Bill Cooper
8/11
Heavy rains the night before left me in doubt about the possible success of a smallmouth trip fishing buddy Dale Goff and I had planned. Experience has taught me that fishing is far better before a weather front moves through the area than afterwards. However, Goff is one of the best smallmouth bass fishermen I know. I folded to his insistence that we make the trip.
Heavy fog hung over the river and droplets of water spilled from riverside trees as we slid the canoe into the water. Goff took the front and I manned the stern, more intent on photographing the big smallmouth Goff expected to catch.
Daily temperatures had pushed the 100 degree mark for over a week. This day would be no different. Coupled with my my notions about weather fronts, I fully expected our float and fish trip to be a hot, miserable affair with few fish to show for our efforts. Seldom am I a pessimist about fishing, but this day just did not bode well in my opinion.
Less than yards into the float, Goff hooked his first smallmouth bass, a scrappy 12-incher. “Whoa,” Goff laughed. “He hit that Fluke like a torpedo!”
Goff is a fanatic about the Fluke, a minnow looking, 5-inch piece of soft plastic. “Smallmouth hate these things,” he lauded. “They seem to hit them out of a deep aggressive reaction.”
A few casts later Goff hooked another smallmouth. It promptly threw the hook. “Dang it,” he yelled.
“You can’t catch ‘em all,” I needled as I picked up my rod for the first time. “I don’t know why not,” Goff needled back.
The cool morning air refreshed our spirits after each of us had spent over a week working out tin the 100 degree temperatures. Too, we had the river to ourselves. Our cares drifted away with the current. We were out to have a good time. It had been years since we had been on the river together. We fully intended to catch up on fishing and enjoy one another’s company. No better place to accomplish that than on the river.
Goff’s rod arched as another smallmouth hit is Fluke and jumped out of the water sending the Fluke back at the canoe. “They aren’t eating it,” Goff mused. “But they hate these things and strike them anyway either to kill this intruder or run it off.”
I finally hooked my first fish and enjoyed the short fight. A dozen fish later, we had not seen any of the really big smallmouth that Goff had been catching over the last few weeks.
The action slowed and I concern showed on Goff’s face. He had invited me on this trip so that I get get photos of some big, Ozarks smallmouth bass. Thus far, that plan had not panned out. Regardless, I kept paddling and he kept fishing.
I reminded Goff about my theory concerning weather fronts. “Could be,” he said. “But, I have caught big smallmouth here in all kinds of weather.”
The next couple of miles produced few small fish, but nothing photo worthy. I intended to jab Goff again when he yelled,”Oooooh, this is a big one.”
I didn’t doubt his word because of the bend in his rod. I caught a glimpse of the fish in the clear water. Its broad, brown side flashed in the sunlight like gold. “Hang on to this one,” I coaxed. “I think I may have to break out the camera, if you get this one to the boat.”
I promptly snapped a dozen frames of the 17-inch smallmouth, a good fish in anyone’s book. “Now that fish ate the bait,” Goff quipped as he released the fish to fight another day.
Minutes later he repeated the process. “We should catch several nice fish from this hole,” Goff said. “They are turned on now. We just need to watch for big rocks about eight feet from the bank with a good current running by them. That seems to be where they are holding.”
I watched closely as Goff made his next few casts. The Fluke sank slowly out of sight as he twitched it slightly on the retrieve. I saw a bronze flash dash from the rocks. Goff boated another nice smallie.
“Bill, how about paddling us across the river to those big, downed trees while I tie on a spinnerbait? I think I can jerk largemouth out of there.”
He did just that on his very first cast to the big logs. A scrappy three pound largemouth inhaled the white spinnerbait. It made for a good photo.
“Now can you paddle back to the other side?” Goff quizzed. “There is a really good hole over there and I want to tie my Fluke back on.”
He proved himself right again. It didn’t take long for him to hook and land a 19-inch smallmouth. Several smaller fish fell to Goff’s tactics on the first float through the hole.
We had just reached the tail out of the hole when Goff sheepishly asked me to paddle back to the head of the hole. He caught another big bass on the trip back up river and another on the way back down. Three more times I paddled back upriver to float the whole one more time. He caught big fish every trip down, one we estimated at 22 inches. It hung over both ends of the 18-inch ruler. By now, I had taken well over 200 photos. My smallmouth bass file had graduated to the plump state.
During the last two miles of the trip we stopped to wade, fish and cool off a few times. The cool river water felt grand in the sweltering heat. And I caught a few fish.
A day on the river with a good pal is one thing, but to witness a fisherman who knows how and where to fish for big smallmouth bass is something altogether different. I had never seen so many quality smallmouth bass caught in one float trip. I can’t wait to go again.
Oh, did I mention where we were? I forget!
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