I believe the word, epic, gets used all too frequently in today’s culture. When I asked Siri to define epic, she gave me this: “a long poem, traditionally derived from ancient oral tradition…yada yada yada.” When I asked her for a synonym for epic, she gave me, “grand, great, heroic, grandiose…” Yep, that’s more of what I was looking for. Have you ever had one of those fishing trips that was grand, great, or grandiose? I have had several during my fly-fishing lifetime, and just when I thought I could put the word, “epic” to bed, then came last Friday.
Allow me to set the scene. I was off all of last week for my Easter vacation. This year, we didn’t plan on a family trip (like last year’s trip to bourbon country). Instead, I decided to help my son, who is getting his construction business going. So far this year, things have been really slow for him, but that all changed last week, and I offered to help him with some remodeling construction and exterior prep and painting. We both busted our tails Monday through Thursday, and I took Friday morning off to visit my friend’s lake that I have written about on this blog before. As I quietly eased my kayak in the calm, still water, little did I know that this morning would etch itself into the annals of my angling history, a tale to be recounted with reverence and awe. I had learned through experience that the bass in this lake feed mostly on three things. Crawfish, juvenile bluegill, and shad. Knowing that the shad and bluegill haven’t spawned yet and that there were those crawfish mounds around the banks of this lake, I tied on one of my deer hair bugs that had a lot of orange, and dark blues and blacks in it…something in a “crawfish” color.
I believe it was around 6:30 when I finally got on the water and to be honest, I was a bit disappointed that I hadn’t gotten a bite after being on the lake for 15 minutes. Each cast of my line and short gentle strips of my line, sent my deer hair bug dancing upon the surface, its silhouette mimicking the movements of a fleeing crawfish, an alerting call to the bass lurking nearby the shallow grassy banks. The sound of whistling ducks, and a couple of bull frogs were the only sounds I would hear until that first strike, which came with a suddenness that was so fast, I was extremely late setting the hook. I also had too much slack in my line and therefore the fight would only last a couple of seconds.
No problem. At least I had broken the ice, and I was determined not to make the same mistake twice. My next strike came a few casts later, and this time, as the water exploded in a fluffy of motion, I set the hook hard, battled the fish, and lipped a beautiful 17-inch bass into my kayak.
Excuse the poor lighting. It was probably 6:50 am and the sun hadn’t come up yet.
After I released that fish, I began to land what would end up being a legendary haul. One by one, they came, drawn by the irresistible allure of my deer hair bug. Each bass seemed more magnificent than the last. I measured each one before releasing them to fight another day. With each catch, my excitement grew, fueling the fire within me as I eagerly anticipated the next strike. I had caught 8 bass over 15 inches before 8 am. I thought about my students in my fly-fishing club. How many of them were still in bed???
Still dark. Caught this one about five minutes later. The sun was starting to come up in the back here.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, the fishing actually got better.
Another hefty bassAnd another. Notice how healthy these fish were. I couldn’t tell if they were still spawning or they were just full because they were eating well.
By 8:30, I had already surpassed my wildest expectations, the tally of bass caught exceeding double digits, each one a testament to the effectiveness of the deer hair bug. I counted 5 fish that were over 17 inches and the largest was 19 inches long. Still, I cast my line again and again, unwilling to relinquish the magic of the moment.
I think this was the smallest of the ten at 15 inches.
As the morning warmed and the sun rose higher in the sky, I finally relented, my right wrist weary but my heart light with the satisfaction of a day well spent. Gathering up my gear, I made my way back to my truck, the echoes of the morning’s triumphs still ringing in my ears. I was glad my GoPro camera was working to record this catch. After all, it was 9 am and I had to get back to the work site to help my son finish up the paint job.
So today was our first day back at school. I was more than happy to share my story and those pictures with my students. The memory of that fishing morning remains etched in my mind, a cherished reminder of the power and beauty of nature and the joy of the hunt. And though many more fishing expeditions will come and go, none could ever quite compare to the legendary tale of the ten bass and the deer hair bug. By the way, I have since retired that deer hair bug. It took a beating and I had used it on a trip before, so it had been eaten by over two dozen fish. I’ll just have to tie new ones.
For those of you who do not know me, let me start by saying that I do have a little bit of my father in me. He grew up during World War II where you didn’t waste a thing. Everything was used or recycled. His attitude toward fishing was this – “You had better be ready to clean and eat what you catch.” Growing up as the oldest of six kids, we caught and ate everything we caught except for hard-head catfish. That included everything from bream and bass, to redfish, speckled trout, and flounder, to less attractive fish like mud catfish, garfish, and choupique (bowfin) My dad and I have had multiple conversations about why I release perfectly good “eating” fish. While I usually release fish, there is one species I nearly always keep for table fare, and that’s sacalait (crappie or white perch for some of you out there). Frankly, it’s one of the best-eating fish in fresh water. Targeting them with the fly rod has been a challenge because I don’t go out with any electronics and I certainly don’t use live shiners 🙂 Sacalait do however, venture into shallow water where I can target them with a fly rod in the spring.
I live in a wonderful subdivision where I can be on the water within a five-minute walk with my kayak from my door. I have caught bass, bream, catfish, and sacalait there during the 18 years we have lived here. Sacalait are the type fish where when you find them…you find them. However, they are very elusive. They can be holding by a certain spot of timber one afternoon and be gone the next morning. I have combed the waters of my neighborhood lake many years to unlock the secrets of these fish and I have at times, in the past found some success. I haven’t been able to find them this year but that changed Wednesday afternoon after work.
