I'd Walk a Mile For a Smallmouth

 

I’d Walk a Mile For A Smallmouth

8/28/22

  It was a clear blue sky morning with small puffy cumulus clouds dotting the sky like a hot air balloon festival without many entries. I drove the truck up river and hid my float tube in the brush along the river. From there I drove downriver a little over a mile and parked it where I would end my float along the river.

  I grabbed my Winston Boron 6 weight, put on my hat and started my mile or so walk up the road to my float tube. It was already heating up though the sun wasn’t quite over the far side mountain of trees. 

“Why do I do this?” You might ask? 

For fly fishing for smallmouth!

  I got the float tube in the water and latched my flippers to my wading boots. I attached a silver popper to my tippet and rolled up the sleeves of my button down shirt. As I sat down in the float tube I instantly felt the cooler water from the warm air temperature. It felt relieving after the long warm walk up the road.

 It took a while before I came to the conclusion that the smallmouth didn’t want noisy poppers on the surface water. I threw out different color and sized poppers for a good hour or so in likely fishy holds I thought for sure to raise a fish.

  It’s been like that though the past week or so. I get out on the water by 9:30 before the sun rays brightens upon the river water. I cast along the banks and mid-river, that are still shaded by now, without much action. Maybe a small smallmouth or even a river chub might take a stab at one of my poppers but nothing of size or excitement.

  After knowing the bite doesn’t really happen till the sun overcomes the river around 10:30 or so I still get out earlier. It’s just hard for me to sit around in my camper till then after breakfast twiddling my thumbs waiting for the right time.

  To pass the time in the morning I light up my first stogie. I relax in the float tube and cast about aimlessly hoping for a hungry smallmouth wanting a surface popper.

  Well it took till around 11:30 to hook into my first good size smallmouth. Seeing that they wouldn’t rise to a surface popper I decided to go beneath the surface with weighted Woolly Buggers. It’s not something that I go too often for smallmouth but if they’re not interested for top water I cave and fish underneath.

  I was casting across river, letting slack line between the bugger and the rod tip. When the bugger fell it would sink deeper before the line pulled it down stream with the current. As the floating fly line was arcing on the surface I saw the line pull away and felt the take. I yanked back the Winston and the line tightened on a hooked fish. He must have been as surprised as I was that he was fooled and I was surprised immediately feeling the weighty pull of a good sized fish. As the fish took tensioned line out of the reel I was foot searching for bedrocks to stop my momentum floating down river. As he fought and tugged I got my flippers against a shallower boulder beneath and was able to steady myself. He swam upriver with force and turned down river using the undercurrent to his advantage. Without giving him anymore line, and keeping tension on the bowed rod, I slowly was able to reel him in closer to my float tube. He splashed water aside the float tube like a peddle boat before I was able to lift him to the apron. Now that’s what I’m talking about! A nice fat smallie. 

 

  Sticking with the weighted bugger I continued casting it out in the same manner. Within 15 minutes I had another grab at the bugger and I tightened the line with another yank of the rod over my shoulder. I felt this smallie was as weighty as the last one and put up a good wrenching battle all the way to the tube. 

 

  As much as I hated to admit it, catching smallies underneath instead of on top, I was having lots of fun. I hooked into a few smaller ones before another hour passed by. I hooked into one more nice size smallie in a faster run of water maybe only a foot or so deep. Once the bugger hit the surface it didn’t drift very far. A smallie grabbed it on the run and took off with it like the last bag of Cheetos on a snack table, at a yard party, he didn’t want to share with his friends. The line straightened out pretty quickly and I’m sure he wondered what happened when the force of the arcing rod slowed him down immensely. He kind of made a curvature beneath, downriver from me, as I held the fly line pretty tight. It was if he finally realized he wasn’t going in the direction he intended and exploded out of the water, full body, to see who or what was holding him from his intended progress. He twisted in mid air, with a head shake, before clumsily plopping back into the water. He must have used up quite a bit of energy because it didn’t take too much of my time getting him to the float tube and on the apron.

  By now my arms were getting tired of battling with these husky fish and constantly casting. I got into some shallow water and it was a good break in casting to just float down the river with my finned boots up guiding my way out of the shallows.

  I kept with the bugger beneath far a while and grabbed one more nice smallmouth in a deep run I wasn’t sure my bugger was getting down deep enough.

 

  I hooked into two more along that deeper section. One was not as big as the other and the other one felt like a pretty good sized one but got himself undone in the short battle between us.

