Our Outdoors: Six Spring Smallie Spaces
By Nick Simonson
Smallmouth bass in spring stake out premier spawning sites, with the biggest fish getting the best pieces of territory. Typically, the shallows where they make their beds have many structural elements and knowing what to key in on as these fish make their moves will help connect you with more bass this spring. What follows is a super six-pack of smallmouth haunts to explore with your favorite jig, tube or soft plastic this season.
On the Rocks
Areas of rip rap, boulders, and naturally occurring rock are smallmouth magnets. These spaces warm up quickly in the spring sunlight and attract micro-organisms and small aquatic insects along with baitfish and crayfish. As a result, smallmouth bass are drawn to them as well. When smallies have a nice nook between rocks, or an open area of sand or gravel in a stretch of rip rap, they can be found there in spring setting up for the spawn. Cast over these places with cone-head jigs and Texas-rigged plastics rigged with a bullet weight to avoid getting stuck in the small spaces between rocks.
Good Wood
Downed trees and brush, perhaps pulled in and piled up by recent high waters from record spring snowfall and its subsequent melt, also provide cover for pre-spawn smallies and a place to find a break from the current and set up an adjacent spawning site. The wood has plenty of attraction for the food chain elements addressed above and provides enough cover on at least one side for smallmouth to stage against. Aside from snagging on newer branches and bark, be careful casting around limbs and snaggy sections with jigs and soft plastics. Texas rig a plastic stick, like a Senko, to avoid hooking woody obstructions and instead catch fish.
Them’s The Breaks
Anywhere a river or lake rises up from the depths and provides bass with a quick transition from basin to spawning shallows is a good stretch of topography to explore. When fish are pushed deep by spring cold fronts, check the deep side first and then work shallower as things warm again and smallies head back to the shallows. Find points or inside curves that serve as onramps out of the main lake or river channel to adjacent skinny water. Work the bottoms with football jigs and bucktail jigs, and slowly cast countdown-style crankbaits to locate fish that are suspended in the column.
Docked
Any docks that are in the water early, or are hardy, permanent structures that survive the winter and ice off, are worth being cast at from all angles in the early goings, as they provide structure and shade that fish relate to. Additionally, they are a superior ambush point for items of food flowing by in river current or the first baitfish and panfish that come shallow in spring. Cast jigs and tubes around these structures to find smallmouth bass this season.
Bridge the Divide
Bridges of all sizes draw smallies in spring. From the depths around the center pilings where fish can go for cold-front cover and safety in high light hours, to the shallows and debris that usually settles in the shallow corners underneath, every piece of a bridge is worth a cast for smallies. Upstream pilings on rivers tend to hold on to deadfalls, branches and other structure that washes down in spring and provides cover for fish in addition to the concrete supports. Work them over with a drop-shot rig or tube on an insert jighead to trigger wary bass in these locations.
Go With The Flow
Inflowing water is also a key element for spring smallies. Creeks, springs, draws funneling spring rainwater, and even culverts dumping runoff into a main body can pull smallies up shallow as the spawn nears. Work these points of entry over with suspending crankbaits, jerkbaits, and soft plastics in an effort to cover water quickly and connect with fish. Follow up with a slower presentation if a bass bites but the hook doesn’t connect.
Add It Up
The best smallie spots in spring combine some or all of these elements in close proximity to one another. Knowing what to look for and identifying the structure and the other elements that come with fast fishing are points to hang on to in any journal or GPS. Make a note of these six forms of structure and others this spring in relation to the smallies you catch and odds are you can return to those spots year after year around this same time for more spring success with bronzebacks…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: New Neighbors
Our Outdoors: New Neighbors
By Nick Simonson
I first saw our new neighbors in the dim light of an early February morning. As I walked the dogs past their driveway, they cautiously eyed us over but, unlike the residents who had been on our block for a while, they didn’t take off when both my large lab and German shepherd made sudden furtive movements toward them. I found that odd. The next encounter was much the same. Though this time, one of them was up on the rooftop of the house across the street surveilling their new neighborhood, again just before sunrise. He let out an unfamiliar and startling laugh as we approached and paused to offer our own greeting, but he didn’t depart despite the lunging dogs once again trying to make friends.
