New York Browns

 

New York Browns

11/13/2021

(No, the Browns aren’t moving to NY)

 It’s been a slow week catching brown trout in the tributaries of Lake Ontario. What I’ve heard us three weren’t the only ones and those who fished the other tributaries hadn’t had many hook ups either. This was our last day before heading home so I had one more chance of having a better day than the past 5 days. I did catch one nice fat brown Friday morning and I thought it was going to be a better day then but it turned out not so.

 

 We arrived at the creek before daylight like we have been all week. Waking up at 4 – 4:30am each morning and fishing all day takes a toll on the body but we were still ready for some fishing. It’s not that we think the fish are all of a sudden going to feed at daybreak as if some hunger strikes them at that time but the real reason is to get a spot to fish before other anglers show up. Being it was a Saturday we expected more anglers than during the week.

  This morning it was a bit colder and raining. Besides that it was a little more windy also. I had left my gloves at the cottage which wasn’t a good thing to do. It didn’t take long for my wet fingers to get so cold during the morning that made it tough to change and tie on another sucker spawn. I could squeeze the spawn between my finger and thumb but I really couldn’t feel it. Getting the tippet through the hook eye wasn’t the problem as much as trying to get the tag end through the loops when I tried tying an improved clinch knot. In other words, even though I wasn’t hooking up, I wasn’t changing patterns that often. I like using my tied sucker spawn cause when A fish mouths it the fibers get caught in their small teeth. They have a hard time shaking the spawn loose which gives me a little more time to feel the bite and set the hook. I’ve actually watched this happen on occasion.

  Bob, Gene and I got to our spots just before sunrise, though the sun was nowhere in sight. I noticed there was already a few anglers down across from Bob and Gene when it was light enough to see down their way. No one was across from me for sometime.

  During the past 5 days it was mostly like that. Anglers would drop down off the bank across from me and not fish it any longer than an hour or so I’d say. A few would hook up on occasion with a brown trout or a King but most of the time no one was hooking up and was snagging the creek bed most of the time.

  Around 8:30am I finally got my first hook up. I could tell it wasn’t a big fish but it was a brown. When I hooked up I whistled down creek until Bob heard me and looked my way. He brought the net up and we netted the smaller brown trout pretty easily. It wasn’t big at all but I wanted to get a picture with it anyway being I didn’t know how the day was going to go. Through the days past it seamed we were hooking up to less fish each day.

 

  Well seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours without any hook ups as the morning turned into afternoon. I think Bob may have hooked up a couple of times and so might have Gene. I was concentrating more on my fishing then watching what was going on downstream. The guys across from Bob were having a beach party drinking and carrying on like a group of guys on a sports team. Every once in a while one would wade out and fish but wasn’t out too long before joining his buddies again.

  Around noon the sun finally poked itself out between the gray clouds and warmed the day up a bit. My fingers had a little more feeling in them though it felt like I was gripping sand paper over the cork handle cause my hands were so dry. I did have a couple of quick hits but the hook popped off as quick as the second sneeze. Since we weren’t catching anything for some time after that we decided to go down creek a bit and try another spot.

  The row of people that were fishing that area earlier in the morning had vacated and evidently went elsewhere. Except for a few stragglers on the other side of the creek we had the water to ourselves. We weren’t doing much better with hook ups and we took turns sitting along the bank enjoying some relaxation and the little warmth from the sun. Gene finally spoke up and was going up to fish the area I’ve been fishing the past 5 days. That ended up being the best idea he had all week. (Sorry Gene)

  Gene headed up that way by himself while Bob and I stuck around where we were at. By the time we caught up with Gene he had said he caught one brown trout and landed it himself. We’ve been teasing each other all week so I still don’t know if he really did catch a brown or not before we arrived but I wasn’t doubting his word. Bob waded out up above Gene and didn’t take too long to hook up with a brown also. Bob noticed that most of the brown trout we were catching and being caught were females. He commented because of the shiny types of flies we were using and of course females loves beads which Bob and Gene were also using. ‘Good point’ I thought!

  During the week I saw a few anglers stop across creek from me and caught a few browns or kings on occasion. I decided to cross the creek and fish from the other side. As they say “the grass always looks greener on the other side”. The water was flowing with good current in some areas but nothing too strong as I crossed the creek. Where I did cross the water never came up to my waist so I felt safe. I got myself situated and started fishing across from Gene but there was plenty of water between us that we didn’t hamper each other in our casts. I think Bob hooked up one more time before it was my turn.

