An Hour On The Creek...

[Al Agnew]

After spending much of June and July in Montana, I got back to home in Missouri weekend before last, anxious to do some stream smallmouth fishing. But my wife was throwing a baby shower for over 40 people this weekend and I had to get the lawn and flower beds back in shape, and I also had a couple of deadlines to meet with catalog cover art, so the fishing would have to wait. The shower went off well, and today at noon I finally finished the art for the covers. So, a wading trip to a local creek was definitely in order.

The drive is about 40 minutes no matter which way you go, and there are several ways to get there, but like the guy said one time when I asked directions to some obscure place, "Ya cain't get there from here." So it was about 2:30 by the time I got to the creek, and even as I got out of the car I could hear thunder in the distance.

I won't name the creek, but let me describe it for you. It was probably the first place I ever caught a smallmouth. I was probably 6 or 7 years old, and my grandpa would take me there because it was his favorite place to trap live minnows. He loved crappie fishing above all else, and kept a cement tank full of crappie minnows at all times. So we'd go to this low water bridge and he'd trap minnows while I played in the creek. One day, I saw what to me at the time was a BIG fish dart in to the box culvert under the bridge, and told grandpa. "Smallmouth," he said.

"Wow," I thought. I'd heard of smallmouth. Dad used to fish for them all the time before he got interested in reservoir largemouth fishing. I said, "I'd sure like to catch that fish."

Grandpa said, "Well, let me set this minner trap, and then we'll see if we can ketch him."

He dug into the trunk of his car and came out with a spincast outfit. "Now go ketch a crawdad or two while I tie on this hook." I did, and he took the crayfish and hooked it in the tail. "Now, go up to the upstream end of that culvert, and let the current take that crawdad under the bridge." I did, and sure enough, I immediately felt a bite. Grandpa saw the rod tip bow, and told me to let it have a little line. I did. "Now, set the hook!" I jerked, and was fast to a smallie of 10 or 11 inches, a big fish for me at that age.

So I was thinking of that when I parked at that same bridge. It was rebuilt a few years back, and the box culvert is gone, but the smallies are still there.

The creek was quite low; the riffles were no more than ankle deep and just a few feet across, the pools almost still. I hadn't been to this creek since a couple summers ago, and it seemed to be flowing much less water than what I remembered or expected. But the water was clear and cool over wide gravel bottoms.

I tied on a topwater lure and approached the first pool upstream. The first cast in these small pools is often magic, but this time it was the second cast, a little farther up into the pool, that produced the first fish, a 10 inch smallmouth. Next cast, an 11 incher took the topwater. Two casts later, a 14 incher. And up at the upper end (only 50 feet upstream from my first cast), I got a strike from a bigger fish that I missed, and caught a 14 inch largemouth.

Next pool was even shallower, no more than two feet deep at the deepest, but it produced a beautiful 16 inch smallie and a couple smaller ones that were still over 12 inches.

And so it went. The thunder got closer. The sky began to darken. The fish were everywhere they were supposed to be--indeed, just about everywhere they could POSSIBLY be. In a scant hour before the thunderstorm ran me off the creek, I caught 30 bass, including two smallies approaching 17 inches and a 16 inch largemouth. They were eating the topwater lure with wild abandon, often striking the instant it hit the water, like they could see it coming. Some of the places I caught fish were so shallow you could see the wake approaching from 10 feet away.

I'd gone about 8 pools and a half mile up the creek before I decided that prudence dictated I get back to the car in a hurry. I took a shortcut on an old road bed, and the rain started just as I threw the rod into the car. I could tell the storm was going to be pretty wild, and since it took so long to build up I figured it would last a while. So I decided to start for home. There was another creek that I'd cross on the way, and I figured that if the storm was over by the time I got to it I'd fish it for a while. But it was still raining hard and lightning was still streaking the sky as I crossed the other creek, so I went on home.

When you stop to think about it, it's amazing the number of little creeks like this that lace the Ozarks, many of them just as full of smallmouth as this one. This creek is not even my favorite local flow. I fish two others that routinely produce bigger fish than this one. And fortunately, although these creeks ARE fished by others, it seems that most local anglers have finally soaked up the catch and release ethos. Several of the fish I caught today had obvious hook scars.

And the thing is, they simply aren't fished enough to make the bass very sophisticated. On an average summer afternoon, it isn't really a big challenge to catch these fish. The small water and limited fishing pressure make the fishing easy as long as you are stealthy--these fish don't like a lot of splashing, gravel crunching, and they don't like movement and shadows. But if they don't know you're there, they almost always seem to be active and looking for a meal.

On the other hand, they simply can't take a lot more fishing pressure than they get. While I love creek fishing, I seldom fish the same stretch more than once or twice a year--I don't want to "wear 'em out". And while catching fish like this is great fun, I love the greater challenge of catching smallies in bigger, more heavily-fished streams and I love catching them from a canoe. So I spend more time on the floatable streams than on these tiny gems.

But not much beats standing in a cool creek on a hot day, catching wild, stream-bred smallmouth bass on light tackle. It's the simplest form of bass fishing, just a rod and reel and a couple of favorite lures, shorts and wading shoes...just you and the creek and its denizens.

[RSBreth]

Great report, and glad you could get out. Several headwater area of my rivers over here are like that creek - lightly fished, and hold more fish than most people think.

I usually go after them with the favorite 6-weight fly rod instead of conventional gear, but whether it's six of one or half dozen of the other, it's still fun.

