Taking The Edge Off

 

Taking The Edge Off

9/11/24

Having not fished or camped for the past few weeks I was on edge and needed to get out. I was at the state of mind, like listening to young campers a few sites down playing rap all day long which would be ludicrous. I’d just want to scream out “Rock and Roll”! Tuesday I hooked up the camper and headed down to the river.

  Near 4 weeks ago I was camping but after a heavy rain storm it left the river high and muddy. After a few days it came down some and turned to a pretzel brown color. I still had the nerve to get out with the fly rod and fish. The smallmouth wouldn’t come up for a noisy popper on top so I fished below with a long tailed Woolly Bugger. I caught a few smallmouth each day and at least one big one each day. This camping trip I was determined to make a smallie or two rise to a popper.

  Wednesday I had the kayak loaded and headed 4 miles up river. After getting the kayak in the water I pieced together my 9’ 6 weight Compass fly rod. I attached a popper and was ready for a 4 mile fishing float!

  It was 50 degrees in the early morning so I wasn’t in any hurry. By the time I started my journey, after talking with the neighbor camper, it was near 10:00. The sun was still rising and there was still some slim shady near the far bank under the leafy overhanging trees. The sky was like a sheet of pastel blue art paper without a cloud near by. No wind to speak of which was a plus for fly fishing. Forest green trees lined the banks with an occasional boulder extruding above the water surface. The river was pretty much gin clear and low so I knew I had to make long casts. With the low water conditions and full sunshine above I figured the smallmouth would be hugging near the banks in the shady areas. In deeper water I’m sure they would be sitting on the bottom. Off I went.

 

 In the first couple of hours I switched different color poppers testing to see what they liked. I determined a silver popper probably wasn’t very visible on the surface with a fish looking upward into the bright sun. It would be like trying to pick out an ice cube floating down a sun-glared river. I started to use darker colors. I thought they would be more visible like m & m’s in a vanilla ice cream cone. I managed to raise, but missed, the first couple of smallmouth that I figured were just small ones that couldn’t get their mouths open enough on the #2 bass hook. Once I got a rise I stuck with the orange/brown popper most of the float. I did end up catching a couple small smallies on the fifty cent size popper by noon.

  Once the far bank became more shaded, as the day wore on, I concentrated casting into the shady areas. I didn’t kayak too close to the banks, being it may be too shallow, but stayed out a bit casting a few yards from it. Every once in a while I would drop the anchor to slow me down or stop me so I could cover the area more thoroughly. I was down river quite a ways slowly drifting with the slow current. There was a fallen tree down river with its trunk still on the bank. The brown leaves, still attached to the branches, told me it had fallen not so long ago. I figured it would be good cover for a bass wanting to ambush a stray fish like a cautious snoop dog creeping up on a covey of grouse and then exploding upon them.

 I was casting the popper into the shady areas way before I got to the downed tree. On one long cast the popper plopped into the water and I stripped it towards me making not too much noise. There was no need to. The water was clear enough that any nearby bass should be able to see it and there was no need to scare it with noisy popping. A smallmouth came up and noisily gulped the popper. I waited a second or two and yanked back the 9 footer. The line whipped up from the surface, the rod bowed and the line tightened. I quickly tossed over the anchor while the fish was tugging up river. We had a good battle going on before I was able to get him in. He wasn’t a real B.I.G. one but a nice average size smallie for a picture.

 
 

  Pulling up anchor I started to drift out from the fallen tree. Within casting distance I dropped the anchor. I was casting out from the tree branches and missed a small grab for the popper. I figured it was another small bass after the feather tail between strips. After a few more casts I picked up the anchor and let the kayak drift down a little further keeping my distance. I dropped the anchor again and started to cast out. On the second toss a fish rose to the popper as if sipping it off the surface without much fuss. I figured it was another small bass but I waited a second or two and gave a big yank backward. The rod bowed with a tight line. The fish swam up river without much of a fight. Even though the rod arced pretty good I wasn’t aware what I had on, on the other end. On its way up river the fish swam through a sunny spot and I was able to see this wasn’t a small smallmouth after all. It wasn’t fighting hardly at all, kind of like a walleye I had caught in the river on a crawdad imitation off a spinning rod. I started to bring the line in and he followed momentarily. About a couple of rod lengths from me he turned and took off and it felt like I hooked a lost wading boot in a swift current. Line peeled off the reel as he swam up river. He finally started to give me a good battle with tugs and hearty pulls. I had him coming towards me a couple of times, during the tussle, but he was able to force himself, with enough strength, that I had to let out line. Nearing me for the third time, he was a couple of rod lengths away, when he rose up out of the water and shook the line like a rabbit in a hanging snare trap caught by its lucky foot. I couldn’t see the popper hanging from his mouth nor noticed it flying off. He plopped into the water and the line tightened once again. Reeling him close to the kayak I wasn’t going to lip him, not knowing where the hook point was, so I grabbed the net and scooped him up. I found the popper was embedded into his tongue. There was no way he was going to get away. I had to take my time surgically removing the popper from his tongue. He stayed still during the whole operation like he was immobilized from a spinal block. I dropped him into the water and he swam away immediately.

 

 While lighting up a rewarding cigar it made me think about the catch.

  I thought he was a smaller smallmouth the way he took the popper. Almost like a lone trout sipping a grasshopper off the surface as if the trout knew it couldn’t fly away. It made me wonder how many bigger smallmouth I took for granted were small, and I never set the hook hard?

  I floated back to the exiting point without another hit. The neighbor camper helped me get the kayak back to my campsite. He offered to drive me up river to my truck.

  After a nap and a venison chip steak sandwich, with onions and BBQ sauce on a sub role, I washed the dishes and was ready for some camp life. That evening I sat back, next to the campfire, smoking a Rocky Patel Edge stogie and sipping on Even Williams 1783 small batch straight bourbon. The day definitely took the edge off. 

 

 That's a rap.

~doubletaper