In early January, I was one of four fly fishers on Mexico’s Lake Picachos, east of Mazatlan, in the mountain foothills of the state of Sinaloa. We were there to pioneer fly fishing for bass in the newest, hottest, and seemingly best-managed body of water in a chain of large lakes on the scenic western slope of the Sierra Madre. These lakes are legendary among conventional-tackle anglers for producing exceptional fishing, both in the size and the numbers of fish caught. For all of us in camp, it was a pilgrimage.
Two of my traveling companions were advanced anglers and fly tyers with limited bass-fishing experience. A third partner in our group learned the thrill of taking bass with fly-rod surface lures early in his 50-year angling career. I’ve been chasing bass with handmade bugs and lures for more than 50 years. I broke my first fly rod, one designed for trout, on a lunker bass at Lake Berryessa.
Picachos intrigued us because this 24,000-acre impoundment may be the most fertile of all the Mexican bass lakes, of which there are over one hundred. As the lake filled, it flooded a forest of trees, brush as far as you can see, as well as five villages and two cemeteries. Fences, corrals, houses, churches, outbuildings, wells, tombstones, crypts, and barns were all covered with water and at times, depending on the state of the rainy season and the monsoons, are exposed again, along with submerged arid coastal jungle and even woody cactus plants. The frosting on the cake that started us booking flights was the rumor of days with a hundred-plus fish, hyped on the Web site of our outfitter and via a YouTube video that was hard to believe.
We were there to catch the top-water angling season, which is the end of November, December, and early January. We had very few fly-fishing reports to work with, because it was the first season for our fish camp on this new lake. We knew that this new impoundment was stocked with tilapias, threadfin shad, larger gizzard shad, and a million Florida F1-strain largemouth fingerlings, along with adult bass in a joint effort by the Mexican government and our outfitter. An indigenous long and narrow langostina, found in the source river, had proliferated as well in the fertile aquatic environment. Seven years ago, I had pioneered nearby Lake El Salto with a group of anglers from the Sacramento area on a November visit. Here, as there, we were starting from scratch, figuring out how to catch its bass, and one of the things we learned, applicable to other lakes, was that nuance matters: small things can make a difference.
Figuring It Out
At breakfast before first light, during lunch, after the siesta, and before, during, and after dinner in an outdoor comidor, we were able to exchange information and report back to Carlos, the camp’s major domo, who wanted tallies of fish caught and released for their log book. Sheer numbers gave us better than usual samples with which to evaluate differences in technique that might determine success or lack thereof. Into the mix I threw in experiences at El Salto and subsequent visits by members of that earlier group.
What flies the fish might take began as a mystery. One angler had reported success with Clouser-type chartreuse, iridescent purple, and cream flies, Swamp Donkeys, and weedless, Dahlberg-type swimming hair frogs. We found a YouTube video report of a father-son team who reportedly had taken several hundred-plus fish in one day using white poppers. When I pioneered El Salto, our best patterns there were yellow-and-chartreuse poppers, Gummy Minnows, Crease Flies with a hint of yellow-brown, and a yellow, brown, and white Clouser with lots of yellow flash.
One nuance we learned about was the low hooking rates of some commercially tied weedless flies. In a week at Picachos, our group caught hundreds of fish. One morning, our hardworking guide put us in a shaded cove that was covered with surface mats of BB-sized green aquatic plants and floating timber. Several dozen fish blew up through the cover, and our camp anglers using conventional gear hooked at least twice as many as we did, perhaps threefold.
Of course, it’s nothing new that experienced conventional-tackle bass anglers catch more fish most of the time. It’s hard to compete with plastic lizards, with soft, scented worms, or with jigs and spinnerbaits of all hues, shades, and textures that have more action, noise, and flash than our flies. With heavy cover everywhere, Texas and Carolina rigs gave conventional bass anglers weedless capability and water column depth that our flies just didn’t have, and they could fish very successfully at midday, when the sun was high. However, when we found fish on or near the top of the water column, our fly rods and bait imitations performed admirably, sometimes better than their tackle did. As long as we could set the hook. And interestingly, on this trip, with a few exceptions, the fish we caught on flies was comparable in size to those caught on conventional tackle.
And the possibility of top-water action was the main reason for our visit. The visuals of an enraged bass attacking a fly and the sounds of a large fish exploding on a fly that you have animated with seductive movements cannot be forgotten. One angling friend described is as though “bowling balls were being dropped from the sky.” You can hear the “crack” from a long distance and can set your hook to the sound, even if you have momentarily turned away.
Our best flies for the threadfin bite proved to be two-inch-long silver and pearl baitfish-colored Crease Flies. But again, small differences made a difference. I had never thought much about it, but Crease Flies come in versions with slanted faces and flat faces. It was apparent that the slanted-face version hopped and darted better in side-to-side motions using any retrieve and that it induced more takes. As long as the flies were the color of a baitfish, color by itself didn’t make much difference. It was the size of the fly, the action, and the use of a Loop Knot that was important. A Loop Knot maximizes the action that can be imparted, particularly with the larger, stiffer, 15-pound and 20-pound-test tippets that we needed because of the heavy underwater cover that was everywhere.