For weeks, I had been tantalized by pictures of crappie catches online from fellow anglers, yet my attempts to lure them had been met with frustration and disappointment. Determined to crack the code, I meticulously prepared for this excursion, selecting the perfect assortment of flies…uh…that’s code for fluff butts in several colors.
As I pushed off from the bank in my kayak, the gentle ripples of the water, and the call of a great blue heron calmed my pulse down and gave me promise of a memorable afternoon on the water…fish or no fish. Oh, and the IPA I packed in my crate didn’t hurt at all either. 🙂 I paddled straight to my first spot, a random group of tree limbs in about 3 feet of water where I have caught a few before. I was there about 5 minutes when I felt the telltale tug of a sacalait on the line. It was a really nice one (over 13 inches) and I carefully lipped it into my kayak. I thought to myself, this afternoon could be epic, as I strung it on my stringer and quietly slipped it into the water besides my kayak. I figured that if I could catch about three more like that, I would have plenty enough for a Friday Lenten fish fry. About five minutes later, I saw my VOSI (vertical strike indicator) slip under the water, and I set the hook on another sacalait. This one was only about 11 inches long, but it too was added to my stringer. After that fish, I couldn’t buy a strike.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as I methodically worked my way along the shoreline, casting toward every bit of sunken structure I could find. The lake I’m fishing is fairly large for a subdivision lake, and I figure there has just got to be more fish than that. Just when doubt threatened to cloud my resolve, a subtle nibble sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. With bated breath, I set the hook, and the battle commenced. Did I mention that I was using my 3 wt? After a short but valiant fight, I lipped a 14.5 inch sacalait into my kayak.
I now had three fish and the pressure was off. My dad would be proud because I had three fish on my stringer, ready for the fish fry. A couple of casts later and BAM! I had another one on…then another, and so on. My stringer holds 9 fish (it’s a safety pin type) and within a half hour, I had used every “safety pin” on the stringer. I caught a few smaller fish (around 10 inches) that I threw back and I began to cull my fish. I ended up with a nice stringer of 12 fish and I figured, I would “leave them biting.” Needless to say, my 3 wt fly rod and that one fluff butt (brown body with a chartreuse marabou tail) got in a real workout.
In the grand scheme of things, it is often the simplest pleasures that bring us the greatest fulfillment, and for me, there are few things more satisfying than a quiet afternoon spent in pursuit of these great-eating fish. And so, as I reflect on this nearly epic fly-fishing afternoon, I thank God for the opportunity to enjoy his creation and I thank my dad for introducing me to the joy of fishing. Dad…you’re invited to the fish fry!!
PS I know my mom reads these posts and she will probably comment why isn’t she invited too, so mom, you’re invited too. 🙂
They say that love grows stronger with time, and what better way to celebrate forty years with my wife, Lisa, than with a five-day cruise on the Virgin Voyages cruise ship, the Scarlet Lady? When we asked each other what we wanted to do this year during my week-long Mardi Gras break, we both agreed that it would have to be a trip south and not north. We have both had plenty enough “winter” for this year. When the idea of a cruise that had stops in Cancun, Mexico and Bimini Island came up, I pictured in my mind, the gentle sway of the ocean, romantic dinners, basking in the warm sun on the lido deck while sipping frozen concoctions, and the promise of beautiful sunsets on the horizon. Bimini? Bimini? That name kind of rings a bell. Isn’t there a famous fishing knot called the Bimini twist?
After some research on the island, I learned that Bimini is known as the “Bonefishing Capital of the World.” Bonefish have been on my radar as a species I wanted to catch on my fly rod for the past 15 years or so. The stars would have to line up though…First, I needed my wife’s blessing to bring my fly rod on our “second honeymoon” cruise. Check!! I got that. Second, I would have to find an available guide for a half day trip. More research was done, and I found a guy on a website who sets up guided trips. However, after emailing him about it, he replied to me saying they don’t book trips with people getting off cruise ships. He did give me a list of names and his top recommendation for someone who might be able to put me on some fish. I took a shot in the dark and called Fred Rolle. I was elated to find out he was considered the number two guide on the island, and he had an opening on the Thursday our boat was going to dock in Bimini!! After speaking with Fred on the phone, we got to talking about Louisiana and he started rattling off names of people he had guided including the Neville Brothers and Jimmy Buffet. I told him I was a musician and a teacher, and I knew we were going to have a great time!
To prepare for the trip, I would need to research more about the island itself, my quarry, and the tactics I would need to be successful. I found out this tiny island in the Bahamas is a haven for anglers seeking the ultimate challenge. With its pristine flats, clear waters, and abundant bonefish population, it’s the perfect destination for novice and seasoned fly fishermen alike. I thought that with 15 years of experience on the fly rod and having targeted redfish in our Louisiana waters that I would be more of a seasoned fly fisherman. Well, I got humbled quick; but more about that later. I learned that the fish eats mostly crustaceans and I set a goal for myself to not only catch a bonefish on my fly rod, but to catch one on a fly that I tied myself. I spent a few days tying pink “gotchas” in size 4 and 6 and I quickly had a box of a dozen (probably overkill) ready to go for the trip. I researched casting techniques and specifically how to fish with a guide telling me where to cast when I can’t see the fish.
Our cruise started off beautifully with great weather, wonderful food, and believe it or not…in spite of my excitement and anticipation about my upcoming fly-fishing morning, I was really slowing down and really relaxing.
