Citation Largemouth on the fly
Posted: Mon Apr 03, 2017 9:32 am
A number of years ago, I was fishing a local reservoir in my kayak, working along the rip rap bank with a custom tied hopper on a six weight fly rod, just enjoying the quiet of the early morning. 
The lake is HP restricted to 9.9 and most big powerboats use trolling motors. As I paddled my way along the bank, hooking a bass here and there, a large metal flake bass boat cuts right in front of my kayak, piloted by a tanned Grandfather accompanied by his grandson and four of his AARP buddies. 
They are drinking beer and hammering the bank with baitcassters, but not working the water's edge, just pounding along the shore haphazardly, more interested in joking and laughing, and .... beer.
The grandson is more interested in my kayak, and my fly rod.
"What's that Grandpa?" the lad asks, pointing to my kayak 30 yards behind the $50,000 worth of bass boat.
"Tupperware." Grandpa tells the lad, dismissively.
"But what kind of fishing rod is that Grandpa?" the young boy asks.
"That's a Fairywand..." the old man tells him, "Now get back to your fishing."
We work our way along the Rip Rap, and I watch the Bass Boat and it's passengers pass right by an overhanging bush, the only shade in 100 yards, where I know lunkers tend to lay up... not one of the four adults throw anything near it. The boy has watched me catch and release several bass and panfish on the fly rod in the last half hour and has smiled and waved each time.
He has stopped fishing completely, fascinated by the fly rod, the beauty and poetry of the cast, and the kayak itself.
As I approach the overhanging bush, I sidearm cast my 3" hopper that Miss Tina designed, so that it skipps under the bush, then twitch, twitch, twitch, the fly line, making the hopper... well, hop. about the forth hop out from under the bush's shadow, water begins to swell and I prepare myself... I can't breathe. Suddenly, there is an explosion of power, and a sound like a public urinal flushing as a monster bass explodes on the Hopper Fly. My six weight fly rod bends double, then past double and the tip is in the water. I drop my feet on either side of the kayak to lower my center of gravity and the BASS is towing the kayak. The fight is on. I reach behind me for the net as the drag on the fly rod screams. The Grandson on the bass boat is on his feet clapping. All four old men have turned to watch and I can't lose this guy now.
I am thinking over and over, play it, and make it to the net, net, net.
Twenty Two and a Half inches long, and nearly too fat for me to grasp across her belly. She was just over 10 pounds.
A Virginia Citation Largemouth Bass.
My first on the fly rod.
The grandson turns to Grandpa and says,
"Gee Grandpa, maybe you should get a Fairy Wand."
Grandpa starts his Two Hundred and Twenty Five Horse Mercury and tears across the lake. Priceless.
The lake is HP restricted to 9.9 and most big powerboats use trolling motors. As I paddled my way along the bank, hooking a bass here and there, a large metal flake bass boat cuts right in front of my kayak, piloted by a tanned Grandfather accompanied by his grandson and four of his AARP buddies. They are drinking beer and hammering the bank with baitcassters, but not working the water's edge, just pounding along the shore haphazardly, more interested in joking and laughing, and .... beer.The grandson is more interested in my kayak, and my fly rod.
"What's that Grandpa?" the lad asks, pointing to my kayak 30 yards behind the $50,000 worth of bass boat.
"Tupperware." Grandpa tells the lad, dismissively.
"But what kind of fishing rod is that Grandpa?" the young boy asks.
"That's a Fairywand..." the old man tells him, "Now get back to your fishing."
We work our way along the Rip Rap, and I watch the Bass Boat and it's passengers pass right by an overhanging bush, the only shade in 100 yards, where I know lunkers tend to lay up... not one of the four adults throw anything near it. The boy has watched me catch and release several bass and panfish on the fly rod in the last half hour and has smiled and waved each time.
He has stopped fishing completely, fascinated by the fly rod, the beauty and poetry of the cast, and the kayak itself. As I approach the overhanging bush, I sidearm cast my 3" hopper that Miss Tina designed, so that it skipps under the bush, then twitch, twitch, twitch, the fly line, making the hopper... well, hop. about the forth hop out from under the bush's shadow, water begins to swell and I prepare myself... I can't breathe. Suddenly, there is an explosion of power, and a sound like a public urinal flushing as a monster bass explodes on the Hopper Fly. My six weight fly rod bends double, then past double and the tip is in the water. I drop my feet on either side of the kayak to lower my center of gravity and the BASS is towing the kayak. The fight is on. I reach behind me for the net as the drag on the fly rod screams. The Grandson on the bass boat is on his feet clapping. All four old men have turned to watch and I can't lose this guy now.
I am thinking over and over, play it, and make it to the net, net, net.
Twenty Two and a Half inches long, and nearly too fat for me to grasp across her belly. She was just over 10 pounds.
A Virginia Citation Largemouth Bass.
My first on the fly rod.
The grandson turns to Grandpa and says,
"Gee Grandpa, maybe you should get a Fairy Wand."
Grandpa starts his Two Hundred and Twenty Five Horse Mercury and tears across the lake. Priceless.