  Most of the time I was casting just out in front of me 15 feet or so and letting my sucker spawn drift with the current. Every once in awhile I noticed an old king salmon swim by right in front of me. Every once in a while one would splash water up from me before an uprooted stump and also there were splashes down creek from me just out from a downed tree trunk that laid just out from the bank. It was getting near 3pm by then and I was getting desperate. So desperate I started drifting my offerings where I figured the kings were hanging out or moving through. I wanted to battle a fish and I didn’t care at the time what it was. I’d cast upstream and let the imitation sucker spawn drift in front of me and down creek a bit. At times I would pull up on the indicator, after it drifted down from me, and let my offering flow with the slower current just out from the down tree trunk. On one occasion, down creek out from the down trunk, my line started to move towards the middle of the creek. I tugged a little harder to make sure I had a good hook set and the fish surfaced briefly in the middle of the creek just downstream from me. I was able to see it looked like a brown trout before it went deep. I called out “fish on” to let Bob know I had a hook up. He waded out from upstream, grabbed the net, and walked along the path along the bank downstream. I was on the opposite bank without a net so I knew I’d have to either cross the creek or Bob would have to. The bank on the other side wasn’t as steep so my intentions were to cross the creek. While all this thinking was going on I was fighting this brown trout which more than not battled with me in the middle of the creek, rising at times and tail splashing water. Bob was on his way across the creek towards my side. Since the trout was fighting me in the middle of the creek I told Bob let’s see if you can net him within the middle of the creek. I angled and maneuvered the fly rod as to force the trout towards Bob who stood in the middle of the creek. I figured the brown trout had no idea what we were up too and didn’t realize Bob was where he was. When the trout was just upstream from Bob I let some looser line slip through the guides and the trout swam right into the waiting net. We both headed to Bobs side of the creek so I could get a good look at my catch and get a picture with her. 

 

 Well, that one made me feel much better. I lit up my last cigar for the day in celebration. I crossed the creek again and fished across from Gene once more in the same fashion as before. I happen to look at my watch and it was around 3pm. We had maybe another hour or so of fishing before taking the long trek back up to the truck and heading back too the cottage.

  It wasn’t long after I hooked up again. In the same manner. My fly line moved towards the middle on the creek. I again wristed a heavier hook set and this time the fish got really pissed and shot towards the far bank, down from Gene, Under a hanging tree branch. I angled the rod near the surface water trying to keep from getting caught up in the low overhanging branches. Under the tree the fish rose just below the surface and audibly splashed water everywhere. Feeling the weight and strain in the arced rod I figured it was probably a king salmon. I figured I’d play it out and hoped my sucker spawn comes out cause I really wanted my fly back. The fish raced towards my side of the bank towards where I hooked it. I took in line hurriedly back onto the large arbor reel but not fast enough to keep a tighter line. I thought I lost it but when I caught up with the slack in the line the rod tip bowed again and the fish was still hooked in front of me somewhere. I couldn’t see through the dark water but it stayed deep. Feeling the tension again it turned downstream and took off just out from the bank. Line shot through the guides and the spool spun as fast as a loose spool of tying thread on a wooden floor. I took a few steps out towards the middle of the stream trying to keep the fish from going under the trunks and debris along the bank. There just so happen to be an angler along the bank fishing. The fish splashed just in front of him and continued down creek like a fleeing wounded ringneck. I asked the guy if it looked like a king salmon knowing he had a good look at it. He said it definitely wasn’t a king. Immediately I figured it just had to be a big ole brown. Maybe halfway between me and the beach front anglers down creek the fish decided to test my fishing ability and started to aggravate me with head shaking and underwater shenanigans. I wasn’t fallen for it and kept my wits not forcing the issue. I started wading the creek down stream heading towards the other bank so Bob wouldn’t have to cross the creek should I get to tame the fish. About when I got into the middle of the creek the fish turned and raced downstream once again like a base runner getting the sign for a hit and run. I had the rod arced and more line peeled off the reel. I felt like Brad Pitt in the movie ‘A River Runs Through It’ as I kept wading downstream with my hooked fish though the water never did reach over my chest waders. When I got near the other side of the creek there was an overhanging bush and other branched debris along the bank which wasn’t a place to land him. While the fish was putting on a show in the middle of the water for the guys across the creek I looked downstream to where I might have Bob room to net it. That’s when I noticed a guy fishing just on the other side of the outward bush. I called out “fish on” and he flipped his line out of the water just in time as my fish decided to swim towards him as if the fish thought he was giving out free doggy treats. The brown trout turned downstream and maybe not as quick as earlier. I waded myself around the bush into slower current. Bob was already down from me with the net on the bank. The fish shot out and kind of held up with a few head shakes. It felt like I had a hooked log with enough twigs attached to sway with the undercurrent. By now I could feel the strain in my extensor muscle and extensor tendon in my forearm from fighting the fish. Bob mentioned I couldn’t let the fish swim down much further as the water shallows over a rocky bed just down creek. After Bob stepped into the water I told him to move a little further down and I’ll try to get the fish in front of him like I had before. With the rod butt in my gut for leverage I pulled back on the rod. My two handed grip around the cork handle was as tight as holding a thin handled bat waiting for a fast ball. The fish slowly and reluctantly came towards us with a couple more light head shakes. From all the fighting we had done I could tell the fish was tiring out. Slowly but surely he entered the slower current out from Bob and I backed up as close to the bank a possible with the rod angled high in the air. The front, of the 8 weight, rod section was arced into the butt section pretty much. Since the fish was slowly getting closer to Bob I didn’t have any reason to put any more pressure or undo stress on the rod. Bob was behind the fish as we had done before and as I raised the rod the fish rose to the surface. Bob scooped her up like he’s been doing it all his life. He held onto the net with both hands as the weighty fish swatted and wriggled in the webbing. He got it near the bank and I waded over to finally get a good look at my catch that I battled for what seamed like an hour.

