An Old Adversary, Well Met

I’d seen this hard-fighting bluegill before

My first cast sailed out about 50 feet, and the small black popper plopped gently just off the shaded shoreline. Seconds ticked by as I held the small fly rod poised, the tip pointing straight at the distant bug and my line tensed in my left hand. I hoped mightily that I was not going to be disappointed. I had not fished this location for over a year.

An abrupt swirl, caused by the thick shoulders of a fish suddenly charging up through the water, engulfed the bug. Instinctively I lifted the tip of my rod, and the line came tight, real tight. My heart began to thump in simultaneous relief and celebration.

Feeling the hook, the fish tore up the shallows in a cascade of mud, weed and white water. The incensed hooligan then collected itself and shot away from the shore. The taut fly line vibrated as the fish used its broad side to put maximum strain on my slender, arcing rod. This guy intended to be difficult.

Line pulled relentlessly through my fingers as I yielded to the fish. I didn’t want to risk losing my first bluegill of the year. A four-pound-test tippet is not much insurance against a fish that pulls out of all proportion to its size.

The big bream slowed as it bored out into the depths. Then I felt my straining leader grate as the clever devil apparently plunged into some sunken debris. My first impulse was to horse it away from the structure, but luckily I came to my senses.

Slacking off the pressure, I kept just the slightest tension on the line for several long seconds until I felt the fish finally back out and swim free. Then I cinched it up, holding it away from its refuge as it started into another run. This time the brute circled my skiff, staying deep and at a distance.

I tried to lift the fish again and again, but the brawler refused to cooperate. I had to remind myself to be patient. I had been defeated more than once by underestimating the determination of these bantam roosters. Patience is imperative with light tackle and an obstinate adversary.

At long last, I started the fish toward the boat. I saw its thick olive back break water as it surfaced and flashed an ample flank. A fiery orange breast, bright blue throat and glowing vertical bands along its length indicated this one was in full spawning splendor, rank with testosterone and an attitude to match.

Despite some boat-side antics, I managed the husky fish onboard. Then came the surprise. I had tangled with this guy before; he was distinctly scarred by the missing edge of a gill flap.

I clearly remembered having a battle with this fish in exactly the same place last year. It was a combat reunion of sorts. After a quick picture of his good side, I was extra gentle in removing the hook and promptly easing my old adversary back into the water.

The indignant rooster hesitated just a second in my submerged hand. Then, with a sudden tail thrust that sent water splashing up my arm and into my face, it sped off to some unfinished business among the shoreline spawning beds. I grinned as I wiped myself dry. Old friends like that are hard to come by.

The hefty devil was probably over eight years old, elderly in bluegill years, but I had a strong suspicion I’d be seeing the recalcitrant character again. I didn’t believe he was through with me quite yet.