This season, Louisiana produced some bucks that would make any hunter weak in the knees. Here are the stories.
“There will be days when the fishing is better than one’s most optimistic forecast, others when it is far worse. Either is a gain over just staying home.”
— Roderick Haig-BrownIt’s chilly and overcast. As I motor past the landscape, the only hint that Ol’ Man Winter is loosening his grip is the thick turf of green ryegrass that blankets the roadsides and pastures.
My salty companions are staying home today. There’s a good chance of rain on the coast, and possibly where I’m headed also. But sac-a-lait like bad weather, so I’m feeling lucky today.
Besides, the saltwater tackle has been cleaned and tucked away, and the freshwater rods and reels are now ever-present inside my vehicle. On this day, the crappie call my name. I can hear them saying, “Catch me, Catch!”
It’s an annual ritual that goes back to my childhood days. As hunting season winded down, my dad and I would break out the spincast gear, reload the tackle boxes, clean the boat and prepare for that first fishing trip of the year.
There was never a question as to what species we’d be after. My dad recognized that sac-a-lait were the most active species in cold water. Besides, we lived just a few miles from the Atchafalaya Basin — God’s gift to sac-a-lait fishermen.
February could be a great month for the Spillway — if the water levels were low. If the water was high and muddy, or rising hard, we opted instead for either Miller’s Lake, Chicot Lake or Lake Kincaid. The farther north we went, the more likely we heard the term “white perch” at the boat launch.
Over the many years, I’ve continued to follow tradition, even as my tackle changed from spincast to flycast.
Most flyrodders just aren’t interested in crappie, and I can understand why. They have none of the attributes of most fly-targeted species — they don’t jump, they seldom hit topwater, you can’t sightcast to them. And when hooked, they fight like a wet plastic bag.
Worst of all, crappie fishing is an exercise in patience. You need to work flies slowly. You need to recognize the nibbles and not set the hook too soon. You may have to suffer through as many famines as you do feasts.
But on those good days … oh, yeah, you can almost hear the battered fish sizzling in the grease as each slab goes into the ice chest.
Either way, I feel blessed to just be on the water. Roderick Haig-Brown would be proud.
I must confess there have been many more days when the “optimistic forecast” has been met. If that’s not true for you, let me offer some advice for improving your success with fly rod for crappie.
First, carry two rods.
One should be rigged with a tiny strike/float indicator and a weighted fly. The fly should be tied either with a beadhead, tiny barbell eyes or on a 1/80- or 1/100-ounce jig hook.
In the water, the fly should suspend under the indicator in a vertical fashion. For this, use a tippet that is fairly light (3x or 4x) and fairly long, about 2 to 3 feet. The float goes on the tippet just past the connecting knot. If you use a heavy tapered leader, you may not detect a light strike.
Cast a float/dropper or double fly rig with a somewhat wide loop so the weighted fly keeps away from the float. A moderate-action rod works best for this, and the softer tip associated with moderate rods also helps prevent the hook from tearing out the crappie’s soft mouth.
Your other rod will be used to swim a fly. Again, use a light leader to sink the fly faster and better detect a strike. I often take a 10-foot, 5x Orvis or Scientific Angler trout leader, and clip off two feet off the butt end and 6 inches off the tippet end. If you tie your own leader, try 12-pound mono for the butt section and 3x or 4z for the tippet.
My strategy is to work shorelines and treelines with the swimming fly — cast it out, let it sink a bit, then strip in slowly. When I say slowly, I mean an inch or two per strip. When I hook a crappie, I’ll continue to fish that spot, but often convert to the suspended rig if no other bites, or if the action slows.
There are many good sac-a-lait flies — woolybuggers, crappie candies, gummy minnows, small Clousers, various wet flies. My favorites are the fluff butts. Lure fishermen will recognize them as variations of the micro chenille jig. The Hester Fluff Butt is tied on a 1/80- or 1/100-ounce jighead, with chenille body and marabou tail. The Peterson Fluff Butt is tied on a size 10 or 12 Mustad 9672 (or equivalent) using a beadhead in lieu of a jighead.
Best color combinations for fluff butts and other minnow patterns are olive/olive, black/black, black/chartreuse, blue/white and red/white.
Occasionally, shiny flies work better. The old saying, “Bright days, bright colors; dark days, dark colors,” seems to hold true. The Coma Minnow uses krystal flash for a tail and for the underbody, which is wrapped over by Larva Lace. Another popular fly uses a mylar tail and small ice chenille for the body.
Back to the trip — I arrived at Two O’Clock Bayou near Krotz Springs well after sunrise. Two hours of casting produced nary a nibble. Then I found an indentation in the bank, with a clump of water lillies on one side of the hole. It looked fishy, and it was. On the first cast, the cork went down as soon as it hit the water.
The fight was on, and a 10-inch crappie came to the side of the boat. Right at the Cormier minimum size limit. The next cast produced the same result. Successive casts required that I “twitch the cork,” a technique similiar to what I use for popping bugs, and shown to me by one of the great masters of our sport, Tony Accardo.
By twitching, I move the cork slowly by an inch or two, then let it settle back a few seconds into position.
In some cases, the fish would twitch back. It then became a battle of wills. Which of us was willing to twitch the longest?
By noon, the rains had arrived. I put my boat up on the trailer, and headed home. Only a few hours on the water, and only a half-dozen fish in the box. But it sure did beat staying home.