These threadfin bites were along shorelines and in the back of coves among heavy timber, where bass had corralled bait. We found that most larger fish were taken on longer casts, and thus that it was important to minimize the presence of the boat and its anglers. That may be why a fly cast onto the bank, allowed to sit, and then retrieved into the water took many more fish than one cast tight to water’s edge. An extension of this nuance was the decided advantage of accurate casts very close to cover, whether a tree stump, a big log lying in the water, the edge of a moss-draped fence line, or a rock outcropping. Bass can be wary, and stealth matters. My conventional-gear tournament-fishing friends speak about the value of letting an electric trolling motor run constantly at low speeds, rather than using an on-and-off noisy mode that alerts fish to your presence and puts them in a more cautious mood, perhaps putting them off the bite or shrinking the strike zone.
But it turned out that once they committed to a strike, these bass were not leader shy. Of course, the nuances of leader length, composition, and breaking strength are constantly debated in fly-fishing circles. I fish clear-water foothill lakes much of the time and feel strongly about the advantages of a knotless 9-foot tapered leader. I want there to be distance between my fly line and my fly. Since there’s the possibility of large fish in and around cover, I often use 12-to16-pound-test leaders, adding fluorocarbon tippet using a Triple Surgeon’s Knot as my leader shortens from repeated fly changes. And I fish with a highly skilled tournament angler who routinely uses 8-pound-test or lighter fluorocarbon on his drop-shot rigs in clear water. A friend who guides for smallmouth bass uses 3X. But reports from Picachos had advised 16-pound-to-20-pound-test leaders with heavy tippets. Early into our first day, I lost my biggest fish of the week on the hook set with a 16-pound-test leader. After that, I became paranoid about testing knots and checking for abrasion. We eventually found that with low angling pressure, heavy cover, and feeding frenzies, shorter leaders worked just fine. Our conventional-gear guys were even using 20-pound, 30-pound, and even 60-pound gel-spun line for fishing in the darker depths.
Evening dinner discussions focused on the nylon-versus-fluorocarbon debate. It is said that fluorocarbon sinks faster, has more abrasion resistance, less stretch, and is not as visible underwater as nylon lines or leaders. It is not invisible, however, and casts the same shadow as nylon lines of the same diameter when in the surface film. It is also more prone to knot inadequacies, particularly in smaller diameters. A consensus emerged, though: fluorocarbon tippets are a good idea.
Even the quality of the light can make a big difference. Most bass anglers know the value of shade. If a bass can lie in shadows to ambush, he or she will. Bass abhor bright light. Target a shoreline before the first rays of a morning sun hit it, get casting when clouds darken the sky, and work the shady banks in the early afternoon and the shadows of structure.
But nuances related to nighttime darkness or brightness as related to moon phase also came up. I’ve always given some credence to the thought that a lake doesn’t fish well when there is a full moon, yet that may be the time when other conditions are favorable and the time when you are free to go fishing. Some say that fish feed in the moon’s light and rest during the day. Other nuances come to bear, such as the aggressiveness of fish in prespawn periods and the effects of rising or falling barometers. At Picachos we were seeing the beginnings of a few fish in prespawn mode . . . in January. We were there close to a full moon, but we did very well. Would we have caught more and larger fish on a darker phase of the moon? Who knows?
Other Factors
When fishing new water, local knowledge always can make a difference. Our guides were local fellows from the displaced submerged villages with treasured new jobs. They had some conventional-gear experience, but little or no f ly-fishing work, so they were learning to fish the lake with a fly along with us. These guys quickly learned our capabilities with fly rods and how best to position our boats.
One conventional-gear angler who was interested in fly fishing asked about the pairing of ability levels in a boat. He said that it is important in tournaments that anglers are matched in casting ability and angling IQ. We replied that it is always good that two anglers in a boat have comparable casting ability and range and that a good partner will always be aware of his or her partner’s presence with line and fly. Two minds are better than one. After a few beers one night, one fellow said, “I find it almost as hard to find a good angling travel partner as finding a good wife.” He went on to say, “I should know — I’m on my third wife.”
This brings up other small things that can make a difference, such as whether the front seat or back seat in a boat is the better position. We learned a Spanish word, basara, “garbage.” That’s what’s left for the guy in the rear. It certainly can be, and whether or not that is the case may depend on how thoughtful the front angler is. Does the front angler cast into the territory of the back-seat angler? Does the front-seater save good shots for the rear angler? Do they work as a team? I think that anglers should rotate positions, the way we do in bonefishing. On this trip, my partner preferred the back seat and did just as well as I did, if not better. I know that in some of the places that I fish, this wouldn’t be the case.
Small Things, Big Differences
Why do we not catch fish? Is it the moon phase, time of day, brightness of the sky, water clarity and temperature, or are fish and bait somewhere else? Does the reason relate to casting distance, accuracy, leader length and diameter, fly color and profile, fly size, the fact that we may be noisy and scaring fish, or to things such as nuances in our retrieves, shirt color, and even human scent or sun-block residue on our flies? One thing I know for sure after my visit to Lake Picachos: small things do make a difference.
