On B’s advice, he and I decided that fly fishing probably wasn’t the best choice of technique for the newfound spot de la spot. Fishing from the bank, there would be little room behind us for a forward cast and a roll cast wouldn’t get out as far as B witnessed the fish being caught during his reconnaissance mission. The two of us nixed the gear we had spent a good deal of money on, instead favoring the seasons-old multiple spin casting rods and reels, tackle boxes full of lures mainly for bass, the shad flies we’d tied, and some "sure-fire" lures, (in case the flies didn't work) called shad darts, which I'd purchased a 3-pack of during my most recent trip to the tackle shop. Being superstitious fishermen, B and I decided we needed an addition to our party to offset the bad luck the two of us magnified. Enter Joey.
The three of us set out towards 14th Street with high hopes for tight lines. Upon arrival at the Mayo Bridge we discovered all the fishermen in the greater Richmond area had the same idea as us. Being a nice day, we expected a crowd like B had seen the day before, but not a fishing gala. The bridge was lined nearly elbow-to-elbow with anglers on the hunt for poor man’s tarpon. What was so good about these fish that people came out in droves seeking its sustenance? We parked and B led us to the trail he had discovered. To the left of the bridge below the rapids of the James’ Fall Line, (above which the James River is no longer tidal) the banks were equally as crowded as the bridge itself, so we took a right—going under the bridge and onto the trail not so heavily traveled.
Our group took it as a sign that fewer people fished the bank on this calmer side of the bridge, but having no choice/standing room in the matter, we found an empty spot outside of the casting range of those on the bridge and climbed down the rocks to the river’s edge. Joey took the far right downstream position while I stood between him and B, who decided to stay closer to the bridge and the eddies it created.
The shad didn’t seem to like Rapalas, rooster tails, buzzbaits, or Carolina rigged worms. The fish also didn’t like the Tommy’s Torpedoes or Crazy Charlies B and I tied for the purpose of fly fishing, but now used on our spinning gear; at least not the way we were fishing them. I tried using the sure-fire shad darts too, but they weren't working either. Having no topographic knowledge of what lied under the river’s surface, and the fact that it was low tide, initially we all lost several lures to snags. However we all improved our snag retrieving ability, enduring fewer losses as the day progressed.
Looking under the bridge to the left of our position, we saw fishermen and women, young and old, having no problems catching the silver sided wonders. The shad did indeed leap several feet into the air, some repeatedly. They looked fun to catch, I wanted one. I wanted ten. At least we knew the fish were here, or there, under the bridge. Though, without knowing how to catch them we might as well have been fishing in the Dead Sea.
“This guy’s got one” Joey announced, speaking of the gentleman on his right, even farther downstream. Now the shad were on either side of us; we had no excuse for failure.
“What’s he using?” I asked Joey.
“It looks like a little spoon or something” Joey responded, not having gotten a good look at the lure.
I dug through my tackle box in search of something spoon-like. All I found was a three inch Mooselook lure I used for walleye in Canada, but I tied it on anyways. Cast, nothing. Cast, nothing. Cast, nothing.
“That guy’s got another one” Joey chirped, again. “Oh,” he paused, “His buddy has one too.”
I looked at B with clenched teeth. His face reddened as he realized that our trio was the only group on the river getting skunked.
“He’s got another one” Joey superfluously alerted.
Just then a barrel-chested, white haired, though younger looking man than his hair suggested, descended from the trail onto the rocks heading towards us, rod in hand. He stopped ten feet shy of the river and began scouring the rocks intently. I instantly recognized the man as local Richmond barbecue celebrity, “Buzz” having seen him on the Food Network channel on several occasions. After several minutes of searching, B inquired what the search was for.
“I lost my cell phone down here last night and figured I might get really lucky and find it today” un-introduced Buzz said sarcastically as he smiled, knowing he had no chance of finding his lost phone.
“You all catching everything in the river?” He asked, not having seen the lures we were using which would have answered his question.
