Just before 4am I was roused from a rubbery (GPW) nightmare by the insistent ringing of the phone. Upon answering the phone, a single word was shouted out in a vaguely familiar voice; "FISHING!!!". Only Treefrog would call at this time of the night. I was a little hesitant at first, having spent the previous day on the ropes, but finally succumbed to his insistence and asked him where he wanted to go, secretly hoping he wasn't going to say Scugog. Yep...you guessed it...I was returning to the scene of the previous day's shellacking by an unsightly piece of rubber and it's user who had no qualms about dangling it in my face! At least this time I was certain the shoe would be on the other foot
We arrived at our now usual spot at the bridge on the Scugog River just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, and once again found all the best spots already occupied. The only other alternative was Cross Creek Marina, just a stones throw downstream, and less than five minutes later we were casting to the numerous large fish rolling on the surface. We started out throwing top water, then spinners, and finally crankbaits, all this without a single bite between the two of us in over an hour of completely covering the water, top to bottom.
It was decided that we should move on rather than allow frustration and then desperation to sink in. On our return back to the highway we found the bridge totally deserted, so with our pick of casting locations we started flogging the water anew only to get the same results as before. As a last resort I decided to try rubber, and although I didn't have a certain invertebrate of a particular hue, a reasonable facsimile did at least get me a few bites. Just as I thought I might actually land something (sunfish), Treefrog's impatience boiled over "Let's go. I want to catch some fish!"
|Autumn colors in August on Cross Creek|
Not long afterward something took me deep into the weeds and I knew I had my first bass of the day. Not long after that another came to hand which motivated TF to challenge me that he'd catch more bass than me even though I had a head start. Against my advice he retied with a 3" original floating Rapala and almost immediately landed a scrappy bluegill. Undeterred by the unwelcome catch he continued to work his way down the shore until 5 minutes later he yelled out to me "bass". As I was preparing to capture the moment digitally, his catch slipped from his grasp and returned to it's weedy home.
Over the next hour Treefrog repeated the scenario three more times while all I could manage was a constant barrage of sunfish and perch. At one point a large musky took a half hearted swipe at my rubber minnow only to miss it and retreat back into the weeds. By the end of the afternoon Treefrog had caught twice the number of bass and the same number of panfish as I'd caught. I thought I'd smoke his ass that day and it turned out he beat me at my own game... without ever having to resort to that stupid gay ...frog!
Way to go Treefrog!