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