The eddy looked inviting.
Cool green water rushed by in the main channel forming a deep, swirling pool along the bank.
I tossed a tiny minnow-like lure into its depths, expecting to catch a small red-eye or maybe even a bluegill.
Instead, I was surprised by a quick, hard strike.
My ultra-light rod bent almost double, and I coaxed the fish out from under the brushy weeds and walked it downstream into a large pool.
The fish made several runs before I brought it to the net and found I had a smallmouth bass nearly 15 inches long.
The fish was long and slender, and its sides gleamed in the evening sun.
I held the fish gently while I removed the lure, weighing my desire for a fish dinner against admiration for its gleaming hide.
Admiration won, and I slipped the fish unharmed back into the water. The day was young; there would be other fish for the frying pan.
As it turned out, there were other fish: some bluegill and rock bass in a deep emerald pool.
But I could not help letting my mind drift back to the smallmouth bass that I’d let go.
It brought back memories, a flood of images from my boyhood, when I sat all day on a swinging bridge overlooking a languid stream, catching one species after another, some that would rival the size and weight of the one I had let go.
Only I doubt if I released many fish in those days.
Fish were plentiful.
Day after solitary day was spent along the narrow channels, fishing in sunshine and in shade, shirtless and shoeless, with only the hum of cicadas and the serenade of a songbird to keep me company.
Except maybe for the hound that rested at my side, drifting in and out of a summer sleep; and if dogs dream, he dreamed no doubt of chasing ‘coons and other bushy-tailed critters of the night.
I, meanwhile, would cast my tiny flatfish and two-piece minnows in lazy fashion, a rhythm conducive to the season of soft breezes and gentle whispers of the hovering insects.
There are scores of small streams in Southern West Virginia, where anglers can go to catch up with the past.
I could not help thinking how lucky I am.
Boyhood memories are alive again when I see the glint on the swirling eddies, hear the shoreline prattle of the gossiping willows and alders.
A bonus is that you seldom encounter another angler.
There are fish for the taking, and the rush of memories is as free as the wind.
My personal choice for fishing small streams is the same today as it was 50 years ago: ultra-light spinning tackle comes in handy for fishing the murmuring runs and riffles with the tiny lures.
However, most of the fish in small streams are undersized—and for this reason, I normally opt for a lightweight fly rod that can be maneuvered along the stream with the least amount of disturbance, using an assortment of tiny bug imitations that dart and swim rather than splash the tranquil flow.
Do not get me wrong.
I would never presume to match the skills of legendary anglers in the likes of Kerry Hatcher or Charley Brown; for they will catch more fish in a single day than I catch in a year or two.
The fish always prefer their lures to mine.
Still, I would tread the same turf as they would tread.
And there are others who do equally well on the small-stream circuit, plying their skills by floating the waterway with a small johnboat or canoe, or by wading in their neoprene.
If you decide to float fish, choose the water carefully. Many small streams are choked with blowdowns and floating these waters can be frustrating.
One of my favorite water treks is a float trip on the New River with a former journalism photographer from Woodrow Wilson who guides anglers during the summer and fall seasons.Â
I generally use a light-weight fly rod so I can just roll-cast to move the lure along the cool pools and gentle eddies. Some of the dry flies are those I tied many years ago. So far, they have held up well.Â
However, using a canoe or boat allows you fish the deep pools effectively with a spinning rod and a line baited with nightcrawlers, tiny flat fish, and two-piece minnows.
On the small streams, wading is the best option.
Fish these waters as you would a trout stream—wading upstream and casting into the minute eddies, pools, and riffles.
A pair of felt-soled wading shoes is indispensable for keeping your footing on slippery, rock-covered bottoms.
Polarized sunglasses are also a big help in spotting fish and wading safely.
In short, there are big surprises in store for fishermen who fish Southern West Virginia’s neglected small streams.
And if it is good fishing you want, try one of the many streams that are flowing probably not too far from your back door.
You will often be alone, and besides the sound of the stream and the occasional hammering of a woodpecker, or the chirping of a chipmunk, the only interruptions will be those provided by willing fish.Â
An afternoon’s outing almost always yields enough for a fish fry.Â
And who knows?
The experience could prove rewarding in other ways.
How would you know if you never give it a try?
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Top o’ the morning!