Float Tube Smallies...

Whitlock's Softshell Crayfish pattern and a full sinking line did the trick on backcountry smallies.

Pardon the neascus.

15-incher with an attitude.

Thanks for the water spots on my camera lens...

Plenty of 11-12" smallies... 

Cold Summer Weekend... Cold Water Species

When the weather forecast for a late July weekend includes highs around 50 degrees F.  there is only one type of fish to target... trout.  The logic being that cold weather is favorable to cold water species.  So, we headed up North and braved the wind, rain, and 40 degree temperatures.

There really was no need to get up early Saturday morning.  One look outside said it all.  Instead, it was   a great time to sleep in, sip coffee, swap out old sinking fly lines for new compensated tip versions, and spool up the click-pawl reels.  Did I mention sip coffee?

There were only so many "busy" tasks to keep us occupied until the weather got nice:  put air in the float tubes, check the fly boxes, talk flies, load up the truck, do dishes.  But, the weather wasn't going to change, at least this Saturday.   And, the sooner we accepted that the sooner we could go fishing.  So we did.

We arrived at the landing after a short drive from the cabin.  The lake was blustery, it rained, and we had it all to ourselves.  We suited up in our waders and flippers, threw on our raincoats, hopped in our float tubes, and cast off.  We began in search of trout.  I donned a size 8 hexagenia limbata nymph imitation on a full sinking line.  My father tied on a large black wooly bugger and also used a full sinking line.  We trolled... and we trolled.  I managed to get a strong hit on the nymph but didn't close the deal... that was it for awhile.  The fish were simply not biting... uhhum... at least that's what I told myself.  But my father had other ideas; and, managed to find consistent action using the black wooly bugger.  After he landed five or six trout between 13-16 inches it was apparent I needed to abandon the nymph and go back to the old stand-by black wooly bugger.  Only one problem... I didn't have any.  So, I improvised and tied on a purple version with an orange thread "bead head" I conjured up specifically for rainbows.  We have had some banner days on 20 plus inch rainbows with this fly in the summer.  Though the fly slightly resembles an egg-sucking leech pattern, the small orange thread bead head suggests the mysis shrimp commonly found in the depths during summer.  In fact, any colorful fly usually does the trick once the 'bows start slashing clouds of mysis in mid to late season.  After making the switch it wasn't long before making contact with trout.

15-incher.

The wooly buggers.

Gray day trout scales.

Another rainbow trout going back.

Sunday was a better weather day.  We decided to range out and explore--taking the same gig to another trout lake located farther into the bush.  We were rewarded with hard-fighting rainbow trout between 12-13 inches.  Seriously, these fish fought way bigger.

On the drive out we met one angry hen grouse with chicks...

     

Never get between a grouse and its chicks!

Tactical flanking maneuver... 

Damselflies are Hatching...

Damselflies have been hatching for a few weeks now in the Northland.  Using flies that mimic these in their nymphal stage have been solid stillwater patterns.  Give them a try on your next outing to a trout or panfish lake.

Click here to find out more about this beneficial "mosquito eating" insect that fish can't resist.

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.

A Day with The Sunfish Family... In Picturis

The yellow popper would prove itself on largemouth bass... despite being photo-bombed by a very small sand fly.  

First bass of the day going back....

Topwater action... 

Bass on the Jitterbug!

A memorable "popper take" along the lily pads.

Wild roses in forest clearing near the landing. 

Ruffed Grouse on the road to lake number two.

Grousing about.

Hare's Ear bluegill.

An iridescent Black Crappie on fly.

Canoe Fishing the Marsh

There is something to be said about going low-tech.  Countless numbers of our lakes, marshes, streams, small rivers, and backwaters essentially go un-fished due to inaccessibility.  The bass boat, multi-species boat, and motorized skiff just can't get into some of these places.  This is when a canoe comes in handy.

I recently scoured canoe manufacturer's websites and the blog-o-sphere looking for takes on what makes the best fishing canoe.  Ultimately, folks are looking for a stable, seaworthy, maneuverable, fairly heavy, moderately efficient, short, canoe design.  The trend toward expensive and ultralight kevlar boats just isn't that important for fishermen unless they are planning on doing a lot of portaging.  The key thing to note here is that kevlar boats are so light they are subject to "blow-outs"--a term coined to describe when a canoe suddenly "blows out" of its fishing position when a slight gust of wind hits it.  The idea is the lighter the canoe the more it lends itself to this boat control issue (it needs more load to reach optimum displacement, too buoyant, etc.).

