, it has a lot of snowmobile and ATV traffic in the wintertime. But if northern pike and an easily accessible glacial lake turn you on, Budd Lake is the place to go.

Image #1 - Budd Lake
Image #2 - Northern pike
Image #3 - Budd Lake at sunset.

Ice Fishing Pennsylvania's Monroe Lake

This past Saturday I ice fished for the first time in 2010. I went to Monroe Lake, a private lake in northeastern Pennsylvania. We had a large group, around 20 people at one point, and everyone had a great time. My Uncle Howie and I did most of the hard work, while my friends and other family members enjoyed the unseasonably warm weather. My best friend Will started a fire, cooked hamburgers/hot dogs and brewed up some hot cocoa.

Fishing-wise, it was a slow day. My uncle and I had a number of weak hits; it seemed undersized yellow perch were grabbing our oversized minnows and then having trouble eating them. In the end, we caught 4 perch and 1 chain pickerel. There were many false alarms, a missed fish or two, and lots of slush. One of the best parts of ice fishing, however, is the fun time you have with your friends and family. And we certainly had that.

On Thursday I plan on heading to North Jersey in search of northern pike. I'll check back then.

Image #1 - The pickerel, the biggest fish of the day
Image #2 - Ice fishing on Monroe Lake

Ice Fishing this Weekend

I apologize for the lack of posts. As most fly fishermen know, however, the sport tends to slow down during a month long deep freeze. This weekend I'm heading up to the Poconos to do some ice fishing. I will post pictures and a write-up by early next week.

Keep your spirits up until the spring!