By John Nix
Paul Buechler
shows off a New Mexico smallmouth.
Although not the biggest fish in
the water and often not the most sought after fish, once caught, the smallmouth
is definitely one of the most remembered fish.
There is a ridge of rock about forty feet wide that juts out into 150 foot deep
Elephant Butte reservoir in New Mexico. Over 100 ft of vertical drop in the
clear headwaters of the Rio Grande. It is where I fell in love with the smallmouth
bass. My fist time at the rocks, I was only there for about an hour. But that
was long enough for me to develop an insatiable thirst for smallmouth fishing.
With Frankie Urzetta, I caught a four-pound smallie, then a five-pound smallie,
and then a five and a half bronze beauty. The ferocity, the beauty, the jumping;
yeah, I was hooked.
Whether knee deep in a river or floating over 100 ft. depths, watching and feeling
a tenacious bronzeback break the surface and acrobatically try to dislodge your
lure is an experience that will get in your blood. When you hook a smallmouth,
whether in a stream or in deep water, the fish will usually try to break the
surface and make a few jumps. It's in their blood.
Smallmouth (Micropterus dolomieui, Micropterus is Greek, meaning "small
fin") are predator fish that prefer cooler water (usually 67-71°) than
their largemouth cousins. And yes, as the name implies the smallmouth is a little
smaller than the largemouths we are used to here in Texas. The Texas record
for largemouth is 18.18 pounds (Barry Sinclair) The Texas record for smallmouth
is 7.93 pounds, 23 inches long caught on Lake Meredith by Timothy Teague in
March of 1998. Captain Ron Gardner of Lake Whitney held the record for ten years
before that with a 7.72 pound Whitney smallmouth that was 22 inches long and
caught in November. The world record is 11 pounds and 15 ounces.
Largemouth grow just about everywhere in Texas waters, but the smallmouth is
more particular about its surroundings. A smallmouth bass can't take the heat
in a stock tank that a largemouth can. They like a more oxygen-enriched environment,
such as rivers and deep, clear-water lakes. So, in the right water, the smallmouth
can thrive in the Texas heat. Some of the best Texas reservoirs for smallmouth
are Meredith, Whitney, O.H. Ivie, and Texoma, but they are in many more waters
than you think. The funnest place to catch smallies is in a river.
A river seems to have more life than a lake. Rivers have their own soul. And
when you tighten your line with a smallmouth born and raised in that moving
water, the memory is etched a little deeper into your mind.
The Glover River, a wonderful river that races down out of the rocky hills in
eastern Oklahoma, has a fast current and strong smallmouth. Dubbed "the
Last Wild River in Oklahoma" the Glover carves a picturesque canyon through
the Honobia-Three Rivers WMA without the help of man. There are no dams or man-made
structures on the entire river (except for a couple of cement road crossings).
It also has a certain strain of smallmouth, the Neosho strain.
Smallmouth love crawfish. They also eat minnows. One of my favorite things about
fishing a river is watching minnows dart and jump on the surface being chased
by smallmouths. On the Glover, Steve Brigman had done enough research (fishing)
to find that a grub/spinner combination worked wonders on tempting the OK smallies.
With a gold blade and a pumpkinseed grub, the bait looked great in clear water.
You could bounce it down a shelf like a crawfish or rip it through the current
to mimic bait fish. Smallmouth don't like as much current as trout, so narrowing
down where to toss you lure, or reading the water, is easier when fishing for
smallies. They are going to like deep pools, they will like the lee side of
rocks and boulders, they will like the shade, but most of all they will like
where the bait is.
While walking on Glover one day, Steve and I were trying to work our way to
where two streams came together.
Steve was easing to the right saying, "Look at that sandy bank with a willow
hanging over it. That looks good."
I had seen that spot, but my eyes were looking at a large boulder right in the
middle of the river. I eased out. The rocks covering the bottom of the Glover
are a little larger than the flatland rivers of Texas. Rocks the size of your
fist, bowling balls, and some as large as a desk are scattered down the river.
It is not the easiest surface to walk on, especially while you are gazing at
the beautiful canyon walls or trying to fish.
The big rock was a blurry shadow under the rushing clear, green water. I aimed
right for the rock and about two feet past. My bait straightened out and spun
its blade right through the eddy, but before it could emerge from the shadow,
it was attacked. I set the hook, lost my footing and went to one knee. With
my rod still held high and still bent, I let out a yelp so Steve would know
I had one.