I was hoping for sunny weather with only a slight breeze. The night before my trip, I could hardly sleep. Even though I knew I couldn’t leave the ship until 8:30 am, I was up at 6 am, piddling around and double checking to make sure I had everything I need for the trip. I had already lost my good Costas sunglasses and I purchased a $30 backup pair of polarized glasses on the boat that I hoped would be sufficient. I caught the first shuttle bus off the ship, and I tipped the driver $5 to make a stop at the Hilton where I was to meet Fred. The shuttle driver asked me who was I going to be fishing with and I told him, “Fred Rolle,” although I didn’t know how to pronounce his last name. He said, “You must mean, Eagle-Eye Fred.” Wow! I was going fishing with a guy who is a legend.
Eagle-eye Fred was a wise-looking, fit man and at 73-years young, he didn’t look a day older than me. He greeted me with a friendly, hello and we exchanged a few pleasantries as we headed toward his skiff. While he looked to be fit and trim, his face showed the years of battling the sun, sand, and winds that he had to endure for over 65 years on the water. Fred is more than just a captain. He is also a seasoned navigator, a master of tides, and a dying breed of custodians of the island’s rich angling heritage. He told me he had 12 siblings, to children, and two grandchildren. Sadly, his children and grandchildren do not share the passion for fishing like he does.
As the morning unfolded, I began to realize the importance of having a seasoned veteran as my guide. I quickly learned that bonefishing is qual parts skill and patience. We took a short boat ride to our first spot (maybe a 5-7 minute boat ride) and I showed Fred the flies I had tied. I asked him to pick out one that he liked and he tied it to my 20 pound fluorocarbon leader using a Bimini knot. (go figure 🙂 ) The flats we were fishing were crystal clear and the bottom was a mix of white sand, clumps of grass, sponges, and other things that could easily be mistaken for a fish. Fred wasn’t seeing many fish and when he did see one or two bonefish, I was having a miserable time seeing fish. The wind was blowing 10-15 mph and the chop on the water was making it nearly impossible for me to spot fish. We did spot a few huge stingrays which were absolutely magnificent in the shin-deep water.
About an hour into our morning, I finally got a shot at a bonefish, but I missed the strike and spooked the fish. Did I mention that the elusive bonefish is known for its speed, strength, and cunning? I was hoping to find out about its speed and strength, but for now it was all I could do to try to outwit the cunning fish. Eagle Eye Fred began to spot a few more fish in the choppy water but I was not seeing them at 60 to 80 feet away from the boat. I got a few more shots at some fish but my errant casting (10-15 mph winds) was spooking fish. My frustration began to deepen as I watched the clock tick away at my “half day” trip.
Around 10:30, Fred took me to a spot that looked more promising. There was more white sand and less dark spots in the water. Additionally, it was on the lee side of a mangrove patch, and I had high hopes of seeing fish. We spotted a few small sharks prowling the flats and a few more giant stingrays. Then, Fred says, “do you see them?” I said no. He had a hard time believing me, but he showed the patience that makes him probably the best guide on the island. There was a small school of about a half dozen or bonefish that were heading toward us. They zig zagged and just when I thought I was going to put my fly in front of them, they would change direction. This went on for about 15 minutes and we decided to abandon that school and go try another spot that was a “sure thing” according to Fred.
Can you spot the bonefish in this picture? Well neither could I. I think if the boat would have stayed still for a while and one of those dark spots were to shift (like a ghost-thus another nickname for the bonefish), I would have been able to spot fish.
More clean but choppy water.
So, as Fred cut the motor and picked up the push pole, he said, “There’s a bunch up there. Do you them now?” Finally, I spotted a school of about a dozen or so moseying about in some really shallow water. Fred instructed me to calm down and focus on my casting technique (I had been rushing my casting motion in all the anticipation of seeing fish). I placed a good cast about 5 feet in front of the moving fish and I felt the slight extra weight on my line as I was stripping. I strip-set the hook and that’s when I realized what Fred had been saying about the bonefish being pound-for-pound the strongest, fastest fish in the ocean. This fish took me into my backing couple times before I was able to tire it out enough for it to nose into Fred’s neck.
We continued to fish that little stretch of water and by now, there were a few schools of 30 or more fish working the flats. Of course, I was still finding it difficult to see the fish at 80 feet away, but I did see them when they would get close to us. It seemed like they knew not to get within 50-60 feet of the boat. I was having to make extremely long casts with a very stiff sidewind but after about another 20 minutes of frustration, I was able to make a somewhat perfect cast out in front of the school. Fred kept coaching me, “A little more to the left. Now they’re turning. Cast behind them. Let your fly sit. Now strip. Strip. Strip! Strip!!!!” Then, the tug and boom…the fish took off like a rocket. This second fish was a little larger than the first, so it took a little more time to get it in. After several attempts to completely spool me, I was finally able to turn the fish and get it into the net.
After catching redfish for so many years, you would think a small fish like this would be easy to turn and get into a net. Don’t let their small length fool you. They are actually thick and are all muscle. When your predators are sharks and barracuda, you had better be fast and strong.
After over 3 hours of casting into the wind, I found I was beginning to fatigue. Fred was determined to see me catch my third fish but my sloppy casting and my inability to see the fish were adding to that fatigue and I began to get frustrated. I found myself asking Jesus to let me catch just one more. I can still see that eat in my head. I had been trying to catch a fish in this one particular school, but they would move away from my fly when I would cast to them. Finally, when I really least expected it…because they were moving toward me, and they were pretty close (about 30 feet), I was able to put the fly in the middle of them without spooking them. I watched as one of them peeled away from the others and it chased down my fly. Again, I felt the strike, I set the hook, and I was again reminded of the strength and speed of these fish as this one too went quickly into my backing.
