Your first "big" smallmouth?

[Brian Jones]

These are the first two big smallmouth I remember.  They are from a 1985 float trip on the middle Meramec.  The ol' man is on the left and the one he is holding was 18 inches.  The one the guy on the right was holding was 21 inches.  Unfortunately, these two specimens were killed; something Dad really regretted doing years later.  Though I was only 11 at the time, seeing those fish in person and hearing dad repeatedly tell the story of the trip to his buddies absolutely drove my obsession with smallmouths, river fishing and the desire to see the Meramec for myself.  Seven LONG years later I finally made my first float on the Meramec and have spent a ton of time on it as well as other Ozark streams ever since. 

[Foghorn]

My old friend, Yogi !

[trythisonemv]

Moon valley.... 16 inch smallie on a half night crawler drifted in the slough above the bridge along a gravel bar. 12 years old

[ColdWaterFshr]

Boy Scout Camp Arrowhead, 1983.  Just east of Marshfield. 

Oldest Boy Scout camp west of the Mississippi. 

I think I was a Tenderfoot rank at that time.  Week long camp of misery.  Chigger bitten on my privates, sunburn, and nearly drowned twice while trying to earn the Lifesaving merit badge, . . . but my fishing skills were well refined and extremely sharp, even at that delicate young age, I was a bada$$.

I had my eye on the prize for "big fish" trophy which was to be awarded at the end of that week long slog on closing night ceremony, with parents in the audience, a large bonfire and torches and all the pomp and pageantry with the Order of the Arrow indians, all standing guard and scowling . . . .they didn't play around.

I schemed on this prize early in the week, and I knew the fish wasn't going to come out of that gobdanged cesspool lake.  It was going to come out of the creek down by the old abandoned swimming pool, that was springfed, crystal clear, and just a few hundred yards down from the haunted Soapstone cave.  Extreme upper Osage Fork of the Gasconade, or a feeder creek I suppose.

When I wasn't drinking orange soda up at the cantina and listening to Devo on the radio there, or in the wall tent perusing contraband of Hustler and Penthouse magazines . . . I was out on the hunt for THE fish, and I found one on a nest in that creek where shimmied out on a fallen down parallel sycamore over the creek and I dangled a jig in its face.   Landed a 17" smallmouth that blew all the competition away.  It wasn't even close.

Was awarded the trophy in front of all the troops and parents present.  I think my mom sold the trophy in a garage sale about 18 months later.  Will never forgive her for it as it was one of the proudest moments of my life. 

Here is mom and dad (Paul Dallas) visiting me and my brother at Camp Arrowhead, circa 1983.  Miss them both.  

[LAjoey]

Mine was this past October, one day after my 70th birthday, on the James River with Ryan Walker. 
 

I have have just been introduced to smallmouth fishing in the last few years. We don’t have them near my home. 
 

 

[Johnsfolly]

19 minutes ago, LAjoey said:

Mine was this past October, one day after my 70th birthday, on the James River with Ryan Walker. 
 

I have have just been introduced to smallmouth fishing in the last few years. We don’t have them near my home. 
 

 

Congrats!

[LAjoey]

On 12/15/2025 at 11:43 PM, ColdWaterFshr said:

Boy Scout Camp Arrowhead, 1983.  Just east of Marshfield. 

Oldest Boy Scout camp west of the Mississippi. 

I think I was a Tenderfoot rank at that time.  Week long camp of misery.  Chigger bitten on my privates, sunburn, and nearly drowned twice while trying to earn the Lifesaving merit badge, . . . but my fishing skills were well refined and extremely sharp, even at that delicate young age, I was a bada$$.

I had my eye on the prize for "big fish" trophy which was to be awarded at the end of that week long slog on closing night ceremony, with parents in the audience, a large bonfire and torches and all the pomp and pageantry with the Order of the Arrow indians, all standing guard and scowling . . . .they didn't play around.

I schemed on this prize early in the week, and I knew the fish wasn't going to come out of that gobdanged cesspool lake.  It was going to come out of the creek down by the old abandoned swimming pool, that was springfed, crystal clear, and just a few hundred yards down from the haunted Soapstone cave.  Extreme upper Osage Fork of the Gasconade, or a feeder creek I suppose.

When I wasn't drinking orange soda up at the cantina and listening to Devo on the radio there, or in the wall tent perusing contraband of Hustler and Penthouse magazines . . . I was out on the hunt for THE fish, and I found one on a nest in that creek where shimmied out on a fallen down parallel sycamore over the creek and I dangled a jig in its face.   Landed a 17" smallmouth that blew all the competition away.  It wasn't even close.

Was awarded the trophy in front of all the troops and parents present.  I think my mom sold the trophy in a garage sale about 18 months later.  Will never forgive her for it as it was one of the proudest moments of my life. 

Here is mom and dad (Paul Dallas) visiting me and my brother at Camp Arrowhead, circa 1983.  Miss them both.  

Great memories!