Once my feet were solid I turned the fish into the current and started to bring
him in. Breaking the surface, the fish made the line go slack by jumping and
thrashing. I could see the blade of the bait dangling in the air. I thought
he would toss it, but my hands were working while I was daydreaming, and the
line tightened again. Cross current, up in the air again and then back around,
this fish liked to swim and swim hard.
When I got him in, it almost embarrassing. I reached to lip the fish and lost
my footing again. The splash from a two-pound fish (maybe a little more) plus
the river current and the rocks had brought me to one knee. Steve laughed and
released a little one he had caught off of the sandy bank. From the shoreline,
he didn't have near as much trouble as I. He continued to catch a mess of bream,
while my attention turned to another piece of structure.
Walking into deeper water I was able to cast behind a wall that stretched into
the river. It looked fishy, so I let my bait sink. About six feet down, I twitched
it and then twitched it again.
She liked that. My rod bent and my reel started singing off line. I tightened
the drag and raised the rod to set the hook. This was a good fish. I had to
work her downstream of the big rock and hang on while she jumped and thrashed.
Steve had given up on the bream and was providing a backdrop of jeering comments
as I fought my monster in the middle of the river. Just before the spawn with
big bronze belly, she weighed three pounds and pulled like she weighed thirty.
After a picture, I released her and she swam straight toward the wall where
I had caught her. Whether she went right back to where she was or just in that
direction, I don't know, but smallmouth are like that. Even more than largemouth,
smallies will stay in their own territory. They are homebodies. This is one
reason that catch and release is so important to Texas smallmouth populations.
Compared to the largemouth, there aren't that many great smallmouth holes down
here, so when you find one take care of it, please.
On another Glover trip, Paul Buechler, Steve and I attacked the river with fly
rods from the canoes. We caught more bream and small smallmouths. Kathy Brigman,
who was still using the spinner bait, caught a nice smallmouth. But just the
chance to live a stretch of the river was worth the trip. We all caught fish,
but we stayed in some places fishing so long that we ran out of daylight and
had to start a hard-core nighttime canoe trip just to get back to the trucks.
Paul said as we headed back to Dallas, "It might have been a little more
work than catching them at Elephant Butte, but I've been wanting to fish a river
for a long time."
A couple of weeks earlier Paul and I had been at Elephant Butte, New Mexico
looking for monster stripers and trophy smallmouth. Fishing with Frankie Urzetta,
It didn't take long to put up the conventional tackle and switch to the fly
rods. Catching huge stripers on the fly rod is fun. There is no denying it.
I was ecstatic while I tangled with a striper that was as long as my leg and
weighed about twenty-five pounds. I fought him for about ten minutes (that's
what Frankie said, it seemed like a lifetime to me) while he headed for deep
water. He pulled, I pulled. It was great. But off of the same rocks I had another
fish hit my bait harder than that big bad boy.
Using sinking line and big clousers we were specifically looking for stripers
and big smallmouths. There was a shelf about fifteen feet down with a ledge
that dropped off to about 50 feet. I brought my red and white clouser across
the shelf and let it drop down the ledge. Just before it disappeared into the
darkness of the water it was gone in a white flash.
"That could be another striper." Frankie said. He was judging by the
color of the flash, the bend in my rod and the way the fish was pulling the
drag the same way the striper had.
I tightened my grip as the fish continued to try and pull it and me in the water.
And then things changed.
"Strip, strip, strip hard ... he's coming up." Frankie said.
Frantically, I was stripping in line trying to make up for the bow in the line
that was forming. The fish broke the surface, red clouser stuck to its face,
and came completely out of the water. As its nose headed back down, my line
broke the surface as I drew in the remaining slack. The hurrahs that came from
the jumping smallmouth were much more exuberant than the silent intensity caused
by the striper. The tip of the #10 fly rod was in the water. I could let him
take line, but I knew what was on his mind. And soon he enough he was headed
up again.
"You got a jumper" Paul said trying to catch some of the action on
video tape.
"Yeah, as awnry as he is, I'm glad I got this big stick." referring
to Frankie's fly rod and heavy drag reel.
Playing him a little more he jumped twice before I could get him next to the
boat. Frankie leaned over and asked if he was finished before lipping the bronze
fun factory. Ol' bronzy didn't like the sarcasm and kicked his tail into high
gear. He took line. I could feel it sliding back between my fingers. When he
had about six feet I slowed him down then he jumped again. Finally, Frankie
got a thumb on him and we released back into the deep water.
