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 Late May in Berkeley, when the sun was warming up the sleeping porch, we’d take a break from the stress of finals, and year-end duties, and head inland toward the Yuba River.
My buddy Ricer, full of enthusiasm, would be in front of my fraternity house beeping the horn, letting me know that the Blue Jay, his primo 1953 Chevy truck, was full of gas (30 cents a gallon!) and ready to go. I’d grab my swim trunks, my fishing gear, a pound of jack cheese, orange juice and a case of beer and we’d be ready to go!
Time flew by as we joked, sang, and otherwise acted the fools and before we knew it, we were at the front door of his family’s house in Marysville. As was their tradition, his folks treated us like conquering heroes, very hungry heroes, and soon we were chowing down on the best breakfast we’d had in months. Their happy doggies, Alvin, Calvin and the Fish, gobbled up anything we spilled on the floor. Mountains of waffles, eggs and bacon jammed us so full that we could barely fit on the bench seat of the classic pickup as we drove toward the river.
Fish Are Waiting
Arriving at the Yuba River, just below a small dam, we stripped down to swimsuits and T-shirts, grabbed our spinning rods and joined a few anglers who were already onto fish. My seven-foot spinning rod was sporting a reel full of eight-pound test. For terminal gear I had a split shot half a foot above my shad dart. The dart was a simple lead-headed jig with a white skirt and a long #6 hook.
Ricer waded out into the rocky riverbed containing tailings from the gold rush of the last century, and fired his dart across the 50-foot-wide river. The little dart bounced downstream. Suddenly he set his hook and sent a five-pound silver rocket up into the air. That little tarpon wannabe took about three more jumps and snapped off the little white dart! It wouldn’t be the last!
We could see hundreds of silver shad schooling downstream, their little dorsal fins shining as they came over the shallow riffle below. We’d lead them by a few feet, drift our darts into the school, and were onto all the shad we wanted. Within an hour or so, we had plenty of the scrappy fish to provide roe for a dozen dinners and smoked fish for a summer’s worth of keggers! A few broke our lines, many others managed to work the hooks out of their soft mouths, but the numbers were in our favor.
Shad in History
I was reminded of those great summers fishing in Marysville as I read John McPhee’s comprehensive work, “The Founding Fish.” John is one of those writers who is great on any topic, and who loves to immerse himself into his chosen subject. And as fish go, the humble shad is plenty interesting.
Shad are native to the eastern seaboard, frequenting waters from Canada to Florida. Like salmon, they spend a lot of time in salt water before going on their spawning runs in huge schools in many Eastern streams. Luckily for us they have been transplanted, wildly successfully, in waters from San Francisco to Canada.
The fish, as the book’s title hints, was of some import back before America was sporting the stars and stripes. George Washington was a commercial “shadder” and leased waters for others to work. The Continental Army might have been in pretty tough shape without the hordes of shad that migrated to them during the critical spring of the Revolutionary War. The bedraggled soldiers were pretty much starving before the nutritious run came rushing upstream. The British, controlling the downstream beats, sought to starve the Yankees by trying to weir off the annual run, but the little patriot fish snuck past!
Shad Are Coming
Today in the Northwest we have some great shad runs. As soon as I get my chores done and the weather warms, I’ll be heading up the Columbia to try and catch a few of the millions of fish who are spawning near Bonneville. I have a good collection of darts, but also want to try some new shad flies I’ve just had tied.
American shad are the main biomass going up the Columbia today. With expanding runs of more than two million fish, and little angling pressure, you can fish all you want without ever challenging the resource. The silver beauties are the largest of the herring family, feed on plankton, but readily grab most any kind of bright dart fly or lure you put in front of them. The eggs and milt are fine dining, and the rich white flesh, albeit a bit bony, is wonderful eating.
So get a few darts and keep an eye on the fish numbers counted at the dams. By the end of May there is going to be some great fishing available. While you are waiting, you might enjoy McPhee’s book—there is a lot of history involved with this great fish, and you’ll read enough fishing stories to get you fired up for our million-fish run. It is quite appropriate to whistle, “Yankee Doodle” as you cast!
Bob Ellsberg’s column, Fishin’, appears monthly in RV Life and at rvlife.com.
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Casting from shore to visible schools must have been a gas in the "old days". Don't know if a person could be fortunate enough to experience such a shoreline adventure today, but wouldn't it be fun... no matter what your age.