An April float fishing trip on the lower Tippecanoe river.  Unfortunately, I’ve lost contact with my guide in this story, Terry Blume.  Terry, if you read this, drop us note. -BW

Readers sometimes accuse this corner of exaggeration.  For example, they don’t believe our claim of actually having caused fish to migrate overland upon our arrival at a famous fishing destination.   Many openly scoff at claims that massive cold weather systems are caused simply Yours Truly picking up a fishing rod.    You may be skeptical, but realize that I once caused a moderate sleet storm inside the local Discount City while testing out a new graphite rod.

However, it seems a matter of simple matter of mathematical probability that it cannot rain on every fishing trip.  Thus, I assured fishing guide Terry Blume that there was no way the rain could continue as we unloaded his drift boat onto the rapidly rising waters of the Tippecanoe River near Delphi.    “And,” I continued while breaking ice from my rods line guides “there is no way the temperature can get colder.  It’s April, after all”.

Last week Your Humble Servant was fortunate to fish with Blume on a mutually beloved stretch of the Tippecanoe River for the monster smallmouth bass known to inhabit the freestone stream.   Blume and I had been planning a trip ever since we spoke last summer about a new catch-and-release flyfishing world record bass one of his clients landed.

Blume remained optimistic even as I expressed concern about the river having risen four feet overnight and the temperatures plummeting 40 degrees from the usual massive cold front that always proceed my fishing trips. Factoring in the steady 20 mile-per-hour North wind, it was not an ideal spring day to float the river.

Once gloves and hoods were battened down, we slid into the swift current in Blume’s drift boat. For those unfamiliar, the drift boat was originally designed for oar-powered transport down whitewater rivers.  Especially popular in the west and southeast, it is eminently suitable for the relatively fast water of the Tippecanoe.

My weapon of choice was a medium graphite spinning rod.   Blume is a dyed-in-the-hackle flyfisherman but my flyrod is often considered dangerous to bystanders so we agreed upon spinning gear.  Our bait selection leaned heavily towards Rapala ShadRaps with the Firetiger finish.

It was difficult to remain confident in the face of a bitter north wind and periodic showers of ice pellets bouncing off my Gore-Tex jacket.   However, within 200 yards of the ramp, I tied into the first fish of the day.   It was a decent sized white bass that attacked the lure with suicidal abandon and quickly raised spirits.   We parked the good eating fishing in the cooler and resumed casting, hoping to meet a few of his friends that were assumable sharing the same large eddy.

The confidence was short lived as nothing else showed interest.  We continued drifting and casting downstream until we reached a creek spewing a steady stream of chocolate milk into the clear river water.  Terry anchored the drift boat and explained that the creek flowed out onto a rocky flat, providing great hiding places for smallmouth to ambush prey flushed down the smaller stream.

I cast in a fan shaped pattern across the area until reaching the bottom of the flat.  Confidence had hit bottom again and my mind was actually sitting on the beach in Costa Rica when I snagged a rock.  It seemed odd that the rock was streaking across the current into midstream, attempting to break my rod.  Startled back to the present, I realized there was a heavy fish on the line.

The fish continued fighting, taking nearly half the spool of line at one point.   It stayed deep, keeping up the blistering runs for which smallmouth are famous, but with none of the aerial acrobatics usually performed.  Finally, after what seemed hours, I began slowly gaining ground and eventually brought the fish to the net.

Blume pronounced the bass four pounds as it lay gasping in his hand.  Be assured that the fish wasn’t the only thing in the boat gasping.  After photographing and admiring the smallie, I carefully slipped it back into the water and began casting with renewed faith.

It probably seems like the typical outdoorwriter story, but two casts later, the scene actually repeated itself with a similar sized fish.   In the span of a few short minutes, we had released more poundage of smallmouth bass than I have caught on many daylong trips in much better weather.  The rest of the trip was not quite as spectacular, but even catching fish in such conditions seemed a minor miracle.

Most fisherman bypass Indiana when thinking of trophies, but if you seek heavy smallmouth bass in incredible numbers, don’t overlook the Tippecanoe River, nearly in our collective back yard.   Spending the day with Mr. Blume would also be a wonderful idea.

Public Access to lower Tippecanoe River

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