The first model I looked at was Wenonah's Kingfisher 16.  The massive beam (40 inches) attracted me to the model for stand-up fly-casting, poling, and general stability for fishing.  However, the canoe is so beamy that it would make portaging into the BWCAW cumbersome; and, getting the canoe on my shoulders a bit difficult.  The incredible beam would also make this canoe less than desirable to paddle on larger lakes as it has more displacement than most other models in its class--which means a loss in efficiency (though the manufacturer claims it is surprisingly efficient for its width).  The advice I found suggested this canoe for "balance challenged" folks on the heavier side, stand-up fishermen; or, those looking to take a high strung hunting dog on a paddle to the duck blind.  A canoe salesman up in the North Country told me, "If you tip this over there's really something wrong."  I like the idea of this canoe (the manufacturer claims it is a great stand-up fly-fishing canoe for redfish in the no-motor zones) but the cons and limitations for my application here in the Upper Midwest were enough to send me to other models.  Notably, the Wenonah Aurora 16'.

The Aurora captured my attention due to its versatility as a fishing canoe.  In the Upper Midwest, versatility is a key trait due to the quantity of waters we have here:  floating the upper Brule River for browns and brook trout; the Upper Mississippi, St. Croix and other large to mid-sized rivers for smallies and muskie; portaging into the BWCAW for trout, smallies and pike; and floating the backwaters and marshes for various warmwater species.  We have them all here; and, a single canoe should be able to do it--at least that's my thinking for getting the biggest bang for the buck.

At 36 inches wide, the Aurora is much easier to get onto my shoulders and portage when the time comes.  The lesser beam also makes it more efficient to paddle than the Kingfisher while still maintaining stability.  It may be a bit twitchier than the Kingfisher but still difficult to capsize.  The 16 foot length is also attractive.  A bit more length than the short "fishing canoes" that every manufacturer seems to make, it offers increased versatility and efficiency.  Plus, every fly-caster I know says get the 16' because it spreads out the bow and stern fly casters more--making casting less dangerous and worrisome.

The other trait that lured me to the Aurora is the manufacturer... Wenonah.  Here in the North Country Wenonah is synonymous with quality, innovation, cutting edge designs, and stability within the organization.  They are a name I can trust and they have worked hard to build that reputation over the decades.

Other canoes I looked at:

• Mad River Explorer 16' (it appears to have less bow and stern rise than the Aurora which might make it more resistant to "blow outs"; but, the slight V hull it has can become a wear point)
• Mad River Heritage 16 (slight V hull design)
• Old Town Guide 16  (a heavy polyethylene design... portaging would not be fun)
• Old Town Discovery 158 (touted by many as a classic... also a heavy polyethylene design)

When all was said and done I ended up getting the Wenonah Aurora.  There are just so many possibilities this canoe brings to the table.  And, I look forward to many years of paddling it.  But, first I had to break it in on the marsh for some largemouth bass and bluegill fishing.

At the landing and ready for maiden voyage.

Fantastic top water action. 

Waiting out approaching storms at the landing.

Post-storm bluegills on flies.

Wind squall on the pads.

A crude damselfly nymph I tied up with peacock herl... the bluegills liked it.

One of many that ate the damselfly nymph.

  

Paddling in...

Frost Advisory, Freeze Warning, and Musky on Fly

The alarm clock went off at 5 something Saturday morning.  It was muskie opener and we had a plan... muskies on the fly.  A small lake loaded with muskies would await us.  The fish aren't big (I've seen one fish caught over 40 inches) but they are so numerous they offer the best chance of catching a muskie on fly.  In fact, on previous trips, I observed as many as 8 small muskies following the fly on a single cast... as the fly had stopped near the boat they pointed their sharp snouts at the fly forming a near perfect circle around it allowing us to count heads.  Try a figure eight in that scenario!  Those days were ridiculous not only because of the numbers but because of how small the fish were.  They've since grown up... a little... and that is about it.  The masses of 22-24 inch muskies now tape around 30 inches, plus or minus a couple.  Perfect quarry for the fly rod.  

The coffee maker snarled and steamed as we stumbled around readying ourselves for the day.  The smell of fresh brewed coffee and wet morning air sneaking through the front door filled the house. Each time we would make a trip to the dew coated truck our backdraft on the return trip would drag the outdoor air into the house.  This fusion of two of the best smells on the planet became the smell of anticipation for the day.  10wt.... check.  Muskie flies... check.  Camera... check.  Warm clothes and rain gear... you betcha.

As we pulled out of the driveway, boat in tow, the truck thermometer read 43 degrees.  It would stay there the entire day.  Add to that northeast winds exceeding 25mph, rain, mist, dense fog, white caps, and rows of wind streaks on the water running the entire length of the lake.  Not the weather we had planned for.  Not ideal weather for fly fishing.

We arrived at our spot in a large weedy bay with good broadleaf cabbage beds.   The bay tapers slowly for quite a distance before sharply dropping into deep water at the mouth.  A rocky point extends into the weedy bay at the mouth and some of the larger muskies in the lake (the real beasts of more than 30 inches) like to hold on it.  This is where we would focus our efforts.    