  She was a big brute of a brown trout. The biggest I figured I caught all week.

 

 I looked at my watch and it was 3:35pm. I told Bob that if I was back home trout fishing and caught a trout I thought was one of the biggest in the creek I’d call it a day and head back to my camper. We still had another hour or so, so we headed back upstream and continued fishing till around 4:30.

  We headed back to the cottage and finally got to sleep in before cleaning up, packing and heading to Erie Sunday morning.

 

~doubletaper

 

The Oak Brown Buck

 

The Oak Brown Buck

11/10/2021

 

 It was early Wednesday morning and we were fishing Oak Orchard Creek. We got our spot along the creek just before daybreak. Bob was down to his usual spot and Gene was downstream from him about 30 yards or so. I was upstream from both of them about 100 yard or more. We have been fishing for the brown trout that follow the King Salmon in to eat the eggs as I’m told. Some years I’ve been told when the browns come in you can hook up with them pretty often. Since Monday this hasn’t been the case. Though we could see the King Salmon in the water not that many browns have been following them or they just aren’t eating what us anglers have to offer. There hasn’t been much catching the past few days. Bob had hooked now and then sporadically and Gene not as many. But when they did hook up the browns were impressive.

 One of Gene’s browns

 One of Bob's browns

 

  I myself would hook up occasionally but wasn’t able to get them in the net for some reason or another.

  It didn’t appear to me that the fish were moving up creek. The fishermen and woman along the creek down and upstream weren’t hooking up very often either. I figured that the fish were just holding in one area so I decided to try and find them by working my way downstream towards Bob. I slowly fished, while casting sucker spawn, wading downstream.

  My indicator went under about 2 rod lengths out in front of me. I made a quick upward wrist hook set and the line started to move outward toward the middle of the creek with the rod bowing towards it. Once I put a little more pressure on the hooked fish he decided to counter with his own pressure and the battle was on for the moment. He came to the surface briefly during the battle and Bob evidently heard the splash and looked my way. I nodded to him and he waded out to get the net and help me net him. In the meantime I didn’t want to put too much pressure on the brown, which I was able to see him when he splashed right below the surface, until Bob showed up so I just let the brown scurry around some still keeping light pressure on the arced rod and tight line. The brown decided to hold right across from me within vision about a rod length in front of me. I had the rod facing upstream so the brown didn’t have to fight side pressure. I suppose it looked like I was holding a dog leash while the dog in front of me was taking a crap. The brown held there fine until Bob showed up and stepped in the water just downstream. The brown gave a sharp heavy head shake and took off like a scared rabbit. I put the butt of the fly rod in my gut with the rod angled upward. The 8 weight tip section was bowed well in the middle of the rod and my drag might have been set a little on the lighter side as the brown took line.

