Muskies driven by distinct feeding times
Nary a breeze rumpled the river’s surface and a warm afternoon sun provided welcomed radiant warmth. Pretty nice conditions for a scant few days before Christmas.
As positive as the weather was, the same couldn’t be said for the fish activity. My guide’s clients and I had been at it for over an hour-and-a-half without a strike, exceptionally slow for the lower Allegheny. I frustratingly mused that the weather was too nice for walleye fishing, a species that often bites best when clouds obscure the sun and wind ripples the water.
A sharp tap on my blade bait brought me out of my reverie. It only took a few seconds to realize this was no walleye, but most likely a musky, a prediction that was verified several minutes later when the fish circled near the surface.
Jason Wagner, one of my guests for the day, stood by with the musky cradle I carry to assist in landing muskies during such events. When the time was right, I led the 40-inch musky into the cradle.
About an hour later, we were fishing another spot with a strong history of producing winter walleyes. We still hadn’t had a touch from an ‘eye. Then Jason’s rod loaded up on what initially appeared as a snag. Then the snag started to swim.
Judging by its sheer power, we could tell this was a larger fish than mine. It took several minutes to work it into position and ease it into the cradle. This one measured 47 inches, and like most Allegheny River muskies, was thick with a big belly, undoubtedly over 30 pounds.
Eventually, as the sun set low on the horizon, the walleyes turned on. We ended up with several, including a couple of two-footers, but the muskies remained the highlight of the day.
Muskies are well known for having distinct feeding windows during which they are active. Being at the right place at the right time is important in connecting with a species that exists in relatively low numbers. Sun and moon events, most ardent musky anglers agree, often drive these feeding windows. In checking such for the two-musky day, I found that moon set occurred at 2 p.m, about a half hour after my fish and 15 minutes prior to Jason’s.
The following day found me on Keystone Lake. The overnight chill had left some thin sheets of ice on the lake’s surface in places, but nothing the bright, cloudless sky wouldn’t melt by lunchtime.
For the past six weeks, I’d been on a pattern that had been producing some nice walleyes. Not big numbers, but all the fish had been running 22 to 25 inches in length and fat as a Thanksgiving turkey. Not surprisingly, given the bright conditions, the lake seemed dead the first part of the afternoon. My friend Sid and I spent the time hitting some previously productive spots as well as exploring some new ones that featured the same physical characteristics.
As the sun started to sink toward the horizon, I returned to a place where we’d had some late-in-the-day action a week or so prior. Within a few minutes, Sid caught a nice yellow perch. Not what we were after, but a welcomed sign of life.
Soon afterward, a couple more perch came to the boat. Then, in the final moments of daylight, two 23-inch walleyes put an exclamation point to the outing.
There’s little doubt that forces of nature such as moon phases, the rising and setting of the sun and moon, water conditions, barometric pressure and local weather have an influence on fish and wildlife activity. The problem is, there is often so much going in nature at any one time. it’s tough to single out the effect of a particular one.
And I’m a strong proponent of going fishing when you have the chance, in not letting such things as a poor solunar outlook or unfavorable weather conditions keep you home. That said, it often pays to stick it out until dark — to be there for the twilight feeding period — especially at this time of year when the water is cold and fish don’t need to eat often.
Jeff Knapp is an outdoors columnist for the Butler Eagle
