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