  Being I reel in right handed, even though I hold the fly rod with my right hand, I’m able to adjust the reel drag without any problem as I fight a fish. True I have to switch hands when I reel the fish in but it has become such an instinct I don’t even think about it anymore.

  I clicked the drag a notch or two tighter but I truly didn’t think the brown noticed as he still took line downstream. He finally turned upstream and I battled with his head shaking and muscle tugging trying to wear him down. The rod tip section pulsated with his head shakes and the tightened fly line and tight leader jittered like a ships guy wire in a gale wind storm.

  I had lost a couple of fish earlier before getting them to the net so I was again hoping I could land this one safely. Sure I had high hopes. I could feel my heart pounding like a jackhammer, “just one big one in the net” I thought.

  It was a struggle getting the brown towards us as Bob stayed downstream from the fish as it drew nearer. We missed him the first time as the brown took off across and downstream when Bob had the net ready. I got the brown turned back upstream for another try. I had the brown where I wanted him, just in front of Bob, and I let Bob know I was going to try and raise him to the surface so he could get the net under the fish. I raised the rod and I could feel the extreme tension I was putting on the line and fish by the arc in the rod within my gripping hands around the cork. (Afterwards I looked to see if there were finger indentations in the cork handle). The brown rose and Bob was able to finally net the big fellow. I was relieved and took a deep calming breath after that intense battle. The fish was a beautiful male brown with a nice noticeable kype and a burnt orange belly.

 

  Till afternoon it was slow. I think I might have hooked up a couple of quick times but again whatever they were weren’t on very long. They could have been kings or heavy browns but I just couldn’t get them to me.

After noon we went and fished the Burt and it was pretty slow there also. Most of the fish I did see caught were foul hooked, came in tail first or sideways. Most of them were smaller browns. I did hook up with one smaller brown on a Yellow sucker spawn before we took off to the cottage.

There were 3 more days of fishing left and I was hoping of having my turn of landing more browns.

~doubletaper

Throw'm Back Thursday

 

TBT

(Throw’m Back Thursday)

10/07/21

  It was a beautiful Thursday morning. Blue sky and no sign of rain. The morning air was cool, cool enough that a long sleeve ‘T’ under my Columbia Bahama button down was comfortable. More leaves on more trees, that lined the banks, were just starting to turn their Autumn colors. Some leaves, that had fallen already, faintly rustled across the paved lot when a cool breeze blew by. The water level was just right as far as I was concerned. High enough the trout should be scattered throughout the stream. The water was a distinct root beer shade that was opaque enough to hide the trout as well as a distant angler. Their was only one other angler in the parking lot when I arrived so I wasn’t in a hurry to hit the stream. I took my time switching my gear from my rain jacket pockets to my vest. After I assembled my 4 weight 9’ custom fly rod I grabbed a few cigars and headed to the water.

  The morning fishing was slow at first and it took awhile before I was able to find a couple hungry trout to take a streamer.

 

  I suppose the trout had been fished over pretty much over the past week after being stocked so I wasn’t much surprised. Plus being close to the parking area gets fished over more than the rest of the stream. As noon approached more anglers entered the lot and fished and waded the stream. It got kind of crowded so I put the rod in the back of the truck and drove down stream for a more secluded area to fish. There was one other angler that was just heading down to the water. I watched as he walked up stream a ways before entering the water. I headed down stream and began casting streamers. It wasn’t long that I found these trout down here weren’t as wary as up stream.

  I was catching some nice size trout. They were frisky and gave the 4 weight a good workout. 

 

 

  

 I figured I netted a half dozen or so before I called it quits. It was a relaxing Thursday outing. No fuss or competitiveness with other anglers. At the truck I put my gear away and headed home.

 ~doubletaper

 

Nothing Else Mattered

 

Nothing Else Mattered

10/01/2021

 The palomino trout stood out in the slightly tainted water like a Sacagawea Golden Dollar on a wooden floor. There were three of them but the one was very noticeably bigger than the other two. It wasn’t that I was keying on him but it’s hard to not give him a few extra casts to maybe get him to commit. Besides that I found that where there are these palomino trout there are other trout nearby. After showing the trout a countless numbers of fly patterns, from nymphs to streamers, I decided to move on downstream for more hopes of fooling a trout.

  I was gone for a couple of hours before returning to the section with the palomino trout. I had fooled and netted a few trout downstream. One being a fat healthy rainbow that took a streamer and wouldn’t let go.