This was a perfect ending to a great morning of fishing. Fred mentioned something about the effectiveness of my flies and that was probably the best compliment I could have received. He mentioned that he cannot buy flies on the island for his clients, so I offered him the remaining bonefish flies in my box. He was happy to have them and while we were fishing, he received a phone call from another angler asking to book a trip with him. He smiled and said something about how he may need them next week.
If any of my readers are going to be in Bimini and you are looking for a reliable guide, I would highly recommend Fred Rolle. Feel free to message me in the comments for his phone number.
Fishing in Bimini was more than just a fishing trip. It was an opportunity to fish with an absolute legend in Fred Rolle and it was an experience that I’ll never forget. It was an opportunity to experience nature, an opportunity to challenge my fishing techniques, and was an opportunity to check off another species on my fly rod “bucket list.”
I met up with my wife around 1 pm and we did the usual cruise ship beach experience for the rest of the afternoon… more food, fresh coconut milk, dancing, and a couple of frozen concoctions. As the ship pulled away from the dock and the sun began to set in the horizon, I reflected on the day’s adventures with a sense of gratitude and wonder. Lisa and I bid farewell to this tropical paradise, and we watched our final sunset of the trip as the ship slowly sailed away back to Miami. It was a great way to celebrate forty years of marriage, our love for each other, our love for nature, our love for other people, food, wine, and well…my passion for fly fishing. 🙂
The night air was clear and full of stars as members of the St. Michael High School Fly Fishing Club met at our rendezvous point this past Saturday morning. For the members of our high school fly fishing club, this day marked a milestone in their fishing journey. They were about to embark on their very first bass tournament, an event that promised camaraderie, adventure, and of hopefully, some incredible fly-fishing action. I am the moderator of the club, I have tried to balance the need to educate my students on conservation, how to choose a rod and reel, how to cast, how to read water, how to tie knots, how to tie flies…and…well, you get the idea. They, however, are more interested in CATCHING FISH!
Getting Ready
Months of preparation had led us to this moment. The club had been buzzing with excitement as members eagerly fine-tuned their gear, learned basic casting techniques, and absorbed every piece of bass fishing knowledge they could find. As the tournament day neared, the students became a close-knit group, united by their shared passion for fishing.
The Lake Beckoned
The chosen lake for the tournament was picturesque, nestled right next to the Mississippi River. The water was crystal clear, and the bass are abundant. It’s a private lake that belongs to a good friend of mine. It features a lot of open bank fishing where participants don’t have to worry about catching trees on their back cast. My friend graciously allowed us to use his property, but he insisted on having us harvest fish 15 inches and under. This actually “sweetened the pot” for my students because they were anxious to be able to keep their catch to help feed their families. Thus, I called it our First Annual Fall Catch and Eat Tournament.
The Technique
Fly fishing for bass is quite different from traditional bass fishing. Instead of casting heavy lures or baits, we rely on the delicacy of the fly rod and the finesse of casting lightweight flies. To me, nothing beats the thrill of catching fish on surface flies, so I gave each of our young anglers a hand-made popper of mine. I was blessed to have about four dads who stayed with us to help make the event fun for the boys (none of the girls could make the tournament). One of the dads volunteered to cook breakfast sandwiches for them and he stayed to grill hot dogs for the awards ceremony. Another dad took pictures and kept track of the fish measurements from my participants.
Challenges and Triumphs
The tournament wasn’t without its challenges. A cool front had passed overnight, and the wind was blowing 10-15 mph. Casting was more difficult. It also made maneuvering the kayak a lot more difficult too. The bass also seemed to have lockjaw. However, our students persevered, drawing from their training and knowledge. They adapted their tactics, experimented with different fly patterns, and refined their approach.
And then, it happened – the first catch. The cheers echoed across the lake as one of our club members reeled in a small largemouth bass. It was a moment of victory and validation, proving that the perseverance had paid off. I peddled my kayak over to measure and take a photo of the bass. About five minutes later, the same young man caught another bass on the popper. It seemed he had found a pattern. Meanwhile, I heard a couple of yells of “fish on” from further up the lake. I peddled over there to see that one of my students had come upon a small school of bass that were feeding on small shad. He had switched flies and he had downsized to a fluffbutt fly, something I usually use for sacalait and bream. He was landing fish after fish, all in the 11-inch range, which was perfect for our catch and eat format. The other boys changed flies and the fish catching was on fire!
The camaraderie among the club members was heartwarming. They celebrated each other’s successes and offered support to one another when needed. It wasn’t just about catching fish; it was about building lasting friendships and learning from each other’s experiences.
Conclusion
Our high school fly fishing club’s first bass tournament was a day to remember. It wasn’t just about the fish caught or the prizes won, but the growth and camaraderie of the students. It was a testament to the power of a shared passion, dedication, and the joy of the great outdoors. We ended the tournament at 10 am because each of these boys had to get home, clean fish, and get ready for their Homecoming Dance that evening. It was also heartwarming to see these boys interact with their dads. One of the byproducts of this club is to get them to fish with their dads, their moms, grandpas, etc. Fly fishing had brought us together, and we were determined to let it carry us forward into many more adventures, one cast at a time. Here are some pictures from the tournament. Enjoy!
That smile says it all.
Our winner with a box of Musicdoc deer hair bugs. He totaled 177 inches of fish.
