So there's this little hole in the Little Miami. It's right in the middle of about three quarters of a mile of waist deep and shallower water. The kind of water you would never expect to catch a fish out of in the middle of winter. But this one little spot kept eating at me. Like an almost healed cut that bothered you just enough to let you know it's still there. Buried in the bank is a little wall layed up out of stone with a pipe coming out of it. What was there back in the day I have no idea. There's nothing up on the bank to give you any clue. But out in front of this old pipe(clay not metal)there is a little scour hole. Water must have poured out of this pipe long ago and dug a deep little hole. For the thirty years I've known about the place it has looked just like it does now. Which is to say it looks like nothing. But come the middle of summer it's a magnet for big carp. A spot for them to lay up when not cruising the surrounding mud flats. I'd always wanted to try it for smallmouth in winter, but like I said all around it looks awfull.
Well Sunday I was stuck at home with two little grandaughters. Later in the day they spent an hour playing dress up with the poor dog. While the dog was getting it's nails painted I had time to tie a few jigs. I made them out of grey fox tail with ultra fine rubber trailing out a bit longer. I even glued on some googly eyes from the craft store. I like em alot.
So today after work I headed straight for that little hole. Nothing. I let the jig swirl slowly around the hole suspended under a floater. The woods became still and darkness slowly crept thru the trees. Everything had that brown and foreboding dead look of some post-apocalyptic movie. Up in the woods across the river I heard the crack of a limb then the rustle of dead leaves. Was I finally going to see the dreaded LMR bigfoot? Nope, it was only a small doe moving quietly thru the woods. I froze and watched her till she was gone. I glanced back at my float. D@#N it was dragging under, I'd snagged up one of my pretty jigs. I yanked and the snag yanked back and began to slowly circle the small hole. I'd like to say it was an epic battle but it wasn't. It fought okay but nothing like a big smallie does in warmer water. It measured out just a bit past the 18" marker painted on the rod.(painted with more of the girls fingernail polish come to think of it.) I snapped a quick photo and headed in.
Here the LMR was clear as glass and 39 degrees.
So there's this little hole in the Little Miami. It's right in the middle of about three quarters of a mile of waist deep and shallower water. The kind of water you would never expect to catch a fish out of in the middle of winter. But this one little spot kept eating at me. Like an almost healed cut that bothered you just enough to let you know it's still there. Buried in the bank is a little wall layed up out of stone with a pipe coming out of it. What was there back in the day I have no idea. There's nothing up on the bank to give you any clue. But out in front of this old pipe(clay not metal)there is a little scour hole. Water must have poured out of this pipe long ago and dug a deep little hole. For the thirty years I've known about the place it has looked just like it does now. Which is to say it looks like nothing. But come the middle of summer it's a magnet for big carp. A spot for them to lay up when not cruising the surrounding mud flats. I'd always wanted to try it for smallmouth in winter, but like I said all around it looks awfull.
Well Sunday I was stuck at home with two little grandaughters. Later in the day they spent an hour playing dress up with the poor dog. While the dog was getting it's nails painted I had time to tie a few jigs. I made them out of grey fox tail with ultra fine rubber trailing out a bit longer. I even glued on some googly eyes from the craft store. I like em alot.
So today after work I headed straight for that little hole. Nothing. I let the jig swirl slowly around the hole suspended under a floater. The woods became still and darkness slowly crept thru the trees. Everything had that brown and foreboding dead look of some post-apocalyptic movie. Up in the woods across the river I heard the crack of a limb then the rustle of dead leaves. Was I finally going to see the dreaded LMR bigfoot? Nope, it was only a small doe moving quietly thru the woods. I froze and watched her till she was gone. I glanced back at my float. D@#N it was dragging under, I'd snagged up one of my pretty jigs. I yanked and the snag yanked back and began to slowly circle the small hole. I'd like to say it was an epic battle but it wasn't. It fought okay but nothing like a big smallie does in warmer water. It measured out just a bit past the 18" marker painted on the rod.(painted with more of the girls fingernail polish come to think of it.) I snapped a quick photo and headed in.
Here the LMR was clear as glass and 39 degrees.
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