PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS

    Fishing is so seasonal and variable, even expert opinion is sometimes misleading—as wrong as that may seem.  

Due to a strong influence of weather patterns, fish spawning habits, restricting regulations, cover availability, or plain closed-mindedness on the part of the angler, many waters hold secrets, even whole species of fish, not readily discoverable by the casual angler.

    

    My brother discovered this truth first-hand through a local fly shop and small, weedy lake in the Piedmont.  On several occasions, this particular shop denied the existence of largemouth bass in what was made out to be a smallmouth-only impoundment.  But the lake’s green fish weren’t the only species being overlooked.

    

    I was pleased with my brother’s maturation as a fisherman when we bounced down a dirt road on a relatively cool summer day.  He was taking me to a spot that had held much of his attention throughout the fishing season, and that now had a ritualistic profile—common to many of my treasured locations—that he adhered to on beginning the day’s fishing.

    

    We parked by the regular stump, unloaded our gear, changed out of our work clothes, and followed a well-worn trail to the edge of the water.  He had learned that the most efficient way to get to the fish was to wade, and so we slipped into the refreshing water—slowly, stealthily, but bubbling with anticipation.

    

    Bluegill held the praises of my brother’s fish stories here, and we both appreciate well the sport these scrappy panfish provide on the long rod.  So we both selected our personally time-tested bluegill catchers, tied on, and went to work.

    

    It was quickly evident why these small aggressors were so hot for a fly, and why “everything seems to work!,” as my brother excitedly reported to me.  Dinner plate-sized bowls of gravel marbled the sandy shallows by the shoreline, and the sandbars protruding into the depths too were littered with craters.  The telltale surface wakes of busy fish flitting about just below the surface danced like ghosts above them.

    

    Upon my first step into the water, a chunky, bull-headed male, poised motionless in suspension above his precious nest, stared at me, as if he was on to my hopes of capitalizing on some of the other protective parents on the block.

    

    I dropped a small crystal bugger in front of his nose and hoisted him out of the water after some fine persuasion and a short fight.

    

    Because these guarding males, and the females that patrol the peripherals of the nesting colonies, are so painfully easy to catch, always keep in mind the nature of their weakness.  Assume that every fish that you bring to hand has a spawning responsibility they have yet to perform, and treat them likewise.  Don’t prolong the fight, leave them in the water for as long as possible, be gentle in unhooking, and careful in releasing.  It is equally as important, if you do choose to wade one of these small, shallow impoundments, that you do your duty as a responsible fisherman and avoid trampling beds, traumatizing parents, and consequently killing fish.

    

    After successfully landing two stocky “mamas,” plus one 12-inch largemouth, I was settled on a pattern that would catch fish.  A long cast to the drop-off on the edge of a bedding colony, a five to ten second wait, and short, jerky strips produced fish almost every execution—many over eight inches in length.

    

    We spoke more of the fly shop and how they had not experienced the body of water enough, if they were to claim that the ‘gills were of no real size, and the largemouth, non-existent.  I made the distinction of a pumpkinseed and a bluegill (that many don’t bother to make), and refined my brother’s identification of a largemouth bass.

    

    After doing so, we parted ways—my brother to a deeper cove, I to a shallow creek inlet.

    

    “I’ve never caught a fish over there!  I’d just skip it!”  My brother hollered to me from several yards away.

    

    A few casts and a fly guided precisely through the weeds yielded a handful of sunnies and a two-pound largemouth. 

    

    Seventy or so fish had been landed between the two of us when the sun indicated that it was time to hit the road.  Yet another overlooked jewel was added to my collection, and we had succeeded in disproving the misleading words of a locally respected resource, and realizing the danger of granting every bit of accepted information untested merit.

    

    The bottom line?  There is no substitute for spending investigative time on the water.  Opinions are opinions, shaped by a vast number of variables.  There is a reason that such hidden gems remain hidden.  What is lost in taking accepted truth as absolute truth is potential for great discovery. 

DOG DAYS SUNNIES

    The temperatures and the sky have confirmed that we are well into the “Dog Days” of summer.  

While smallmouth action will increase proportionally with the heat, rivers can be unpredictable in flow this time of year—the skies seeming to open every afternoon.  However, nothing reeks of the lazy, sticky sweat of summer in the Old Dominion more than panfishing and a small farm pond—and the opportunities are endless.