For several years now, my wife and I have joined my cousin and her husband to travel to destinations on our “bucket list” in this beautiful country of ours. Past trips have included trips to Oregon, Colorado, and Key West. Neil and I usually try to include at least one fishing trip during the vacation and this year, we hired local guide, Zach Pierce, to target smallmouth bass on Maine’s Union River. Zach is a knowledgeable guide, and I would recommend him to anyone wanting to fish that area of Maine (near Bar Harbor). My goal was to catch a few fish that I had not caught on a fly rod before, so you can understand just how delighted I was when I learned there was the possibility of catching chain pickerel and fallfish (chub) as well as smallmouth and largemouth bass on this estuary.
Our journey began early in the morning (it actually began to get light as early as 4 am that far east) as we eagerly assembled our gear and prepared ourselves for the day’s angling adventure. The Union River, known for its abundance of fish species and picturesque landscapes, did not disappoint. Equipped with my fly rod (Neil would use conventional tackle) and an assortment of carefully selected flies that I had tied myself, we both stepped into the drifting boat, ready to explore the hidden gems of Maine’s freshwater ecosystem.
With the peaceful sounds of the moving water and the serenity of nature around us, we moved stealthily along the river, casting our lines with anticipation. When the sun slowly burned away the morning fog, it became a scene straight out of a nature lover’s dream as we saw eagles, herons, and numerous other wildlife and wildflowers.
It didn’t take long for Neil to break the ice. He was using a small minnow imitation and he reeled in the first fish of the day, a feisty chain pickerel. After a quick release (sorry no pictures because Neil chose to stay away from those teeth) we were both back at it, trying to entice the smallmouth bass to show their enthusiasm for our offerings. Prety soon, Neil was bringing his first smallmouth to the net…then another, and then another.
The strikes were aggressive, and the fights were exhilarating. The smallmouth bass population in the Union River proved to be plentiful, ensuring that we were kept busy throughout the day. Meanwhile, I was not getting any offerings on my deer hair popper, so I switched to a woolly bugger and I caught my first smallie.
I ended up loosing the wooly bugger on a rock and Zach suggested I try a clouser minnow. That is when I landed my first and only fallfish (commonly called chub by many of the locals). Meanwhile, Neil was “schooling” me on his conventional tackle, catching smallmouth and fallfish. Although they might not have the glamour associated with the smallmouth bass or the chain pickerel, the fallfish proved to be an unexpected delight, leaving us in awe of the rich diversity of fish species inhabiting the Union River.
Meanwhile, Neil, who was proving for now that conventional tackle was ruling the morning, hooked into a really nice fallfish.
Zach suggested I try one of his gamechanger flies which promised to offer a little more tail wiggling action than my clouser and that changed things for me. Thinking that the bigger fish would be hanging closer to structure and drop-offs, I began to be more precise with my casting, being careful not to hook any of the two other guys in the twelve-foot inflatable boat. I was rewarded with a nicer-sized smallmouth.
The sun continued to work its magic on the fog and by now, the river took on an entirely new vibe. We continued to work the shores, structure, eddies, and drop-offs and I got my biggest upgrade of the morning when I cast to a particular drop off and the smallmouth bass hit my fly just as it hit the water.
This triggered my inner “popper” self, and I quickly changed from the subsurface game changer back to my deer hair popper. I was rewarded with another “upgrade.” Their bronze bodies shimmered in the sunlight as they darted through the clear water, showcasing their remarkable strength and tenacity.
We were nearing the end of our float trip and the flow of the water seemed to slow down as the river got wider. Amidst the smallmouth bass action, Zach suggested exploring new secluded cove that held a lot of grass along the river where chain pickerel and largemouth bass were known to lurk. Intrigued by the prospect of encountering a new species on my fly rod, I eagerly followed his lead. Neil had a couple ferocious strikes from a determined pickerel, and he landed one on conventional tackle. Soon, I was able to experience similar action on my fly rod. An angry pickerel with lightning-fast swiftness attacked my popper several times before the size 1/0 hook found the corner of its mouth. The water erupted as a chain pickerel surged skyward, displaying its striking patterns and sharp teeth. It was an impressive fish, one that tested the limits of my fly-fishing skills and added a new level of excitement to the day’s adventure. After a couple of jumps the fish dug into the submerged grass. However, with Zach’s help, I was able to lead the fish to the landing net. I thought it best not to try to hold it up for a picture, so I just took, the picture with the fish in the landing net. I was absolutely thrilled with our adventure. I had caught three new species on my fly rod, and I knew that the “take out” point was coming soon because we began to hear automobile traffic on the road.
But the surprises didn’t end there. As we continued our exploration into this new grassy area, I hooked my largest fish of the day, a largemouth bass that probably weighed over 3 pounds.
By now, the sun was getting high in the sky, our bellies were telling us it was time for lunch, and I could see the small bridge about a half mile away that marked the end of our float. Zach was still determined to put us on fish, so he continued to position us close to a bank that held some large boulders. I put a perfect cast within a couple feet of a boulder, and I was treated to a large eruption of water and fish. After a short fight on the 8 wt rod, I was able to land another chunky largemouth.
I caught and released another largemouth and I was perfectly content to call it a morning, when I fooled another bass into thinking my deer hair popper was something good to eat. Only this time, the beautiful bronze-backed fish wasn’t a largemouth at all, but the target fish of the trip, a smallmouth. I could tell by the excitement from Zach, that this was a special fish. He was more than eager to net the fish and he told me that the Union River usually doesn’t hold the size smallmouth bass the Penobscot River holds.
