The past few days I've been fortunate to have experienced some extra-ordinary fly fishing for bass in two separate lakes. The first I described in my last post. Today I was invited by friends to fish a private lake south of my home that was rumored to contain an abundance of large bass. This turned out to be a professed understatement and I have the sore arms to prove it. High air pressure and blue bird skies are usually a detriment to successful fishing this time of year but not today. Just about everything from deer hair popping bugs to rabbit hair flies to a dicy concoction its creator calls a Christmas Clouser caught quality bass in abundance. Some large bluegill were also reported to have fallen victim to fur and feather. Bass were caught on top, deep along creek channels and shallow against the shoreline where bass were frequently seen leaping from the water in pursuit of big juicy darting dragonflies. Leaders were stretched and some broken and fly rods put to the test again and again. Much thanks to the friends that included me in this outing and the landowner that allowed it. It was a dream like trip and one I will not soon forget.
This morning I had an extra-ordinary fishing excursion. We have just passed the summer solstice and the weather is already hot so I wasn't expecting a lot of catching...but hoped there would be a dawn bite that would scratch the fishing itch I've had all week. I think temps may have hit triple digits today...heat index at least. Fortunately I was back home napping in the a/c before that happened. I left the house at five which put me on the water just before sunrise. I had decided on the way to the lake to start out fishing the top of the water column along the shore and as the morning warmed to go to a baitfish pattern and fish the deep side of the weed lines. I was right about the top part but dead wrong about working the shoreline. As I paddled my way across the lake to the opposite shore where I had decided to start the day's angling something slammed my popping bug that was dragging behind the boat in probably twenty feet of water. It was a small bass. My mind told me the strike was a fluke but as I continued to the other shoreline fish began to feed on the surface within casting range so "what the heck" I sailed the popper to the rise and boom another small bass. This one pulled off. I scanned the lake and could see surface feeding scattered all over the middle part of the lake. Ignoring those small voices I've mentioned before I stubbornly began to fish the shoreline I felt sure would hold fish like it had many times before...nada. I kept watching the deeper water and still there were surface feeding fish there. After fifty yards of fish-less shoreline I slapped myself on the side of my head, called myself stupid and gave in to the small voices I had been ignoring and headed for deep water. Right away I started catching fish again by casting to the rises I could reach with my fly rod and popping bug. The rest of the morning I fished popping bugs in the middle of the lake never getting closer than fifty yards to the shoreline...popping bugs in 20 feet of water! The feeding tempo increased to a frenzy by 9:00 and I was catching fish after fish after fish...half of them bass and the balance hand size bluegill and copper nose. At one point my arms were aching so from rapid fire casting and landing fish I actually thought of resting but knew I was experiencing a gift from the fishing gods and didn't want to miss any of it or appear ungrateful. The lesson learned is that sometimes, skill and years of experience can't beat the magic of being in the right place at the right time and listening to those small voices.
Rivers are my favorite of the water abodes. They are ever changing and filled with mystery. The life blood of terra firma, left alone they will nurture the land from their headwaters to the delta they form at their union with the oceans. Their free form caress of the face of the globe follows valleys and lowlands within their grasp as they seek to return to their sea level birthplace. Their denizens are many, from microscopic to majestic, each following their own path shaped to near perfection by eons of trial and error. Subject to rage but given to peace and tranquility rivers are truly one of earth's treasures.
I may have fished with a shaman angler this week. He predicted correctly where the fish would be and demonstrated he knew how to converse with them. Fishing behind this gentleman was like fishing behind a vacuum cleaner. By noon he had seven maybe eight bass up to about three and a half pounds in the boat to my one respectable channel cat that charged one of my crawfish patterns and foul hooked himself in the side of the face.
This angler fished with confidence and had an uncanny gift for knowing when the bass had his offering in its mouth. His concentration was intense and once triggered his reaction was swift and sure.
Many thanks to this card carrying Cherokee for the invite. I hope to fish with and learn from him again.
