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

 

A Clarion River Mile

 

A Clarion River Mile

8/26/2021

  The sun was already up above the tree line when I got the float tube in the water. I figured a mile of fishing the river should be enough time to get a lot of fishing in without hurrying. I had my 6 weight fly rod, a few boxes of poppers and a box of streamers should I decide to fish beneath. I was excited due to the fact I haven’t fished for smallies for the past couple of weeks because of the high muddy river from torrential rainfall. The river was still a bit higher than I would of liked it but the color was a light tea stain. I find just after the river starts to clean up from being muddy the smallmouth are anxious to find something to visually eat. With the higher water I found they don’t hug the banks as much but are out from the banks searching for a meal. Even though I got out later than I wanted I felt I still had time to coax them into eating a noisy surface popper.

The morning sky was kind of puzzling with a few translucent gray clouds passing beneath the white clouded sky as if drifting in slow motion. The summer greenery of trees lined the banks with downed wood cover, that had been pushed down river from the flood stage river flow earlier in the week, which in turn should be good ambush cover for the hungry smallmouth. Down river I knew there would be boulders also lining the river banks which causes deeper pockets and cover. The lazy sun behind me brightened the tinted surface water enough looking like a wet airport runway as far as my eyes could see.

I started casting a popper just out from the banks as I slowly drifted in the float tube within the current. I reached for boulders, with my flippers, to stop my drifting when I could, to spend more time covering an area that looked fishy. I stopped myself out from the bank a ways and was casting into a back eddy cove when my first smallie rose to the popper with a splash. I hooked him in the lip and brought him to the float tube without much of a fight. Not a big one but it made me smile.

 

 I missed another down river but by the way it tried taking the popper I felt it was smaller yet.

  I was slowly feeling my way downriver casting the 6 weight fly rod towards the bank and out towards the middle of the river getting my timing right for longer casts. Out towards the middle the popper fell to the surface and I made a couple quick jerks on the line to cause commotion. Suddenly a fishy object surfaced after my popper with an audible splash. I reared back and felt the resistance in the arced rod. He swam cross current away tugging line like a Bloodhound on a hot trail wanting to be unleashed. I let him take line out as the Mid-Arbor clicked like hail falling on a tin roof. I had no hold on the riverbed so I was still drifting which didn’t help matters any with the fish in the current heading upriver and I floating slowly down river. I finally finned my way into some slower water and took more control of my catch.

  He gave me a good fight beneath and surfaced a couple of times with vicious surface splashing before I got him to the tube apron. 

  

 My next catch was no fluky size smallie either. He gobbled down the surface popper that hooked him in the tongue. There was little chance he was going to release himself as he fought desperately before I got him near to lip him.

 

  After releasing him I reached back in the rear side pocket of my float tube and took out a plastic zip lock that held my cigars. I took out an RP Toro Edge and lit it up. Smoke rolled off the lit end and into the slight breeze like a small smoldering campfire wanting to reignite. 

 

  By now it was near 11:00. The sun was beating down a lot brighter and hotter. It felt good that I was hooking smallies and a few bigger ones to boot. Sitting in the float tube with half my body in the water kept me cool and not so much uncomfortable from the heat. I relaxed just long enough to get a few good puffs of the stogie before continuing down river.

  Drifting, I casted out towards the bank nearly under a tall shade tree. From my point of view it looked deeper than the water I was tip toeing through. I made the popper gurgle a couple of times and was watching it swing causing a small wake behind while I was token on the stogie. All of a sudden a smallie sideswiped the popper like a dog grabbing a Frisbee disc in mid flight. I yanked back and the rod arced. All of a sudden the popper emerged from beneath and flew up out of the surface water. How I missed him I wasn’t sure. I mean he took the popper under and whatever happened beneath he was able to escape the hook. I was kind of mad. I single hauled line and threw it out towards the middle of the river. I was taking in some slack line after a couple of jolts on my popper when a Smallmouth came barreling half out of the water gulping my popper somewhere within the burst of water. I yanked the long length of line like I was mad and hard enough as if I wanted to rip the lips off the darn fish. The smallie went under and this time the popper didn’t show up on the surface. The arced 9’ fast action rod was well into the mid section by the time the smallie took off cross current like a camp chair in a wind storm. I had my wrist locked as line peeled from the spool and up through the guides. I hadn’t had a foot hold from preventing me from drifting downriver too fast so I finned rapidly to try to hold my position. I noticed a boulder just under the surface and tried my best to direct the float tube towards it to try and get a foot hold. The whole time I’m fighting this big smallie in the current who wants to go in the opposite direction. I had the rod butt in my gut keeping the rod upward and as much line out of the water as possible. I was able to get a foot hold on the submerged boulder to keep from drifting but that didn’t seam to be much of an advantage as far as this furious forceful fish was concerned.