Finally, while working out in my basement just last week, I happened to glance out the window to the small strip of side yard and noticed both of the new arrivals to our development wandering through the small shoots of green grass a piles of dog poop left over from the long winter. It was then that it all came together.
The reason these two oddball immigrants to our neck of the prairie didn’t take off like the flighty covey of Hungarian partridge that have lived in the gully-fringed stretches of our piece of suburbia was that they weren’t partridge at all, but rather, they were chukars. With a funny obliviousness, they made their way through the yard, hopped up on the fence and down into the next-door-neighbor’s yard and disappeared from sight. It was likely that they were escapees from a hunting dog test, as chukar are often used by hunters to train new dogs, or to keep older ones sharp in the off season. Planted and placed in the grasses of those hills just a half a block away, they had likely avoided detection in one such training session and unlike some of the less-fortunate birds in their covey, were spared the teeth of an aggressive pup looking to prove its mettle.
I texted the sighting to a friend at Game and Fish, and he confirmed not only that a good population of the volunteer upland birds existed around town, likely coming from that hunter-based source, but that there were enough of them in the area to sustain a breeding population as well. Amazed by the development, I’ve kept a sharp eye and ear out this spring, listening for the chuk-chuk-chuk call mixed in with the day’s score of robins chirping, mourning doves cooing, and the dawn-and-dusk call of rooster pheasants clanking through the hillsides of our two-block area. Sure enough, while cleaning the yard, walking the dogs, or relaxing on the deck in the limited spring we’ve had, the chukars are out there too, seemingly enjoying their new digs.
While they more often succumb to the weather and predators seizing on the birds’ naivete from being raised on a farm or in a pen for the purpose of dog training, it appears some chukars have better survival skills than others. I note that despite not being the most wary introductions, they often assume elevated positions, which likely keeps them out of harm’s way from those random neighborhood dogs, and even the den of coyotes just down the draw which still howl in the shrinking darkness of early morning. Whether perched on a rooftop at sunrise, or randomly offering up their cadence of chuks as the mornings warm, they’ve quickly become a notable and enjoyable part of all those things that mix where the edge of suburbia meets the first fringes…of our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: Making the Most of the Least Spring
Our Outdoors: Making the Most of the Least Spring
By Nick Simonson
The water was cold, fast, and dingy rushing out of the gates of Baldhill Dam, as atop the spillway the ghostly blue-gray ice still held fast to the shores of Lake Ashtabula at its generally widest and deepest point of the 12-mile reservoir, despite being a single day away from the month of May. While I figured the Sheyenne River’s run of pike would stack up under the outflow in the rush of spring water coming through, looking at the temperature readout on the website for the structure ahead of the trip, I suspected the 34-degree mark was a bit too cold for anything, but it was at least worth a look as it had been too long of a winter.
With my buddy, my brother and four kids in tow for what was an unproductive outing in terms of fishing but generally fun in terms of helping with casting and teaching, we found refuge in the man-made channel valley from the westerly gusts that roared overhead. It had been a couple seasons since I had traversed the rocky shoreline of the structure that had served as my schooling when it came to learning how to fish but I quickly found my balance and avoided any tumbles. The kids, meanwhile, hopped from rock-to-rock as if they had mountain goat DNA in their blood.
It hardly mattered that there was nothing on the receiving end of their casts, as the rush of roaring water rolled by and the eddies of the wind from overhead doubled back and lifted clumps of foam into the air and onto the rocks around us, bringing laughs and attempts to catch them. There was more than enough to entertain in what would be a short trip anyway, simply due to the cooler conditions and the lack of fish, and it came down to making the most of it, and my youngest boy Jackson did just that.
All through the rocks, he sought out and found the junk that high water brings once he tired of casting. Sticks cut loose and half chewed by a beaver, sent down the flow and through the gates, a few bullhead skeletons likely deposited by the just-returned pelicans or some other piscivorous predator, and a couple of loose rocks to roll, kick and toss around as he explored the steep bank. Like much of the rest of the spring, he was making the most of what was available, and loving every minute of being outdoors, even if the fish and the conditions weren’t loving him back at the particular moment.
