Fishing isn't just a hobby; it's a beloved pastime in Northwest New Jersey. Beyond being a passion for many enthusiasts, it's an ideal activity for families, with moms, dads, and kids alike enjoying the thrill. In fact, women hold state records for both smallmouth bass and brown trout. And, of course, kids and fish go way, way back.
In Northwest New Jersey, you'll find a diverse range of fishing environments—from meandering rivers to serene lakes and babbling mountain streams. The fishing opportunities are equally diverse, featuring trout, both wild and stocked, as well as bass, walleye, carp, musky, shad, and more. Whether you prefer the art of fly fishing, the precision of casting, or just a lazy worm and bobber, there's something for every angler, and each season brings its own unique charm to the fishing experience.
Fishing is indeed a passion for many, but the sport is also an ideal activity for regular dads, moms and kids. In fact, women hold the state records for both smallmouth bass and brown trout, both out of Round Valley Reservoir in Hunterdon County. And, of course, kids and fish go way, way back.
Around a slight bend in the stream, the current fell over a jumble of roots, flattening out for a few feet into a run a bit deeper than the riffles below it. Like a Haiku written by Basho that moment when a nine-inch rainbow rose to take the fly will remain with me for some time.
I do not require a calendar to announce the arrival of spring. For me, the first day of spring is that afternoon when I once again find myself along the bank of Bonnie Brook, my little cane rod grasped in my hand.
With a twitch of the rod tip, an explosion on the surface and a set of the hook, I was into one of New Jersey's feistiest gamefish, Micropterus dolimieui, the smallmouth bass. A fine two and a half pound specimen - a prize on any water - I returned it to the water from which it was born nearly a decade befo
Carping is often used as synonym for complaining. But to an angler, in particular, a fisherman from Great Britain, the word denotes someone who is dedicated--no, devoted--to the fine art of seeking and catching what some Americans foolishly call "Trash Fish". Carp! You see, more people fish for carp in the world than for any other species. But here in America, anglers are not too anxious to seek out this commonly found critter!
For the third time in as many minutes the trout rose under the shadow cast by the low-hanging branches of a maple tree. The subtle disturbance could easily be mistaken for a minnow or pumpkinseed, maybe a nymph breaking the surface to emerge into an adult mayfly.
It's the puzzle that draws me back to the stream as much as anything else. The trout are there. I can see their rise forms, concentric circles expanding outward from where a fish has taken a bug, but are they feeding on mayflies, caddis or stoneflies, or maybe it's flying ants, perhaps beetles in season?
As summer cools to an autumn brisk, fish regain their ambition. With a reinvigorated neighborhood, they need to conserve less oxygen, leaving plenty of power to pursue their main objective in life: to get bigger!
I walk from the shore down the wooden planks to the dock, lugging my old belly boat over one shoulder, carrying fins in one hand and a nine-foot graphite fly rod in the other. In my chest pocket is a small box that contains a few Woolly Buggers and other large streamers tied especially for the big bass of this pond
Anybody can be a fishing boat captain for a day. Go to a bait and tackle shop and rent a boat and engine. Bring clip-on down riggers, a thermometer to find the right temperature and a portable depth finder to pinpoint locations and you are a big game fisherman like on Lake Ontario or anywhere in the world. Or try marshmallows, hot-dogs, or shiners under a bobber from a boat ramp or bridge. Either way you will quickly find something at the end of the line. And the surprises never end...
In recent years fly fishing, a sport which has been practiced in the United States since pre-revolutionary days, has enjoyed increased popularity.
Fishing for trout with flies is like solving a puzzle. The current, the fish, the bugs under the surface and in the air all seem indecipherable. The clues are there however, and the code can sometimes, although by no means always, be broken.
In this time of twenty-four-hour news cycles, divisive politics, never-ending wars, and exotic viruses, I find myself returning to Bonnie Brook during these precious few weeks of spring, when the woodland flowers are in bloom, the earth's young are still filled with wonder, and the trout of Bonnie Brook are once again willing to come out and play. For this remains a time when God is in heaven and for a brief time all's once again right with my world.
