Micropterus dolomieu

You might not know the name…for me it means relaxation. Truth be told it could be in the dictionary beside stress reliever…but actually Micropterus dolomieu is the scientific name for the smallmouth bass and you can probably figure out that not only am I in love with the species, I am in love with those places where ‘smallies’ are found. Smallmouth you see don’t grow in ugly places, they thrive in waters that are somewhere below 75 degrees and in surroundings that doesn’t have traffic or cell phones or…well, lots of other worldly distractions.

This past Thursday was the second of our three days of finals at Edgewood and if you have taught then you know how long and arduous these days can be…the cure, Frank Terkhorn met me at school at 3:30pm, we hopped in my rig and a few minutes later were headed north on 231 to fish one of our favorite haunts. It had stormed pretty good for a couple of hours in the afternoon so we were both watching creeks as we drove; a couple of smaller streams didn’t look good at all but when we finally pulled in next to our stream we both gave a sigh of relief as the water was just a bit stained…in fact it was sparkling as the sun was now starting to move to the western side of things.

The plan was simple as I would drop off Frank, move a few miles downstream where I would park my car and begin my fly fishing journey westward. Frank would then fish his way to the vehicle and meet me two and a half hours later…and hopefully both of us would have a few photos and stories to tell.
As I stripped off about 30 feet of line from my 3 weight fly rod-my mind wandered back to many fishing trips before. I knew that ahead of me were holes that were deep and clear, they would be holding smallmouth that would be looking for a meal and the afternoon storms would provide just such a meal as the newly entered waters would collect bugs, crayfish and my favorite…baitfish and send them swirling through their lair-smallies are not only very territorial but quite opportunistic and won’t pass up a free or wounded baitfish, which was exactly what I had tied to the other end of my leader.

The water had a dark green tint to it, I notice these things because water color can be so incredibly important with fish…I began to work cover making casts into and under tree limbs around rocky crags and ledges…floating my baitfish pattern by debris and allowing it to dead drift into calm areas…all in hopes of finding a ‘pig’, one of those big bellied beauties that I think of and live for. Truth is that I was a half hour in and hadn’t even had a tap on the line. My thoughts turned to all sorts of possible issues, why indeed were the fish not eating?

What I didn’t know was that Frank was having exactly the same woes. He had gone almost an hour downstream and hadn’t even had a bite, not a nip on the line and he too was growing weary. What neither of us knew was that our luck was about to take a crazy turn; I felt a subtle cooling and for a few minutes thought another thunderstorm was heading our way…and it was as if God had turned on the feeding trough for the fish. The next hour was magical, something that Frank and I both talked about later…something that was hard to explain but happened to both of us.

That something is just a feeling that you get when the fish turn on and begin to feed. For me it started slowly with a ten incher that popped my line. A couple of casts later I nailed a 12 inch fish that fought like he was closer to twenty. As I neared one of the most productive spots on the creek I saw a big swirl up ahead…kept my fly line moving and placed the fly just past the swirl and almost instantly was hooked up with a much bigger fish, a 15 inch chunky smallie.
The next half hour was what I live for as the fish were on the move and one after the other I…and I would later find out Frank as well, were landing nice smallmouth. I caught another 15 with a couple medium sized fish in between and ended my night up with a true gem, an 18 inch creek smallie that would have weighed in at about 3 ½ pounds.

As I walked up the hill to meet Frank, he was sitting on my bumpstep with his arms crossed. He had a wry smile on his face and proceeded to tell me that he had only gotten 4 hits all night long. I took a second to read him a bit more when he grinned and reached for his camera. What he was neglecting to tell me is that two of his four hits he had landed; one was 18 inches and the other…it was the fish of the night, going 19 ½ inches!

Yes indeed we had both caught fish…and not just fish, but big fish. We had enjoyed a night in one of the most awesome environments around. No cell phones or car horns beeping, just the sound of water gurgling as it trickled and rushed by a fish that has my utmost respect and on this night both of us couldn’t help but Enjoy the Great Outdoors.