Living the Dream: Lake Champlain, Part 5

Dave Andrews details day one of his FLW Series competition on Lake Champlain

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Editor’s note: This is the fifth piece in a series of journal entries from Dave Andrews, winner of the 2007 TBF National Championship, detailing his third stop on the 2008 FLW Series Eastern schedule. Entries will be published at FLWOutdoors.com throughout the course of the season. As winner of the “Living the Dream” package, offered by FLW Outdoors through The Bass Federation, Andrews had his entry fees paid to test his club skills on the pro tour with the use of a fully wrapped boat and tow package. Andrews will chronicle his adventure in pro bass fishing, having most recently competed on New York’s Lake Champlain. After Andrews has submitted his journal following each FLW Series event, segments will be posted approximately weekly. (Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4)(Read his Wheeler Lake journal; this links to the final entry, which provides links at the top for each preceding part)

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Walmart FLW Series BP Eastern Division

Stop No. 3: Lake Champlain

Sept. 10-13, 2008

Competition: Day one

Sept. 10

My day started well before the sun came up. I was up and out of the cabin by 4 a.m. I knew that the launch in Plattsburg would back up for miles right around 5 a.m., so I wanted to get the boat into the water and get checked in ahead of the crowd.

The morning weather was mostly cloudy with a 10- to 15-mph hour northwest wind. Air temperatures were a chilly 44 degrees at takeoff time. I’d checked the NOAA weather forecast for the lake several times since the previous evening. It called for 5- to 15-mph northwest winds and waves of 1 to 3 feet. This wasn’t the best forecast for me, as I was heading south into the wide part of the lake, and there was nothing for miles and miles to block the wind down where I planned to fish. I was hoping for a southerly wind as the fish tend to bite better on a south wind, and it would offer some protection where I was fishing. Still, all things considered, winds of 5 to 15 mph were relatively light for Champlain, and getting there and back appeared not to be a problem.

The morning run started out pretty smooth. I was the first boat out that headed south, so I blazed a path along the New York shoreline that kept me running along the most protected shoreline. After chewing up about 20 miles, I figured I would start making my way across the lake and then follow the Vermont shoreline several more miles to my chosen fishing spot. I crossed in one of the widest sections of the lake, and as I got farther and farther from the safety of the New York shoreline, the waves continued to grow in size.

Now in the middle of the lake and surfing 5-footers, I mistimed a big wave and stuffed the front end of the Ranger. A few seconds later, another big wave rolled into the boat and soaked my partner and me. We both had our rain gear on, but I tried to duck from the first wave and had it come over the windshield and spill down the back of my neck. I had six layers of clothing on, and at the end of the day, my T-shirt would still be wet. I felt bad for my co-angler, Darren, as the water piled into his lap and completely drenched his tackle bags. I’m sure he was up late into the night drying everything out.

At this point, however, we had bigger worries. The automatic bilge pumps kicked on and quickly dispatched most of the water in the boat, and I backed off on my speed and zigzagged through the big rollers, eventually reaching the Vermont shoreline without spearing any more waves. I still had several miles farther south to travel to my spot, so I took my time and surfed along with the waves. Finally I reached my area, and there was a lonely, empty feeling inside me as I saw no other boats around, and I instantly knew that I was in trouble.

I cursed the weatherman, and had he been there I would have torn into him good. The trees along the shoreline were bent over like a hurricane was going through. Winds easily topped the 30-mph mark, and giant 6- to 7-foot rollers pounded on my little cove. A mud line had formed from the breaking waves, and visibility, normally 10 to 12 feet, was reduced to a couple of inches. I knew the smallmouths would not bite in these conditions, but I was trapped. It had taken me 90 minutes to run down here, and it was going to take a lot longer to run back up to a more fishable spot.

In the distance I saw a boat pounding along; he must have crossed just ahead of me. I watched him stop, bob up and down, then turn around, stuff a few waves and head back north. He was probably running farther south than I was and figured he’d never make it there and back. Just going as far as he did and retreating would cost him half of his fishing day. I committed to sticking it out until 10:30. There really was nowhere else to go down here. I picked up my spinnerbait rod and made a few casts.

My bait surfed across the breaking waves. The wind whipped so hard it was impossible to talk to Darren, even though he was standing about 10 feet away from me. I only lasted about 10 casts before ducking behind a nearby point to catch my breath. The point blocked the north wind, and we were at least able to fish in here. I’d never fished this spot before; it was just a random-looking shoreline with a boring rock bottom. I cast my spinnerbait and soon boated a small 11-inch smallmouth.

