O’Neill Forebay Striped Bass

O’Neill Forebay Striped Bass 

I arrived at the Forebay before the sun rose over the horizon. The forecast called for scattered clouds and light winds before the impending storm and wind in the afternoon. I had a window and it seemed best to put it to use.

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I cleared inspection and loaded the yak on the water before the bass started cruising for their breakfast. Absent sunny skies, I trolled my A-Rigs along the shore banks and drop offs.

The water temperature ranged from 59-62 degrees. It was warm enough for a bite but was the breakfast bell had yet to ring. As I started my troll I marked aches up and down the water column. It compelled me to troll just a little faster so the tails on my lures would kick a little more.

Bite Fish, BITE!!! The though alone was deafening.

I trolled to the area near the power lines where I started to mark stacks of fish.
It was clear — they were feeding.

The breakfast bell had RANG!!

I moved through the marking and then BAM, BAMM my pole would get hit. This happened several times but nothing stuck on my line. It was frustrating, but I knew they were awake and feeding.
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I continued trolling my line through the arches…THEN

BAM BAM BAM!! the tip of my rod bends into the water. The braid peeled off my spool and my rod top bounced violently. ZZzzzz as the fish alarmed cut through the morning silence — She was BIG and my imagination ran wild at the thought. My blood pumped and my heart raced. This was clearly not her first rodeo, as she fought with the fury of an experienced matador bull.

As she rose through the murky water, I saw a beautiful 30+ incher. Then as to say, “ F&*K – U”, she violently splashed her tail and made one more blistering run under into the depths, taking my pole tip with her into the water. With her last gasp she slowly surfaced, clearly exhausted and admitting defeat. Her silver scales shimmered in the morning sun — a beautiful fish in her own right.

I snapped a few photos and removed a rusted hook and weight attached to her from a previous fight. As she regained her strength, her gills flapped from the oxygen and with a swift kick she was gone.

I got my self composed and started to troll again. The day went in the same fashion. I would mark arches and my pole would get slammed. I managed to land 7 fish on 15 bites, and kept a small 19 incher for dinner.

 

At 2 p.m., I packed the car, and looked one last time into the forebay. In the words of our former governator – I’ll be back. (Music of Terminator exits)—The Lost anchovy.