[MarkinKC]

After spending much of June and July in Montana, I got back to home in Missouri weekend before last, anxious to do some stream smallmouth fishing. But my wife was throwing a baby shower for over 40 people this weekend and I had to get the lawn and flower beds back in shape, and I also had a couple of deadlines to meet with catalog cover art, so the fishing would have to wait. The shower went off well, and today at noon I finally finished the art for the covers. So, a wading trip to a local creek was definitely in order.

The drive is about 40 minutes no matter which way you go, and there are several ways to get there, but like the guy said one time when I asked directions to some obscure place, "Ya cain't get there from here." So it was about 2:30 by the time I got to the creek, and even as I got out of the car I could hear thunder in the distance.

I won't name the creek, but let me describe it for you. It was probably the first place I ever caught a smallmouth. I was probably 6 or 7 years old, and my grandpa would take me there because it was his favorite place to trap live minnows. He loved crappie fishing above all else, and kept a cement tank full of crappie minnows at all times. So we'd go to this low water bridge and he'd trap minnows while I played in the creek. One day, I saw what to me at the time was a BIG fish dart in to the box culvert under the bridge, and told grandpa. "Smallmouth," he said.

"Wow," I thought. I'd heard of smallmouth. Dad used to fish for them all the time before he got interested in reservoir largemouth fishing. I said, "I'd sure like to catch that fish."

Grandpa said, "Well, let me set this minner trap, and then we'll see if we can ketch him."

He dug into the trunk of his car and came out with a spincast outfit. "Now go ketch a crawdad or two while I tie on this hook." I did, and he took the crayfish and hooked it in the tail. "Now, go up to the upstream end of that culvert, and let the current take that crawdad under the bridge." I did, and sure enough, I immediately felt a bite. Grandpa saw the rod tip bow, and told me to let it have a little line. I did. "Now, set the hook!" I jerked, and was fast to a smallie of 10 or 11 inches, a big fish for me at that age.

So I was thinking of that when I parked at that same bridge. It was rebuilt a few years back, and the box culvert is gone, but the smallies are still there.

The creek was quite low; the riffles were no more than ankle deep and just a few feet across, the pools almost still. I hadn't been to this creek since a couple summers ago, and it seemed to be flowing much less water than what I remembered or expected. But the water was clear and cool over wide gravel bottoms.

I tied on a topwater lure and approached the first pool upstream. The first cast in these small pools is often magic, but this time it was the second cast, a little farther up into the pool, that produced the first fish, a 10 inch smallmouth. Next cast, an 11 incher took the topwater. Two casts later, a 14 incher. And up at the upper end (only 50 feet upstream from my first cast), I got a strike from a bigger fish that I missed, and caught a 14 inch largemouth.

Next pool was even shallower, no more than two feet deep at the deepest, but it produced a beautiful 16 inch smallie and a couple smaller ones that were still over 12 inches.

And so it went. The thunder got closer. The sky began to darken. The fish were everywhere they were supposed to be--indeed, just about everywhere they could POSSIBLY be. In a scant hour before the thunderstorm ran me off the creek, I caught 30 bass, including two smallies approaching 17 inches and a 16 inch largemouth. They were eating the topwater lure with wild abandon, often striking the instant it hit the water, like they could see it coming. Some of the places I caught fish were so shallow you could see the wake approaching from 10 feet away.

I'd gone about 8 pools and a half mile up the creek before I decided that prudence dictated I get back to the car in a hurry. I took a shortcut on an old road bed, and the rain started just as I threw the rod into the car. I could tell the storm was going to be pretty wild, and since it took so long to build up I figured it would last a while. So I decided to start for home. There was another creek that I'd cross on the way, and I figured that if the storm was over by the time I got to it I'd fish it for a while. But it was still raining hard and lightning was still streaking the sky as I crossed the other creek, so I went on home.

When you stop to think about it, it's amazing the number of little creeks like this that lace the Ozarks, many of them just as full of smallmouth as this one. This creek is not even my favorite local flow. I fish two others that routinely produce bigger fish than this one. And fortunately, although these creeks ARE fished by others, it seems that most local anglers have finally soaked up the catch and release ethos. Several of the fish I caught today had obvious hook scars.

And the thing is, they simply aren't fished enough to make the bass very sophisticated. On an average summer afternoon, it isn't really a big challenge to catch these fish. The small water and limited fishing pressure make the fishing easy as long as you are stealthy--these fish don't like a lot of splashing, gravel crunching, and they don't like movement and shadows. But if they don't know you're there, they almost always seem to be active and looking for a meal.

On the other hand, they simply can't take a lot more fishing pressure than they get. While I love creek fishing, I seldom fish the same stretch more than once or twice a year--I don't want to "wear 'em out". And while catching fish like this is great fun, I love the greater challenge of catching smallies in bigger, more heavily-fished streams and I love catching them from a canoe. So I spend more time on the floatable streams than on these tiny gems.

But not much beats standing in a cool creek on a hot day, catching wild, stream-bred smallmouth bass on light tackle. It's the simplest form of bass fishing, just a rod and reel and a couple of favorite lures, shorts and wading shoes...just you and the creek and its denizens.

What a nice account. Made me remember fishing with my grandfather. I don't get to fish nearly as often as I like, and to fish that magical time right before a storm........it doesn't get any better. I enjoyed reading this while eating my lunch at work. Thanks for sharing it. MarkinKC