Monday Morning and The Crowd Goes …
Whaaa … Where Did Those YouTube Crowds Go?
Good Monday Morning to those of you who cherish the written word! I actually LOVE having one or the other to fall back on, from time to time. And this is one of those times!
Good old words, written in digital ink nowadays, is and always has been the coin of my realm … and I hope yours as well. That is because the burst of YouTube interest – for everyone, every channel across the board – is now a digital bust. And while the “experts” make videos on why, and how and what to do about their sudden cliff dive into the great YouTube digital abyss? I return again to my refuge of words, as simple and plain and free as they are, to remind myself and maybe you, of another way to paint pictures of fish. There may not really be “coin” in this realm, but that never stopped me before! YouTube certainly lost the luster it had before the August 10th. 2025 meltdown. Onward now … into the words …
Texoma Gives a Little
I did my best to take my time getting to Lake Texoma last week, Friday, a day that I never fish. I try to be fair and balanced by arriving mid-late morning, just as any fly fisher of my ilk would do … not early enough and not late enough to really hit the BIG BITES. But the main reason I arrived to the Texoma party late was – I was waiting in the wee hours to see if the wind kicked in, and I waited and waited … That cost me time, but I knew if the wind was going to really KICK in Texoma style, it would be before noon. By 09:30 I was hooked up and rolling north.
I will admit, looking at Ray Roberts, clear green and glassy, as I passed over the newly paved Dam road (FM455), it was tempting to cut short, turn into Isle DuBois once again and give her a go. But, there was no activity on that green glass, none as far as my eye could see on a spotlessly clear day. No, Ray Roberts has gone lame, pulled up lame as the horsemen in the family say. I have yet to put my pistol in her ear, but she is starting to whine in pain. Enough for now.
I try keeping Texoma fly fishing simple at first. The simple way is the straight way, and that means turning off 455 and North onto the growing artery HWY 377. These country roads up here are going from ping-ponging a car (like mine) around, to brand new wider blacktops with fresh paint, and smooth … smooth and deceptively silent miles. Little do some know that Texoma is just up the road from HWY 380, and a world away from that massive mess. Even the parking lot for the USACE boat ramp comes from over the hill, as a surprise. Friday, and three boat trailers? I must be dreaming, or maybe I missed that early bite? How would I know, except to try.
Off to the east about a hundred yards, birds are working, not to hard but hard enough to tell. Within a thousand yards, but away and deeper droppers, two Texoma guide buses sit unacosted by the wind – because there is none. The surface is a combination of glass, and ripple breezes that flare across the brown-green … yes, off color for certain, but not nearly as bad as I thought after last week’s torrential rains and storms. The checkboxes are getting checked off, and my multiple lake choice test could just add up to a strong C+ maybe even a B-.
The distance from 377 Bridge to the Dam is formidable, and the deducing begins immediately. Fish here, or run. The fly fishing starts after only being on plane for 30-seconds at most. While the birds are certainly working bait, I see little encouragement from underneath. The fish are not putting in the same effort to crash the top, and if there is an occasional surface bite, it is tepid at best, hardly a striper bite. No, these are not striper below.
Bird Blitzes on Texoma
The first bird blitz catch was a mongo sized sand bass, almost indistinguishable from a small hybrid in temperament. And it had the audacity to take my most faithful Texoma fly, the red-over-white Clouser in synthetic blend. So predictable for striper, but completely reliable for sand bass and HBombs as well.
But, this game was only a hint of a REAL GAME of Texoma Whack-a-Mole, with little top water blowups of one to maybe five fish at most, and scattered. It was just not the kind of thing you want to hang around for, and not so slow you want to pick up and run either. Regardless, I got some casting practice in – trying to whack those moles. I was more happy to be among the fish, among the bird blitzes on a North Texas Friday afternoon, than I would be just about anywhere else I could imagine.
But the birds drifted away, and the bait drifted away, and the fish began to wander aimlessly. That signaled a time to leave what fish there were, and look for what fish there could be. Hopeful, we are as fishermen and fly fishers, always running toward something unsure … the never-finish line. Only that first sand bass would show its lips.
Turning South
Coves should be in quotes when speaking of Texoma. The hugeness of everything about Texoma is daunting, and I battle depression constantly on that lake – because of it’s hugeness, and the vastness of what I do not know. A cast in what looks like a promising spot, a drop-off or structure, amounts to shooting arrows straight up into the air … hoping they hit the target 99-times of a hundred, being kind to myself with that number.
The BRANCH I like to turn into is the size of many Texas lakes, but I figure it to be a single piece of this huge Texoma puzzle. Without that edge piece fitted in, why go any further? Who starts a puzzle from the middle out? I think it is generally (with no knowledge and no help) called the “Big Mineral” area of Texoma. And I can vouch for the “Big.”
Being further concealed from the wind, as it was starting to gain on the main lake, seemed like a wise move. But the branch had no surface action, and I only occasionally caught sight of those 5-foot plus gar slurping air as I plowed on. But being restricted from the main Lake seemed like a sizable minus, and once I checked my fuel gauge, there was no way to run and fish the Dam without worry. The huge sand flats near some of the islands have always intrigued me because they do reveal buffalo and commons at times. This was NOT one of those times.
All that came from the island flats was a catfish that actually came up on the fly as it was being lifted at the skiff. Yes, a sight take from a catfish, that at least had the courtesy not to slime my leader too much.
But that was it. The optimist in me, what little voice it had, said, “Maybe another calm day will bless me next week, and I will purchase my return.”
I made my way back to the ramp. No waiting on the Ray Roberts crazies, no waiting on anyone! On a Friday afternoon in North Texas! That alone is worth the extra hundred miles, and what’s a hundred miles on a Toyota with 299,900 miles on it anyway!
KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: If you kayak, you can get right in the middle of the bird action! We are talking about these blitzes being just past the HWY377 Bridge to Oklahoma. Be knowledgeable on the licenses you need on Lake Texoma. Be prepared for many boats and wakes on a weekend, as well as inexperienced, drunk and disorderly drivers as a possibility. Wear your PFD.
END NOTE: Yes, I did record video of this tepid trip. And I will put it together so it can fall in the YouTube forest later this week. If you do happen to get over to the Texas Fly Caster YouTube Channel (that is the link folks), please feel free to like/subscribe and watch some old videos when you are there! I am amazed by my own videos – how young and fat I used to be, and how cancer skinny I got! It is what it is, isn’t it?