As the day drew to a close, we couldn’t help but reflect on the fantastic experience we had enjoyed. Maine’s Union River had provided us with a treasure trove of fishing opportunities, from the energetic smallmouth bass to the thrilling encounters with chain pickerel and chub. It was a testament to the beauty and biodiversity that nature has to offer, reminding us of the importance of conserving these precious resources for future generations.
So, fellow anglers, if you ever find yourself in Maine, make sure to put the Union River on your fishing itinerary. I would highly recommend Zach Pierce as a guide. He was extremely knowledgeable, very polite, and he put us on some fish.
As children, my brother, Keith, and I would get one wish from our parents for our birthdays, which are a year and two days apart. Since both of us have June birthdays, it was usually easy for my parents to put us on fish. We would either make a trip with my dad (the original kayak fisherman) to Lake Boeuf or we would go to a small farm pond in Labadieville with my grandfather and the rest of the kids. Whichever choice we made; it was those birthday trips that gave us the kind of thrill that little boys remember for the rest of their lives.
It’s been many years since the two of us have been “little boys” but when I called my brother and offered him a chance to join me for a birthday morning of fishing, he jumped at the opportunity. As the early morning sun painted the sky, I found myself transported back in time when we were little boys. This particular day held a promise, a promise of rekindling the bond with my brother through our shared passion for fishing. I was armed with my fly rod and Keith was wielding his pair of bait casters with conventional (commie) tackle. We embarked on this on this morning, hoping to create new memories while reminiscing about old ones.
The air was filled with a quiet serenity, broken only by the occasional chirping of birds, the sounds of whistling ducks, and the soft ripples of the lake’s surface. The scent of fresh morning dew mingled with the earthy aroma of the surrounding trees, creating an immersive experience that awakened my senses. It was a moment of pure bliss, an opportunity to escape the fast-paced world and immerse ourselves in nature’s embrace.
What a peaceful morning!
I pointed out my most productive spot to my brother and I stayed within yelling distance, hoping he would have some luck. After around 20 minutes or so, I checked on him to find out he hadn’t caught any. Meanwhile, I had already caught and released five chunky bass.
First bass of the morning was liking the LSU colors (wise choice Mr. Bass!)
I encouraged him to cast closer to the banks and to tie on something that looked like a crawfish. Well, that did the trick. Within 15 minutes, Keith had landed a couple nice bass of his own.
I eventually switched to a popper that had some orange and black in it (to imitate a crawfish)
Each battle with a bass brought back memories of our childhood, when my brother and I would spend countless hours exploring nearby lakes, ponds, and our beloved marshes of Southeast Louisiana. We would chase after any fish that dared to challenge us, reveling in the joy of the catch and the shared triumph. But as life took us on separate paths, these fishing trips became rare, and the memories faded into the background.
This birthday trip, however, gave us the chance to rewrite those stories, to create new chapters that would forever be etched in our hearts. With every successful catch, my brother and I exchanged triumphant glances, silently acknowledging the unbreakable bond we shared. The camaraderie we had missed so dearly was reignited, strengthened by the common goal of landing the biggest bass and making memories that would last a lifetime. And the bass just kept on eating.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting its warm rays upon us, the fish stopped feeding in the shallows. I paddled over to Keith, and I told him we would give it about another 15 minutes before we packed up. I paddled about a hundred yards behind him to fish a bank he had just finished working. That’s when the peaceful sounds of nature’s soft embrace were interrupted by, “Hey Kevin! Help!” I looked over my shoulder and I saw that Keith had fallen out of his kayak. I quickly peddled over to him and yelled at him to save his phone (which he had been using to take lots of pictures). But instead of him holding his phone out of the water, he was holding his rod and he beckoned me to grab it and land the fish that he hoped was still on the end of the line. He explained that he had just hooked a big bass and it made a strong run and that was what caused him to “turtle” the kayak. So, I did what any self-respecting older brother would do. I laughed at him, and I grabbed his rod to land the fish. I figured his phone, which was still in his pocket, was toast. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, there WAS a decent-sized bass on the end of his line. I landed the fish and pushed his kayak to the bank where he was able to right it and get back in it. I snapped a quick picture of the fish, and I helped him collect all his things which were now floating aimlessly in the water. By now we were both laughing hysterically. I figured it was a good time to call it quits.
Here’s the fish that did him in 🙂
My soaking wet brother!
But in the end, it was not about the number of fish caught or the size of the bass landed. It was about the connection we had rekindled, the moments of solitude and reflection amidst the beauty of nature. It was a reminder that sometimes, the greatest treasures in life are not found in the material world, but in the simple pleasures that bring us closer to those we hold dear.
As we reluctantly packed our gear and bid farewell to the lake, a sense of contentment washed over me. Our bass fishing trip had not only given us a memorable day on the water but had also served as a vessel to rekindle the deep bond between brothers. And for that, I will forever be grateful to the bass that eagerly ate my popper, bringing back old memories and creating new ones that will last a lifetime. I hope we don’t have to wait until our birthdays next year to be able to go fishing again.
After what seems like forever and a day, I was finally able to get my busy schedule and the weather to line up so I could my first kayak trip to our beautiful Southeast Louisiana marshes. This pristine ecosystem, which is renowned for its abundant redfish population, constantly beacons me with promises of heart-pounding battles and unforgettable experiences. This Saturday presented me with the joys and challenges that this kind of fishing provides.
I recently heard a buddy of mine who was tasked with making a presentation at the FFI Gulfcoast Council say, “Why would anyone in their right mind want to fly fish out of a kayak for redfish? It’s got to be one of the most difficult kinds of fishing there is.” I can concur, but the lure of stealthily approaching an unsuspecting redfish in gin-clear, shallow water and getting it to eat a fly that I tied myself is totally intoxicating.
