A SEASON ON THE FLY
Several months ago Rick Z made the generous offer to donate flies with the intended end of stimulating some articles for the Panfish section of FAOL. Never at a shortage for words, I took Rick up on his offer.
When the flies arrived I settled a practiced eye upon them and immediately recognized one of Rick's famous "Boa Leeches", a "Furled Leech" and a Goldie Jr. The rest I promptly deemed "MRF"s- (More Rick's Flies). I gave the collection a special spot in my pack. Here is the story of a few of their trips to the water.
Dateline: Farm Pond SE Iowa 5/1/09
Normally I have limbered up the panfish rod a number of times before May 1st but I had succumbed to the wiles of a woman and had let myself be shanghaied into taking a "real" job. In my defense it was mostly "pointing and yelling" but it was the first steady, eight hour a day job I'd had in sometime. In fact, as I filled out my first time card in almost thirty years, my entire life passed before my eyes.
But, now I stood on the bank of a pretty little pond much more in my natural element. It had been a long, cold winter and the ice had been late in leaving. Now, there was a warm, south breeze blowing in my face and it was just starting to feel "fishy". In previous trips I had caught several nice bass on the long rod and a few crappies on jigs. (Heaven forbid) With the shallows finally warming, and the water clearing up, I thought I might find some bluegills moving up in the column.
I looked at the selection of flies, figured I'd double my chances and tied on a white Boa Leech with a pretty, soft-hackle fly on a dropper. Using a fluorocarbon leader my plan was to cast the flies out, count them down completely through the water column and hope a bite would tell me how deep to fish. That was the "plan".
Though "patience is a virtue" it isn't one of mine. At about a twenty-count I decided to give the flies’ one slow, soft strip. I admit I was slightly confused when I saw the line straighten slowly out and I felt just a bit of weight on the other end. Fortunately, somewhere, within ten seconds or so, my computer-like mind processed the information radiating from the other end of the line and my cat-like reflexes came into play. In spite of myself I managed to hook a ten-inch crappie. Even a mediocre crappie, which by their very nature, fight much like a wet sock, felt pretty good on the end of that three weight. Over the next hour I was able to take five more. Four came on the white Boa Leech. Two crappie and one small bass came on the dropper.
6/21/09
It's been a wet spring and the ponds are high and dirty. One thing the darker water has done is pushed the spawning bluegills well into the shallows. In fact, some are nearly bedded on the bank. A friend and I had decided to approach them in his two-man boat. Believe me; I'll never be mistaken for an expert fly fisherman, either by technique or equipment. (I do look more like Lefty Kreh than Brad Pitt.) My "weapon of choice" for the day was a vintage "Actionglass" rod with a South Bend automatic reel. A non-fishing friend who had found it among a deceased uncle's possessions made a gift of it to me. But, despite my ability, or equipment, this turned out to be one of those days one could do nothing wrong. The only obstacles were a few overhanging branches. If either of us, casting sidearm, could land a fly on the water and within 2 feet of the bank, we were virtually guaranteed a fat bull bluegill. We caught fish and released fish down the entire north side of the pond - then started over and did it again. I swapped flies several times and it seemed to make little difference what I threw. Finally I again added a dropper and twice was rewarded with "doubles". They were "wired". When we finally decided we wanted a few "eaters" I dug again in my handful of "Rick" flies and selected the "Goldie JR". I dropped back and cast to deeper water, letting the fly sink and counting it down. Anywhere from a 4 to a 6 count I would nearly always be rewarded with an egg-laden female. It didn't take long to put ten in the "sack". When we finally headed back toward the dam and our trucks I noticed fish moving right along the bank. I cast once more to shore and immediately got bit. There was a school of 12 - 15 inch bass chasing something (probably crappie fry) and they were more than pleased to see Goldie. That delayed our departure another hour.
9/1/09
Despite what the calendar says I always count September 1st as the first day of fall. Probably stems from the fact that squirrel season always opened on that date and to a country boy with a single shot .22 that was almost Christmas.
Though the days are usually plenty warm it is the mornings and evenings that make you think fall. The water begins to cool ever so slightly and the panfish tend to begin to move up the water column.
I tied on a couple of Rick's "soft-hackle" flies and cast as close to the bank and my limited skills allowed. My first cast was rewarded with a quick take and I was into a small bass. It soon became apparent the bass were there and ruling the shallows. I moved off the bank a few feet and started my "count-down" technique. I was taking a long time to get down to where the fish seemed to be so I chose a bead-eyed fly of my own "manufacture" and added a dropper. Crappie (and an occasional bass) seemed to like the bigger fly and the soft-hackle attracted a number of bluegill. I have a self-imposed limit of ten panfish in aggregate. There are two reasons behind my thinking. One, this will feed the wife and I, with a few pieces left over for a lunch sandwich, and two I'm too lazy to clean more than ten at a time. I sorted of a half-dozen nice females and four good crappie and returned all the big bulls and a number of crappie and bass. All, with the possible exception of the fish, had a good time. Right now, as I look out the window, I see eight inches of snow and repeated drilling tells me there is more than a foot of ice. I'm about ready to trade my two-foot rods in on something a bit "longer". C'mon spring.
Thanks Rick, for the opportunity, and I promise the flies will see continued action. Hope to see you on the water someday.
(Gene is described by his friends as a "kept man" and lives on the banks of the Iowa River. He will hunt for anything that walks, flies or crawls on its belly and will fish for anything that pulls back.)