Virginia Backwaters

There are some places I've ended up fishing that, years ago, I'd never have thought I would. Inland southeast Virginia is one of those places. But ask me six or seven years ago if I'd want to go all the way to Virginia to try to catch some small endemic sunfishes, I'd probably have said no. For about a year though the area had been high on my list. Noah and I were keen on fishing it on our way home. So we high tailed it out of South Carolina, slept in North Carolina, and ended up in the home waters of fellow fishhead Bobby Emory by mid morning. Though we wouldn't get to fish together on this trip, he and I share very similar fishing perspectives and were fast friends. He was kind enough to give me some ideas of where to go. So Noah and I were going to bounce from spot to spot, free-style a bit, and explore this area that was very unlike anything either of us had fished, with a suite of species we'd never seen.

We were looking for Roanoke bass in the first spot. Very close in relation and appearance to rock bass, Roanoke bass inhabit a very small range through parts of Virginia and North Carolina in only a handful of watersheds. They're a cool fish and I knew Bobby had caught one here just the day before... but all Noah or I managed this morning was one small largemouth on a beetle spin. We decided we'd try again later and see if warming water throughout the day would lead to a bump in activity. 

The next spot was different, a little more familiar even, in that it wasn't unlike some mid sized lower gradient rivers I'd fished in the Northeast. It was cold though, impressively so given how hot the air temperature was becoming.

A large chub mound. A good sign.

Walking the banks hundreds of tiny frogs revealed their presence, bouncing like popcorn away from our steps. These were eastern cricket frogs, a common species but one I'd never seen before. On the bridge were a couple of five-lined skinks that I was unable to capture. In a small debris pile, I found a  juvenile brown water snake basking. The herps were out in force.

There were fish there too, notably schools of small shiners, some darters, and sunfish. I could not for the life of me convince the shiners to take well enough to hook, which was frustrating as they were likely a Notropis species I'd not caught. I managed one of the sunfish, a redear, and one of the darters, a at-present time tessellated, but some reclassification work is being done and though it is less likely to happen than some other areas, I could get lucky and have the species in this drainage turn out to be something else. Armchair lifers are nice.... 

Thinking again that the water was just too cold, we again headed to the next spot. It was an oxbow, a good looking piece of water I'd spotted on the map, not one of the places Bobby had suggested. And it sucked, at least at that moment. Considering it was on the same road as the next spot he'd sent me, he'd likely have mentioned it if it were worthwhile. Maybe at times it is, but it wasn't then. Excited though for the next couple places, we pushed onward. The next spot was awesome. Small, inviting, and and with flowing water... it felt right. And indeed it was right. 

After missing a number of takes, I hooked up and a small sunfish came to hand. It was clearly nothing I'd ever caught before, and the round tail was a dead give away. Still unsure though, I sent a photo to Bobby, who confirmed my suspecions: "female obesus my dude". Finally, finally I had caught my banded sunfish. She wasn't much to look at, but she was the right kind. I've you've followed along for... years, frankly; banded sunfish have been a long standing nemesis of mine. To finally have held and photographed one, caught on a small nymph, was a feeling of elation only a life lister knows. Sometimes we put literally years into finding a species before it eventually is found. That's been banded sunfish for me. I've left CT seeking that species and gone home without ever seeing one more than once.

Banded sunfish, Enneacanthus obesus. Life List Fish #163, rank: species.

(Note: I've messed up in my numbering somewhere along these posts and I'm not sure where yet or how to fix it. So bothg tarpon and banded sunfish are under #163... my list stands at 164, not 165, so I know I did mess up but I have no idea where.)

 Short time later, another new species came to hand. The flier is a widespread sunfish throughout the American south but is, to me, perhaps one of the most beautiful. They don't look quite like any other species, more like they were cobbled together with parts from bluegills, crappies, spotted sunfish, and redears.

Flier, Centrarchus macropterus. Life List Fish #164. Rank: species

Not long after, another found my nymph to its liking.

That spot then produced a little golden shiner before going quiet. We moved on again, this time a little further even off the beaten path. Small paved roads gave way to gravel, and there were no longer fields and old barns along the sides, just woods. Virginia was turning out to be an exceptionally pleasant surprise. I found this are beautiful in an almost nostalgic way. This area, unlike many parts of the Carolina Piedmont which features similar topography and fisheries, had evaded expansive development. It still felt real. And I don't mean natural, because this was still much changed from what it had been before Homo sapiens found it, but here the farms were spread out a bit more, the towns were small, and there weren't any new developments full of hideous un-unique houses. There might not be a whole lot going on here, there may not be much money moving through, and there's little to attract most people there. But to me that made it more appealing. It's places like this that would economically benefit from fishing tourism, but unfortunately nobody is traveling to inland parts of Virginia to fish for mud sunfish or Roanoke bass. Well, not nobody, we were there, but not enough to make some economic difference.

The next spot felt almost like brook trout water to me. A small blackwater stream with a dark, deep culvert hole? Well, there weren't brook trout here and hadn't been for many thousands of years, but in their place were redfin pickerel, mud sunfish, banded sunfish, bluespotted sunfish, and pirate perch. These were more interesting fish than brook trout to me at the moment. Unfortunately they also didn't seem to be too inclined to bite at the moment.
We decided we'd bounce back through the earlier spots again now that the day had warmed and come back through here again around sunset and hopefully things would have changed.

Atlantic Coast slimy salamander

Most of the earlier spots hadn't improved much. But it was worth going back through, especially the first, which produced a pickerel and a nice warmouth on the second pass.

Driving around we saw snakes, including a large redbelly watersnake which I jumped out and chased but failed to catch. We also saw eastern box turtles that had been hit, which is always a gut punch. It was now quite hot out, almost oppressively so. By the time we got back around to the small waterways we hoped would be our chance at mud sunfish, the sun was setting but we were feeling the effects of heat and exposure. This was our last chance. We'd fish the two last spots Bobby gave me, then go back to the best looking one after sunset to attempt spotlighting something.

Noah managed to squeak out his life banded sunfish, flier, and a few species we'd caught previously before sunset, including a brown bullhead.

After dinner and after dark, we set about spot lighting. The first fish I saw was an unwilling male banded sunfish. The second a redfin pickerel. Then a mud sunfish that spooked. The first fish I actually got to eat was a very handsome male banded that I missed. I was coming up short here, I'd hoped the spotlighting would be easy. It isn't always. But then I spotted the holy grail. A fish unlike any other I'd ever set my eyes on. The holy grail of these waters: the pirate perch.

It took.

I missed it.

It was certainly too good to be true, pirate perch are one of those holy grail type fish that one could spend a lifetime searching for. They re hard to find and catch but worth the effort despite being small. They make up for what they lack in size by being incredibly unusual, but I will save the details for the day I finally do catch one. And it will happen, I'm sure of it.

As we made our way back to the highway to head home, the heat that had festered all day gave way to some of the heaviest rain I've ever seen. We had to slow down drastically to have any prayer of seeing the road. I couldn't help but wonder what the fishing would be like the next day, but it would likely not be good. This rain was associated with a cold front. We weren't headed home at a bad time.

We'd been on the road for what felt like a whole month. We'd seen new places, new animals, and new fish. We'd learned a lot. We'd had some ups and some downs. It was an incredible trip. I'm so thankful I get to occasionally do things like this. It's all I really live for. There's a lot out there, and I'd like to see and catch as much as I can.
Don't ignore these places like Southeast Virginia that aren't famous fishing destinations. They hold some incredible things. That is perhaps the biggest thing I've learned in my time fishing.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

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