For those of you who read my blog and aren’t from around here, Southeast Louisiana is a region blessed with lush marshlands, vibrant estuaries, and a rich diversity of wildlife. These marshes are a veritable paradise for fishing enthusiasts, particularly those seeking the prized redfish. Known for their powerful strikes and relentless fights, redfish have captivated anglers from far and wide, drawing them to these legendary waters. As I packed my gear the night before my trip, I double and triple checked to make sure I had not forgotten anything…two 7-8 wt rods and reels, a collection of my favorite flies, landing net, push pole, camera, etc. (you get the idea) It had been so long since I had made a trip to the marsh, I just knew I was going to forget something. I’m happy to say that I didn’t forget anything yesterday. 🙂
I didn’t even need to set my alarm clock. My body clock woke me up at 4 am. I had checked the weather and the weather was forecast to be sunny and warm and the wind was forecast to be between 5-10 mph. After a quick cup of coffee and a slice of toast, I left my house around 4:45. The two-hour drive to my spot was uneventful, except for the roadkill wild pig I saw. I slipped my kayak silently in the water around 7 am and I began the pedal to my first fishing spot of the morning, a path that would take me over 6 miles throughout the day; a day which offered me a front-row seat to the remarkable beauty of our marshes, which many people take for granted. Towering grasses, adorned with delicate water lilies, lined the banks, while herons and egrets gracefully patrolled the shallows in search of their next meal. Every now and then a sneaky alligator would surface its head and then quickly disappear when it saw me. The tranquility of the surroundings was a stark contrast to the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I was disappointed when I finally made it to my spot to see that even though there was an abundance of grass in the water, the water was not as clean as I had hoped. Cormier’s Rule #2 for Fly-fisherman is:clear water favors the fly fisherman. I didn’t even see my first redfish until 8:30 and when I saw it, it was about six feet away from me and my cover was blown. I continued to push-pole my kayak towards a secluded marsh point on the lee side of a small island when I saw my second redfish. It was slowly cruising the edge of the grass and I was able to cast my epoxy spoon-fly about a foot or two in front of the moving target. I could clearly hear my heart beating in my head as I watched the big redfish turn toward the fly and flare its gills. I set the hook and the water erupted. That was when I was reminded that this area is loaded with grass and these redfish can quickly find about 10 pounds of salad to weigh down my tippet. I found myself locked in a thrilling battle with this fiery redfish. Line zipped off the reel as the fish made determined runs, testing both my skills and the integrity of my equipment. I was thankful that I had loaded fresh 20-pound mono on the end of my rod, and I just hoped it would hold. Time seemed to stand still as I maneuvered the kayak, playing the fish and reveling in the dance between angler and prey. After what seemed like 10 minutes, I was finally able to get the fish to nose into my net. I cleaned about 10 pounds of grass off my line to reveal this beautiful redfish.
Selfies with Musicdoc 🙂
After a quick picture or two, I was able to revive the fish and send her off to go make babies. I was planning on keeping fish this day, but a redfish a tad bit over 27 inches was way more fish than I planned on cleaning and eating. What happened to all the 18–22-inch fish? Beyond the thrill of the chase, the morning offered me an intimate connection with nature. There were numerous beautiful marsh wildflowers (pictured above) and red-wing blackbirds that kept “fussing” at me for getting too close to them. Even with the very dirty water, I was able to spot several other species of fish including sheepshead, two different species of garfish, and a stingray. The four-foot alligator gar (not pictured above 🙂 ) that I spooked was right under me. I don’t know which one of us was more startled. I wish I could say my day was filled with countless other redfish encounters, but it wasn’t. When I would see a redfish, it was either cruising the opposite direction or I wouldn’t see it until I was so close that it saw me and was spooked. That one redfish, however, did make my day. It was just good to be back on the water. I did get run off by a shower and I picked up groceries on the way home. ($3 a pound for 16-20 count shrimp was lagniappe) Again, for those of you not familiar with our language, 🙂 lagniappe means “a little something extra.” Anyway, the encouraging thing is I did see a lot of fish. The redfish are waiting to once again do battle with that crazy dude standing up on that kayak flinging flies at them.
I can just hear my mom fussing at me right now to get off the water, but even the weather down here is beautiful in its own way.
And then there were the groceries 🙂 Tight loops and tight lines to you all.
As a busy high school band director, finding time to indulge in my second favorite pastime can be a challenge. My favorite pastime is spending time with my four grandchildren and watching them grow up. However, when the opportunity presents itself for a short fishing trip, it’s essential to make the most of it. That’s precisely what I did recently when I finally managed to get out and fly fish after a long hiatus.
To make the most of my morning, I had to wake up very early. I knew that bad weather was forecasted later in the morning, so I had to take advantage of the calm before the storm. I always tell students in my high school fly fishing club that they miss out on some of the best fishing of the day by sleeping in. My “body clock” woke me up at 4 am. I grabbed a cup of coffee, fixed a quick breakfast, and headed out the door.
Bleary-eyed but excited, I made my way to my favorite small lake with my kayak in tow, eager to start the day. I arrived shortly before 6 am and I hooked up with a good buddy of mine who had the same idea. We were greeted by the peaceful stillness of the water, the whistling of several flocks of fulvous whistling ducks, and an eerily overcast cloud cover which was an ominous warning of what was to come. So what began as an eerily quiet overcast morning, soon turned into quite an adventure.