As we wrapped things up, my brother and I speculated on how the season would progress and when the fish would fill the rushing stretch, advising my buddy of when to bring his kids back so they could learn and grow in the same area that taught me a good deal of what I know about fishing, I caught a glimpse of my son, sprawled out in the most comfortable looking pose atop an uncomfortable stretch of rip rap. With a slight smile, pretending to be asleep, I asked him if he was ready to go. He replied in the negative and flashed a grin of just-entered adult teeth and said he was good as he lifted his gnawed stick and raised the fist-sized rock in his other hand, absorbing a quick shot of sunshine that broke through the barrier of mostly gray clouds overhead.
It was a good reminder that the outdoors – much like life – is what we make of it. Some days the fish are biting, occasionally we’re a bit ahead of them or the season is behind us, and sometimes, where the water once teemed with them, they’re suddenly gone. Whether it’s bad timing, good luck, or just the way things are, finding pleasure in watching an eagle soar overhead, hearing the startled whistle of a wood duck, or admiring the toothy handiwork of nature’s dam builders are rewards in their own right…in our outdoors.
Our Outdoors: Less Is More for Luremaking
Our Outdoors: Less Is More for Luremaking
By Nick Simonson
I’m not a huge fan of the saying “less is more.” I mean, MORE is more, right? Raised in the go-go-Reaganaut 1980s capitalism environment that I was, Gordon Gecko and just about every other big screen role model said greed was good, faster was better, biggest was best and certainly more is more. He who dies with the most toys, the biggest collection of fishing lures and the flashiest accessories wins. Sure. Whatever. Maybe I’ve mellowed out a bit in this stretch of middle age; but when it comes to spring fishing, sometimes less IS more, especially when finishing off some of my favorite offerings for the season.
A bulky fly or overdressed jig can be a turn off for fish that in the gin clear waters of a just opened lake, and crafting the last few dozen at the vise has been a reminder on all fronts – whether woolly buggers for trout, krystal flash jigs for crappies, or a few special bucktail offerings for smallmouth bass – having just the right amount of material can make the difference between bites and a bust. It comes down to a matter of experience and some trial-and-error, and that perfect ratio of material to dress up a lure can take a few seasons to figure out. Ultimately the fish tell you what they want, but much of the time it can be seen in the final product with a few quick observations.
If you’ve ever watched a minnow move in the water, a leech slowly undulate across the bottom of a bait bucket or had the chance to see damselfly larva pulse through the shallows, the movements happen so smoothly, so effortlessly and in such a streamlined fashion that imitating that sort of natural motion can almost seem daunting. In the end though, creating that illusion comes down to making those jigs, flies and other lures seem just as free swimming, and through the materials used in the right proportions just as edible. Keep that he idea of illusion in mind while tying them up and preparing for spring fishing, as too much tends to take away from that free-flowing profile.
Krystal flash doesn’t need to be tied in big clumps, rather a few loosely stacked strands on a hook shank with a dozen tight wraps will create a delta-shaped body that pulses with each twitch of the rod tip. The same goes for any bucktail pattern, like those early season bass jigs which work wonders on smallies and can pull double for largemouth as well; too much hair takes away the free-moving ability of each fiber and creates a clumpy mess. The same goes for stacking marabou on trout jigs or streamers, overdo it, pack it up and it looks like a big snotty glob at the end of the offering, put just a pinch in the right length and density and you’ve got a feather that puffs and pops under the water with the most lifelike presentation, sealing the deal when a fish approaches.
If you’re lucky, you’ve got a lake, river, or stream nearby that’s shedding its ice and opening up with those same gin-clear waters mentioned earlier. There, a few quick casts will tell if a lure has made the grade and provides the right shimmy and shake to turn fish on. If you’ve got a ways to go, simply wetting a fly or jig down will provide a profile and even dipping it into a clear plastic container filled with water will at least give you an idea as to how airy, lifelike and fish-triggering it is. No matter how you do it, a few test runs will provide some direction as to how thick (or alternatively, how thin) you can go to get the desired result and what alterations need to be made for the next pattern.
While there’s no surefire way of telling whether the prospective partner at the end of the line will catch fish until in the moment, the idea that less is more when it comes to creating jigs, lures and flies with those eye-catching materials will provide a good guide. Keep things light, keep them as sparse as a pattern allows, and plan on making “less is more” part of your lure making mantra…in our outdoors.