Backcountry smallmouth report (Long)

[MillerJ]

I've not posted here in a while, but I thought Id share the story from a trip here in the Southeast US. We've been in a drought and have had a lot of 100+ degree days which is odd this early, but the fishing's been phenomenal for whatever reason.


On a recent trip to a section of wild river I wont name, with no easy access for several miles, surrounded by thickly forested government land, with no nearby trails or roads for access, I put the ol' fish cat through its paces yet again. The river in question is much too turbulent for a jon boat any time of year, and because it had been such a dry Spring, canoes and kayaks were out too. I knew we’d likely be wading through long, normally floatable riffles due to the low flow, so we’d have to travel light. But the large, long pools I’d observed in cursory reconnaissance would have to be floated; we couldn’t walk it all. Float tubes were the only option.


The basic plan was for my coworker Lee and I to meet early, stash a truck at the takeout, and shuttle upstream in another. Before we left work to ready the gear and meet up the next morning, I half-jokingly said something that I couldn’t have imagined would prove as prescient as it did.

“It should take us about 4 or 5 hours, but bring a flashlight just in case. We’re a long way from help if it goes bad.” Neither of us really had any idea what to expect. This float took place on the longest day of the year, and we’d ultimately still have needed at least two more hours of daylight to finish the trip without headlamps.



Hiking in: You can't haul a kayak like this.



We made the hike in and were on the water early, launching before the sun had shone itself to the heart of the river gorge. I’ve often observed that the fishing in coolwater streams like this one won’t heat up until the water has, and this river exhibited the same general tendency. We were picking up a fish here and there soon after launch, but not exactly slaying them. Around noon, the smallmouth really started feeding. The bite was on, we were miles from anywhere, and we had nothing to do but catch fish and enjoy the scenery. Nobody else was around. Of course, we weren’t making much progress where it came to getting down the river, but the day was still young.



Fish on!


Since there wasn’t much water flowing to carry us downstream, the process went like this; we’d drag or carry the tubes along, through endless stretches of shallow, rocky river, picking our way through pumpkin-sized cobbles and past house-sized boulders and sky-high bluffs with paracord drag lanyards digging into our waterlogged hands the whole way.


Fish, float, drag, repeat...

Each time we finished hiking down a riffle and arrive at the head of the next pool, we’d get into a whole new population of ignorant fish ready to accept whatever lures we threw.


15 incher



It’s always tough to leave a spot for any reason when the fish are on the feed, and they were feeding in that way you rarely witness, but always dream about. But we knew we had to move on, so we’d strap on our flippers and kick our way downstream through the deep, dark pools. Once across, we’d remove the flippers and start dragging again. It was a painstakingly slow process.


At higher flow, we could've floated riffles like these.

Lee had thought to bring along an energy bar, while I’d taken a single peanut butter sandwich. Each was gone early in the day. At approximately 3pm, we began to consider picking up the pace to make sure we weren’t caught out after dark, but of course the fish were still biting.


Love those river smallies


We’d landed some walleye, more smallmouth than we could count and enough rock bass to filet and feed an army. The temperature had climbed into the 90s and the sun had sapped us of most our strength. The whole thing was turning into a bit of an ordeal, but it’s not right to complain while having the time of your life and catching so many fish. People travel to Alaska to have days like this.


No monsters, but we were catching fish!


We kept at it, but were moving slower because the rubber straps to Lee’s flippers had broken and he had to manually tie them back on at the head of each pool. By 6pm though, we had indeed begun to worry out loud.


Daylight waning...


Neither of us had a GPS, but we believed we were still a long way from the shuttle truck. By 8pm, the sun had disappeared entirely over the rim of the gorge, the fishing had slowed, and by my best estimation, we still had a couple of miles to go. Not far in the grand scheme of things, but float tubes don’t move very quickly, and the gorge was too tight to hike along the riverbanks, so we slogged through the shallow, rocky water in the fading light, not panicking, but moving quickly to try and get out with a little light left.


Beautiful country, but things were getting dim.


By 9:30 pm, the light was all gone, we had no idea how far we had left to go, and the river suddenly took on another persona. Each step was more treacherous than the last, and a twisted ankle would’ve greatly complicated our situation. Twice we were sure we saw the takeout up ahead only to have the mirage fade back into the darkness. We thankfully had lights, but they didn’t prove particularly useful for seeing through the moving water to place our steps. We both thought we’d heard a road nearby, but we never saw a headlight. Totally exhausted, we talked seriously about finding a flat spot on the bank and perhaps trying to get some sleep until dawn when we could more easily see our way down the river. It was while looking for a possible bivouac that I, somehow in the dark, found the narrow trail next to river.



This is all we could see...

One hour and a couple of miles later, we were in the parking lot where we left the truck, laughing about the whole experience; no big deal. Sure, it got a bit tense for a minute there, but what’s wrong with a little adventure? I returned home well after midnight to a worried wife, exhausted, and due at work in a few hours. But
fish were caught and a section of wild river had been explored. Trips like these make memories.


Bonus pics:


Smallie..


Eater size rock bass


Walleye


Dragon hunter (Hagenius brevistylus) landed on my rod... good omen

Thanks for looking.
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