  I got him turned around and swimming downriver but still quite a ways away. I could feel the tightness in my forearm as I played the fish in the oncoming current. In no certain warning he leaped up out of the surface like a diver on a spring board. He did an unconventional midair tumble like a novice trying a simple somersault and lost his composure. The bass splashed down onto the surface, cannonball style, making a large splash flinging water in all directions.

 From beneath he continued his fury with heavy fighting. In time I got him near a couple of times that I thought I could lip him but he was able to swim away with a heavy tail thrust. I finally got him close enough, and not seeing the hook, just grabbed him by the sides and lifted him to the apron. He was a good one.

  For a while after that there was a stall in the action. I had a few smaller fish attacking the feathers of my poppers and did catch one smaller smallie. I changed popper colors often but I just figured it was getting late in the afternoon and, with the sun beating down, weren’t too hungry by then. I finned my way to the far bank where there was shade along the banks and boulders under the tall forest trees.

  One cast landed perfectly up against a half submerged boulder against the bank in the shade like a small mammal that had fallen into the river. I twitched the tip of the rod quickly and the popper gurgled up water like the mammal swimming. It didn’t drift too far when a smallie ambushed it out from the boulder. I reared back and again the line tightened and the rod bowed towards the hooked fish. He swam out from the soft water and into the current. We played tug of war for quite a bit before I got him safely out of the water also. He was a hefty ole' boy.

 

 I was pretty close to my exit point by then. I tried a few color streamers underneath as I finned my way to the roadside bank without any good results. I was almost to the bank when a golden retriever came down the path to the river and entered the water. Behind him a camper followed with a chair, a small cooler and a beer in his hand. We talked a bit and he offered to give me a ride up to my truck. He didn’t have to twist my arm!

 ~doubletaper

 

 

Bigger Offering, Bigger Fish, Right?

 

Bigger Offering, Bigger Fish, Right?

7/11/2021

 

  I pushed off around 7:45am. My kayak was packed for the morning fishing adventure for smallmouth. I took my Allen Fly Fishing Compass, 9’ 6 weight, fly rod with F6WF line. My intentions were to fish poppers all morning trying to make smallies rise in the discolored river water.

  Soft white clouds covered the sky overlapping each other. Occasionally they would separate and the pale blue sky above them would be visible. The light of the sun brightened up the morning but was unseen at the time. There was nearly a breeze as was evident by the green leafy trees that lined the riverbank. The water was still chocolate stained like an over milky chocolate milkshake. Along the banks though was clear enough in depth that a fish should be able to see or at least hear my gurgling popper on the surface.

  The last couple of outings, before the rain storm, I fished more often across river towards the far bank. I decided to concentrate on the road side on this trip. After pushing off I paddled to the middle of the river and paddled my way upstream a ways.

  I found when the water is high the smallmouth don’t hug the tree lined bank or boulders along the bank. I figured with the higher water and chocolate color mid-river, with stronger current, I would drift out away from the bank further then when the water is lower.

  My first hook up was just before 9:00am. The smallie wasn’t a big one by any means but it felt good not missing him.

 

 The next smallmouth almost caught me off guard. I was looking down river letting my popper drift pretty far down river away from the bank while I was anchored. I heard that familiar gulp and yanked the rod back without visual contact of where the bass took my popper. When the line shot up out of the water the tip section bowed and the popper didn’t come flying back at me. The smallmouth put up a good fight with weighty turns. A few times he surfaced and splashed before returning deep. I got him to the net safely. 

 

 I actually went 3 for 3 with hook ups and getting them to the net before missing one. To reward myself I took out an HC Habano Colorado pigtail perfecto and lit it up.

 

 That’s when I noticed the sky was more blue with less clouds. It didn’t look like rain at all, at least at the time. The weather people did say it may rain come afternoon. Just looking down river it looked peaceful.

  

 I took my time paddling over to each side of the river and fished where I thought was a better place where fish may hold. I’d toss the anchor out at times to slow my drift and hoped it ‘catch’ on something below to hold my position. It was almost 10:00 when I got my last OK size smallie.

  With the sun out and nearing noon the fish weren’t too cooperative. I took out a dark churchill to bide my time. I didn’t have anywhere else to go so I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to camp.

 It didn’t look like rain either so I just relaxed tossing poppers and smoking the churchill while slowly drifting just out from the banks.

