To my way of thinking, there’s no style of angling more exciting than the stalk, spot and cast technique of catching gamefish. I’m not referring to the simpler approach of presenting a match-the-hatch dry fly to trout rising and feeding in fresh water, nor the routine of tossing a bait or plug among a surface feeding frenzy of blues and stripers on the ocean. Actually searching out laid-up fish by wading along a brook or floating about in a boat, and then presenting the right fly or bait to induce a strike, is the exhilarating and rewarding fishing routine I prefer above all others.

Opportunities to employ sight fishing are rare in Maine. Brook trout, and on rare occasions, salmon, school up near cool-water creek mouths on hot summer days and can be spotted under the right light conditions and cast to with varied success. Striped bass can be found in shallow coves and bays when summer turns sultry, and these larger solitary fish can be stalked and cast over, and occasionally even caught. But for guaranteed action, day after day, year after year, spawning smallmouth bass are the best sight and fight quarry for all ages and all ability levels of anglers.

Pleasant memories

My premier eye-opening experience with fishing bass beds happened about 12 years ago thanks to Les Smith, the local Air Force recruiter and one of my frequent outdoor companions. Les and I had launched our 16-foot boat from a landing site in MacAllister Cove on East Grand Lake one early June morning, just as the rosy blush of dawn peered over the distant tree line. A light breeze created a perfect salmon chop as we trolled relentlessly, dragging a wide assortment of enticing tandem streamer flies all over the northern end of East Grand. About 9:30, after four long hours of mostly non- productive fishing, we were at a loss.

Although I’d stuck with flies, lots and lots of flies, Les had nearly emptied his tackle box showing the local salmon population about two dozen lures, spoons and plugs. Our total reward for these extensive efforts included two mediocre silver leapers in the 15-inch range that were played and released, and three teasing hit and run strikes that ultimately lead to no fight and lots of frustration. “What’s the next step?”, I thought aloud to Les. In my mind the options were to try another section of lake or cut our losses and head home to lick our wounds and fight another day. Imagine my surprise when Les suggested, “I say we try another lake and a different quarry.” So it was that about an hour later we were relaunching our boat at Birch Point Cove, into the cold, clear water of Pleasant Lake.

During our lake to lake transition, Les explained that Pleasant had a healthy population of smallmouth bass, and of all the regional waterways, if a sport was going to land a true five-pound bragging-size smallie, it would be from this liquid azure jewel. Since I’d ice fished Pleasant Pond for smelt, trout and salmon for years, I was vaguely aware there were bass in the lake, but up to this point I’d never ventured out for any species when there wasn’t snow and ice to contend with. Little did I know at that point how greatly this unplanned outing would enhance my spring fishing for years to come.

For a three- to four-week period during late May and early June, smallmouth bass go into spawning mode. A male and female smallie select a location in fairly shallow water along a rock and gravel shoreline and clear a circular nest area of all debris. Once the eggs are deposited, in shifts or in unison the pair of bass tenaciously guard the nest against all intruders. If sharp-eyed anglers can spot those well-defined spawning circles and toss a plastic crayfish or Clouser minnow, via spinning or fly rod, the bait is bound to be attacked.

Since Les and I already had a surplus of spring trolling equipment along, it was a simple task to make the change over of spinning rods and fly poles for bass casting. Plastic crawfish and worms were rigged Texas style on the spinning rods and large, flashy, weighted Clouser crayfish and minnow streamers were tied on the fly rods. We floated the boat off the trailer at Birch Point, hooked up the electric motor and quietly began to cruise the shoreline of the cove starting right behind the lodge. Straight overhead the sun offered perfect illumination of the shallows and hardly a ripple marred a mirror lake surface. Our polarized sunglasses gave a perfect view of the bottom structure and made 10 feet of water seem like one.

