When smallest is coolest
A lightweight fly rod and a cool clear stream beat summer's heat
Truth is when I opened my fly box I had in mind something smaller, more delicate, the kind of fly fitting of cool clear stream water on a late-July morning in northeast Oklahoma.
Not a whisper of wind disturbed the valley and I was fixed on visions of a gentle cast to smooth water with my lightest 3-weight fly rod, a small fly and aggressive longear sunfish, the most beautiful of Oklahoma’s native fish.
The relative cool of the Spring Creek valley shrouded the woods with morning fog as every molecule of moisture clung to a peaceful dewy existence before Old Sol slipped over the hills and whipped them back into an invisible mass of oppressive humidity that would make the 100-degree afternoon unbearable.
As I laid my eye along the twiggy 8-foot length of my 3-weight fly rod to line up the guides of my four-piece coach whip my mind was on some fine hair-like 6X tippet and a pretty black-and-white mosquito pattern. I was thinking tiny, like #20 or #22.
That seemed only natural as my only company on the morning were hundreds of the real thing and one curious white-tailed doe who chewed her breakfast and either thought herself invisible with just her tan face and big ears visible above the brush or was simply entertained by my oddball form of breakfast theater.
She likely was the distraction that brought about my accidental fly choice, now I think about it. I’d finished stringing my rod and slid my fingers down the length to double-check that yellow fly line to make sure it passed through each fine guide—something I’ve a real bad habit of skipping on this smallest of my fly rods.
The butt of the rod tucked under my left arm, I smiled at my silent companion and admired her smooth face and ears for the lack of ticks some deer acquire this time of year as I pulled the fly box out of my vest pocket. But as I opened the box something tickled the top of my thumb. I looked down to see a bit of fluff falling.
In the next instant I managed to try to catch the escapee, drop my fly rod and send my fly box spinning to slam shut on the ground all in one absurd move.
“Well, fer chrissake!”
What was left was that hair-like tippet threaded between the index and middle finger of my left hand and a chunky hi-viz black-and-red parachute ant in my right palm. I can’t remember where I got the ants—which I call my fat ants—which almost look like crickets, except they’re ants.
“OK, sure. Why not a fat ant?”
The doe just chewed on and watched. I tied on the fly, politely closed the car door without a slam, bid the deer adieu and walked to the creek.
Fly-fishing for smaller species with a 2-weight or 3-weight rod in these clear water streams is a treat I have come to appreciate. I honestly don’t know if the 18-year-old meat-hunting, get the moistest and biggest fish you can find me would have appreciated it as I do now. I absolutely love it.
To visit a place like spring creek with the lightest line, barbless hooks and small flies to enjoy smallmouth bass, Kentucky spotted bass, longear sunfish and redspot chubs brings a unique kind of joy.
Smallmouth and spotted bass in the uppermost parts of the Illinois River, Barren Fork, Caney Creek and Spring Creek seldom top the 1.5-pound mark but they pack a lot of fight into their small frames. They will absolutely smash a small woolly-bugger, small marabou jig and slam a surface fly or popper.
Until last year I had very little knowledge of chubs, but the redspot has become a favorite. They feed in the same eddy edges and seams along fast water that smallmouth inhabit and more than once I’ve hooked one and thought it was a smallmouth.
But if I’m fully honest, the greatest joy in these clear water creek visits explodes in the fury and beauty of the little longear sunfish. The largest of I’ve seen measured just shy of 5 inches but the books say they can grow up on 9 inches and almost 1.5 pounds.
The nests they guard May through August in Spring Creek are readily visible in shallow water. I try to leave the obvious nests alone and only bother a few in an area before I move along.
Longear sunfish inhabit waters across the state and I’ve caught them in several locations but I do believe the males of our clear water streams in the northeast are the most colorful of all. They look like a tropical fish in shades of reddish orange and an almost neon blue. Event their identifying feature, the long, black opercular flaps (ears) on their gill covers, seem to show in a variety of shapes, some just black and some with a striking copper or gold fringe.
I’ve hooked them on small woolly buggers, marabou micro-jigs, and small surface flies of all kinds—even a chunky hi-viz black and red parachute ant.
