“You wanna fish for bass?” I asked incredulously. Being a resident of Melbourne, Florida, I’m far more inclined to spend my days fishing for the numerous inshore species found right at my doorstep. However, I decided there would be no harm in humouring Mike “Ippy” Ippolito’s oddball request.
As I stood in my office talking to Ippy, my mind was trying to figure out where we were going to fish. I had the perfect snook and tarpon game in mind, with a chance of flounder at the Sebastian Inlet. The weather this Friday was perfect, and I was looking forward to getting out when everyone else would be working. Then, the bombshell dropped- we were going to be bass fishing. I had originally pitched bass fishing as a possible filler to a day I was hoping to fill with saltwater game fish, but now it would be the main event.
I will be honest, bass kind of bore me. They don’t have line pulling runs like redfish, nor do they possess the fighting prowess of a snook. But I guess watching a bass blow up on a gurgler could be almost as exciting, the key word being almost.
With sadness in my heart, I started scouting for a real spot, one that would take us out of the familiar residential ponds and scummy canals. If I was going to debase myself, I might as well do it somewhere out of the ordinary. That’s when I remembered Lake Egan at the Fellsmere Grade Recreational Area, a paddle craft only version of the famed Stick Marsh. Out of all of the available options, this was by far the most intriguing.
Before committing, I made a phone call to a friend who knew the lay of the land, and asked him if taking my Gheenoe would be feasible, or if I’d be better off taking a canoe. He said the Gheenoe would be fine and to go for it. That was all I needed to hear. I loaded the cooler and gear in the truck, hooked up the Gheenoe, and went inside to tie a few flies before going to sleep.
I met Ippy at the launch at about 8:30am the next morning. Boat traffic was heavy coming in and out of Stick Marsh, but Lake Egan appeared to be relatively empty, a perk of its paddle only restriction. We drove to the gate and started unloading our gear to the sound of shotgun blasts, a nod to duck hunters taking advantage of the area’s prime waterfowl habitat.
We then scouted the launch, and as it turned out, there was about a 300 foot walk to the launch site, something my buddy who said take the Gheenoe didn’t account for. By itself the boat was no problem, but with the custom decks I built on it, and a gas tank remaining from a motor I removed the night before, it would certainly be a chore.
With some careful maneuvering and brute force, we managed to drag it to the water’s edge, and loaded up our gear. Before finishing up, Ippy suddenly had to use the restroom, and quickly took off. While awaiting his return, I stood there looking up at the hill which lead back to the gate, trying to figure out what would be the best way to get the Gheenoe back at days end.
My mind snapped back to the task at hand when the familiar sound of a bass smacking the surface of the water caught my attention. I quickly launched the Gheenoe, grabbed a rod, and started throwing a custom clouser Ippy tied called the “big ugly.” In 3 casts I already had a fish to the boat as Ippy made his way back down to the water’s edge. Maybe this would work out after all.
After a quick trip back to shore, we finished loading our gear and paddled out. We surveyed our surroundings and decided to work the main channel with deeper flies, working them along the walls of grass that lined its ledges. We made quick work of one or two bass before managing to get one of our “big uglies” stuck in the grass. While we paused to tie another big ugly on the 8wt, I decided I might as well take the time to throw a small white baitfish on my 5wt.
The channel was about 20 feet wide and went directly south from the launch site for about a quarter mile. Both sides were bordered by grass mats for a few hundred feet, but along the western edge, the vegetation was broken up in places by the bank and various partially submerged logs. Fishing the logs brought us some success, but my lack of familiarity with the quick sink rate of the “big uglies” found me getting caught up. On one occasion I managed to snarl my fly and blew out any remaining bass in my attempts to free it.
Just behind me, I’d say about 25 feet or so, I heard some popping and was greeted by a bass sitting in a small open pocket between the mats. I grabbed the 5wt and went to work.
The Sage Xi3 was like an old friend, it was a stick that I had grown familiar with over the years, and a welcome relief from chucking big weighed down flies on heavy lines. I dropped my first cast in the closest weed free pocket, and a few quick ticks later, there was a bass on the line. After a brief fight, I wrangled him to the boat and unhooked him before placing him back in the water to swim off.
As I turned my attention back to the task at hand, I noticed another bass sitting in the weeds about 15 feet away from me. I threw my small white baitfish pattern 3 feet beyond him on his right, and slowly stripped my line back towards him. I held my breath as I watched my target slowly swim out of the vegetation before charging towards my fly with reckless abandon. Crushed it.
I brought him boat side admiring his spunk and tenacity. Although he didn’t possess the same line pulling ability as a redfish, nor the sheer determination of a ticked off snook, I was still pleased with the challenges these green fish provided. Perhaps there was something to them afterall.
At that point Ippy had one on the line, so I released my catch and turned my attention from fishing to camera duty and boat management. I pushed us out of the weeds, as Ippy had done for me, giving him room to breathe as he landed the fish.
We laughed at how many fish we caught in such a short time as Ippy unhooked the fish and placed it back in the water. It hovered for a few seconds, seemingly trying to come to terms with what had just happened, before finally regaining his senses and making his way back to the depths. As we made our way down the channel, a concrete barrier ahead of us eventually turned us out towards the middle of the lake. We followed the wall, working our flies along its edges and various vegetation pockets.
It opened up to a nice open section where we found bass feeding off the wall, lying in ambush around some sunken debris just along its perimeter. I managed to pull two bass out of the pockets and one out of the debris. I was smiling ear to ear as Ippy pulled out two fish as well.
As soon as we started commenting about how great of a day we were having, the winds slowly started to pick up- just as the forecast said it would. Since there wasn’t any shelter to get behind, we decided it was time to head back.
About halfway through our journey to the landing site, Ippy doubled over and almost got sick. He was bright red and looked rather rough, asking to stop from time to time in case he had to barf. Not sure of what was happening, I had him lay back on the forward deck and collect himself while I got us back.
Before turning in for the day, I decided to take a few more pot shots around the vegetation mats leading towards the landing. There were a few kayakers just behind us, but I had a large enough window to give it a quick go. After a few “last casts,” we made it back to the landing and started unloading our gear. As we were busy preparing the Gheenoe for the haul back towards the truck, Ippy slowly began to take another turn for the worse.
That’s when I looked up at the incline and knew I was going to have to get the boat up by myself. With some grit and determination, I managed to get it back up the hill and over the gate. Ippy resigned himself to dragging the rods and fly boxes up the hill, defeated by whatever it was that ailed him.
We got the Gheenoe back on its trailer without incident and after shooting the breeze for a few moments, we went our separate ways as the wind steadily began to ramp up. While having to drag the Gheenoe back solo wasn’t by any means pleasant, I was still smiling over the numerous bass we landed. I would later come to find out that Ippy wound up with E.Coli from some tainted salad he ate the previous night, knocking him out of commission for a couple of weeks. Say what you will about trying to eat healthy, but I’ve never gotten sick from eating bacon.
In contrast, I on the other hand, was still perfectly healthy and could fish. Much to my surprise, I willingly spent the next week or so bass fishing before jumping back to my familiar inshore surroundings. I guess I had fun after all, who would’ve thought?
