Summer

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.



( zonkered)



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.    



( a good fish from Brent)