When the water is low in the Glades, canal bass are a captive audience. Tie on a bug and hang on.
One twitch was one too many.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured a bass eyeing my popper from below. Who would outlast whom? I had all day. Bass have to eat sometime. Just as the itch to pickup and recast became unbearable, the water erupted.
A gape-mouthed, fat-bellied bass skyrocketed, claimed dinner, and belly-flopped into the hyacinths. The day’s first good one.
Raising my rod overhead in an attempt to keep the leader clear of the broad-leafed jungle, I tried to feel the fish’s weight on the business end.
Was he still there?
At first, I feared he’d spit the bug and fastened it to the greenery. Then I felt a surge. I pulled and the bass responded. Then he pulled, and I let him know I was still there. This went on for about a minute. It was like riding a seesaw.
Tired of the stalemate, I paddled into the slop, reached in, found the butt of my leader, and freed it from the snag. The fish made a dash, found open water outside the mat and jumped itself silly before I paddled back out and finally grabbed its lower lip. It was worth the effort. The bass pushed five pounds.
Fish were lined up along the bank. A bank now visible since water levels in the Alligator Alley canal had dropped. Now, in mid-May, with serious summer rains yet to fall, things were prime.
Rocks jutted out of the water marking the canal edge. A few bass were surely holding out in the deepest drought holes peppering the flats, but the mother lode now called the main canal home. The water had warmed and the bass were happy. If not suicidal.
Anyway, I bugged up 30 or 40 bass during the morning, and more than a few exceeded three pounds. I dipped my thermometer into the dark water. Seventy-eight degrees.
No wonder, I smiled.
Other bass fishermen in their streamlined, metal-flake platforms slowly worked their way along the canal, too, chucking the same reliable worm or stickbait rigs they’ve used forever. There’s an occasional fly rod tucked away aboard some of these boats, but when conventional methods are scoring, there’s little chance of it ever leaving the rack.
That’s really too bad, since fly fishermen continue to use their fluffy concoctions to tally eye-popping numbers of largemouths. Despite common perceptions, some are also quite large.
After all, why do some bass fishermen fly fish as a regular plan of attack while others consider it an after-thought? Because it’s effective. Make that deadly–once you have a basic understanding of the Glades and the impact of water levels on the fishing.
Down here, water levels drive the machine.
During South Florida’s rainy season, the water conservation areas west of Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties are at maximum capacity. This rainy time is referred to as the hydroperiod, in biological parlance, and runs from approximately June until November.
During this time, flood conditions persist far from the beaten track into the hidden interstices of the Glades. A bass could get lost in all this water. Often, he does.
Drought periods are a different story. This time with a happy ending.
As waters recede, bass and tiny minnows hiding deep in the Everglades labyrinth are forced into the canals. Then there’s lots of ‘em, they’re starved and stuffed into really tight quarters. And there’s only so much food to go around.
As every minnow or shrimp or bug larvae hightails it for the safety of the bank, bass bugs are gratefully accepted by fish that are all too happy to gobble anything that looks like it ever had a protein molecule in it.
Sometimes, droughts provide us with extended periods of low water–right into July. Low water means topwater action, until rising water temperatures get too high for a bass’s liking. At that point it’s an early morning affair.
The real hawgs, if I may, cruise the banks during evening hours in search of substantial prey. By prey, I don’t mean a mouthful of those tiny Gambusia minnows, either.
They’re seeking heartier fare. Bluegills, stumpknockers and even the occasional yearling bass are welcome grist for their mills. In this case, use big bugs and work them fast, like a fish that’s getting his you-know-what out of harm’s way. Save the 6-pound-test tippets for those No. 8 bugs and the yearlings. Don’t limit your casts to the extreme edge of the banks. Work your bugs out over the lip of shoreline dropoffs, too. That’s where the real Godzillas lie in wait.
Everybody’s got a favorite-colored bug and I’m no different. I do try to put a little science into it by making my bass bugs fairly match some sort of aquatic life. Like frogs, dragonflies or minnows, for example.
At twilight, the air over productive Everglades canals resembles the Miami airport. There’s so much taking-off and landing that if you watch it long enough, you’ll get dizzy and end up falling out of the boat.
On late spring and summer evenings, the air seems always full of dragonflies. Before these miniature interceptors sprouted wings, they were huge predatory nymphs, capable of running down and catching an actual minnow. Bass see them all their lives, and with the exception of experiencing a little understandable fright, they’re probably the first creatures in the water to gobble up a mouthful of these tasty, calorie-rich insect treats.
After all, the tiny bass were once the hunted in this game of subaqueous kill or be killed. It makes sense that after an introduction like this, they’d like to continue snatching them off the water’s surface later, too.
