A Smallie Price to Pay

the gathering clouds sit on Henry's left shoulder as he surveys the South Fork

Rivers are not created equal and when it comes to smallmouth I've yet to find the equal of the South Fork of the Shenandoah.  It's beautiful and consistently produces the high catch-rates that make people call be a fibber. I need to sample the Upper James and New (any takers), but I've a hard time imagining there could be more productive water.  I usually stop stalking summer smallies stalking around Labor Day turning my attention to cold water trout, but with water low on the trout streams and the weather still relatively warm Paul and I decided to give smallies a last late season shot.   We're glad we did.

A last minute invitation to Henry made for a party of three at Newport as we "made the waders/no waders" choice and slid into the 74 degree water.   Henry elected waders, and with his Orvis raincoat was a vision in Gray.  Paul and I, figuring we'd fall and get soaked anyway, left the waders in the car.  Hen and I weren't even rigged before Paul pulled the first of 170 Smallies from the put-in riffle, it was going to be a great day.

Yep ~ he's pretty happy

Fish on for Paul -- one of 170!

rekindling memories of youth Henry skirts a small herd

Henry was next into the action christening a new 10' TFO 6wt with a feisty smallie.  The lake section in the shadow of Pyramid cliff produced well for Paul and Henry mingled with cows curious cows as we made out way down to the first rapid. I was relaxed as I sipped coffee from the canoe and watched these two sing out hook-ups.  

no words required

I didn't have much luck swinging streamers and then things picked-up for me in the side channels with small tubes.   The bite was slow but consistent in the early part of the day, rewarding those who found deep, slow water and waited for the subtlest of takes.

The strike rate picked up as morning turned to afternoon and Paul and Henry's rods were bent over almost every time I glanced.    With the exception of a 16" beauty Paul brought to hand these bass weren't big but they were getting more aggressive by the hour.  Paul and Henry share an unbridled passion for the strike and fight and their faces are probably sore from their broad grins. I never equaled their catch rate, but it didn't matter, I caught more than enough to keep me busy and at several points switched back to streamers and from elevated rocks, when the light was right, I could see darting smallies rise from their haunts and shwack my offerings.

At 1700 with dark clouds building and a 20mph tailwind chasing us we moved to the last rapid and began laying into smallies hidden in the deeper seams.  These smallies were the most fun as we fought them upstream, each 8" smallie feeling like a bruiser and the occasional 10-12 inch smallie fighting & feeeling like a citation in the stiff current. Exhaustion, hands and back cramping and wind-blown chills couldn't take the smiles off our faces when Paul and I bid farewell to Henry with a few hundred yards left to fish and made out way to the Alma take-out.  Just as we loaded the canoe, the sky opened up with a cold windy deluge. That heater sure felt good.  After a few minutes on the road Henry checked in letting us know he'd been able to trudge through a pasture and make it off the river to safely (phew).  What a day.    Paul ended with a new PR 170 smallies, Hen for the second time passed the century mark.    Amazing.