Summer Smallmouth Along the Bronzeback Byway: Chapter 3
Our summer smallmouth sojourn reaches crescendo along national scenic waterways in the North Woods
Between Duluth and Hayward, Wisconsin, a crystalline spring creek carves a navigable path through a dense forest of old growth pine, fir, aspen and birch. For years, my wife’s godfather, a Wisconsin fly angler, regaled me with stories of ginormous brown trout migrating from Lake Superior into this intimate river. The timing of my smallmouth-centric excursion happened to generally coincide with this annual event so I added a detour to the Bois Brule River for myself. https://dnr.wisconsin.gov/topic/Fishing/lakesuperior/boisbrulefishing.html
Armed with beta gathered from a local fly shop and said godfather, I navigated a river trail and avoided branches and understory with the tip of a 10’ 8WT Switch rod https://cd-fishing.us/flyfishing/allfly-ultimate-plus/ Slinking along a path through ancient trees, one eye on the river, recalled so many similar excursions on coastal steelhead streams throughout the Pacific Northwest. I sourced out holding water conducive to the swung fly and dialed in my line and fly system for the depth and the speed of the Brule. The old steelheader in me began to surface and I could’ve easily become entranced, working the river relentlessly until I hooked one of these elusive migratory brown trout or just fished myself out. I couldn’t stay long, however, and all I managed to entice were a few palm-sized, albeit beautiful, wild Brule rainbow trout.
What I had failed to foresee in this spontaneous side-trip was the popularity of camping in the Brule State Forest. It just so happened to be Friday night, and every spot in the campgrounds that I surveyed via a slow drive had been claimed, a “reserved” sign posted on each vacant site. The local motels were all booked too and I was left debating if I should return to Duluth, or “go commando”, as one of the local anglers I ran into put it. I’m not much of a scofflaw but I was desperate and tucked in behind a canoe launch parking lot. I pitched my tent on a wide spot and grabbed a few hours of sleep, hoping no one would notice me. Before sunrise, I broke my camp to discover that I’d just camped atop a used contraceptive-at least the amorous couple hadn’t “gone commando” as well.
10 years prior, I had the distinct pleasure of fishing with Larry and Wendy Mann, proprietors of the Hayward Fly Company https://haywardflyfishingcompany.com/ What ensued was one of the most unforgettable days of fly fishing I’ve experienced, a North Woods Grand Slam complete with my first musky on the fly. But the smallmouth had left the deepest impression-Canadian Football-sized brutes that voraciously attacked an 8-inch streamer in the pocket water and forced a deep bend in the 9WT. I only managed to land three of them, each of which was the largest smallmouth I’d ever caught. My notion of smallmouth bass changed entirely that day and the species quickly ascended to the top of my quarry pyramid. I’d been yearning to get back for nearly a decade and share this experience with my wife. I had no sooner arrived at the family cabin than we left the kids with Grandma, borrowed her cabin cruiser, and set off to rendezvous with the new owners of the Hayward Fly Fishing Company.
Our guide, Ben, had the ideal demeanor for a guide. He plucked a couple of diving frogs from the fly bin and I instantly knew that we were in the right hands. Throughout the course of the day we would discover that he possessed an intimate knowledge of the fishery and a variety of tactics and techniques. The river and the presentation required accurate casts, and I struggled to land the big hair-spun dry fly where I’d intended, causing poor Ben to pull into some juicy lies to retrieve my fly from the overhanging flora. I’ve been on the oars all summer, just a little rusty. Then, I missed a couple of golden opportunities, surface explosions that left me weak in the knees.
We slid alongside a submerged log and a foamy eddy. From the back of the boat I aimed for the log and the frog vanished in a violent take. I pulled in a two-foot pike, but the disturbance caught the attention of several giant smallmouth. Ben switched Lauren’s bug to a smaller dry fly and she tied into a beast of a bass! She received a first hand education in the demeanor and power of a North Woods bronzeback as she struggled to maintain control of a 20” + fish in the current of the river. She held her ground, however, and as we slid the behemoth into the net, her heart rate began to return to normal and another smallmouth angler was born. On the drive back to the cabin she confessed “I’m going to have trouble getting excited about trout fishing when we get back home.”