Dragons come in all colors and sizes. By April, the orange ones are everywhere, after which the blue and Green Darners follow. If you tie your own bugs, paint them to match the ambient wildlife. On more than one day, a change of bug to appropriate dragon-dress turned the tables on reluctant bass for me. I could tell more stories than space would allow to substantiate this facet of bass bugging.
Also, my friends and I have tried a variety of exact dragonfly imitations. Some days
they work very well, but they usually lack the hooksetting capabilities of standard cork or foam bugs. I tend to be conservative, so I’ll confine my descriptions to cupped-face tapered body bugs, usually in sizes 6 or 8. As the first of two final tips, a simple chartreuse pattern is hard to beat in bright sunny weather. That’s right, bass sometimes continue to feed during bright sunlight.
And plain-old-black continues to be a favorite for fishing just before dark or other low-light periods. I suppose there are things that seasoned bass men take for granted that may prove useful to newcomers to the sport.
I’m not sure if there are any true flyrod bassin’ pros, but I really don’t think so. Most of us just do this because we enjoy seeing surface activity and like to get a lot of hits. We’re here mostly for the anticipation of action and that hair-raising, explosive strike. We’re everyday fishermen who think it’s nice to trick the little buggers once in a while, and on those rare occasions when we get a fish over four pounds, we get home a little later than usual.
There are a few things to know about combat-style bass bugging that can not only make your trip more enjoyable, but give you a better opportunity to yank the occasional giant from the weeds. Now that I’ve got you thinking about some of them, you’ve graduated and are ready for the practical exam. Don’t get your leader hung in your clipboard until we get started.
The first thing a serious fly rodder should know about concerns aquatic weeds. There are several types of floating weeds in the canals of South Florida. Hyacinths, swamp cabbage, “gator flags,” and several others often clog our waterways to the point that they make passage difficult.
The dangling roots of hyacinths and swamp cabbage hold various microorganisms that attract baitfish and, ultimately, bass. Bass take to the shadows cast by these floating plants to escape direct sunlight, too.
Watching the weeds float makes us mindful of current. Considering the experiences of many fly rodders, Glades bass exist and thrive in conditions of minimal current. During major drawdowns–when the South Florida Water Management District opens the gates and locks to drain specific sectors of the Glades–bass hunker down to avoid the brunt of the current. When the flow wanes, look out. By-and-large, Mr. Bigmouth likes to sit around and kinda let the action drift his way. He’s efficient at negotiating weedbeds cruising slowly, working the edges of weeds and rock shelves, lookin’ for something that’s gotten itself into trouble.
During rainy periods, small bass will congregate in canal areas where there’s drainage or moving water. Large fish, on the other hand, avoid this situation. They’re just not into Olympic swimming.
Considering where bass live, serious fly rodders usually throw their bugs somewhere near the weeds. This makes a lot of sense.
If there wasn’t some sort of built-in protection though, our flies would remain in a perpetual state of being snagged. Bass wouldn’t like that at all. Despite what seems a universal problem, I can’t ever seem to find a commercially-made bug with a weedguard attached.
That’s a shame, since every bass fisherman I know casts near snags.
Where do the fishermen who make these lures throw their lines? Out toward the Great Beyond, or something?
There are only two things a bass bug really needs: legs and a weedguard. I’ll leave the selection of the first to you. The other, we can remedy together. Make yourself a simple weedguard by measuring a short piece of 12-pound-test mono, sticking two holes in the bottom of your bug with a fat needle, angling them slightly backward, then gluing the mono into the bug. Use one of the commercially-available super-glue/cyanoacrylate adhesives. Be sure that the horseshoe that you’ve formed will clear the hook point when something strikes the bug and collapses it.
Tackle-wise, make your choices after considering the size of the bugs–whether they’re hard-bodied poppers, sliders or deerhair bugs–and the type of cover you’re casting into. Hook sizes can range from No. 8 all the way up to No. 2/0, depending on the size of the fly. Anything from a 6- to a 10-weight rod is not out of the question. Think about casting efficiency first. After all, you’ll make a lot of casts over the course of a half or full day of bugging. Sophisticated leaders are overkill. Keep it simple. The fewer knots the better–especially in weedy, mossy waters. A manufactured extruded leader is perfect for this work. Most of your casts will be short, or should be, so a bugging or saltwater taper floating line is best.
At this point, you know enough to give those bass some trouble. There’s hardly a shortage of territory in which to do it. Miles and miles of canals with roadside access and good ramps await. So break out the bugs and head for the I-75 (Alligator Alley) canal, the canal at Sawgrass Recreation Area or Holiday Park on U.S. 27 or the Tamiami canal and its offshoots along U.S. 41 and give it a try.
© 2011 InterMedia Outdoors