“Not a thing man” B responded as he reeled in his cast and set his rod down to join in the investigation. I joined in as well, allowing Joey and everyone else to have a chance to catch some fish while we explored under the rocks.
“So did you at least catch a few when you were down here last night?” I asked him.
“Yeah man, caught seven” Buzz replied.
“Right in this very spot?” I asked.
“Yep.”
Not being the least bit ashamed of admitting I had no idea what I was doing, I asked what he was using when he’d caught the supposed seven glorious shad the night before.
“Got em’ all on this shad dart” he said as he unhooked the lure he was referring to from the lowest guide on his rod.
His dart was much like the one I'd tried using. The lures resembled distorted jellybeans, his was colored black for the first quarter of its body, the remainder colored bright orange. Mine was red and chartreuse respectively. They're tapered—fat to skinny from the flat, angled head, to the bend of the hook where the body ends.
“I guess it’s supposed to look like a bug or somethin’, I don’t know. They love em’ though. It’s all I use” he added.
As we continued the search we talked more about shad darts: favorite colors to use, techniques to use when retrieving, the affects of adding an orange bead to the line above the dart, as Buzz had; more of the same types of questions I’d asked repeatedly at the fly fishing section of the tackle shop months earlier.
“You just gotta jerk and reel, jerk and reel” Buzz said while demonstrating the motion he employed for shad catching success. I had been simply reeling the lure in. “Sometimes you gotta slow it down, sometimes speed it up, but never stop jerkin’ that thing in.” Eureka!
As Joey fished, B and I became co-Alexanders to Buzz’s Aristotle, memorizing every tactic necessary for defeating the shad in future battles. For some reason I believed him more than the guys from the tackle store; it must have been his sage-like white hair, coupled with the fact I was familiar with the deliciousness of his famous pork ribs—sheer brilliance.
The search came to an end as Buzz grew tired of looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack, or maybe he was just tired of fielding our questions.
“Here” he said, cutting the leader his dart and bead were attached to from the swivel separating the leader from his line, “I’m not gonna fish tonight and I have tons of these at home, you guys take this one.”
“Are you sure?” B and I asked almost in unison.
“Yeah, I really have a bunch of em.’ I’d probably snag this one anyways” he said smiling again. “You gotta remember: jerk and reel, jerk and reel” he added, once again demonstrating the exact motion.
We thanked him for the gifts of the lure and knowledge, and he turned and went slowly back up the rock, head down, still searching for the M.I.A. phone. B tied on the dart.
“He’s got another one” Joey echoed, bringing our mindset back to the battlefield. “What was the deal with that guy?” He asked.
“He lost his phone last night” I told my half-interested friend.
“He’s not gonna find that” Joey stated as he reeled in his last cast and attached whatever it was he was using to a middle guide on his rod, then reeling in the slack until his rod tip bent. He picked up his tackle box with his spare hand. “Well I’m outta here.”
With little fanfare, Joey gave up and made his way back up the rocks to the trail.
“Let me know if you guys get anything.” Joey yelled. “I won’t be expecting any calls” he had to add.
I looked back to see Buzz now standing atop the trail dozens of yards away, uselessly scanning under the rocks in his vicinity. He happened to look up, making eye contact with me, and began demonstrating the magical dart technique for the third time. I smiled and waved at him, nodding my understanding. I decided to retry the chartreuse 1/4 ounce dart I'd been using earlier to no avail, now that I'd been enlightened with the knowledge of its proper use.
The three of us set out towards 14th Street with high hopes for tight lines. Upon arrival at the Mayo Bridge we discovered all the fishermen in the greater Richmond area had the same idea as us. Being a nice day, we expected a crowd like B had seen the day before, but not a fishing gala. The bridge was lined nearly elbow-to-elbow with anglers on the hunt for poor man’s tarpon. What was so good about these fish that people came out in droves seeking its sustenance? We parked and B led us to the trail he had discovered. To the left of the bridge below the rapids of the James’ Fall Line, (above which the James River is no longer tidal) the banks were equally as crowded as the bridge itself, so we took a right—going under the bridge and onto the trail not so heavily traveled.
