31/07/2026
Some trips test your patience more than your tackle.
I drove 200 kilometres to the Trent River with one goal: put a walleye and a river smallmouth in the net. After recently finding success with lake smallies, I figured it was time to take the hunt to moving water.
The trip started with a surprise. First cast, first fish—a personal best rock bass. It felt like a sign of things to come.
It wasn’t.
For the next three days, the river humbled me. Paddletails, inline spinners, chatterbaits, Ned rigs, Texas rigs, wacky rigs—I threw just about everything in the tackle box. Shore, dock, rain, clouds, even dodging thunderstorms that sent me packing early. The fish simply refused to play.
On my final morning, with only a couple of hours before the drive home, the clouds finally broke. The sun peeked through, and I made one last stop for a tub of nightcrawlers.
Sometimes the old ways still win.
A nightcrawler pinned to a 1/16-ounce jighead beneath a bobber drifted naturally through a slow seam. On the first drift, the float disappeared.
Then it happened again.
And again.
In thirty minutes, I landed four smallmouth, finally slipping one into the net for the photo I’d been chasing all weekend.
The drive home reminded me of something every angler eventually learns: fancy lures have their day, but there are times when the fish make the decision for you.
Some days, you just need the nightcrawlers. 🎣
