August 9, 2025 –
Steph texted me some Facebook clips this week of striper blitzes in the Forebay. Blitzes. In August. I’ve never seen them this time of year, so my first thought was they had to be small fish but Steph said they’d caught a pile of 17–18 inchers. That sealed it—I had to check it out.
The wind forecast was perfect, but the high was going to be 101°. I asked Vaughn if he wanted to run his boat, and he just laughed and said only a crazy man would fish in that heat. I was also a little hesitant because of the infamous “eight-day rule”—you’re supposedly not supposed to go from the lake to the Forebay without waiting eight days to avoid transferring golden mussels. But the temptation to see those blitzes for myself won out.
When I got there, it was obvious the Forebay is at peak weed season. The water is down about five feet, and the Flats are solid green mats. I was hoping for at least a few open lanes for topwater, but it was a solid carpet. I spent the whole day trying to scratch out just one 18-inch keeper. Instead, I caught a dozen dinks and never saw a blitz, not a bird, not even a single decent fish on the Livescope. I hit every proven striper hole I know in the Forebay—topwater, subsurface, you name it—and nothing over 17 inches wanted to play.
The heat was brutal. I went through gallons of water just to stay upright. Spent a lot of the day chatting with my kid and my buddy Kriss Gaphapour, who was all the way out in Virginia with the Coast Guard rescuing stranded boaters. Kriss is a Coast Guard captain, a hell of a dentist, and the guy who taught me most of what I know about implants. We ended up brainstorming how to build an RC boat with sonar to find sunken bodies—basically the same tech I use every day fishing. In fact, nearly every fish today was “video-gamed.” I’d find a school of dinks, lead them with my fly, hook one, and then pick off his buddy when they followed him to the boat.
The Channel looked like the glory days—perfect edge, perfect current—and I was sure I’d stick a few solid fish. It reminded me of one of my old videos from exactly five years ago in August, when Don Cheserec and I crushed them on topwater in these same spots. Today? Just more dinks. Somebody flipped the “off” switch for keepers. I wrapped up with a dozen little guys, a solid sunburn, and the firm conviction that I’d rather have one 25-incher than twelve squeakers any day. It’s days like today that Im glad I didnt have anyone in the boat. It was tough and brutal but thats how I like it sometimes. Its not for the begininer or the fragile and you have to happy with the effort and not the results.
On the bright side, Steve is fired up for the upcoming Sapsuk trip. I brought some of my spey gear today—threw both a Deathstar and a Golden Gate Switch. The switch rod is perfect for unweighted and floating flies, but for a Flybrex, I’ll need the 13’6″ cannon and a heavy line. I’m planning to tie a few lighter prop flies before Alaska. I think they will work just as well with a blade half the size. Im going to tie some lighter flies this year, I’ll fish the Loop Cross and a sage switch for top water and light flies. The Meisner and Burkey for the big prop stuff. I also picked up a Loop Classic Click-Pawl 7/8/9 because I’m into the sound now. I want to hear that reel scream while I still can—my hearing’s not getting any better, and every fish run is a dopamine hit I’m not about to waste. I’ll write a post next week on prepping for silvers .
It’ll be a week before I’m back on the water. Gina booked us tickets to see Heart in San Francisco this weekend from Sunday to Tuesday, and I’m working Wednesday and Thursday. That conveniently gives me almost exactly eight days—the official “kill window” for golden mussels. Supposedly, that’s enough time for them to die completely, even in moist, shaded spots, so you don’t spread them to “clean” water without hot-water or chemical decontamination. That logic makes sense… until you remember the lake and the Forebay literally share the same source water. But in true Gavin Newsom fashion, the rules are the rules—don’t think too hard about them.
Back to the lake next week. I’m betting on fewer weeds, bigger fish, and no 101° heat. And if I can trade twelve dinks for one fat 25-incher, I’ll call it a win.