Our group took it as a sign that fewer people fished the bank on this calmer side of the bridge, but having no choice/standing room in the matter, we found an empty spot outside of the casting range of those on the bridge and climbed down the rocks to the river’s edge. Joey took the far right downstream position while I stood between him and B, who decided to stay closer to the bridge and the eddies it created.The shad didn’t seem to like Rapalas, rooster tails, buzzbaits, or Carolina rigged worms. The fish also didn’t like the Tommy’s Torpedoes or Crazy Charlies B and I tied for the purpose of fly fishing, but now used on our spinning gear; at least not the way we were fishing them. I tried using the sure-fire shad darts too, but they weren't working either. Having no topographic knowledge of what lied under the river’s surface, and the fact that it was low tide, initially we all lost several lures to snags. However we all improved our snag retrieving ability, enduring fewer losses as the day progressed.
Looking under the bridge to the left of our position, we saw fishermen and women, young and old, having no problems catching the silver sided wonders. The shad did indeed leap several feet into the air, some repeatedly. They looked fun to catch, I wanted one. I wanted ten. At least we knew the fish were here, or there, under the bridge. Though, without knowing how to catch them we might as well have been fishing in the Dead Sea.
“This guy’s got one” Joey announced, speaking of the gentleman on his right, even farther downstream. Now the shad were on either side of us; we had no excuse for failure.
“What’s he using?” I asked Joey.
“It looks like a little spoon or something” Joey responded, not having gotten a good look at the lure.
I dug through my tackle box in search of something spoon-like. All I found was a three inch Mooselook lure I used for walleye in Canada, but I tied it on anyways. Cast, nothing. Cast, nothing. Cast, nothing.
“That guy’s got another one” Joey chirped, again. “Oh,” he paused, “His buddy has one too.”
I looked at B with clenched teeth. His face reddened as he realized that our trio was the only group on the river getting skunked.
“He’s got another one” Joey superfluously alerted.
Just then a barrel-chested, white haired, though younger looking man than his hair suggested, descended from the trail onto the rocks heading towards us, rod in hand. He stopped ten feet shy of the river and began scouring the rocks intently. I instantly recognized the man as local Richmond barbecue celebrity, “Buzz” having seen him on the Food Network channel on several occasions. After several minutes of searching, B inquired what the search was for.
“I lost my cell phone down here last night and figured I might get really lucky and find it today” un-introduced Buzz said sarcastically as he smiled, knowing he had no chance of finding his lost phone.
“You all catching everything in the river?” He asked, not having seen the lures we were using which would have answered his question.
“Not a thing man” B responded as he reeled in his cast and set his rod down to join in the investigation. I joined in as well, allowing Joey and everyone else to have a chance to catch some fish while we explored under the rocks.
“So did you at least catch a few when you were down here last night?” I asked him.
“Yeah man, caught seven” Buzz replied.
“Right in this very spot?” I asked.
“Yep.”
Not being the least bit ashamed of admitting I had no idea what I was doing, I asked what he was using when he’d caught the supposed seven glorious shad the night before.
“Got em’ all on this shad dart” he said as he unhooked the lure he was referring to from the lowest guide on his rod.
His dart was much like the one I'd tried using. The lures resembled distorted jellybeans, his was colored black for the first quarter of its body, the remainder colored bright orange. Mine was red and chartreuse respectively. They're tapered—fat to skinny from the flat, angled head, to the bend of the hook where the body ends.
“I guess it’s supposed to look like a bug or somethin’, I don’t know. They love em’ though. It’s all I use” he added.
As we continued the search we talked more about shad darts: favorite colors to use, techniques to use when retrieving, the affects of adding an orange bead to the line above the dart, as Buzz had; more of the same types of questions I’d asked repeatedly at the fly fishing section of the tackle shop months earlier.
“You just gotta jerk and reel, jerk and reel” Buzz said while demonstrating the motion he employed for shad catching success. I had been simply reeling the lure in. “Sometimes you gotta slow it down, sometimes speed it up, but never stop jerkin’ that thing in.” Eureka!
