More Canoe Bass'n

The 4th of July weekend holiday presented more opportunity to wet the canoe and fly-cast for bass in remote places.  The challenge would be four lakes in four days.  For the most part, the tackle would be nothing more than a 5 weight fly rod and a handful of foam poppers.

The first lake we explored is notorious for its quality panfish... but its bass fishery (both largemouth and smallmouth) remain, by-and-large, a mysterious potential.  Weedbeds in this lake are numerous.  A look over the side of the canoe revealed sparse curly leaf cabbage, broadleaf cabbage (with stalks piercing the surface), lush pompous coontail, and various other wispy submergent vegetation species positioned on the lake's many mid-depth flats.  A narrow band of lily pads ring the shoreline.  Turtles croaked in the shoreline vegetation.  Blackbirds chattered in the marshy surroundings at the back of the bays.  Rocky points jut out into the lake and fall into the depths beyond the weeds.  Rumor has it smallmouths up to 5 pounds have been caught here.  And, the largemouth potential is virtually unknown to all but a few.  A few drifts over the mid-depth weed beds casting a large Hare's Ear nymph on a floating line yielded a half dozen 8-9 inch bluegills for dinner.  Then, the switch to bass tackle was made.

We started casting poppers to the banks and managed to raise some smallmouth bass of very modest size.  Not the size we were looking for; but, we could put a check-in-the-box for smallies.  Then, drifting across the deeper portion of a point, a suspended smallie of substantial size was hooked.  The fish bent the rod to its maximum strain.  It stayed deep and swam with authority.  The canoe pivoted in the wind on the fish.  The weight of the canoe blowing in the wind put pressure on the fish.  It defied by staying deep, turning sideways, and pumping its broad tail---sending large boils of water to the surface.  The water was dark and the fish not yet visible.  The pressure stayed on and the fish changed tactics... suddenly launching vertically into the air with a high arching head to tail leap. Showing its size and dark bronze color to us for a moment, the fish splashed back into the water and the hook let loose.  The rod pointed toward the sky, unloaded.  The line hung limp over what was left of the splash.  And, the four pound smallie became nothing more than a memory.  An intangible.

Then, the crappie started to turn on and we managed to catch and release a few as incidental catch.  One of the crappies was a true slab.  As the last drift of the evening neared its end at the shoreline pads I decided to throw one more cast.  The fly unfurled on the cast and landed inches from the outermost lily pad.  I stripped a few times and the line went taught.  The fish was strong, not huge, but strong and animated on the 5 weight.  It vacated the protection of the pads and swam out toward the lake with authority.  The fly line sliced through the water putting out a small wake where the surface water parted around it.  I became impressed.  The fish then rounded the back of the canoe and my fish fighting position became awkward.  I put pressure on the fish by holding my rod high over my head.  The rod tip pointed directly behind me to a spot unseen.   I stripped.  The canoe turned.  And, the fish came back to a conventional position.  With a proper rod angle the fish was soon boated.  Where the water splashed at the end of my fly line, near the side of the canoe, I reached down and put my thumb into the mouth of a nice 12-13 inch largemouth bass.  I lifted the fish vertically out of the water, admired it for its pristine coloring and strong will, turned the fly from its jaw, and slipped it back into the lake.  It swam away with the same attitude it hit the fly with.   I reeled the fly line in and hooked the fly to the keeper on the rod.  We paddled in just before dark.

The second lake of the challenge was one I have become fond of.  The bay I like to fish is bass heaven.  A large creek arm with floating bog, wild rice, shoreline lily pads, flooded timber and brush; and, broad, weedy, mid-depth flats with cabbage poking up.  But, the largemouth bass here seem to relate to the pads the most.  The wind was light in a direction that would gently drift the canoe along the edge of the pads.  Almost like floating a river for smallies, I cast as I went, drifting along the edge firing poppers into the pockets of the pads.  The fishing was good.  Over a dozen largemouths were landed on fly in the 2-3 hours of fishing.  The 5 weight held its own on bass up to 15-16 inches; but, that was the limit.  Three bass between 18-20 inches were hooked but lost in the pads.  The 5 weight, no surprise, simply doesn't have enough oomph to yank these quality fish from the cover.  And, the heartbreaking experience of watching a 20-incher go air born after throwing the hook in the pads had to be swallowed.

Lily pad bass on poppers.  

Other than being under-gunned for the cover, the fishing didn't go without challenges.  Thunderstorms raged on the horizon only to catch us 2 hours into fishing.  For the next hour and half we sat in the canoe just off shore, hunkered under an overhanging, short, and bushy yellow birch tree with a thick canopy; and, waited out the rain.  We were sure to look around for the tallest tree (which was a large White Spruce that towered above the protection of the stout birch) and stayed within the cone of its protection.  Boy did it rain... and thunder.  It was one of those tropical rains that comes straight down, evenly, with rain drops the size of hail.  We easily got 1-2 inches of rain during the storm.  The monotony of waiting it out was taken up by constantly bailing the canoe.  Aside from storms there were pike to make things interesting... and to steal flies.  The largest of the day came close to 30 inches.  Fortunately, most flies that were sliced off by pike floated up to the surface shortly thereafter and could be scooped up and salvaged.      

The thief of bass flies.  

The third lake we explored has a history of big fish popping up every now and then.  Mostly smallies.  So, that's what we headed out for.  We set out for the evening popper bite along the rocky shorelines and points with fallen timber.  The smallmouth action was steady with numerous fish between 8-13 inches.  The 5 weight was simply too much rod though for anything under 11 inches.  And after all, we were looking for more quality fish.  But, the 13-inchers showed up enough to make things interesting and their fight on a 5 weight was nothing to scoff at.  But, the best fish of the evening would belong to a largemouth, not a smallmouth.  As we rounded a classic rocky point at the mouth of a bay we noticed a series of fallen trees and flooded brush along the shoreline.  These would make great casting targets but as we worked them they turned up little.  However, one flooded bush stood out as looking "fishy".  I whipped a series of false casts to measure distance to the bush and to build line speed for accuracy. When I was ready, I laid the fly down a foot from shore and just inches alongside the flooded brush.  Two strips on the popper and it disappeared in a large swirl accented in the middle with a splash.  The fight was on and the bass burst into the air in a series of gill rattling leaps.  It was a much heavier bodied fish than the smallies I was catching and I knew it was different.  The fight on the 5 weight was impressive. The bottom was clean and rocky and I didn't have to worry about getting weeded up with light tackle.  I could simply put efficient rod angles on the fish and enjoy the fight.  Soon, I hoisted the fish from the water by its lip and measured it around 15 inches.  A pleasant surprise.  

Coaxed out of a flooded shoreline bush with a popper. 

Distant thunder and a serene paddle back before dark.

The fourth lake of the challenge.... well I'd rather not write much about it.  The lake was heavily bog stained, had wild rice, lily pads, and reeds. Unfortunately for the 5 weight, the large bass in this lake found the dense impenetrable reeds their favorite cover.  The day was mostly spent listening to huge bass kill things at an alarming pace in the reeds while pike stole poppers along the weed edge.  The handful of poppers were quickly depleted.  I looked at my fly box and noticed the lack of flies... which served as very real tangibles.