CRAPPIES FIND NO SAFETY IN NUMBERS : Sky Is the Limit : Southland Fish Can Be Caught by Bucketful; Hard Part for Anglers Can Be Finding Them

Silverwood Lake in the San Bernardino Mountains is famous for big striped bass, and Paul Jermain of Hesperia has pulled into the dock with a fat catch measuring 35 inches and weighing 20 pounds.

Craig Soverns and Ned Doffoney barely take notice. With all of the lake to choose from, Soverns is fishing in a six-inch-wide space between the dock and a barge. Another angler has rented a boat so he can tie it up to the dock to fish, because it’s illegal to fish directly from the dock. Around the corner, behind the bait store, Doffoney is longingly inspecting a 6-by-9-inch hole in the dock.

The anglers’ concentration rivals that of a pro golfer over a 12-foot putt. They are using short, light rods suitable for children, holding them in a pencil grip and shaking them slightly. Are these guys serious fishermen? Or are they putting somebody on?

If a passerby should inquire, “Catching anything?” the reply might be, “Crappie”--only it would sound like craw-pee.

“Oh, nothing’s biting, huh?”

“Craw-pee!”

And the passerby would go back and tell his friends, “The English guy says the fishing’s no good.”

This is not an Abbott and Costello routine. Crappie fishermen often are misunderstood. They also are dedicated, secretive and somewhat reclusive, for when the bite is on, they would rather catch 50 little crappies than one huge trout or striper--and usually do, without telling a soul.

Reports from lakes around Southern California the past two weeks have indicated that the crappie bite was ready to break loose. Maybe speckled perch, papermouth or calico bass--other names by which crappies are known--would sound more palatable, but if the name is enough to turn off many of their peers, so much the better for crappie anglers, because good crappie bites don’t happen regularly.

Crappies, which belong to the sunfish family, were transplanted to California from eastern waters before the turn of the century. They are a lot like the people who fish for them. They have their good years and bad, a phenomenon fisheries biologists say is because mature crappies eat their young until there are no more to eat and then die off, allowing the next class of spawners to proliferate.

There are black crappies (Pomoxis nigromaculatus) and white crappies (Pomoxis annularis), and they exist in almost all North American waters, the larger the better, usually in brush or around docks. Both are found at Silverwood. They spawn in the late spring or early summer and can grow to three pounds in two years.

Chuck Morris, drummer on “The Arsenio Hall Show,” is a Silverwood regular. Last year, he caught a crappie that weighed more than three pounds, but catches generally run from half a pound to 1 1/2 pounds. The world record for a black crappie is 4 pounds 8 ounces, caught in Virginia in 1981. The record for a white crappie is 5 pounds 3 ounces, from Mississippi in ’57.

As trophy fish go, they are no more than panfish. But their devotees claim tactical and gastronomic virtues for the fish, which are not only a challenge to catch, but good to eat.

“Excellent,” Doffoney says, “filleted, pan-fried or baked.”

“Great,” Soverns says. “You can cook them in butter.”

Chuck Crawford of Covina says: “They’re best when they’re filleted. I fry them in beer batter.”

The stripers at Silverwood select from elsewhere on the menu. They gorge themselves on the trout planted by the California Department of Fish and Game and generally leave the crappies alone because of their spiny fins.

Soverns, 21, from Hesperia, has been fishing for crappie for less than a year, but has become a resident expert at Silverwood. His job is handling the rental boats, which makes it convenient to fish every day before and after working hours and to study the crappies’ habits.

He uses small plastic crappie jigs about 1 1/2 inches long and prefers prefers chartreuse or gray sparkle colors, with a dab of white Berkley crappie bait.

“Dark colors for dark water, light colors for light water,” Soverns says. “Your gray sparkle looks like a shad, and crappies love shad. Last year, you didn’t need the crappie bait. This year, it seems they won’t bite without it.”

The problem is finding the schools.

“It’s kind of like fishing in a barrel,” Doffoney says. “But you have to find the barrel.”

“Crappies are always moving,” Soverns says. “They’re such a weird fish, you’ve got to hunt them down. One day they’ll be on the bottom, the next day in shallow water. When the sun comes, out they get active. They love shade.”

That is why Soverns and Doffoney like to fish the docks, which seems innocent but is subject to a $96 fine if an angler is standing on one. Jean Bryant, who runs the bait store, warns people continually that to be legal one must be in a boat, which can be rented for $7 and tied to the dock.

If the crappies are biting, it is worth it. There is no catch limit. Joe SanFratello, another regular, teamed with a partner to catch 400 one day last year.

Almo Cordone, a Department of Fish and Game fisheries biologist in Sacramento, says: “We are considering establishing a limit because when they’re really hitting, there’s usually a big stir from people objecting to other people taking too many. But it isn’t fishing that causes the population (of crappies) to become depressed. Biologically, there’s no reason for a limit on crappies.”

Some biologists believe overfishing is beneficial to crappies because it allows more of the young to survive. There is a built-in sort of limit. When the typical crappie fisherman finds the barrel, few others will hear about it. They will avoid small talk at the dock, keep their heads down and try to appear nonchalant as they walk quickly to their cars with buckets full of fish.

“Everybody tries to hide,” Soverns says. “But I’ll tell people anything they want to know.”

Soverns shares information with an angler he knows only as “a Chinese guy named Kim,” who caught a five-pound largemouth while fishing for crappie one day recently.

“He’ll do anything to find them, short of using scuba gear,” Soverns says. “He taught me everything about crappie fishing.”

Doffoney offers a standard tip: “Patience . . . and light line.”

Two-pound test is recommended. Crappies don’t strike the lure as much as they kiss it.Crappies also have soft mouths--hence, the nickname “papermouths”--so Soverns uses a loose drag, because a tight drag can set the hook too hard and tear free.

The technique, once an angler understands all of the above, requires the touch of a manicurist. As Soverns drops his line, the tip of the rod starts to quiver, although his hand is barely twitching.

“Most people jig up,” he says. “Yesterday I was jigging down and catching them.”

Soverns is using a chartreuse jig, which isn’t working.

Doffoney says: “I’ve had a few bumps--but you can’t fry those bumps.”

“They’ll hit one color one day and another the next,” Soverns says. “Sometimes you can switch to a different color and, bang, you’ll start catching them with every cast. When I really want to catch fish, I’ll use nightcrawlers. A lot of the guys say that’s cheating, but they’re in bass clubs.”

Finally, Soverns switches to a gray sparkle jig. On his next cast, he pulls up a small crappie, and on his next cast, another. But then the bite quits. Doffoney stares down into his hole in the dock.

“I’ve looked down here some days and seen hundreds of them,” he says.

But not today. Soverns decides to put on a nightcrawler and go bass fishing. Maybe the crappies will bite tomorrow. Maybe not.