That was it for a while, and after taking a 30-minute break, I told Darren to get ready to go back into the wind and try the spot again. We plowed back through the rollers and tried to work the area out a little deeper, where the water was a bit clearer. I would just make short drifts at different angles, then motor back up and try again. Even on full speed, the Minn Kota trolling motor didn’t stand a chance of holding position in the wind. After a few drifts, I didn’t even bother to deploy it.

We hung in there for about 45 minutes without a bite. The wind was still howling at 30 mph at 10 o’clock when I made a move into another protected bay behind a point. I’d not fished here either, but it was protected from the harsh winds, and there was a 500-yard stretch that had stayed clear of the mud line. We both burned spinnerbaits just under the surface, hoping for a reaction bite from the smallmouths. At one point, Darren set on a good smallie only to have it jump and throw the spinnerbait about 30 feet into the air. That was the only hit either of us had.

When I decided to come down and fish for smallmouths in the midsection of the lake, I knew it would be a gamble. The spot had the potential to give up a nice bag of smallies, but it could also go bust on me. If I’d known how hard the wind was going to blow today, I would have stayed in the more protected north section of the lake, but I also knew that I could bail myself out if I had to by running back to a big bay on the Vermont side of the lake.

At 10:30 a.m., I told Darren to store all his equipment, and we started the long, slow slog back north with nothing in the livewells. It took about 90 minutes to make it into the bay on the Vermont side. It was noon, I’d barely even fished yet, and I still had about a one-hour ride to get back to Plattsburg. No matter, as the sun was up and I had a pretty good idea I could catch a quick limit of largemouths and keep myself within striking distance of a check at least.

I pulled out my Fenwick Elite pitchin’ stick and went to work, dropping a watermelon Zoom Brush Hog into clumps of milfoil. I picked up a quick 2-pound fish, but nothing else, so I zipped over to a small, but productive, stretch of milfoil on the other side of the bay. I hadn’t checked this spot in practice, but I had a feeling they would be there; they’d have to be, or I was going to be cooked. My third flip produced a solid strike, and I set on a nice largemouth bass. Darren, young and athletic, was quick with the net, and soon I had another decent largemouth in the boat. A few pitches later, a nice largemouth bit, but got wrapped up in the weeds and came off. No worries – the very next flip, I got bit again and just leaned on him and dropped him into the bottom of the boat.

The bite was on; they came one after the other. In no time I was culling, but only ounces. These fish were all about the same size, and once I had my limit, I figured I better get moving. It was after 1 o’clock and I was due in at 2:30 p.m., so I started on my way back to Plattsburg. I stopped once or twice along the way to make a few casts in key little spots. One such spot, a single rock surrounded by weeds, produced a nice 3 ¼-pound largemouth, my biggest of the day.

There really wasn’t much time to do anything else, and before I knew it, I was back about 10 minutes early into Plattsburg. I picked a random shoreline near check-in and killed the last few minutes chucking a spinnerbait. Never say die. With three minutes left, I pulled the trolling motor and fired one last cast. A decent smallmouth pounced on the bait, and I flipped him into the boat. It was a 2-pound fish and would cull my smallest largemouth.

As I checked in and got ready to weigh my catch, I noticed the wind had finally backed off, and the afternoon actually turned out to be the weather they had originally forecast. I was one of the first in line to weigh in. My limit weighed 10 pounds, 10 ounces and was an average bag for the first flight. Weights among the early flights were lousy, but I knew the later flights would hammer them, and my small limit would leave me way back in the pack.

Darren and I loaded the boat and parted company. He weighed in just one small keeper, and I felt bad for him. He was a very pleasant young man and has a bright future ahead of him. He was the fastest net man I have ever seen, and I enjoyed his company throughout a very trying day. He kept a positive attitude and never once complained. I was gassed up and back at the cabin by 3:30 p.m. It was a pleasant afternoon as I soaked up the sun and prepared my tackle for the next day.

I had long since cooked and eaten dinner, re-spooled lines and changed baits, and still the wrapped boats would roar past my cabin on the way to check-in. Indeed, the later flights crushed them in the calm, sunny conditions, and at the end of the day, I was well back in the field. I was nearly 5 pounds out of 50th place and the last $10,000 check. I would need a 20-pound bag on day two to get back into the tournament. The good news was that I was in one of the later flights, and the forecast called for sunshine and light winds. It was the eve of only the second day of this event, but I’d be swinging for the fences on day two.

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Editor’s note: Stay tuned for Part 6 of Andrews’ adventure on Lake Champlain in which he’ll write about day two of his FLW Series tourney at Lake Champlain.

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