‘STRESS-FREE RIVER-FISHIN’ FUN’

          No pagers or radios, lawnmowers or ball schedules… no keepin' the peace or ridin' the fire truck… just pure stress-free river-fishin’ fun.

Keith reels in a good Bluegill

          The best cure for the stress of everyday life that I know of is a day spent float-fishin’ the river, and on our days off durin’ the summer, my friend Keith (a professional Firefighter/First Responder, Rec League ball coach, umpire, and Daddy to two very active young boys) and I do exactly that every chance we can get. The river we fish is typical of the myriad of small rivers and creeks all across America. Clear and clean, it flows unrestricted through woods and farmlands; chock full of freshwater fish just waitin’ to be fished for.

Now, river-fishin’ ain’t one of them get-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn affairs. No... you can sleep-in a bit, ‘cause river fish are always feedin’, and midday generally brings some of the best action, unlike lake fishin’ where the fishin' is best early and late in the day. So, we usually get on the water sometime aroun’ 10:30 or 11 of a mornin’.

A nice 'Spot'

After castin’ off, it only takes a few minutes to get everything squared away, spare rods tucked safely away, tackle boxes within easy reach, and gettin’ our ‘balance’ back since the last trip. And then the ‘float’ begins…

We don’t go no more’n a few canoe lengths before I put us close-in on the first good fishy-lookin’ spot, and Keith drops a lure tight into the structure. Tap. Tap. Uhhh! He sets the hook on a nice pound and a half Spot (Spotted Bass) that jumps once in its futile fight to get away. Once brought to hand, he’s admired, maybe a quick pic taken, and then tossed back into the water to be caught another day. And that, my friends… is how most every trip of ours down the river starts.

          Our boat is a 1970’s model aluminum canoe, sportin’ a worn paint scheme of brown camouflage, a plastic cup holder in the bow, and a COLEMAN seatback laid-claim-to early on by Keith. This ol’ boat’s been down this stretch of river so many times over the past decade and a half, it could almost navigate it all on its own. Fairly quiet, easy-handlin’, and a whole lot faster than your ordinary johnboat, when it comes to the ‘perfect’ riverboat… this is about the closest we’ve found.

We float the long pools, some deep and some not-so-much, and we wade through the shoals too shallow or dangerous to navigate, all the while tossin’ lures at every piece of fishy-lookin’ structure we come to, pullin’ fish after fish after fish from their watery lairs.

A dandy Redeye Coosa Bass taken on a fly

We use ultralight spinning outfits to bounce lead-head tube jigs along the rock-strewn river bottom and swim soft plastic shad baits along the seams of fast water for coveted Redeyes and hard-fightin’ Spots. With our fly rods, we toss poppin’ bugs with wet fly droppers close under the tree roots along the river bank for panfish and strip small white streamers along the edge of grass beds, which almost always results in a feisty little bass puttin’ a bow in your rod.

'Our' river

We’re in and out of the canoe all day long, wadin’ the shallows, sometimes draggin’ the boat past obstacles; other times paddlin’ long, almost current-less, stretches of water; part of the day in the cool shade, the rest in full sun, and almost always shirtless.

'Lunch of Champions'

When we get hungry, we pull the canoe up on a sandbar and break out the grub. Lunches vary. They’re generally light… a pack of crackers, a can of potted meat or Viennas, maybe some Beanie Weenies or a sandwich and some chips. Snacks range from apples and trail mix to jerky and Little Debbies. And we wash it down with water kept cold in the beat-up IGLOO water jugs we keep tied to the thwarts of the canoe.

          The fishin’ after lunch takes on a different character, as the river itself changes. Now, the river turns into a twistin’, turnin’ watercourse with deep holes scoured on the outside of each bend and full of logjams, downed timber, and undercut riverbanks, where the bigger fish of this river live. The number of fish caught through here decreases somewhat, but the quality definitely improves.

A Largemouth taken on the lower section

Now, we work Beetle Spins through downed timber, toss soft plastic creature baits in amongst the logjams, and twitch floatin’ RAPALAS next to submerged stumps in search of dark-colored, river Largemouths and bigger-than-normal Bluegills and Shellcrackers.

After 5 or 6-hours on the river, we reach the planned take-out point and beach the canoe, wearily haul armloads of gear and then the canoe up the grassy hill to the gravel parking lot, where it’s loaded onto a waiting truck and trailer.

Then stiff and tired and sunburned, still drippin’ water from our shorts, we tromp into the li’l store there at the takeout to buy our celebratory glass bottles of ice-cold rootbeer for the ride home. We don't spend much, but still it's our way of thankin' the store owner for lettin' us park a truck there. We've done this simple gesture for so long that my 10-year-old grandson swears that ‘IBC Rootbeer’ stands for ‘I Been Canoein’ Rootbeer’.

          Once home and the canoe is on its rack and our rods and gear are put away; after we’ve all showered, sprayed ourselves down with SOLARCAINE, and changed into dry shorts and t-shirts; we throw some burgers on the grill, pop the tops on some adult beverages, and settle into loungers out under the shade trees in my front yard and just chill. Pleasantly tired and utterly relaxed.