Smallmouth Along the Bronzeback Byway: Chapter 2

Our late summer smallmouth bass reprieve rolls on

Local Knowledge

I’ve milked some valuable beta from stool-weights at roadside dive bars. The formula is simple: spot a rosy grog blossom beneath a camo cap, buy the chap a drink, and lend an ear to slurry directions leading to local fish and game hot spots. The inside scoop can also be attained at the local fly shop (for the price of a few bugs) and you can skip the hangover. I opted for the latter option on this solo excursion across the “Bronzeback Byway”, a road that I had mapped out from Montana to the Upper Midwest. At a hard core fishing store in a Minneapolis suburb, a shop clerk, who spoke my language, dropped me a hot tip to an obscure tributary complete with a Google pin drop. I was en route to smallmouth paydirt.

Lost and Found

The anticipation reached a crescendo as I inched ever closer to “X” on the digital screen. My stoke deflated when the route dead-ended at an obvious driveway and I interrupted a screen porch-happy hour. Apparently, they don’t see too many VW’s from Montana out this way as my outfit drew long, suspicious stares from the property owners. I longed for a map (you know, the old kind made of paper) but through the thick canopy of forest I could see a change in foliage signifying proximity to water. Back at the intersection of dirt and gravel, I encountered an approachable figure in the form of a weary dad, about my age, pushing a stroller. “I’m looking for a smallmouth river and a campground, can you point me in the right direction?” He admitted his own affinity for smallmouth fly fishing and assured me that I was very close, I would just need to follow a series of clues. “Right at the next intersection, left before the S curves, right at the third large tree, then just head East until you see the river. The road’s pretty rough, you might not want to take that car if you have another option?”. Of course, I didn’t. Then he added the requisite “Keep this one under your hat, its one of the best little smallmouth rivers around here.” My Montana license plates likely worked in my favor, as I imagine he assumed I wasn’t very likely to return to this treasure so far off the beaten path. Or, perhaps, this was all just a big ruse. The fly shop guy in cahoots with this vagabond? Did I actually even see a live baby in that stroller?

A Hidden Smallmouth Gem

The good samaritan’s directions didn’t bear any fruit, but via my old standby for finding these out-of-way places (aimless wandering), I eventually located a campsite resembling the description I’d heard hours ago at the fly shop. A few happy campers gave me a wave as I surveyed my options, then selected a nice little site adjacent the river. I paid my fees and claimed my campsite, complete with a trail leading to the stream. At water’s edge, I considered the inviting little river and gave a silent shout out to the shop clerk. Below me was a glassy tailout. A couple of submerged boulders provided a likely resting spot for a smallmouth. My initial presentation was pretty fair, landing above and across the structure. The fly came under tension and I gave the line a tug, manipulating the frog into an enticing dive. As soon as it resurfaced, a bass engulfed the fly. The fish dove for the safety of the pocket water and found freedom in the form of a submerged root wad. Sum’ bitch, I thought, as I recovered my bug.

A New Approach

I cinched up my sandal straps and rock-hopped upriver on greasy substrate, nearly losing my balance multiple times. The frog garnered no more attention, so in a juicy boulder-strewn pool, I switched to a streamer recommended by the fly shop. Instantly, my fortunes turned, as bass after bass attacked the fly on the retrieve. Palm-sized smallmouth put a deep bend in the 5WT https://cd-fishing.us/flyfishing/taimer-xtc-rod/ and I was into ’em now, landing a handful of feisty bass, including a true bronzeback of 15 inches or so. Distinct from the smallies we have back home in Montana but certainly just as palatable, I considered keeping a couple for dinner, then remembered that I didn’t even have a cooler nor a frying pan on this light and tight mission. Difficult as it was, I removed myself from the river at dusk and returned to camp for whatever freeze-dried option remained in the camp box.

Unexpected Encounter

Before daybreak, I snuck out of the campground and hiked downstream to a deep back eddy. The road was calling and I would need to get on with my journey, but dawn on an unknown river is too rife with mystery to ignore. As the fog slowly lifted and the north woods came to life, a fish grabbed my streamer and outfought its proportions. I lifted the rod, brought the fish to hand, and was surprised to discover a walleye. Albeit a small specimen, a walleye on-the-fly is always a welcome anomaly. I reeled up, broke camp and set out to see what other surprises await on the final leg of the “Bronzeback Byway”.