  I figured I’d try a few more casts before calling it quits. It was around 12 and the sun was heating things up and the water was much clearer than it was earlier. I attached a Triple Threat streamer to the 6 lb fluorocarbon tippet and started casting out into the water. I directed the swinging streamer in front of the golden trout every so often. He didn’t seem to mind watching it pass by and gave no indication he wanted anything to do with it. I never casted the line over top of him not wanting to spook him. I kind of gave up on him and was casting further out across stream letting the streamer swing into the deeper pool of water beyond. As I was casting afar I noticed the big palomino trout swim into the deeper pool of water where I was letting my streamer swing into. He was still within my vision as he just appeared to sit there enjoying his new location in deeper water away from the sun.

  I shot my Triple Threat across the stream and near the shallows on the opposite side. I let it swing and twitched it now and then for some jerky movement. On one pass through the palomino trout actually swam forward to take a look before returning to its holding spot. The next pass through he swam forward again and followed it as it slowly swung within the slow current pool. He turned away and made a circle as if trying to decide if he wanted it or not. Kind of like a nervous petty thief trying to look inconspicuous at a yard sale before grabbing an item and running with it. Well, all of a sudden, before my offering swung behind a sunken flat boulder, the trout sped towards where my streamer should of been. The moment the arc of the line started to straighten, the moment I saw a quick head shake of the golden trout I held the fly line tight and yanked back on the rod. The line tightened instantly under stress and I saw the big palomino wriggling his head, swirl his body and took off downstream. I could feel the strain he was putting on the arced rod as line peeled off the spool and through the guides. I quickly clicked the drag knob lessening the tension on the leader, tippet and my knots. He continued to head shake violently. It wasn’t like he was just trying to get loose from the hook but it was as if he wanted the streamer to himself and wanted to break it off from the line. After tussling with the streamer downstream he darted upstream with the streamer still in his jaw. He practically fought the line the whole time he darted upstream shaking his body. I felt every wrenching forcible tug within my tightly gripped fingers. Once upstream some he stopped facing into the current and again shook the line violently. I just held on not trying to force him, at the time, to do anything he didn’t want to. When he turned to swim downstream it wasn’t with speed but more of swimming with the slow current. I kept side pressure on him now making him use more energy to swim away. Downstream he turned and shook the line thrashing and slinging water about as he came to the surface. I started reeling in line and he started to swim my way but it wasn’t easy getting him to cooperate. He stubbornly came near and within a short distance from me barrel rolled. I was afraid he was going to get himself bound up in my line so I raised it high trying to keep him from getting twisted in it. He came out of it OK and swam not too far out from me. I had a good grip on the cork handle and brought in more line. I had the 9 foot rod angled out towards him when I grabbed my net. I started to lift the rod and he surfaced not giving up with the violent thrashing splashing water everywhere. He didn’t appear to be trying to swim away it was more like a temper tantrum in the same place. Maybe he just got himself so dizzy he wasn’t sure what direction he wanted to go. I got the net beneath him and got half his body in the net. He settled down enough to know he was in something he didn’t want to be in and as if getting his composure back to make a conscious decision. I was already wading to the bank knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep this big trout in the net if he decided to take another tantrum. I got the net to the bank just in time as he flopped himself up and slid safely off the rim of the net and onto the bank. 

  

 I quickly got the hook out of his mouth and a quick picture followed. I got him a little more secure in the net before placing him back into the water. He settled down enough that I dipped the net into the water and he slowly swam out. That’s when I grabbed the neck of his tail and kind of pushed him into deeper water away from the silt that had stirred up from me wading to the bank. I held him into the current and watched his gill plates open and closing. Once I felt a good healthy tail swat I opened my hand and he swam into the current before resting a bit.

  

 Well, there was no use in fishing anymore. After that one nothing else would have mattered as much nor I felt would be worth a picture. It was time to go home with a happy ending.

 

 ~doubletaper

 

Sunday Fatties

 

Sunday Fatties

10/03/2021

 

 It’s not often I start the morning fishing excursion toasting with a glass of Lacavulin 16 year old Scotch with a friend I haven’t seen in some time. That’s what happened on Sunday as one of the best nymph fisherman I have fished with, Dennis, showed up at the stream we were going to fish. When I told him I’d be leaving around 12 he broke out a couple of glasses and we shared a toast! It was around 7:30 in the morning. I think the smokey flavor stayed with me the rest of the fishing trip.

