Living the Dream: Lake Champlain, Part 7
Dave Andrews details day three of his FLW Series competition on Lake Champlain
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Editor’s note: This is the seventh and final 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. Next up will be his journal entries from Clarks Hill Lake. 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, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6)(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 three
Sept. 12
I awoke before my alarm on Friday morning. The latches were open on my windows, and the wind was causing them to bang into the walls of the cabin. It was a harbinger of things to come.
I got up early, loaded the boat and finished cleaning up the cabin. I met my partner at the ramp, as was the usual routine. I would be fishing with Eddie Puedephatt from Ontario, Canada. Eddie owned a tackle store in Ontario, and his trip to Champlain was an anniversary present from his wife. With the pressure off, I planned to try to go fun-fishing and avoid getting crushed by the forecasted 8- to 10-foot waves. Indeed, driving over from the launch to where the boats were released, we encountered huge rollers. I got the sense that Eddie would have been just as happy to take the day off, but I eased his mind a bit and told him that I would take my time driving the boat and be safe today above all else.
I’ve dealt with Lake Champlain at its worst, and although I didn’t look forward to fishing in these conditions, I had a plan to run a relatively short distance over to Vermont and stay in a somewhat protected bay, fishing for largemouth bass. I felt bad for the many anglers whose tournament fortune rested squarely on the weather. I had a few buddies that were in line for a nice check, but they were fishing deep in open sections of the lake, and I knew they’d not be able to hold on their spots under those conditions.
I was in the middle of the pack as of Friday’s start, and as the boats eased off in front of me, it made for an interesting picture, as most of them formed a line and bobbed in and out of sight as they headed into the nastiest section of the big lake. It was raining hard, and the wind had freshened to a robust 20 to 30 mph. I watched as several boats speared waves and filled with water. Many turned around after a short distance and ran back toward the launch, either to fish in the protected bay there or to pull out and call it a tournament.
When it was my turn, I got in line and began the process of pounding through the rollers, attempting to make it across the lake where I would run the semi-protected shoreline south to the bay where I planned to spend the day. I cut the top off a few giant waves, and Eddie and I caught plenty of spray, but eventually we criss-crossed our way to the Vermont shoreline and made our way into Mallets Bay. The normally 20-minute run took over an hour that morning.
The first spot was under a little bridge where I guessed that wind-driven, main-lake water would be gushing through, creating a strong current and hopefully positioning some bass along the edges. The wind made it nearly impossible to fish, and the water was very muddy, but we hung in there for 30 minutes. We didn’t get a bite, and I finally gave up and moved over to a weedbed in 12 feet of water. The wind whipped so badly here that, even on maximum speed, my Minn Kota didn’t stand a chance of holding position.
I relented and ran back into a protected part of the bay to flip the milfoil for largemouth bass. Despite the rain, it was pretty warm and actually felt fishable back in that bay. I noted that five or six other boats had the same idea and were already working the best weedlines. I recognized a couple of them as local Vermont guys that were in the tournament. I flipped the Zoom Brush Hog with a 1-ounce tungsten weight into the holes in the milfoil. At one point, a solid bite broke up the monotony, and I set on the fish only to have it pull off a few seconds later. Eddie and I roamed around, staying out of the wind, for a couple of hours without any keeper bites before I told him to brace himself for a run back out into the bay.
I wanted to fish a weedline that was exposed to the south wind. I knew it would be difficult, but I figured it was worth trying. After running out there, I set down on the weedline. It was muddy and 4-foot rollers piled in on it. My first pitch with the Brush Hog and weight resulted in a solid thump. I set on the fish, and a big largemouth charged out of the weeds. The wind was whistling so badly that it was pointless to call for the net; my partner, sitting on the rear seat, never would have heard me, so I just fought the fish and planned to lift him into the boat. I had 30-pound braid and figured it wouldn’t be that difficult. I could see the fish fighting under the boat while I prepared to lift him in. Concentrating on fighting the fish and staying in the boat was a challenge in these conditions. Inexplicably, the fish just came off and swam back into the weeds. The hook just pulled out.
I got fired up after this, and figured I could really put a hurt on these fish if they were here. I mean, it was literally my very first pitch, and I had hooked a 4-pounder. I ran back up and developed a system of drifting backwards over the weedline, while keeping my foot on the trolling motor and the power on max. It was the first time I thought about using a drift sock to flip for largemouths. I made four or five power drifts through the weedline. At one point I even tied on a Rat-L-Trap and ripped it through the top of the weeds. I never had another bite, and it was brutal to try to stay on the spot. I soon noticed that my trolling motor was rapidly losing power. The batteries were totally sapped trying to hold there. I figured I had to move to more protected water.
I drove out of the bay and into the Inland Sea. It was now afternoon, and Eddie and I were fishless and had little battery power left. I figured I could run the semi-protected side of the lake back north and then eventually cross back over to Plattsburg. I stopped on a spot that featured weeds and rocks and pitched a drop-shot with a Netters hand-poured, smelt-colored worm toward a rock and soon had my first keeper of the day in the boat. It was small, barely the 12-inch minimum. I moved to a more protected bay and flipped the Brush Hog into weed pockets. I boated three or four more giant pike, but no more bass.
It was getting late in the day, and my batteries were now totally gone, but I stopped on one last weed patch and flipped the Brush Hog into a thick clump. The line jumped, and I set the hook and had my second keeper in the boat. It, too, was small, maybe 13 inches long. I left a little extra time and soon headed back toward weigh-in. The rain and wind were still cranking, but the ride was manageable until I had to cross the wide section of the lake.
I followed a string of boats, hugging the shoreline as close as I dared. We plowed through 5- to 6-foot rollers as we chewed up several miles. At one point some locals had put on their rain gear and gone out on their dock to watch the bass boats slam past them on their way toward Plattsburg. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them wave to me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the waves or my 
hand off the steering wheel. Another time I passed by what I had first thought was a ski boat with an inboard motor, but as I got closer, I could see it was a wrapped Ranger tied to a floating raft. The motor was gone.
Crossing the lake was no fun, and we took on a lot of water, but eventually made it back safely to Plattsburg. Many, many boats did not. My two little largemouths weighed just over 2 1/2 pounds.
I was tired and sore, but coming off the stage, a young man stopped me and asked me if I was Dave Andrews, “the Living the Dream guy.” I figured maybe he wanted to chat or wanted an autograph, so, proudly, I told him that I was. Sheepishly, he looked me in the eye and apologized. “I was in a hurry this morning and smashed into your truck in the parking lot,” he said. I had to laugh. This thing was a train wreck for me from start to finish. Just not my tournament. It seemed like a fitting end to a very frustrating week. I thanked him for being honest and offering to pay for the damages. I took his information, put the boat on the trailer and headed immediately for the ferry.
Scott and I drove into the night, making it back into New Hampshire, where we stopped for a quick night’s sleep before finishing the drive to Lake Winnipesaukee the next morning. Practice for The Bass Federation Eastern Regional started that Saturday. There was no rest in sight for me and no time to worry about the tough tournament I had just endured on Lake Champlain. After the TBF regional, I would have a few weeks before I’d have to load up and head for Georgia for the final FLW Series event on Clarks Hill Reservoir.
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Editor’s note: Stay tuned for Andrews’ upcoming journal entries from Clarks Hill Lake, in which he’ll write about his experiences in the FLW Series Eastern tourney that marked the end of the 2008 regular season.
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