"Go with the flow."
I always thought that saying was a hippie thing. Turns out, it was coined in the 2nd century Roman Empire by Marcus Aurelius. The guy must have been a bass fisherman.
After 40 years of chasing bass, I’ve come to realize that going with the flow is the single most important principle in the sport. More important than depth choice, cover options and lure selection. Everywhere I’ve been, the fish go with the flow.
As many of you recognize, I now live and fish in Florida, calling the mid-section of the St. Johns River my home water. Talk about going with the flow. I can take you to three sections of shoreline that look nearly identical. Same depth, same cover, all within a mile or so of each other. Two of these places you could flail until your arm hurt and never catch a bass. The third, I can call your shot. The only distinguishable difference in these places is a barely recognizable amount of current on the magic bank and, therefore, a slightly cleaner bottom. You’d never notice it as you fished by. This pattern repeats itself for 300 river miles.
Florida waters are famous for flow. The rivers emptying the Kissimmee Chain have produced more tournament-winning stringers than possibly anyplace else. And good grief, when the water comes up around many of the lakes and canals in South Florida, it’s every cast.
Flow.
As a kid, I was into farm ponds like everyone else. The feeder creeks only ran in the spring when the rains came. Bass would climb the creeks like salmon on a fish ladder. There, they’d huddle up to every shoreline rock, retaining wall and stump root as the water flowed by, bringing nightcrawlers and crawdads with it. Jig-pitching paradise.
My first trip to the Upper Mississippi came in 2001. I had heard the term “wing dam” before, but this would be my first time fishing one, and later running aground on several. Where the tip of a dam disrupts the natural flow, smallmouths hold in a spot the size of a bushel basket. How so many can squeeze into the exact current seam is mind-boggling. It’s the clown car mystery of bass fishing.
Most lakes have flow. The Great Lakes have more than out-of-towners understand. I remember fishing a big-money event back in the day when I was the only angler with a GPS-assisted trolling motor. Back then, it was a walleye-fishing contraption, unavailable in a foot-pedal model. As I held on the juice, competitors drifted, unable to position in all the current. I’d cast a half-ounce lure in 12 feet of water, barely able to feel the bottom before catching 4-pound clones. The other anglers streaked by, flabbergasted by their speed on that wave-less morning.
There’s a publicized flow principle on the big waters called a "seiche". These occur when a strong wind blows, then quits, and is likely what I experienced in the previous example. In essence, most of the water in the lake goes with the wind, then back-flows later like a bathtub. It surprises anglers to know that seiches occur much more frequently than we realize. If you go to a lake, regardless of size, and notice the water coming back against the wind chop, almost like small waves flowing backward, you’re likely looking at a seiche. The bass in that lake know all about them.
Don’t get me started about tidal fisheries. Unless you flow, you just don’t know. I can remember once intercepting the largest school of bass in the history of the Potomac River, God’s honest truth, only to watch them completely disappear, and never reappear, once the full-moon-induced flow quit. I’m telling you I looked under every rock, twig and log for those fish, covering three miles, before convincing myself it was all a mirage.
Ever been on the Tennessee River in the summertime when the AC gets cranking? Tailwater Dam Generation Schedules. That’s all you need to know in life. Do yourself a favor and sleep in. Man’s creation of flow can’t be outdone, but it can be predicted.
We see it all the time. One productive stretch of a river ledge or channel bank. The biggest piece of standing timber in the bunch, because back before the dam was built, that tree got the most … well, you know.
The grass is cleaner, without that snotty gunk. Dead-end canals just aren’t as good. The upper end of a reservoir, where the water color is better, and it’s just a little cooler. The windy bank. Always the windy bank.
The mussel bar on the end of the island, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Or the “hard spot”, as we like to call it.
The place where the bluegills spawn because the bottom is sandy. Could even be where the little boat lane goes through, and the traffic keeps the bottom clean. Lower-unit flow. Hey, flow’s flow.
Back home now. This time of year, a unique occurrence. The St. Johns, running its salty fresh water, supports a shrimp run, where millions of the crustaceans find their way to sea. The neighborhood largemouth load up. My favorite fishing holes are bare, all the bass transported by the irresistible urge to find the shrimp. Follow their bellies, and their noses, and whatever else signals the way. The shrimp are at the mercy of the river. Predictable, and delectable, for us both.
Once we find the flow.
(Joe Balog is the often-outspoken owner of Millennium Promotions, Inc., an agency operating in the fishing and hunting industries. A former Bassmaster Open and EverStart Championship winner, he's best known for his big-water innovations and hardcore fishing style. He's a popular seminar speaker, product designer and author, and is considered one of the most influential smallmouth fishermen of modern times.)