Fifteen minutes into it and the first muskie of the day had shown itself.  It would prove to be the largest muskie sighting of the weekend.  As the chartreuse rabbit strip fly undulated in the water alongside the boat a wide 30 something inch fish lazily rose from the depths to take a look.  As gentle as it could, it made one half turn around the fly inspecting it the whole time.  I twitched the fly along and began to move it in a big circle to entice a strike.  The fish sunk slowly and out of sight.  It would not return.  Back to casting.

One hundred yards down the shoreline we would see our next fish.  A strong follow from a fish in the mid to upper 20-inch range.  As the figure eight was started alongside the boat the fish sunk and disappeared.  It would not return.  Back to casting.


Our next drift across the flat would take us down the middle of the bay and directly over a large cabbage bed.  The fog was so thick shoreline was no longer visible.  We looked at the GPS and hoped this wasn't our navigation out of here at the end of the day.  The wind was starting to increase and the fog blew past us in the same way it does on the mountain tops in the alps.  We casted on and drifted faster despite deploying a drift sock.  I stripped the fly back in 8-12 inch strips mimicking a jerk-bait.  As the fly approached and became visible a tan object was behind it.  A hot muskie lit up and looked to be in the mood.  I stripped faster.  The muskie tracked.  I stripped to nearly the rod tip then went into an L-turn with the fly.  The muskie tracked and looked real hot.  I moved the fly around the bow of the boat to the downwind side and started a figure eight with the fly rod.  The muskie swung on every turn for 2 or 3 revolutions.  I began to think about catching it on a figure eight.  Then, it sunk and disappeared into the dark frothy water.  I quickly picked up and fired a cast into the same spot.  It followed again.  I repeated the ritual of figure eighting the fly as on the previous cast.  The muskie followed.  Then sunk into the depths never to be seen again.  The wind howled.  Cold mist pounded my rain gear as thousands of fine rain drops were audibly bouncing off in continuous unison--the crescendo matching the wind gusts.  Exposed skin began to hurt from the cold.

The next two hours of casting brought nothing but sore fingers and a cold face.  The weather was at its peak evil.  We accepted the wrath and headed in knowing we still had Sunday morning to fish.

The National Weather Service issued a Frost Advisory Saturday evening for into Sunday morning.  Our hope for better weather was squashed.  But, we told ourselves desperately that "you can't catch fish unless your line is in the water".... dammit, we set the alarm for an early rise Sunday morning and repeated it all over again.

We arrived at the lake an hour earlier than the day before.  It was cold but no frost.  The cloud cover lingered enough overnight to keep the temps just above freezing.  We were grateful.  We headed to "our" bay.

The winds blew as strong or stronger than on Saturday.  We drifted across the bay blind casting.  Each drift was lined up on the GPS for strategic coverage of the bay.  We saw one fish follow and he sunk immediately at boatside.  Feeling beat up we moved on and the sun began to shine.

We spent the next couple of hours exploring bays, inlets and outlets.  We saw no fish, cursed the weather, and began to realize this was it... a skunk was possible.  A quick look at the weather app on my phone informed us that the National Weather Service issued a Freeze Warning for the night.  Things were getting depressing on board.  We reeled in and started for the boat landing.

As we motored slowly toward our exit, the sight of cabbage stalks on the graph fed every last cell of will in the body.  Cumulatively, this took its toll.  Soon it became, "let's try one last spot".  And, so we did.  A small inlet dumped into the lake behind an island.  A spot that probably gets overlooked more often than not.  A micro spot that might hold a fish or two.  We slowly motored into the inlet, cut the big engine, and dropped the bow-mount trolling motor.  We eased in to the bay.  The water was shallow and we wondered if it was too cold.  But the inlet was running high and gave us hope it was dumping warm water into the lake.  A bed of broadleaf cabbage was visible directly off the inlet mouth.            A pair of loons were fishing near the casting target.  Food was here.  Cover was here.  And, the creek dumping in offered warm water.

We began casting over the cabbage and immediately got two nice follows from fish around 30 inches.  Then, I cast way back into the inlet and began to strip the fly.  The sun was shining and it warmed our hands.  It felt good.  The fly stopped.  The rod bent.  I felt the throb of a fish on the other end.  I was hooked up with a muskie on fly.  I stripped it in as it darted about in all directions.  It twisted on the line like a small mackerel in the Gulf.  It pulled but it was its athleticism that I admired.  We boated the fish.  It measured just over 26 inches.  The markings on the fish were clean and sharp.  It was iridescent and metallic looking in the sun.  It's body was barred and it had a distinct hazel eye.  A beautiful fish and native to the area.  A treasure.  Muskie in miniature.  We took some quick pictures and slipped the fish back into the water.  It cycled its gills three times, tensed up, and darted out of my hands and into the cabbage bed it came from.  I watched, impressed, as its barred markings across its tan back blended into the freshwater environment and disappeared.  I wasn't cold anymore.