  By now it was about 1:00pm. I’ve been in the water around 3 ½ hours by now and was getting tired. Believe it or not! I decided to put a popper on and just relax and not as determined as I was earlier. I continued on floating with the current pitching the popper out aimlessly. There was a big shelved boulder just out from the roadside bank that looked like a good resting spot for fish wanting out of the sunlight. The water wasn’t very deep between the bank and I but it looked to be deep enough to hold fish. The current was slow flowing against the boulder. I got my feet steady on the shallow rocks beneath and heaved a cast in that direction. I watched the popper drift and when I made a sharp short strip caused a fish to surface and grab the frog popper. I yanked back and tight lined the thief. He wasn’t a big’n but it was an excitement that had eluded me for the past hour or so. I finally was able to raise one to my popper. I actually pulled 2 more out of the same little area and missed one before moving on.

Within distance of my extraction point there was a shaded section under an overhanging leafy tree along the bank. I didn’t know how deep it was. I was in maybe 2 feet of water within casting distance and figured maybe a small bass might be holding under the shade. I cast out the popper within a short distance of the bank side brush and, after a short strip and gurgle, watched it drift into the darker water beneath the tree branches. I made a couple of short strips, barely making too much of a popping noise, when a smallie porpoised out of the water at my popper. I was immediately surprised at the sight of this big guy in such shallow water. I instinctively yanked back the rod quickly as if I was trying to set the hook on a quick rising trout after a Mayfly instead of letting the bass take it under before closing its mouth. When it flopped back into the water I wasn’t sure if I had him or not. When the line straightened with a quick swimming fish on the other end I was sure I hooked him but wasn’t sure how securely. As he made his escape I gave an extra tug on the rod. I wanted to either secure the hook set or if it wasn’t a good hook set than let it come undone. The line stayed taunt and the fish battled against my will. I got my last nice size smallie to the apron, on a popper, just before my exit point.

 

  By the time I got everything in my truck it was near 4:00pm. I was in the water for about 6 hours. I was tired, my casting arm was sore but I wore a smile on my face.

  Back at camp I steamed some leftover breaded walleye fillets, Ramen Noodle slaw and a dark Murphy’s Stout.

 

 After a short needed nap I got a campfire going and relaxed with a fine cigar. That Stout tasted so smooth and good earlier I couldn’t resist having another while enjoying my cigar and campfire.

 ~doubletaper

 

A Break in the Action

 

A Break in the Action

7/29/22

  I had a friend drop me off 2 1/2 miles upriver with my kayak. I had a 6 weight fly rod and plenty of poppers to fish for smallmouth bass. I hooked one and missed one in the first ½ mile. Things were slow. I was about 2 miles upriver from my truck when my fly rod snapped do to my error. I usually carry a spinning rod with me in the extra rod holders in the kayak but I decided not to on this float. Bad choice! Disappointed, I paddled the 2 miles back to my truck and headed to camp. It was around 1:30 when I reached the campsite. Brian was still there and I told him what happened. I took my gear out of the kayak and put the stuff in my float tube. I assembled my Winston 6 weight fly rod. I wasn’t done yet! Brian took me upriver again and dropped me off about a mile from the launch site. I was back in the game.

  I started finning my way across river casting that way to get line out. Surprised, a smallmouth lunged at my popper unexpectedly and I totally wasn’t ready. He refused to show up again once I got settled and ready.

  The water seamed to clear up some from the morning. The bank sides I was casting to a couple of days before were pretty shallow. Know wonder why I wasn’t raising any fish to my poppers. I concentrated on casting further out from the bank and casting more often mid-river in deeper water. With the bright sun shining down and the warm temperature I figured the bass were holding in deeper water or in more riffling current. While drifting downriver a I did catch a couple of smaller smallmouth and missed one before I came into a deep wavy current partially out in the middle of the river.

 

  There was a big exposed boulder that had a calm back eddy behind it. I was finning my way towards it while casting the popper into the calmer water behind it. I made a cast maybe 15 yards in the calmer water across and down from the boulder. I made a few quick strips towards me and the popper splashed noisily as it skirted the surface my way. A smallmouth suddenly surfaced, half exposed, and quickly gulped at the slow moving popper like a guy in a hot dog eating contest seeing how many dogs he can get down before time ran out. I let him take it under briefly then yanked the rod up and back. The line instantly tightened, the rod arced towards the fish and the spool spun spitting out line as the smallie took off into the faster current. I started to fin frantically to get out of the wavy current and into the eddy behind the boulder. I could tell the smallie wasn’t a light weight and held the rod tightly like carrying a briefcase through a New York Subway. Once I was in the back eddy I had more control of the action.

