Taking a break (or not)...

"The greatest enemy of 'good' is 'better'"
                                                               ~Voltaire

Call it "Smallmouth Immersion". Call it "Bronzeback burn". Call it what you will. For the last 12 months, my fishing life has revolved around this brown denizen of the Ozarks waterways.

I started feeling like I had forgot the other fishes I love to catch. Felt like I had tunnel vision. The very first fish I remember catching is a 4 inch bluegill from a pond at a place called Deer Lake campground in Illinois. We were on a family camping vacation and I distinctly remember throwing a huge 4 year-old-boy-fit to keep and eat it. My Father took it to camp, cleaned it, and my Mother cooked it for me. In Crisco. I still base the taste all fish I eat today off of that one little bluegill...

My brother Jon and I with a stringer of bullheads, circa 1976

My first Trout was in 1976 at Roaring River State park. We had no idea what to do with it. Luckily, Bill Berry and his family ( Nancy, Tony, and Chris) were in the park at the same time. They took pity on us neophytes and taught us the finer points on these "noble creatures". Thus began the long love affair with the Salmonids. Rainbow, Brown, Brook or Bull, Silver, King, Chum or Sockeye, I pursued these fish with vigor. 

In 1984 I took a float on the James river from Kerr access to Galena. I'd fished the James on and off for a few years, but had never been on this stretch. It's only accessible by boat ( or canoe, kayak, raft etc.) and I was amazed at the numbers of "brown bass" we caught. I was duly impressed by the fight these fish would put out. I was hooked. 

1997 found me as the Fly Fishing instructor at Roaring River State park. Trout. 98, 99, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004-Trout, salmon/trout, salmon/trout, salmon/trout, trout trout trout..From '97 to 2004 I spent well over 200 days a year on the water, either guiding or fishing. Then I needed a break...

I took a 3 or 4 year break from all fishing. Had kids, got a "career" going, did the adult thing.
I had lost the 4 year old kid who caught his first bluegill. If I did fish, it felt forced. Don't get me wrong, I missed it. Too much fishing...or guiding, which became work, can cause some PTSD. I didn't want to work, I wanted to fish. I still spent (too) much time in the yard (according to my ex, anyway) casting my favorite 4 and 5 weights. Still read all the rags, and talked fishing with anyone who would listen. 

In 2008 my buddy and neighbor David Moore asked me to go on an annual trip he took to the Little Red tailwater in Arkansas. I had fished the Little Red a bunch in the years past, and he was going in late November. Prime Time for big brown trout. It took me all of 10 minutes to say yes. 

So I spent 5 days at Lobo Landing, fishing Cow Shoals, Swinging Bridge, Mossy Shoals and Libby Shoals. Three of those days were spent trying to get my form back, two were spent in glorious combat with big to huge browns. I lost a fish on day four that was as big or bigger than any King Salmon or Steelhead I had hooked in Alaska (isn't that the way it goes?).
I was back! More succinctly, the fire was back. I came back from that trip with a renewed energy for fishing. 

The next 3 years was spent in pursuit of anything with fins; White Bass, Stripers, Hybrids, Goggle-Eye, Crappie, Redear, Trout ( albeit on a limited basis), Largemouth and Smallmouth, Carp, you name it, I was after it. And a new twist; I was fishing conventional gear as much or more than the flyrod. I didn't care. 

Fired UP!!!

Here's where the plot thickens; In 2013 I was wearing out the white bass on Taylor Shoals, just above Blunk access on the James River. I had 10 in the basket and was culling small males. Cast....strip...strip...strip...BAM! Wait; that's not a white bass. Heavy, head shaking pulls and a flash of bronze. BIG smallie. Two hard runs and a good jump later, I had a 17 inch bronze warrior at my feet. Damn. That was fun. Two more casts, two more white bass. Then BAM! Another Brown Bass. Then another. Then a fourth. Lost a fifth on the reach and then back to whites..Man, those smallies pull HARD!

I went home that night and researched the Ozarks Smallmouth. Not just in Missouri. Oklahoma, Arkansas, SE Kansas. I spent the next month reading all I could about them. 
Spent every minute fishing trying to catch them. 

In May of 2016 I decided to get serious about OSA. During my research I saw an alarming number of these fish on stringers. Wait, we can only keep 4 hatchery raised trout but we can keep 6, wild, stream-born never stocked smallmouth? Bad math. No offense to those who make the rules, but really? 

I boosted one post for $20 and off she went. 2000 followers by July 4th. 4000 by December 15th. 5700 as of this post. 10 months later..Smallmouth, smallmouth, smallmouth...

The one that started it all

This picture had 2.3k likes and reached over 70k people. Now we have BronzeFest 2017 coming up. We're sponsoring two BFL anglers and a Kayak Tournament trail. We work with The Fallen Outdoors, Project Healing Waters, Missouri Smallmouth Alliance, and a host of other advocates for the Fighters well being. I made the Pro Staff for OMTC, and am on the National Pro Staff for Wilderness Systems Kayaks. The term "whirlwind" doesn't describe the last year or so...