  He hadn’t fished the stream for sometime and fished his was downstream with a couple of other friends. I watched him for a while from upstream. He was high sticking, I guess Euro Nymphing is what they call it now a days, a wavy run of fast water. He soon disappeared down stream as I stuck around in front of the parking area.

  They had stocked the stream with nice size heavy rainbows and brown trout during the week. It was no surprise that some of those big trout would be caught by us. It took a while for me to find the right offering to get a trout to commit. I had tried my favorite Woolly Buggers, some sucker spawn, nymphs and even a San Juan worm for the first hour or so but not a fish bit. I watched a couple of guys down stream a ways pulling trout out but evidently I was offering the wrong meal. It was like I had a hot dog stand but everyone wanted hamburgers like the two fellows offering them down a block. I’m sure the stream got hit hard over Friday and Saturday so I thought maybe the section I was in the trout were more wary with sore lips.

  When the guys left the area I moved down to where they were getting customers. I decided to start showing them a minnow imitation pattern that I was pretty sure they haven’t seen. Most people I watch fishing fish underneath with nymphs and such. I don’t usually see many fly guys fishing streamers. With my Triple Threat minnow looking pattern I was hoping to fool a few of the bigger trout.

  At first I would see the end of my line twitch quickly like maybe a trout was nosing the Triple Threat playing with it like a cat pawing a half dead mouse wanting to play some more. I finally got the first rainbow on when the twitch felt more like a grab. Instantly I could tell it was a heavy trout as it tugged and fought. I got it safely to the net and was finally relieved!

  I missed another and all of a sudden, for a short time, I couldn’t get another to bite. I started switching colors. For the heck of it I attached a golden Triple to the tippet and cast it out into the open water. I thought I had a short strike on one pass through. I kept swinging and stripping it slowly and a trout grabbed it hard. I yanked back on the rod and the fight was on. He took line out as he swam further away tugging the whole time. I got him turned around eventually and he was swimming upstream a ways away. He passed by once and with a heavy head shake turned quickly and swam downstream again with he current. When I finally got him to the net he flopped out of it with a twisting flip and I thought I was going to lose him. He swam away, upstream a bit, like a handcuffed criminal escaping from trying to be put in the squad car. He didn’t get too far as I raised and turned the rod down stream for him to follow. The second attempt I got him in the net safely.

 

I fished the rest of the morning with Triple Threats and produced a few more fat rainbows.

 

  It was near 1:00 when I saw Dennis heading upstream. I waded down to meet him before heading out. He said he caught a couple of fat bows also and a nice brown trout downstream. When I saw the picture it sure was a beauty.

 ~doubletaper

The Early Frog Gets The Bass

 

The Early Frog Gets The Bass

9/09/2021

  Sometimes I think if the bass are real hungry they’ll grab just about any color popper on the surface. Other times maybe it is the color or shape? Last year on the river I did well with my frog poppers. This year I couldn’t raise a fish. On the small dam water though it was a different story!

  I took the hour or so drive away from the river and my camping site. I decided to go largemouth fishing instead of after smallmouth and trout. I was up early but by the time I got to the upper part of the dam and ready to shove off it was around 9:30 am. 

 

 A blanket of fog was just above the water and crested the tree line. It was like a semi-translucent cloth for a roof on a cabana protecting the inside from the outdoor elements. It was thick enough to not know what laid above. It was a brisk morning but not coat or sweatshirt worthy. The water surface crinkled like a woven wheat cracker in the slight breeze. It was quiet, quiet as a field of durum wheat on the open plain.

  About a few weeks past I was out there with a friend. The water was actually mud ridden from a couple of rain showers the few days before. We only produced a couple of smaller bass in our attempts for that day. This day looked in better condition as the water wasn’t discolored at all. I couldn’t wait to get out!!

  I paddled right across from the launch area and started casting a frog popper close to the shore line where small lily pads bunched up out from the grassy bank side. I was surprised as the first bass leaped out of the water after my second cast of the popper. Not a big one by any means but it was quick and got my blood pumping early.

 

 After releasing the bass I continued casting towards the bank as my kayak slowly drifted with the slight breeze. Wham, within 15 minutes this bass exploded out of the water and whacked the frog popper as if he thought it was trying to get away as I was stripping it back towards me. 

  

 Well, after I released this one I was ready for an awarding smoke. I popped out 2 largemouth bass in a matter of 15 minutes. If things were going to go this well I wanted full enjoyment puffing on a good stogie between my lips.