Bass beds

Les guided us slowly along the lake edge, about 10 to 20 yards from shore in water depths between 3 and 12 feet. His head and eyes moved constantly as he stood in the bow, rod in one hand, electric-motor tiller in the other. I stood on the stern seat, also scanning the crystalline water, although with only a vague idea of what a bass bed looked like. Less than 50 yards later I knew exactly how a smallmouth nest looked because Les had suddenly stopped the electric motor and lobbed a plastic lizard toward this perfectly cleared circle of gravel in about six feet of water.

Once the bait settled a few feet past the nest, Les slowly crawled it along bottom and right up to the edge. With such clear water I could see every movement, especially when a bronze blur darted in and grabbed the intruding imitation lizard, and seconds later leaped and thrashed on the surface fighting the hook.

After quickly landing and releasing about a 21/2-pound bass, Les instructed me to repeat the cast he had just made. As my 8-inch pumpkinseed-colored worm settled, he explained that he had caught the male and likely the female was on guard too. Mrs. Smallie was even less patient than her Mr., and my bait had barely drifted to bottom near the nest when she attacked with gusto. A real rod-bending tussle ensued featuring at least half a dozen water-flailing, somersaulting leaps before I could lip and unhook a tainted-gold hued smallie well over three pounds.

Les and I spotted the next bass bed at the same time, and I used my fly rod to present a weighted Clouser crayfish that I half swam, half hopped right through the nest area. We could actually see the guard bass hovering off to the side in only about three feet of water, and it truly heightens the excitement and anticipation to visualize the quarry. Just as before, this male of about two pounds pounced on the fly at once, and fought as if it were twice its actual size. The female on this nest was far less gullible, and despite charging at three different baits that Les swam near her spawning bed, she refused to bite. We left the smart old girl in peace.

At this point Les suggested we put out a trolling line with a colorful tandem streamer and let it swing and sway in the boat wake as we moved around the shoreline. Perhaps a cruising bass that wasn’t protecting a bed might happen across our offering, he surmised. It was about 10 minutes before we spotted another bass bed and a huge female of about 4 pounds took real exception to a plastic crawfish Les used to invade her nest, but she threw the hook during her first run and aerobatic leap. On a nearby nest, we could clearly see both protective parents, but other than making aggressive advances to our baits, they refused to bite. Regardless, the challenge was worth the effort.

Just as the electric motor got us up to search speed, the reel of the trolling rod bumped against the boat seat and spit out a bit of line. I grabbed the fly pole and set the hook, expecting a bass to go airborne, when to our utter surprise a chrome-sided landlock salmon flipped skyward. Several more leaps and a couple of good runs later, Les slipped the net under a thick-chested silver leaper that the digital scale pegged at just under 3 pounds. Then as now, Pleasant Lake is full of surprises. About an hour later, we hooked and landed a 15-inch trout on our trolled streamer.

In all Les and I enjoyed stalk and spot bass casting for about three hours and never left the large cove. We located about 15 egg circles and hooked 18 smallmouth, actually fight an unlucky 13 to the boat according to the notes in my fishing logbook. Best of all, Pleasant Pond produced an actual 4-pound bass for each of us that day and really turned a bad trolling trip into a memorable sight and fight outing. Due to the spawning circumstances, we quickly and carefully released every single smallmouth to assure the eggs and eventual fry would have full parental protection.

Spring spot and stalk

Since that first introductory lesson to spot and stalk spring bass fishing, I make it an annual event. At least once or twice each June I visit a regional smallmouth waterway and enjoy a type of fishing that actually involves a bit of hunting as well. It’s a miniature version of fly fishing tarpon or bonefish on shallow saltwater flats, and just as thrilling without the need to travel. Due to the cold, rainy weather, bass spawning is running a bit late this year, so for the next couple of weeks local lakes should offer prime sight and fight smallmouth fishing.

Smallmouth bass are a hoot to catch under any circumstances, but when an angler can actually spot the spawning beds and nearby fish, and attempt to get close enough to cast without spooking his quarry, it’s a wonderful challenge. It’s always gratifying to finally outsmart a gamefish, lord knows the reverse is true often enough, but to do it eye to eye, so to speak, now that’s fun fishing. Give it a try this month and SEE just how good spot and cast bass fishing really is.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com