I set up my gear, which consisted of a 6-weight fly rod, a floating line, and one of my deer hair dahlberg divers. My deer hair patterns are my go-to patterns for bass, and I was confident it would do the trick. Add to that, my buddy told me he caught seven on a small stretch of water the previous weekend on topwater.
I started casting around some weed beds and grass along the bank, working the bug with short, quick strips. It didn’t take long for the first strike, and I quickly set the hook. The bass put up a good fight, but I managed to bring it to hand, take a quick picture, and release it back into the water. This one was 15 inches long and she looked like she still had eggs.
As the morning progressed, I landed a few more bass, each one was just as fun as the first. I had planned on taking a few home for dinner because the owner of the lake wants me to harvest anything under 15 inches. The only problem with that was of the 10 bass I was able to land, only one was under 15 inches. Most were between 15 and 19 inches long and I would assume a few of them were around three pounds. I had a couple that I must have actually landed the fly on top of their head. The strike came within a second after the bug hit the water.
This was probably my largest at 19 inches long
After about an hour on the water, I began to hear the distant rumbling of thunder. The wind, however, was still calm as it slowly began to drizzle. I knew I had to make the most of my time on the water before the storms arrived and I could still fish in a drizzle as long as the lightning and wind stayed away. About five minutes later, my phone went off with an alert stating that lightning had been detected within 10 miles of my location. I figured ten bass in a little over an hour of fishing was a great adventure and I had better not push my luck. So, I began the pedal back to my truck. I looked at my phone and I saw that it was only 7:15. Most of the students in my high school fly fishing club were probably still in bed. Oh well…you know the saying about the early bird?
As I packed up my gear and headed home, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the opportunity to fish such a beautiful lake and catch some impressive bass. It was a reminder of why I love fly fishing, the connection with nature, and the thrill of the catch.
After posting my report from last Saturday, I never thought I would get a chance to fish again for a couple weeks. Well, my schedule cleared up and we didn’t have any after school practices, meetings, or performances. I’ve been itching to get back to my friend’s lake, especially since I only caught two the last time I went there in February (which is basically a skunk for me). So, I loaded up my kayak and drove on over to my buddy’s place. I put in the water around 4:25 and within ten minutes, I had my first bass in hand.
This bass was 16 inches and weighed 2.7 lbs.
I was giddy with excitement as no sooner had I released that girl, I had another one that came to play.
The LSU deer-hair popper did the trick today.
This continued until I had caught and released three carbon copies (all around 15-16 inches and just under 3 lbs.
These first three looked like they were sisters.
Then I proceeded to miss three good fish. The first two were weak hook sets (too much slack in my line when they hit). The third missed fish was a really nice one that jumped out of the water and went behind my kayak. I tried to turn the fish but it jumped and…well we all know what happens when they catch air. 🙂
I was really having a blast, laughing out loud and talking to those fish when I hooked my big one of the day. It measured 18 inches and weighed in at 4.12 lbs.
Big girl of the dayI should have probably put her closer to my GoPro but that’s all I could do since I left my phone at home. Here is another angle of that big girl
I continued to work the banks and I ended up bringing nine bass to hand and two enormous bluegill. I haven’t had this much fun catching fish in a while. It was definitely one trip that I’ll remember for a long time.
It was starting to get dark but I was able to catch this big bluegill that weighed 1.1 lbs.Last one of the day! What a great way to spend two hours on a Wednesday afternoon!
This past Saturday was our local club’s annual fly-fishing festival. The Red Stick Fly-Fishing Club puts on this day-long extravaganza the first Saturday in March each year and features great casting instructors, world-renowned fly tiers, interesting presentations, and yes, even a chance to fish on premises, in several small ponds stocked with bass, catfish, and bluegill. In recent years, I have been asked to be a guest fly tier and tie my deer-hair bugs. It’s a great opportunity for me to hone my skills as a tier, share notes with other tiers, meet old friends, and make new ones. I meet a couple of young men who were just getting into the sport and I gave them each a bass bug to take home with them with the instructions to take a picture of any bass they caught on it and send that picture to me. They were thrilled to be able to take home one of my flies.
These are four of my recent ties.
So, when the festivities were over, it was time to get on the water and see if I could fool a few bass into taking a bite out of one of my offerings. I loaded up my kayak and walked it over to the neighborhood lake.
Things started out slow for me and it took me a while to get a fish to look at my LSU (purple and gold) popper. My patience was rewarded, however, and after about 30 minutes on the water, I was able to lip a nice little male largemouth bass into my kayak.
It was long and skinny, and I thought to myself, it was either a female that had just laid its eggs and hadn’t eaten in a while or it was a malnourished male. Notice that dot on its tail. I was thinking it was a redfish want-to-be or maybe even a choupique. 🙂
A little while later, I hooked another small bass on the same popper. You can clearly see the deer-hair popper that it ate.
I continued to fish until the mosquitoes began to bother me and I picked up a couple more bass and missed another two.
I tell people that the purple and gold color combination is a fish-catching combination! While these were relatively small bass, they still put up a good fight on my 5 wt and they provided me with an awesome finish to an extraordinary day. Now comes my busiest month of the year. I will try to sneak out when I can but with after school rehearsals, performances, an Orlando band trip, and several birthdays (including Miss Lisa’s), I may get only a slight chance to get back out on the water before Easter…and that’s OK, because I have better luck on my fly rod AFTER the spawn and the crappie (sacalait) will start getting active in my neighborhood lake in April and May. So many fish to catch. So little time. 🙂
Kayak Fishing With Kevin 