 

 Looking up, while lighting the cigar, I noticed the fog had cleared. Gray clouds showed up as if the blanket of fog uncovered what laid above. I noticed the water calmed and I was kind of leery what was to come. They often say there’s a calm before the storm though they didn’t look like rain clouds.

  I kept on shooting line and my frog popper towards the bank. Within a couple more casts another bass smacked the frog popper after I stopped it briefly. I reared back on the rod and the line tightened once again. He battled some but the stiff MoJo 7 weight fly rod was no match. I got him in quickly. As I released the bass I felt the heat of the sun upon me. The gray clouds had moved on leaving a bright sky above.

 

 I plopped the frog popper just shy of another lily pad patch. Kind of between the patch and grown weeds out from the shoreline. It was if a frog jumped from the weed bed shy of the lily pads. Before I could even get it gurgled towards me a bass leaped out of the water and inhaled the frog like a piece of beef scrap fallen from a butcher’s table never hitting the ground. I reared back again quickly and the line tightened. At the kayak I saw the inhaled frog popper and carefully removed in from inside the largemouth.

 

  Now this was getting to be too good to be true. I pinched myself to make sure this was real. I had hooked 5 largemouth, one got off before getting him in, within about an hour of being out. They weren’t any big ones I grant you but they kept me occupied for the morning.

  Well it didn’t take much time after that that the bite was off. It was as if the morning roll call was made after breakfast and the troops were leaving on an exercising march. I paddled around searching for a stray but couldn’t produce a strike. Around noon I lit another stogie to pass the time pleasantly.

 After another hour the wind kicked up. It was getting strenuous keeping on fighting against the wind to position my kayak. The surface water turned into waves as if tumbling over unseen rock and boulders splashing heavily against the kayak. Casting into the wind was almost impossible to get any distance. Without producing any more bass for sometime I had to call it quits. Though it was short lived I was glad I got out early before the windy conditions.

  After dinner I relaxed with a frozen margarita before enjoying a cigar next to the nightly campfire before bedtime.

 

 The frog popper was the choice of the morning breakfast!

 

~doubletaper

 

Gimme 7 Minutes

 

Gimme 7 Minutes

Sept. 14, 2021

  I pushed off around 8:30am. My kayak was loaded with enough poppers for a month of fishing though I’ll only use 4 or 5. It all depends on the clarity and depth of the water along with the brightness of the sun. I bring my spinning rod and plugs just in case my 6 weight fly rod should break which happened once while in my float tube. I felt like a turtle drifting down river for a mile, not being able to fish, as if just sight seeing. I carry a thermos of water, granola bars for the day and of course a few cigars.

  The billowing clouds are big and scattered beneath the blue sky reflecting sunlight nowhere to be seen just yet. Some of the trees that line the river are starting to turn to their fall colors but 90% are still dressed in their olive colors like a bunch of olive clothed people coming together at a cult following. The water is tainted just enough to discolor the clarity like a weak cup of coffee.

  I push off hoping to having a good catching day of the 2 miles I had settled on floating. It doesn’t sound like very long but when fishing it, it usually takes me around 4 hours or so. My last two floats the smallmouth haven’t been to cooperative coming up for my choices of surface poppers. I am hoping that after the rain storm that passed overnight might get the fish stirred up.

  I paddle just out from the bank and start to cast poppers, gurgling and stopping them in intervals. The river I’m in is flowing slow enough so I just drift and fish with the current. Sometimes I concentrate along the banks and other times I cast out into the river belly. With the somewhat higher water level the bigger bass could be just about anywhere. The heat rises when the sun finally shows. It doesn’t take long before my forehead and brow to start sweating like a blacksmith over his open coal fire pit.

  I paddle towards the far side of the river where there is more shade at times. I only tag one smallie about 9” and a couple of dinks on poppers in the first couple of hours. There was nothing else larger that appeared I would have missed.

  By now the sun was playing peak-a-boo with the soft clouds above. The river section I’m in is as settled as bathtub water and I’m sure quite as warm. I lite my first cigar, a Knuckle Buster, and continue on casting poppers.

 

Another hour passes by when I see I am drifting towards what looks like a deeper section of water. I see a huge exposed boulder quite away from the bank and steer my kayak towards it. I get myself situated behind it in the back eddy where my kayak appears to rest. The whole time I’m doing this I watch a fisherman slowly wading himself out into the river from the roadside. He keeps his eyes down towards the river bed watching his every step. It’s not till, just before, his first cast that he looks up and sees me steady just behind the big exposed boulder. There’s plenty of room between us not to hamper our casting.

