Paula Smith, Gordon, and I went out at 7 a.m. yesterday armed with tandem rigs of small bucktail jigs in white, brown, orange, yellow, pink, and purple (or "Lady Gaga," as Paula calls them). We moved between the ancient places—"the deep hole," Windy Run, and "the white sign." We jigged constantly, changing from 2 ounces to 3 ounces and back, trying to find the least amount that would still hold bottom. Jigging isn't hard, but you never stop and you're always alert to the little bump that means a fish. We reeled up about 50 more that were between 6 and 8 inches—too small to be worth filleting. There's just not that much meat on a perch. But over five hours, we did catch 15 that we decided were big enough to keep. Paula caught a big one, as did I. Our bycatch included two or three catfish, three herring, and a 3-pound quillback, which is large kind of sucker.