  The smallmouth started to swim towards the far bank and up river some. I held the line taut without giving him much line as he was pulling off before hand. He turned with the current and headed downriver again tugging the line and flexing the rod. I held myself steady with the rod high as I watched the leader cut through the surface water. The smallie swam from my left, downriver from me, through the calmer water and beneath the faster current on my right. Though the rod was arced he tugged some more as if to be sure I was still on the other end. As he continued to struggle neither of us was gaining any ground. I couldn’t get him any closer and wasn’t giving him any more line. It was if who had who?

  Back through the calmer water he broke the surface. With half his body exposed he shook the popper that hung from his mouth. Water splashed about and then he disappeared into the river as quick as he showed up. It was if he came to the surface just to see who was on the other end. He sped into the faster current to my left so I angled the rod down to my right. He swam closer with force and semi-circled through the calmer water and back into the faster current to my right. I angled the rod to my left and brought in more line. He was losing strength and I was gaining ground. He made unsuccessful attempts, with tugs, not to come nearer to me as I reeled line onto the spool. He splash helplessly as I lifted him to the apron.

 

 Well, that’s what I’m talking about!

  A little later on two kids in their kayaks and a guy in a fishing pontoon passed by. They had spinning gear and were just drifting as they fished casting towards the bank. I wasn’t in a hurry and slowed my pace letting them get downriver a good ways.

  I was just out from the bank kind of finning and touching rocks with the tips of my fins. I was not that far from the bank casting out towards open water. There was big boulders beneath that I was able to steady myself against at times. The sun was high above the water casting shadows below the trees that overhung the river. I made a cast down to my right in a darker tree shadow the overhung from the bank side. The popper fell and I let it drift just beneath the leafy branches before popping it towards me. A smallmouth exploded out of the water, pouncing on it, like a male feral cat on a young rabbit. After setting the hook it was if he was terrorizing the popper trying to jar it loose. He took off out into the deeper water down from me. There were big boulders beneath surrounding me so I kept the rod tip high not to let the leader or tippet rub against the boulders as the fight with this mad fish continued. After he struggled out in open water he energetically swam towards the bank again. I was holding my flippers steady against the rock bed. The rod was arced good and I was slowly bringing in line. The smallie swam, from the bank, towards me deep. I could see there was a big boulder between the bank and I and wouldn’t you know it he got himself beneath he boulder before I could steer him downriver. I tugged and swung the rod trying to get him out as if trying to dislodge an anchor beneath a sunken waterlogged tree limb. It wasn’t working very well. With the rod arced, and pointing towards the stuck fish, I slowly drifted downriver. I got myself below him and angling the rod near the water surface I was able to force him out from under the boulder. Not liking that his escape plan didn’t work he desperately struggled furiously not wanting to get anywhere near me. It took some time and patience but I was able to get him to the apron also.

  Looking downriver there was a branchy down tree limb that laid out from the bank. The kayakers were casting towards the branches. I lit up a stogie and watched them for a short bit waiting for them to give up and drift down river.   

 

  When I finally drifted within casting distance of the fallen limb I spent some time trying to coax a smallie out from the branches. A smaller one tried for the popper but I missed it. Other than that the other fishermen must have spooked them enough the bigger boys weren’t coming out to play.

  I wasn’t very far from my exit point and just drifting slowly. The far bank was rocky and sometimes shady beneath the overhanging trees. I knew there was some deeper pockets along the rocky bank. I had a gaggle of geese watching me as a fished and drifted by.

 

  I made casts as close to the boulders as I could and stripped them towards me upon the calm surface water. In between coves of boulders, in the shadows, I tried to make soft casts and swim the silver popper towards me like a dying bait fish trying to recover upon the surface. In one of the coves the popper fell to the surface and a smallmouth rose and inhaled the popper like it was an easy meal. Maybe I had way to much slack line out but I reared back while pulling in line. The line shot up out of the water and tightened. The smallie exited the water like a kid jumping from a trampoline high into the air. His body was fully exposed in mid air and not seeing the popper I thought he shook it loose. He splashed down upon the calm water and went under leaving a whirl of bubbles on the surface like a bubbling hot tub. As he disappeared deep the line tightened again with the rod arced and quivering like that of a ham operators long antenna in a wind storm. We had a good battle as he covered water around me like a shark swarming in for the kill. Only thing was he was attempting to get away and I was determined on bringing him in. Eventually I won out. The reason I never saw the popper was that he inhaled it further into his mouth before I was able to set the hook in his jaw.

 

 As I was crossing the river to my exit I was able to coax one more smallie before calling it quits.

 

  Though I wasn’t happy about breaking my fly rod I didn’t give up and it turned out to be a fine day of catching after all.

~doubletaper