Welcome to Lake Bluegill : OK, <i> Officially </i> It’s Lake Sutherland, but Fishermen Will Catch the Meaning

It is early morning, a time for insomniacs and fishermen on the dock at San Diego’s Lake Sutherland.

Brian Moore and William Ray stumble from their car, a short night’s sleep showing in their eyes. The pair left Los Angeles at 4 a.m. with the three C’s--coffee, Coca-Cola, cigarettes. They are wired and tired on this, their day off.

Like the Blues Brothers on their all-night run, Moore and Ray say they are on a mission-- a mission for bluegill.

“Got to get them gillies,” Moore, 36, says while standing on the dock. He glances at the car where his friend is pulling rods and tackle from the back seat and then turns back to the lake and slips on a pair of sunglasses. “And we’re at the right place.”

Located six miles northeast of Ramona and just off California 78 in eastern San Diego County, Sutherland looks from above like a blue scarf draped among the mountains bordering the Cleveland National Forest. Not particularly wide at any point, it is a modest-looking lake that has been posting eye-catching counts of bluegill.

Long recognized as the little brother to El Capitan, Lower Otay and San Vicente--the top size producers among San Diego lakes--Sutherland now attracts anglers with mottoes such as: “Size is not everything” and “Quantity not quality.” This is both bluegill speak and Sutherland speak--over the past few months the two have become synonymous.

The lake opened in April and is fished Friday to Sunday. With the arrival of hot summer weather, the lake began producing more than 1,000 bluegill a day, and there is little indication that the pace will slow. A total of 517 anglers caught 4,213 bluegill last weekend after a catch of 3,027 the week before. In a lake that was once considered a bass spot, only 193 of them were reeled in last weekend.

“The bluegill have been an enormously popular fish at Sutherland,” according to Jim Brown, San Diego City lakes program director. “They have pushed the bass out of the spotlight and taken center stage for the past few years.”

Those high numbers motivated Moore and Ray to load up on caffeine and drive the three hours from Los Angeles.

“We like to think of ourselves as bluegill experts,” Ray, 37, says as their boat zips along. “We have been coming to the San Diego lakes since we were little, but normally we would go to San Vicente. But after seeing the numbers they are pulling out of here, we had to check it out.”

There are two reasons why Sutherland has become a bluegill haven--one natural, one not so natural.

A wet winter raised the water level to an all-time high. The heightened waterline gives the bluegill more space to hide from larger bass and increases the food supply near the water’s edge where the fish love to swim.

Beneath the present boat dock, extending about 100 yards into the dark water, is the parking lot built two years ago.

“It was a good parking lot,” says Diane Dine, assistant reservoir keeper. “I hope the fish like it.”

But the fish are also responsible for the improved action. Florida-strain bluegill were introduced to San Vicente in 1991 and to Otay the following year. The new fish thrived, and the decision was made to stock Sutherland.

“There is just something different about the Florida bluegill compared to the California bluegill,” says Larry Bottroff, fishery biologist for the San Diego reservoirs. “When we brought them in, they just did real well right away.”

In a few years, the California bluegill were replenished with large quantities of the Southern fish. And as the counts grew, so did the number of anglers.

“The anglers go where they see the high numbers, and Sutherland has become like McDonald’s, where it’s just such and such billion served,” Brown says. “There are just that many fish.”

On this particular Friday morning, Ray and Moore work the coves in the Santa Ysabel arm of the lake. It is a hairline stretch of water but considered the best spot for bluegill.

Moving from side to side, anchoring a few yards offshore, the two men cast in depths from 10 to 25 feet. Red worms, meal worms, wax worms and crickets are alternated as bait, and Moore and Ray work two lines each--one repeatedly casts to spots just offshore, the other hangs over the side of the boat to catch the bottom feeders.

“We will do anything to get the gillies,” Ray says at 9 o’clock. “We sing to them, plead with them, even hang a six-pack over the side. Any means necessary.”

Moore laughs at his friend and says: “No singing yet. It’s still early. The bluegill are just getting outta bed, eating a little cereal, watching cartoons. They sorta keep bankers’ hours.”

Both fishermen refer to their poles as “axes”--to make a killing. A slow start in the morning keeps Ray and Moore from their objective. They were hoping for a legendary day, like the outing six San Diego anglers had in June when they caught 514 bluegill.

“How many axes do you think they were using?” Moore said.

Axes? More like cannons.

Moore says he has caught bluegill during the winter months, but the most active time is in spawning season. They become active feeders during that period, which begins in June and can run into September.

“They spawn a little bit later than bass and like a little warmer water,” Bottroff says. “And with them feeding during the summer months, it comes at a time when people have more time to fish.”

Bluegill are not considered a difficult fish to catch, making Sutherland a perfect spot for families.

“We get lots of families with little children,” Dine says. “The kids can actually catch the fish, not just watch their parents catch them.”

But the bluegill are also a fisherman’s fish, even if some don’t like to admit it.

“People may come out here saying they’re going to catch bass and trout,” Moore says. “But when 3 o’clock rolls around and they’re empty-handed, you see them turn to bluegill.”

Moore, a baseball coach at Serra High, and Ray, a police officer in Hawthorne, come exclusively for bluegill. They know they will not catch large fish--the biggest bluegill caught at Sutherland this year has been one pound, six ounces--but it is possible to roll in enough fish for a feast back in Los Angeles.

At a sliver past noon, they guide the boat into a tiny cove with only seven fish in the cooler. Moore immediately pulls out three bluegill and then Ray gets into the act. Because bluegill swim in schools, if you catch one, there is a chance you could get 50. An hour passes, and the count reaches 30. They leave the cove and head for the dock at 3 p.m., axes away, 39 fish in the cooler.

It is an average day. They would like to stay out longer, but Moore is coaching a Little League game that evening. Both men say they will return to put this day to shame.

“I love fishing for these little guys, and this is the place,” Moore says, tossing his catch on the scales back at the dock, sipping more caffeine for the ride home. “I’ll be back. Bluegill are like my Moby Dick.”