  I watch as he tosses rubber worms with his spinning outfit as I skip poppers upon the surface. He mentions he felt a couple of taps on the worm but no real take. We pass it off figuring it might just be small smallmouth pecking.

  Keeping steady, in the back eddy, I decide to try a weighted brown Woolly Bugger. There’s something about brown that always attracts smallmouth more than any other color I use. I affix it to the Fas-Snap at the end of my 8lb fluorocarbon tippet and flip it out into the water. My next cast a drop the bugger between the other angler and I. I let slack in the line so the bugger will drop deeper before pulling the fly line down river. I watch the floating fly line arc down with the flow swinging the bugger beneath. The line sweeps away and before the arc is completely straight I whip the rod upward heavy to set the hook. The line straightens and tightens and I feel the arc in the rod down into the midsection. I let the line in my left hand pull through my fingers and grab the cork grip tightly with both hands. The fleeing fish is taking out line pretty easily so I double click the drag knob to put a little more resistance on him. We have quite a tugging battle going on and I could tell this is a good size fish. He’s so strong I notice he’s actually pulling the kayak and me down river in the soft water. I keep the rod in the opposite direction he wants to go keeping a good arc in the rod with side pressure. My arm muscles are tight with my wrists locked. As I can I start reeling in line moving the rod towards the water surface and than upward like I watch the Bass guys do on the lakes. A few rod lengths away he shows himself just below the surface water and I see his lengthy olive golden sides and bronze back. He darts back deeper but I bring him back up below the surface raising the rod. When I get about a foot of fly line, just out from the tip top, I grab my net. With one hand I raise the rod high and the smallmouth draws closer. I try scooping him up but when he feels the wooden net frame rub against his side he turns quickly and scoots way. I have the line pinched between my finger and cork handle so he doesn’t swim very far. I get him turned around again and lift the rod as before. This time I get him in the net and I can see this guy is the biggest smallmouth I ever landed in the river. He lays in the net like a big T-bone steak on an oval platter. I have to stretch my arm out as far as I can to get his complete body in the picture. I show the brute to the angler across the river and release the smallie back into the water. I gather my line and paddle back up behind the exposed boulder and this time drop the anchor. 

  

 I check my tippet for any scrapes that might have happened beneath against any boulders and check he bugger. They look fine and I cast them back into the water.

  The first drift through I feel a couple of faint bumps but nothing too strong to try and set the hook. I cast upriver and let the bugger drop deep as I move my rod even with the surface water as if nymph fishing. I figure the brown bugger might just look like a drowned night crawler that got washed with the current. The fly line sinks hard from the surface and I yank upward with good intentions. The line takes off down river and as straight and tight as a parachute cord attached to a dragster after the finish line of the drag strip. The rod is arced good and I’m thinking “here we go again.” This time though I feel much more throbbing head shaking as the fish swims downriver. It turns and battles beneath as I try to hold the rod steady feeling the top section of the rod flexing with each hard tug. He swims out towards mid-river with yanking force. With the anchor down this time he doesn’t have any gain with the immovable kayak. He turns and swims with the current down river in an arc and comes to rest facing my direction. I start playing him and reeling in line. With his constant head shakes it feels like pulling a loaded toy wagon with two flat spots on the rear solid tires. The rod tip bounces with each tug. I get him close enough and see a nice size rainbow trout with an exceptional wide tail on the end of my line. I scoop him up in the net and he flips around like a fish out of water, duh! After a quick picture of my catch, and showing to the other angler, I let him slip out of my fingers back into the river.

  

 From there I fish poppers and streamers down river while smoking another stogie. With the sun out I only catch 1 small bass on the bugger before completing the 2 mile stretch.

 

  After dinner I sit by the campfire and enjoy a Don Tomas Robusto in my favorite long sleeve T-shirt rolled up above my elbows. I relax in my comfortable natural hole worn camp jeans unlike the expensive professional sliced jeans the kids wear today. With the fire burning hot and bright I sit back, with my feet on a log, smoking my cigar and enjoying a Boddingtons Pub Ale or two in a frosted mug.

 

 When I got back to camp I checked the photos of my two big fish and noticed I caught them within 7 minutes of each other at 12:00 and 12:07. I guess sometimes that’s all the time it takes!!

 

~doubletaper