So. Maybe "Bronzeback Burn" is a little strong. Maybe I needed to write this to remind myself why I love these fish so much. We don't just use "Free. The. Fighter" as a tag line. We live it. All of 5700+ of us. Everyone who likes a post, shares a picture, sends kind words, rocks our decals, and lets a smallmouth go, is our brother or sister. 

In the end, all streams lead to an ocean. It's spring now, and I'll be headed to the James early tomorrow. Water is way up, 4000 CFS at Galena. But that won't matter to me. Every cast could be the next big fish. White Bass, Smallmouth, Largemouth, Carp...Regardless of the species, I'll be there...

Thank you for your support...

Flies, Furled Leaders and Friends...

"Fly fishing is the most fun you can have standing up."

-Arnold Gingrich, 1969

Fishing, Floating and Furled Leaders by Shawn Seabaugh.

Clouds hung low and oppressive as we loaded the kayaks on the truck. A motley crew we were, as diverse as the types of boats we were using. My two-person recreational kayak rigged for fishing was the ugly duckling, but you do what you have to do when it comes to kayak fishing.

Kayaks and trucks loaded, we wound our way through the city streets and headed west to Clearwater lake. The days’ objective is to float a portion of the Black River above the lake for Smallmouth and white bass.

We traveled across three counties as we watched the clouds ungulate with little sign of clearing. A poorly marked gravel road added 30 minutes to our trip, and high water from the previous day’s rains dropped out hearts when we reached the access.

Large, swift, muddy water greeted us as we pulled up. A quick tailgate meeting, a look at a map and we were back in the trucks looking for some place a little less likely to wash our kayaks away.

We settled on the spillway below the damn. Boats filled the area as anglers were snagging for spoonbill. The prehistoric fish gains popularity every spring in Missouri. We quickly unloaded our kayaks and dawned waders and life vests. Streamers and small jigs adorned our fly rods and miraculously, as if the fishing gods were watching, the sun began to peak from the clouds as I pulled by kayak to the water.

Fishing was slow as the water was cold, but casting was easy and stripping an articulated Gonga fly I had recently tied was relaxing. The sun brought the wind and, without an anchor the three of us drifted together talking and fishing.

After a few hours, we regrouped and headed to Sam A. Baker park and Big Creek. One of our friends, Todd, a conventional fisherman, had recently purchased a fly rod and was interested in learning to cast and fish. I tied him on one of my favorite Wooly Bugger patterns and waded into the swift water. Together we worked for twenty minutes or so, showing and replicating the loop. Looking at simple techniques and trying to prevent the seeds of bad habits.

Again, the water was high and fast, but we found a cut that was accessible without wading. It was there, we watched as Todd cast and stripped the Chili Pepper. With a mutter and snort Todd proclaimed he was snagged, but to his delight a toad of a Smallie turned and ran. They were both hooked. The fish, living in swift current was strong and fat from crayfish. The 5 wt bent and the furled leader and tippet were tested as the fish weaved in and around the underwater debris. 

Slowly, the fish turned and Todd landed his first fish on his first bug on his first day of fly fishing. Some days are all about the fishing. Catching more than your buddy or landing your largest fish of the season, but this day, the first float of the spring, was about laughs, jokes and guy learning a new way to Free. The. Fighter.

Sacred Waters

"Rivers and the inhabitants of the watery elements are made for wise men to contemplate and for fools to pass by without consideration."

-Isaac Walton

My Fishing Hole

I was recently talking with a fellow fisherman when he mentioned fishing in a river that I call home. I was not upset, as I have seen several people fish there, but he knew of a few spots that are along a private stretch where their is very little access. Most people either have to know someone, or be prepared to float 17 miles to the next access. Thus, I was a little upset when he was talking about MY hole!

This brought me to an interesting paradox that we often face as fishermen. How do we proclaim and even preach the idea of waterways being public and want to string up those that find our favorite holes by the toes? 

I don’t mind fishing where there are others. I have fished Current, Eleven point, and Meramec, so I know that there are packed parking lots and holes that are occupied. I don’t crowd others or try to push them from holes. By all accounts I am a good natured guy with a live and let live attitude toward others. I have even float past people sitting in their own backyard and have no issue tossing a bug right in front of them, but this all changes on MY River at My Hole!

There just seems to be something about those places that we hold sacred, those places that we grew up fishing on, that makes us unwilling to share. The funny thing about the jealousy is that it is strictly one-way. I know that on any given day I am fishing I could be getting the same stink eye that I am so willing to dish out. What makes this jealousy even more ridiculous is that there are several people that all claim the same stretch of water. 

So how do we handle these irrational emotions? I have personally thought about rigging my kayak with a spear to ram and sink others… but that is another story for another day…. The real answer is that I don’t know. 

In the end, rivers are public, and I am glad they are, but there will always be one stretch of river that I will think of as my own. 

~Shawn Seabaugh