Photo by Polly Dean

May is the prime month for using fly-casting gear to hook into a few bull bluegills.

The old longbeard that my hunting companion and I had been chasing for close to a month now must have known that May 1 was the final day of the spring turkey season in Mississippi. He gave one last defiant, almost mocking, gobble as he strutted into the woodsline at the far end of the field.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until next year to do battle with that old tom again,” sighed Bruce Brady as he quietly placed his box call in the pocket of his hunting vest. “But we still have time to try out that trophy bream pond you’ve been telling me about.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” I replied, “but I forgot to bring my fly rod this morning.”

“No need to worry,” Brady said. “I brought along a spare. What do you say we go give them a try?”

That was the end of our turkey-hunting trip. Minutes later we were tying “Bream Killers” on dropper rigs beneath panfish poppers to the end of our leaders. Without a boat available, we were forced to try our luck from the shoreline. Fortunately, the small farm pond was less than 3 acres in area, which was perfect for a little bank-fishing.

My first cast was into a small, shallow cove whose bottom was dotted with dozens of bream beds. The musky, sweet scent of bedding bream hung heavy in the cool morning air. As my weightless leader unfolded softly on the glassy surface of the pond, the black Bream Killer fly, its white rubber legs wiggling, sank towards the pond’s muddy bottom.

From out of nowhere, a blue-green streak engulfed the sinking fly, dragging the popper along for the ride to the depths of the pond. Clinching the line against the fly rod, the 8-foot rod instantly bent into an arc as the big bull bream tugged on the line. When I finally fought the fish into submission, I was pleasantly surprised.

“Can you believe the size of this bluegill?” I shouted to my friend. “It has to go a buck-fifty -- maybe even 2 pounds.”

I might as well have been talking to myself. Across the pond, Brady’s attention was focused on battling a big bull bluegill of his own. (From the look of things, the fish might have been winning.)

Over the next two hours, my fishing partner and I caught 46 of those giant bluegills, making a total of 64 pounds of fish -- close to a 1 1/2-pound-per-specimen average. Not too shabby for a small farm pond.

From that day on, I’ve never left home in the spring without taking along my fly rod. Just in case an old longbeard gives me the slip, I can always go to Plan B -- fly-fishing for big bull bream.

Bluegill fishing is exciting, and can be challenging; the action is nearly always fast and furious. Like most Mississippi anglers, I’ve spent a great deal of time fishing. But without a doubt, my most cherished memories are of days spent catching bluegills on a fly rod.