We soon moved to my favorite place and let the clousers drop down the steep
ledge. We caught stripers, smallmouths and sandbass off the same ledge. We had
one sandbass that we were glad to have #10 rod. I was truly amazed. But what
kept us at the ledge was the graceful acrobatics of the smallmouths.
In lakes the smallmouth looks for cooler water. At Elephant Butte that was about
thirty feet deep. In Texas the fishing is just as good but maybe not as deep.
After Elephant Butte and the Glover, Paul and I still wanted to catch a Texas
smallmouth; so we headed to the Brazos River.
Downstream from Lake Whitney is one of the best smallmouth hotspots in Texas.
Guide Chris Shafer holds the Brazos record with a seven-pound smallmouth. Steve
still holds the record for smallmouth on a fly from the Brazos from when we
went fishing with Chris the year before. The beauty of the limestone cliffs
is enough to make the trip worthwhile, but we were there for more than a scenic
trip. We wanted fish.
I told Paul about the trips with Chris and the big fish he put us on. Plus I
continued bragging on the spectacular fish Ron Gardner has caught in the lake.
Of course, my high expectations jinxed the trip. Yeah, we caught fish, but we
had to really work for them.
Since it was summer in Texas, the water flow was a little low; so, there was
a lot of dragging the canoe. There was a strong wind coming from the south.
It was strong enough to push the canoe upstream when we stopped paddling. I
was counting on the current to keep us moving, not my paddle.
Regardless, once started down the river, you have to finish the trip. One reason
the Brazos is so great is that aren't many take-in or out points. The land is
privately owned. Paul and I had secured permission from Mr. Weinkauf at The
Outpost - Dick's Place 254-622-8364 to park and pull out. About a mile down
the river, we settled into a good pattern; paddle past the good spots and drifted
back.
Paul put his small popper next to a lay down log and we watched it disappear
in a wicked splash. As his line tightened and his fly rod bent all the worries
of the jinx floated away.
It is amazing the way the first fish relaxes everyone on a trip. Even though
it was a spotted bass, the excitement of hooking one made paddling easier. Around
the next bend, we got to some nice boulders where I had caught some smallies
before. Paul had switched to a clouser, so he could fish vertically down the
sides of the rocks. I stayed with the topwater.
Guide
Chris Shafer, left, is no stranger to large Lake Whitney smallmouths.
The brazos is full of fish. There are carp, gar, bream, largemouth bass, white
bass, and smallmouth bass. A bream slapped at my popper turned and then inhaled
it. I pulled him in while Paul's clouser was sinking next to the rock. As I
released the bream, I saw Paul's line twitch. I looked at him to see if it was
him or a fish. I got an answer when he looked at me and raised his rod to set
the hook.
"There's a smallie!" I yelped. I could tell because he was hit hard
and the line was moving fast.
"Yeeeehaw!" Paul liked it when the two-pound smallmouth broke the
surface of the water. He worked the fish around to the middle of the stream
as he jumped again. A largemouth will sometimes jump and sometimes struggle
till the end, but the smallmouth doesn't know the meaning of the word 'quit.'
At the boat, a smallmouth still thinks he can win. Sometimes he does. This one
ditched Paul's clouser the second time he came by the canoe. When fighting a
smallmouth you have to ready for anything. Like the one that brought me to my
knee in the Glover sometimes they will play possum and then find a second wind.
At another rock, I finally enticed one to take my topwater fly. He sucked it
down and disappeared in the deep water. I set the hook and fought him for a
minute. He jumped and then went deep again. He must have gone straight under
the canoe, because my line was limp.
"I can't believe it." I said giving up on the fight. Paul smiled,
being considerate not to laugh then my line went tight.
"Fish on!" Paul said.
I had been stripping in the slack, while the fish stayed still. Then the war
was back on. Jumping and thumping the fish gave me some trouble, but after a
good fight I finally boated him and released him.
I have caught all kinds of fish and all sizes of fish. The pull of a giant striper is wonderful. The explosive attack of a big largemouth is unforgettable. But the beautiful package of ferocity, pull and acrobatics make the smallmouth one of my favorite species to search for. And unlike our neighbors to the north and east, finding smallmouth can be an excursion in Texas. I highly recommend taking a professional guide to help you on your quest.
Whether you look for trophies in a deep lake, or chase the delight of beautiful
fish in a wild river, the tenacious smallmouth promises to make a memorable
safari of any expedition.
Steve
Brigman casts a fly on the Brazos River below the Lake Whitney dam. Steve holds
the Brazos River smallmouth record on a fly.