  I started offering the fish different color poppers like a clown selling colored balloons of different sizes at the carnival but didn’t have any takers. I tried swinging streamers in the faster current but didn’t have any takers either. The stogie lasted a long time so that was my enjoyment while the bite quit. Besides the stogie, watching nature unfold along the river bank was entertaining. 

  I watched a couple of ducks fly about like two children chasing each other in the schoolyard playground. A gaggle of geese, with young ones, grazed in the grass along the banks. I even got to see an eagle soar by and circled a couple times as if looking for an afternoon fish dinner. Birds chirped in the near by trees as I passed. Crows could be heard in the distance as if having a loud shouting match during a family picnic softball game. On occasion I would hear a raven gawk as it flew by.

  My kayak was steady in a back eddy a bit further out from the bank. There was a deep wavy run of water I could just reach with my casts further out in open water. My popper would catch the inner seam and I would gurgle it before letting it drift. Without any takers I decided to attach a bigger chubby bait fish looking popper to my fast-snap at the end of my 8 pound tippet. “Bigger poppers, bigger fish” I thought as if I was joking at myself. My second cast I got the chubby popper a little further out into the faster current and riffling water. I gurgled it harshly to attract attention and let it drift down with the current along the seam. I gave a couple more pops when it drifted out of the seam into the slower current down river. That’s when my joking became real!

 I watched and heard the gulp that took my chubby popper under. It sounded like when my anchor slips from my grip and splashes into the water. I yanked back the rod like I was going to rip his lips right from his jaw. I didn’t see the fish but didn’t have to knowing this wasn’t some every day hoodlum steeling my petty belongings. The rod bowed into the midsection and there was no give at the end of the line. It felt like I was tugging on the anchor rope with the anchor stuck on a log. This evidently made him angry I suppose. He exploded out of the water and shook the popper and line like a clothe line in a gust of wind with clothes attached. I gripped the cork firmly stiffening my fingers wrapped around it. He twisted his body in midair staring up at the sky before splashing down in a heap. He swam into the faster current taking line out of the reel up through the guides. With the rod arced I could feel the strengthening force within my grip as the smallmouth sped with the current. Down river he swam into the slower current straight down form me and continued toward the bank. His force actually spun my kayak towards him. He tugged and surfaced briefly as I watched the turbulence from his frantic surface struggle. Going deep he swam closer to the bank, to my left, and I was able to bring in some line. I knew there were huge boulders below around me in the deep water I was in. I kept the rod up trying to prevent him from going under one or dragging my leader or tippet across a rough edge. He got between the short distance from me and the bank when he appeared to just stop. The rod was still arced but I didn’t feel any tugging. I wasn’t sure if there was a lone branch he may have got under or what? I moved the rod towards the water surface and slowly pulled the rod away from whatever stopped the smallie. Whether he was that tough to not being pulled away or my line was caught on something momentarily I’ll never know? He gradually came towards the pulling rod force and rose up enough I saw his bronze scaly sides and the size of my catch. As he rose I quickly raised my rod and followed him as he swam upriver passed me. I’m glad I didn’t have the anchor out. The kayak was turning slowly counterclockwise as if in a nonviolent whirlpool. He spun around the kayak so fast I raised the rod high over my head hoping my line wouldn’t get caught on the back of the kayak and hoped he wasn’t going to swim under the kayak. He ended up swimming between the kayak and open waters and forced his way down river again taking line. There was no way holding him back. We had quite a little longer battle of strength and wits as he refused to get any closer for the time being. I wasn’t gaining any ground between us and I wasn’t letting him have any more line during the short brawl. I was anxious to get him in but was patient enough not to over do it. He eventually had enough of the stand still and started to swim upriver. His mouth appeared, with popper attached, on the surface briefly as he tried to shake it loose splashing water about. He disappeared below and swam between me and the bank. I reeled in line then reached back for my net. I held onto the cork handle with one hand trying not to loosen my locked wrist. My forearm was tight and as solid as a steel pipe. He made a couple of quick escape runs that didn’t get him very far. I gradually moved the arced rod up behind me and he drew closer. Once close enough I wasted no time scooping him up in the net once I saw the popper just dangling from his lips. I took a sigh of relief when I got him into the net and in the kayak.

 

  After I released him I looked at my watch and it was 12:30. Looking up I saw more clouds moving in, like heavy smoke from a steam engine starting its way along the railroad tracks, cover the blue sky. I fished another hour hooking one more smallmouth without any more rises before heading to the launch area.

  Just as I got my kayak and gear drug over to my camper it started to sprinkle and a good warm rain followed.

….And that’s how this story ends.

~doubletaper