dylar
Well-known member
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When I was a kid, my mom's folks lived on Buggs Island Lake just outside of Clarksville, VA. My grandfather introduced me to fishing, nurtured my interest in the sport, and some of my absolute fondest memories of childhood took place on that lake. When my grandparents passed, my uncle inherited the house, and I haven't really been back for any length of time. My uncle invited me to borrow the place for a few days this week, though, and I brought some friends for a little late birthday celebration (the actual date was last Monday). I promised myself I'd get in at least one good fishing session during my stay, and this morning I got up early and crept out of the house while everyone else slept in.
I walked down the lake and simply began working my way around the bank. I started out throwing a little stealth bomber, and quickly was into fish. Nothing impressive, but it's nice to clear the skunk early.
I started seeing signs of fish running bait, and I switched over to a Swingin' D and started walking it on a floating line. They liked that, and several fish choked it down in quick succession. Nothing bigger than 15-16", but bass on top just make me grin.
I only saw one other dude out there fishing all day. He was way more patient than I am.
Eventually, I worked my way out onto a shallow point that separated a big flat from deeper cut. I saw fish busting bait over the deeper water, but they were about a fly-line-and-a-half from my position. I climbed a half submerged tree to get a look down and into the flat. Didn't spot any bass, but I did see one gigantic catfish slowly cruising off the flat and headed toward the main channel. He was in range (barely), but he was way more fish than I want to tangle with on a 7wt.
The light early morning breeze that kept the skeeters off me (mostly) began to die back around 9:30, and the topwater bite died with it. The skeeters seized the moment and swarmed in, so I took the hint and went back to the house, content with my effort.
Late in the afternoon, everyone else was dozing again when I got a phone call. To let the nappers continue their slumber, I took the call while walking down by the lake. The sun was behind my back and falling at just the right angle, and I was struck by just how much life was out and about—three tiny bass holding formation on one another over here, a turtle over there, bream rising to insects all along the shoreline and blue damsel flies everywhere.
The rising bream and the damsels got me thinking, and when I was done with the call, I went back up to the house to grab my 3wt and see if I could get a few to play. I tied on a little blue Double Barrel popper and started dropping it against shallow structure. I was able to whip up a little interest, but the 'gills flat out stoned me. They would pull right up to the popper and hang just an inch or so below it. Sometimes for 10, 15, 20 seconds at a time. Some even nudged it. None actually ate it. I continued to flog them for a good half hour, refusing to be defeated by a bunch of freakin' bream. But I was.
Bowing to the inevitable, I moved down to a shallow, nearly featureless point that nonetheless has reliably produced small, topwater-oriented bass for me since I was 7 or 8. On my first cast, something...more substantial than usual blew up on the little popper. For some reason, I trout set it and came up empty. Feeling the weight just long enough to know I'd pricked it without actually sticking, I knew it was the kind of mistake you don't get a second opportunity to make, so I cursed my inopportune clumsiness and cast back out, knowing all the while the shot was blown, never to return again.
Except—wonder of wonders—the shot wasn't blown. On the second pop of my second cast, the water exploded again. This time, my hands did the right thing and I came tight. If the toilet bowl flush eat hadn't been enough to tell me, at that moment I realized I was tied into something more than the usual run of buck bass. When it came clear of the water, I realized I was woefully overmatched with my 7'6" 3wt and clicker reel. I knew if the fish got into water with any kind of depth, I'd struggle to lift her with that noodle in my hands. Fortunately, the fish stayed shallow and jumped repeatedly, giving me a chance to put the brakes on her without having to then pull her up through a big chunk of the water column. I was able to work her around a couple of stumps and in close where I could lip her. At just over 22", she was by far my biggest Buggs Island bass ever, and everything I could ever want to have on my little blueline rod.
After that, no other bass bit, but I kept at it. I finally managed to eke out a couple of pretty 'gills, so even those little jerks can't say they beat me.
The sun dipped low and the skeeters once again swarmed forth to devour, but I truly could head back to the house knowing it really couldn't get much better.
Cheers y'all!
Dylar
I walked down the lake and simply began working my way around the bank. I started out throwing a little stealth bomber, and quickly was into fish. Nothing impressive, but it's nice to clear the skunk early.
I started seeing signs of fish running bait, and I switched over to a Swingin' D and started walking it on a floating line. They liked that, and several fish choked it down in quick succession. Nothing bigger than 15-16", but bass on top just make me grin.
I only saw one other dude out there fishing all day. He was way more patient than I am.
Eventually, I worked my way out onto a shallow point that separated a big flat from deeper cut. I saw fish busting bait over the deeper water, but they were about a fly-line-and-a-half from my position. I climbed a half submerged tree to get a look down and into the flat. Didn't spot any bass, but I did see one gigantic catfish slowly cruising off the flat and headed toward the main channel. He was in range (barely), but he was way more fish than I want to tangle with on a 7wt.
The light early morning breeze that kept the skeeters off me (mostly) began to die back around 9:30, and the topwater bite died with it. The skeeters seized the moment and swarmed in, so I took the hint and went back to the house, content with my effort.
Late in the afternoon, everyone else was dozing again when I got a phone call. To let the nappers continue their slumber, I took the call while walking down by the lake. The sun was behind my back and falling at just the right angle, and I was struck by just how much life was out and about—three tiny bass holding formation on one another over here, a turtle over there, bream rising to insects all along the shoreline and blue damsel flies everywhere.
The rising bream and the damsels got me thinking, and when I was done with the call, I went back up to the house to grab my 3wt and see if I could get a few to play. I tied on a little blue Double Barrel popper and started dropping it against shallow structure. I was able to whip up a little interest, but the 'gills flat out stoned me. They would pull right up to the popper and hang just an inch or so below it. Sometimes for 10, 15, 20 seconds at a time. Some even nudged it. None actually ate it. I continued to flog them for a good half hour, refusing to be defeated by a bunch of freakin' bream. But I was.
Bowing to the inevitable, I moved down to a shallow, nearly featureless point that nonetheless has reliably produced small, topwater-oriented bass for me since I was 7 or 8. On my first cast, something...more substantial than usual blew up on the little popper. For some reason, I trout set it and came up empty. Feeling the weight just long enough to know I'd pricked it without actually sticking, I knew it was the kind of mistake you don't get a second opportunity to make, so I cursed my inopportune clumsiness and cast back out, knowing all the while the shot was blown, never to return again.
Except—wonder of wonders—the shot wasn't blown. On the second pop of my second cast, the water exploded again. This time, my hands did the right thing and I came tight. If the toilet bowl flush eat hadn't been enough to tell me, at that moment I realized I was tied into something more than the usual run of buck bass. When it came clear of the water, I realized I was woefully overmatched with my 7'6" 3wt and clicker reel. I knew if the fish got into water with any kind of depth, I'd struggle to lift her with that noodle in my hands. Fortunately, the fish stayed shallow and jumped repeatedly, giving me a chance to put the brakes on her without having to then pull her up through a big chunk of the water column. I was able to work her around a couple of stumps and in close where I could lip her. At just over 22", she was by far my biggest Buggs Island bass ever, and everything I could ever want to have on my little blueline rod.
After that, no other bass bit, but I kept at it. I finally managed to eke out a couple of pretty 'gills, so even those little jerks can't say they beat me.
The sun dipped low and the skeeters once again swarmed forth to devour, but I truly could head back to the house knowing it really couldn't get much better.
Cheers y'all!
Dylar