I must step around the delicate bluets that dot the trail beside Bonnie Brook. On either side of the path, dandelions rise from wild tufts of grass. Sprinkled through the unkempt carpet of green and yellow are blue-and-white violets that add to the festive feeling of the afternoon.
Pound for pound, the hybrid striped bass rates right up there with the best of the fresh water fish when it comes to putting up a good fight once hooked. Pound for pound, the walleye is hard to beat for table fare, with some fishermen calling it the best tasting fish of them all. Fortunately for those anglers in this part of the state who like some muscle on the end of their line and tasty fillets on the table, there are plenty of both fish around due to vigorous and well-planned stocking programs. These fish are there ... but you're going to have to work for them
The first fishable ice (three inches or more) usually forms by sometime in mid to late December. Then you can head out onto the fishable coves on such impoundments as Lake Hopatcong, Lake Wawayanda, Swartswood Lake, Paulinskill Lake, Cranberry Lake, Lake Musconetcong, Budd Lake, Mountain Lake, or any other frozen body of water in where you can gain public access.
Muskies? In New Jersey? You bet! Quality muskie fishing can be found in many Garden State waters. More muskies are being caught today than ever before.
While July may be a month for tall glasses of lemonade and August a time for corn on the cob with melted butter dripping down the sides, September is a month of transition. Summer may be over, but fall has yet to truly begin. Although humidity still clings to the leaves and gnats continue to plague the gardener, schools are once again open. In most states, the end of the month brings with it the official close of the fishing season.
Most years, I'd remain at home during opening day; for me fishing has never been a team sport. But it has been an especially long winter, and so instead, I pass by the diner and drive out of town.
If you fish, you probably remember your first encounter with a smallmouth bass. The memory of the fury at the other end of the line never completely fades.
My family and I have enjoyed many hours boating on the reservoir and exploring the terrain.
The restless army enters the river proper in smaller divisions; schools clustered densely at the center of the run with advance brigades in front, followed by platoons hanging back at the rear. Their mission is simply to swim, females following males to nesting locations along a journey that, for some, can continue for more than 300 miles.
I’m seated on a trunk of a pin oak that fell across the width of the stream. The run above it rushes along the edge of the far bank, a portion of which has collapsed around the exposed roots of the tree. For this small brook, the run is considered a long one.
Four knee surgeries, three stents in my chest, a back that screams when I remain upright for too long, and more birthdays and pounds than I care to count have drastically altered my fishin' style as I close in on my 80s.
I saw a flash of white as the maw of a very big trout opened and then closed around the helpless fly. I could feel the power of that fish when I pulled back on the bamboo rod. And then there was nothing. When I reeled in my line, I found that my fly was gone.
There is another type of fishing, one that can be employed on smaller streams such as Bonnie Brook. Along these secret rills, I can cast to trout without coming upon another angler. In these narrow ribbons of water, hidden under shadows cast by hardwood and conifer, I've come to appreciate what Thoreau described as "... these jewels... these bright fluviatile flowers, made beautiful, the Lord only knows why, to swim there!"
Fishermen love these huge man-made lakes with a passion, as do campers, birders, boaters and folks out for a good hike. Within twenty miles of one another, Merrill Creek, Spruce Run and Round Valley can satisfy either the most avid outdoorsman looking for trophy fish or the casual daytripper in the market for a nice view.
Every state-stocked fish in New Jersey was born and raised in clean, fresh water from Warren County ground where the lakes and rivers hold plenty trophy-size monsters.
When snows melt and the grasses and daffodils push up through the softened ground of New Jersey's Skylands, it's time to think trout. For many outdoors folks, thawing snow signals the beginning of trout season. Sorting and cleaning tackle and shopping to replace items gone missing last season, all serve to build anticipation.
In a hemlock forest surrounding a little stream, snow remains packed, although receding, the stream's current running high and cold, coltsfoot spreading over an exposed shoal, a touch of yellow to brighten the otherwise bland landscape.
On a cloudy, raw February day, the air thermometer read 28 degrees, never to rise above freezing. In five hours, we boated 11 large smallmouth bass on hair jigs, with two exceeding four pounds. The Delaware River angler need not hibernate!
