Keep your eyes open
If you are reading this fly fishing story and expecting a big fish to be caught near the end, you should find another story. But if you would like to read a story about a lowly fly fisherman facing one of Mother Nature’s fiercest creatures, during extremely high temperatures, then finally being rewarded with a token fish for the effort, please read on.
It was early summer of 2025, sometime around the first week of June. A high-pressure dome of insanely hot temperatures had settled above most of the eastern United States. The weather folks were predicting scorching hot temperatures and warning people to stay inside. Coupled with the heat was the humidity, which made the outside temperatures teeter above the triple-digit mark. They said the heatwave would last about four days, after which the temperatures would return to normal, in the low to mid-90s.
Hot fishing
Despite the forecast, I had a fishing trip planned with my brother-in-law Grant, which involved being out in this scorching heat. It was time to leave my perch nestled atop a ridge in the North Georgia mountains and drive down to the lower part of South Carolina for some serious farm pond fishing.
When it boils down to fishing, sometimes the weather forecast details don’t quite sink in. This was another perfect example of me not paying attention. Even though I knew it might be brutally hot, fish were calling my name, and it was time for a bream introduction.
To prepare for the heat, I cleaned and filled up my Nalgene water bottles and realized I also needed nutrition—something that could serve as both food and water. That’s when I found the perfect solution: an old blue pickup truck sitting by the roadside, loaded with big, juicy, green watermelons. The old man got out wearing a straw hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with a faded red handkerchief, and bid me good morning.
“Slay ‘em”
I explained to him that I was going fishing and needed a watermelon to cut up and use as a food source. He laughed and told me to visit a friend who had a swimming pool and fish later. Everyone is a weatherman when the temperature gets extreme. If the weather forecast advises staying inside, but a person is desperate to go fishing, then prepare for the elements and head out to fish. The old man told me I was crazy and then handed over a nice twenty-pounder to slice and put in the cooler.
It’s difficult to refuse a family invite to “slay some bass and breams” at a set of farm ponds he had permission to fish. He said they had been hammering the fish, which of course meant the bite would slow down and the weather patterns would shift by the time I arrived the next week.
Battle it out
One of these days, I will be fortunate enough to go on a fishing trip to the “yesterday,” when every fish had an open mouth and the weather was nice.
But battling the elements can make a person tough. I’ve learned that the definition of “elements” is long, ongoing, and subjective.
Several nights beforehand, I spent time making popping bugs, adding feathers, eyes, and rubber legs. I probably had nearly 300 I’d created over the years, but a new fishing trip always called for “fresh popping bugs” to add to the collection.
A fly fisherman can’t have enough flies or popping bugs. It’s an unwritten rule. What’s the fun of trying to use up all the old flies? Besides, the newest bugs always look the best and get tied on and fished first.
Promising start
Daylight arrived quickly on the morning of our adventure. Sunrise is such a beautiful time of day and watching and listening to the world wake up is truly special. Not to mention, it’s usually the coolest part of the day. We armed the fly rods with the new popping bugs and proceeded to cast blindly around the pond.
We were grateful that the field grass had recently been mowed around one of the ponds. That made it easier to spot slithering serpents as we wandered along the edges. It’s unsettling to feel something unknown move under your foot while you’re casting and focusing on the water and your fly. Fortunately, I’ve noticed these legless creatures beforehand and have excellent back-jumping abilities, which allow me to avoid crushing them without injuring myself. After all, it’s their home, and I’m just a visitor. That’s why I always look down carefully.
We caught a few small bass quickly. Grant shouted to me that this was just a warm-up.
“The big ones still needed to wake up first,” he said.
After changing popping bugs several times, it was time to go back to my old standby, thinking I could wake one up with a large, slurping chartreuse bug that pushed a lot of water when jerked. It didn’t wake any bass, but it did disturb quite a few bream.
A small bream tried to inhale this large bug but instead was barely lipped. When I saw how small the bream was compared to the large foam bug, it reminded me of a fish wearing a life jacket.
Pay attention
We both managed to catch quite a few small bass and bream from this first pond. The lower pond was waiting for us. Most of Grant’s bass were bigger than mine, but everything is always relative. I get excited about hooking a 12-inch trout in the mountains. These bass aggressively attacked our bugs. Watching Grant land some nice fish by casting toward the middle of the pond made me forget about pounding the bank edges.
A slight fog emerged from the still waters as the sun’s fingers began spreading tree shadows around the still water. A family of geese paraded around one corner of the field. The protective instinct of parental geese with goslings can be hazardous if you get too close. Luckily, they meandered around the field, nibbling on grass and paying us no mind.
The temperature started rising quickly. We hoped the bright sunshine would finally keep the mosquitoes away, dry them out, or drive them off. I was smart enough to wear lightweight, long pants and heavier shoes instead of the usual flip flops and shorts. Every time I looked away and cast to a distant spot, I could hear a fish splash and see Grant smiling with a thumbs-up. When I tried to remember which popping bug I gave him, I stopped casting and started walking around the pond, peering into my fly box, completely unaware of the ground beneath me. I looked up and he had another one on while I was changing flies.
“Watch this,” I hollered to him.
Fire ants
I had one more of that particular fly, tied it on, and was putting the fly box back into my pocket when I felt it. Instantly looking down to find the culprit, I spotted a herd of culprits. Seems I was standing on a fire ant mound. In all my haste, I had forgotten to look where I had been stepping.
That’s when it happened. The lead fire ant gave the signal to the brotherhood for all to bite me at the same time. This tiny creature had a big mouth and it burned. Jumping back quickly and throwing the fly rod in the grass, I began dancing and smashing and swatting bugs while hopping around on one leg. I did whatever it took to get rid of these critters off my ankle. Looking down in pain I saw red bumps but no more fire ants and then it happened. The intelligent ants had started crawling up my leg, and again, they all bit at once.
Suddenly, the shoes come flying off, the pants are down to my ankles, and I’m slapping my leg so hard only red handprints remained. All I wanted was to get the fire ants off me.
Instead of hopping, I am now jumping and cussing and trying not to fall or trip over my pants. In all the confusion, I’m trying to remember where I threw my fly rod so I wouldn’t step on it. Finally, fire ant-free and traumatized with a stinging ankle and calf, it was time to fish again.
Good times indeed
It’s not unusual after a bizarre encounter with an active fire ant mound to develop PFAS, or Post Fire Ant Syndrome. This is when a person’s brain creates “ghost ants” and causes the patient to involuntarily slap the extremities at the slightest hint of tickling or leg hairs rubbing on pants. This condition can last for hours or until a shower is taken. Somehow, I think I would have been better off fighting a family of geese than these tiny creatures.
For the next hour or so, we fished around several beautiful ponds. We had a lot of action with both bream and bass. The magic popping bug Grant started with (and I eventually tied one on), was the perfect combination. For the rest of the morning, Grant laughed at me as I cast and slapped my right leg at the same time. When the “ghost ant” bites became severe, I tried fly casting with my left hand while slapping my right leg with my right hand. Grant called this spectacle entertaining.
The companionship was wonderful, and the fishing was fantastic. We caught and released several fish, which kept things lively. Summertime fly fishing at the farm pond. So many things to be thankful for, including my brother-in-law not thinking to pull out his cellphone and video my encounter with the tiny ant with the big bite. I’ll be forever grateful. Now it was time for some watermelon. ■
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