I was astounded to learn that my friend, David, a devoted and experienced fly fisherman and an unabashed trout snob, had never used his fly rod for bluegill.
“Just never really had any interest, I guess,” he said.
After a couple of invitations, he accepted an offer to visit Hart County, where I’d gained permission for us to fish a friend’s farm pond that I knew held a healthy bluegill population. He arrived armed with a 3-weight Orvis Helios, a float tube and a smidge of distain.
No trout.
The pond floods about 3 acres. A dirt road winds through the field to the pond, but recent rains had muddied the field, so we parked at the gate and walked in. It was a short but sloppy hike. I was glad to have worn knee boots. The spring afternoon was unusually warm. David was wearing chest waders and apparently was not accustomed to an uphill slog across a muddy field.
We topped the dam. By midsummer, the flanking grass would be knee-high and thick with ticks, but that afternoon it was only ankle-high with fresh green up. It had been a couple of years since I’d fished this spot. The pond is L-shaped, with the dam at the top of the L. There is some weedy cover at the upper end and some woody cover near the dam, but otherwise, this little patch of water is no different in appearance from the thousands of other farm ponds that dot Kentucky’s rural countryside. It was a little high and off-colored but not muddy. The sky was a blanket of pewter-colored clouds. There was enough of a breeze to put a riffle on the water.
Dave strung up his rod and began picking through a fly box. He decided on an unweighted black wooly bugger with some silver flash. Looked like a No. 14. Good choice.
“At least you don’t have to worry about matching the hatch,” he said.
The pond can be effectively fished from shore, but a tube or canoe opens more water. Dave settled into the sling seat of his belly boat and slipped into the water with a plop. A plume of mud snaked away from the bank.
While I readied my gear, Dave maneuvered the belly boat away from the bank and parallel to the dam. He is an excellent caster and dropped the fly inches from the nearest visible structure.
Bluegill—like their larger cousins, largemouth bass—are members of the sunfish family. They are found nearly everywhere freshwater flows. Their original range covered most of the eastern United States. Today, they are found in every state outside of Alaska.
May is prime time for bluegill. In Kentucky and beyond, they typically spawn in May, often around the first full moon of the month. They also spawn intermittently throughout the summer. Bluegill are aggressive and, ounce for ounce, fight as hard as nearly any fish that swims. An 8-inch bluegill weighs close to a half-pound. A 1-pound bluegill would be large enough to cover a dinner plate and likely would be the bluegill of a lifetime for most anglers. The all-tackle world record for the species is 4 pounds, 12 ounces, a mark that has stood since 1950. If bluegill grew to 10 pounds, it would take saltwater gear to land them.
They can be taken on a variety of baits, a worm impaled on a small hook generally being the most effective.
Bluegill are a favorite of many fly fishermen, myself included. While it’s true that bluegill generally are not choosy about fly patterns, fly placement and movement are important. Larger fish are often in the 4- to 6-foot range, with overly aggressive smaller fish cruising near the surface. If fishing an area where bluegill are bedding, cast slightly beyond the beds, allow the fly to sink, then retrieve slowly. Bluegill often strike aggressively, but sometimes bites are barely noticeable. Regardless of aggressiveness or lack thereof, strikes nearly always happen when the fly or bait is on the fall.
I started toward the weedy cover at the upper end of the pond when I heard a splash. Dave’s 3-weight Helios was deeply bent, the orange-colored line zigzagging wildly through the water. The thick-shouldered bluegill that came to hand was an almost blackish purple and the size of a saucer. Dave was trying stretch his hand around the muscular panfish while fumbling for his camera, all the while grinning widely. Bluegill will do that to you—even dedicated trout snobs.
Readers may contact Gary Garth at editor@kentuckymonthly.com