As Joey fished, B and I became co-Alexanders to Buzz’s Aristotle, memorizing every tactic necessary for defeating the shad in future battles. For some reason I believed him more than the guys from the tackle store; it must have been his sage-like white hair, coupled with the fact I was familiar with the deliciousness of his famous pork ribs—sheer brilliance.
The search came to an end as Buzz grew tired of looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack, or maybe he was just tired of fielding our questions.
“Here” he said, cutting the leader his dart and bead were attached to from the swivel separating the leader from his line, “I’m not gonna fish tonight and I have tons of these at home, you guys take this one.”
“Are you sure?” B and I asked almost in unison.
“Yeah, I really have a bunch of em.’ I’d probably snag this one anyways” he said smiling again. “You gotta remember: jerk and reel, jerk and reel” he added, once again demonstrating the exact motion.
We thanked him for the gifts of the lure and knowledge, and he turned and went slowly back up the rock, head down, still searching for the M.I.A. phone. B tied on the dart.
“He’s got another one” Joey echoed, bringing our mindset back to the battlefield. “What was the deal with that guy?” He asked.
“He lost his phone last night” I told my half-interested friend.
“He’s not gonna find that” Joey stated as he reeled in his last cast and attached whatever it was he was using to a middle guide on his rod, then reeling in the slack until his rod tip bent. He picked up his tackle box with his spare hand. “Well I’m outta here.”
With little fanfare, Joey gave up and made his way back up the rocks to the trail.
“Let me know if you guys get anything.” Joey yelled. “I won’t be expecting any calls” he had to add.
I looked back to see Buzz now standing atop the trail dozens of yards away, uselessly scanning under the rocks in his vicinity. He happened to look up, making eye contact with me, and began demonstrating the magical dart technique for the third time. I smiled and waved at him, nodding my understanding. I decided to retry the chartreuse 1/4 ounce dart I'd been using earlier to no avail, now that I'd been enlightened with the knowledge of its proper use.
Cast; jerk and reel, jerk and reel. Cast; jerk and reel, jerk and reel. Cast, jerk and BIG jerk back causing my rod to bend in half. Finally! I had something on the end of my line and figured it could only be my first shad. My inference was proven correct as the beautiful fish shot two feet out of his element and into mine landing side-first, creating a magnificent splash. B looked up from the water in front of him, as surprised as I was, happy that at least one of us had a stroke of luck. Not wanting to lose the creature, I horsed him in rather quickly as if he was the last fish needed for the livewell in a B.A.S.S. sanctioned tournament, caught just in time for weigh-in. As he was brought to within several feet of me he made one final vigorous run, taking a few yards of line off my reel. I grew nervous thinking he'd get off, but kept my line taught and brought him in all this way this time from the water to the rocks where I stood. 
The fish's body convulsed as it struggled to bounce off the foreign objects back to its home. I set my rod down and reached over to pick up my trophy.
The fish's body convulsed as it struggled to bounce off the foreign objects back to its home. I set my rod down and reached over to pick up my trophy. A more slippery and pungent smelling fish I have never before beheld. Scales fell off the shad as he slithered out of my grip and back to the rocks. I again picked him up; from the toothless lip this time like a bass, and unhooked him from the dart, holding him up for B to see. I was all smiles.
"Check it out man." I told my friend. Without thinking about my next statement before it was stated I told him, "Man you gotta get one of these. That was awesome!"
He acknowledged my words with minimal sarcasm showing through in his face, saying, "Yeah man. Good work."
I gratefully nodded and placed the fish back into the water as I thanked him, or her, for the great fight and the ability to add a shad to my list of species caught. B and I fished for a little while longer, he with Buzz's dart, me with mine, catching no additional fish, but it didn't matter. One fish was enought for today. The stage was set. B and I were destined for shad mastery.
Got an email from a Shad fisherman on the American in Sacramento. He said they were catching them on a 1/16 oz pink jig. Don't know if it will help, but thought I'd pass it along.
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