TR- Bass Bugs

I woke up this afternoon (still on night shift) hungry to fish for
trout. I have only been bass fishing for the last month. Smallmouth
fishing is a fine pastime but at heart I'm a trouter. Checking the
local weather summary I saw that the low the night before never got
below 74. A look at the River's USGS site confirmed that the water
temp never dropped below 68. So the River was out. Instead there was
my ace in the hole, a spring fed stream about 20 miles away. Usually
cold enough even in the hottest weather to fish, I threw in my vest
and light rods and headed west. (I also tossed in the bass rods and my
warmwater man purse because... you never know.)


I got to the creek. It was a little stained from the last few days'
rain, which was unusual for this water. I dipped my thermometer in and
it read 72. ****e! I drove a mile upstream, took the temp and got the
same dismal result. There were caddis fluttering above the water and
even a small riser but, in the end, my virtue (such as it is) remained
intact and I left the brookies to make their way through the upcoming
week's forecast hot spell.

So I drove north, past a local C&W festival where the trailers were
packed just far enough apart to open their side doors. What a ghastly,
crowded affair. Eventually I came to a bridge where the River slides
under the highway. Stopped and took its temp. 71. No go.

A dozen or so miles later I pulled into an access point on the Big
River near Rhinelander. The water was low and falling. I suppose the
dam upstream was saving its water to run air conditioners tomorrow but
it made for easy wading on a stretch of water that can be pushy when
at higher levels.

I fished upstream, a deer splashing across the shallows ahead of me.
No fish for almost a quarter mile of river, changing flies after every
15 minutes or so. Finally I got a hit on the tried and true red/tan
Diver. Another cast to the same spot brought another swirl and this
time my strike brought back only a bitten off tippet, my fly
assumptively left in the pike or muskie's jaws.

It was getting late, with the sun a handspan or so above the horizon.
I fished back downstream, casting another Diver. A cast along a pine
shaded shoreline followed by a twitch and then a long pause brought a
small strike. I tightened and all hell broke loose.

The fish roared towards deeper water (he was lying in less than a foot
when he struck). The rod was in a deep C. The fish rolled and then
streaked off again, spinning the spool so fast that, for the first
time in my life, I was left with the proverbial skinned and soar
knuckles. I barely had the fish under control. Any line I gained was
lost... with interest. After about 5 minutes though he seemed to be
growing weaker and I brought him to within two rod lengths. Then he
jumped. Six pounds of smallmouth (my guess, prove me wrong) hung
suspended in mid air with my fly in his jaws. Then he splashed back
into the river while the fly flew back towards my head.

Oh my.

Nothing to do but keep fishing, right?

Got another big swirl a hundred feet down stream but missed. I fished
down to a wide shallow riffle, casting across the current towards
where a huge fish had rolled near the other bank but the fish,
probably a muskie, wasn't interested in my dinky offering. Then I
noticed that the few Ephorons (white mayflies) that had been cruising
the river earlier had grown into a horde. The hatch rose rapidly in
intensity and I scoured the water for any risers. I keep a few #14
White Wulffs in my bass box for just such an emergency. But other than
minnows and baby smallies nothing seemed interested in the blizzard of
bugs who were shedding, flirting and dying by the millions in the big
pool by the boat landing.

Having about a half an hour of daylight left I fished downstream to a
small set of rapids, taking pictures of the mayflies that covered my
hat, neck and shirt. I reached a big granite boulder, covered with
moss. The mayflies were molting on its rough surface. I cast my Diver
out below me and then turned to take a couple shots of the White Flies
on the rock with the Canon.

When I looked up there were a series of rings spreading out from where
my fly had been and the line was arrowing out into the current. Thank
the Red Gods for soft deerhair divers! It must have felt foodlike
enough for the bass to hang on. I tightened and again faced a tougher
opponent than I anticipated. While not as big as the lost fish it
still pulled out line at will for 3 or 4 minutes and jumped clear of
the water a couple times. Finally I lead him into shallow water with
the Dahlberg barely stuck in the skin on the outside of his jaw. A
couple of flash pics and he went back.

It was almost dark so I waded back to the access and unstrung the rod
and drove home.

I've got to tie some more Divers.

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HTH

George C.