The Players

   

    Several species of sunfish inhabit Virginia waters, and are readily available to the angler.  Redear, redbreast, pumpkinseed, and bluegill all sport names equal in simple flare to their character and habits.

A hard-fighting, bottom-feeding redear on
the fly.  Photo by  Matthew Reilly

    Redear are the lone bottomfeeders of the scrappy bunch, and thus tend to age larger and meaner.  They prefer cleaner lakes and ponds with plenty of bottom cover, where they can be caught with bottom rigs as they feed on small shellfish, worms, and insects.

    The similarly-named redbreast sunfish are primarily stream dwellers, and are common catches on rivers such as the James, Rapidan, and Rivanna.  Skinny, shaded water along river banks and grass beds suit these characters best, and are usually smaller than their stillwater cousins.  Small spinners, grubs, and poppers fished in prime habitat are choice lures for these fish.

    The pumpkinseed and bluegill often inhabit the same waters, feeding on small crustaceans, insects, and worms.  Both too remain very active in the heat of the summer, though pumpkinseed have a higher tolerance for sunlight and will dwell in shallow, sun-lit coves throughout the day, while bluegill will migrate to escape the sun during the day before and return to the shallows in the evenings.

The Locations

A hefty bluegill taken from a mill
pond.  Photo by Matthew Reilly

     To view a patch of the Piedmont from the sky, what appears is an expanse mottled green and tawny—forest and farmland—marbled with the varied pockets of blue, black, and brown.  No farm pond is the same; and that uniqueness in water qualities is what is most striking about each appearance.  Rich, rocky, wooded ponds reflect black; pebbly, pure, spring-fed impoundments show blue; and meadow farm ponds are muddy brown—all hold panfish.

     Rivers broad and narrow slither across the state in their journey to salt, and they, in the slow stretches and the powerful runs, too hold panfish.  The creeks and streams that undermine your drive to work or school, with a depth measured in inches, also hold panfish.

     Almost any piece of water, from the mountainous highlands to the meandering cypress swamps of the Tidewater, all hold panfish, where they are easy to catch and, often, plentiful.

The Tackle

     If you can remember your first fish, chances are it was a species of sunfish.  If so, you’ll probably also remember the desperate fight that dunked and enlivened a red and white bobber placed within reach of the greedy sunnie.

     Greed in the case of the sunfish is probably the foremost cause for their reputation as easy targets.  

     Coupled with the natural association of a bobber and nightcrawler, the sunfish are often neglected by those fishermen who have come of age, but have moved on to “bigger and better” things.  That’s good for those of us who value our pride, but sacrifice nothing in indulging in some good old-fashioned “perch-jerking.”

     

An ultra-light spinning combo, 4-lb
mono, and a black Joe's Fly make up
the author's favorite sunnie rig.
Photo by Matthew Reilly

      The gear required is simple.  An ultra-light to medium rod spooled with two to four pound monofilament is enough to handle most fish. 

      In many cases, a simple clip-on red and white bobber or foam peg float is practical, but in the event that you find yourself fishing deeper water, I recommend investing in floats that utilize bobber stops to minimize casting issues.

      

      This, topped with a snelled baitholder hook, size four—or two, for smaller fish—loaded with red wigglers, crickets, mealworms, or small crayfish or minnows is deadly.

       For those “above”—eyes rolling—bobber fishing, or for those that just want an added challenge, sunfish will readily take artificial lures and flies.

From left to right:  Joe's Flies, Mepps Spinners, and
Panther Martins are all great panfish lures.
Photo by Matthew Reilly

       Beetle Spins, Panther Martins, Mepps spinners, Roadrunners, and my favorite, Joes Flies all have their place in the panfishing world.  Small grubs in white, yellow, and natural olive and brown colors; shad spoons; and the simple yet effective Trout Magnets also take their share of sunnies, both in still and moving waters.

        Fly anglers should fish small nymphs, wet flies, dry flies, and flashy streamers.  My favorite technique is casting a small, thinly-dressed popper to underwater grass beds in July and August.  On an average day, shooting fish in a barrel would be tougher, and much less fun!

        Availability, excitement, and a willingness to bite, even during the Dog Days of summer, all combine to make the sunfish quality fish worthy of your time and efforts.  So sit back, relax, and search for some sunnies this summer.  Heck, even keep a few.  They’re called panfish for a reason! 

First published in the Rural Virginian