For several weeks now, the water temperature of the Pocomoke has been holding steady at around forty-five degrees. This consistency brings with it a usually reliable crappie bite. Yesterday was a case in point, as I landed close to thirty of the speckled perch up to twelve-inches, in a short afternoon while fishing solo. After a slow pick at my first stop I idled the Jones Brothers up to a fallen bald cypress tree and quietly slid the anchor over the stern, so sure I was that there was somebody home. On my very first cast I saw the line twitch, a telltale sign that something had inhaled my 1/16 ounce crappie jig. I set the hook before even feeling the strike and was rewarded with a steady pull, and shortly thereafter, a thrashing twelve-inch crappie at boatside. I quickly released the fish and a second cast brought a similar result. Like submerged Christmas ornaments on a sunken Fraser Fir, the crappie were hanging tight to the dead tree’s underwater branches. Every so often a twenty-inch pickerel would grab the small jig, giving me a battle on the four-pound ultralight G. Loomis spinning rod. As the tide dropped off, so did the catching. Tidewater fishing is funny that way.