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Greg Plover Jr. is proud to be a part of the Anglers’ Legacy.
Who got me involved in fishing:
My dad.
Favorite Fishing Story:
I was shore fishing the Schuylkill River in mid March 2003. My neighbor and I had tried to get the jump on some smallmouth action a little early. It was overcast and chilly out, low 40's. Cold enough for neoprene waders and a hoodie. I had my light action spinner with 4lb mono and a size 8 hook. Most of the bass in the area are small, so I use lighter gear to make it fun. We tried working the Green Lane Bridge. Nothing. We moved upstream to Old Man's Beach. Nothing. We headed up to Mama Rock. Nothing. After several hours of nothing we decided to try one last spot before we called it a day. We walked out onto Baby Rock.
Baby Rock is a long rock that pushes out into the Schuylkill about 9/10ths of the way across the river. The best action is usually out at the point, where a swift and deep channel runs through bordered by shore on one end and a large, slow pool on the other. If nothing is happening there, you can walk back along the rock and fish the big pool that runs for about 300 feet to the shoreline.
Nothing was happening at the point so I decided to work along the rocks. I moved to a spot where I could sit down and rest for a bit with my line out in the water. I was feeling burned out. Not even a hit the whole day. After drowning my minnow for about ten minutes, I felt a hit. The shock that something had finally hit me caught me off guard and I missed the hookset. I hollered up to my neighbor that i finally had a bite as I reeled in. When my hook came out of the water, I only had the head of the shiner on it. The rest of the body was gone. Clean cut. I put on a new minnow and cast out. My heart started beating a little louder. I reeled in the slack and waited. I felt a hit and missed again. My neighbor asked if I got hit again. I turned to my left as I was reeling in to answer him. When I looked back down at the water I saw a big, dark object moving through the water towards me. I didn't know what it was. I jumped and scrambled back up the rock. As I got on top of the rock, the muskie that was chasing my dead minnow aborted the pursuit and turned to my right.
My neighbor saw it turn away and he reeled in and ran over to me. He scanned the water with his polarized glasses and saw three or four of them cruising in the calm water of the pool. I put on a fresh minnow and threw out near where he said they were. As soon as the minnow hit the water, one of the muskies started moving towards it. My neighbor watched the whole thing and gave me the play by play. "Whoa. He's turning towards it. Here he comes. He's gonna...Set the Hook! Set the Hook!" Bang! I now had a muskie on my light gear in open water with no leader. Just 4lb test tied to a size 8 hook. As soon as I set the hook, the fish pulled away in a slow and steady manner. It took the drag out about a foot every ten seconds. He had taken out about 50 feet of line, then started to come in. I reeled in the slack and kept steady pressure on him. He kept coming in. Swimming straight towards me. I didn't even have to pull. When he was about ten feet away he turned and slowly took out about 15 more feet of line. I figured:"That's it. That's the closest he's ever gonna get". I thought for sure he was gonna come to life now and run down my entire spool. I pulled back and he turned around. I walked into the water because it was the only chance I had at landing him. At this point, reeling him in felt more like pulling in a log. He was simply dead weight at the end of my line. When I got him close enough, I unhooked my backnet and netted him, sort of. His head went in my net up to his gills, so I stuck the butt of my rod under my arm and grabbed his tail and pulled him out of the water.
It took less than five minutes to reel in a 39" muskie on light tackle. I pulled out my electronic scale to weigh him. The scale measures up to 18 lbs. When I put him on there, the screen read quadruple eights. He maxed out the scale. We ran home, snapped a few pics, and let him go. One of the pictures was published in Ted Nugent's outdoor magazine.
