Since the opener of bass season, it has become very humid. The main river running through our fair city struggles to maintain its flow. In some parts, one could walk across atop the sun-bleached rocks. I have been down to various parts of the Thames in search of some river smallmouth bass. In previous summers, one could easily tag onto several high flying bronze backs in notable sizes. So far this summer, there has been nothing over 3lbs.
At times, getting a fish to hit was a brow sweating task. Hell, finding runs deeper than my knees meant longer walks from the usual access points.
( getting bent)
( high sticking)
Brent and I have been hitting the gravel around the dinner time slot. Streamers, buggers and poppers. I had all the flies I needed for the evening in one small flybox. An extra leader and a spool of tippet. Everything fitted in one little fanny pack. A far cry from steelheading.
If you are willing to take a hike, you will be rewarded with some healthy, albeit, smaller than usual fish. On our most recent outing, Jack Frank suited up to partake in some of the action. I don’t think he was none too impressed with the smothering heavy air either.
( WTF are you looking at? )
It is what it is. A low flowing river that has me wondering where the big bass are in the places I grew up spending my youthful summers, hiking, canoeing and learning to fish.
Here’s the irony. I can’t swim however if I know I am safe from drowning ( or that the odds are in my favor that I won’t), I am completely comfortable in over my head.
The opening of bass season was quite enjoyable. My good friend Jack joined me for some pond bass. I was able to get a second float tube from best bud (Brent) so both Jack and I could float about and get pulled around by the bucketmouths. It was unfortunate that Brent could not have joined us. He knew he would be nursing a hangover and wisely manned up bailing on this trip.
No early start. I was still rubbing my eyes open when Jack rolled up to the house at 6am sharp, to the minute. A quick pit stop for air (of all things) and we made our way to the launch. This would be Jack’s inaugural trip in a float tube. I was looking forward to seeing him get man-handled on the water.
He did well. In fact, too well. A quick study and he was on his way, flipping around me and re-positioning himself to face the weedline drop offs. Jack struck first with a small fish. He would go on to complete the morning with the best fish between us. One healthy largemouth.
Me, I took the time to de-stress and simply enjoyed the time carefree of all else. Not to be left off the board, I found some eager and aggressive fish here and there