Maybe it's because I'd instead use binoculars to know if my neighbor is mowing his yard, or maybe it's just my hillbilly raising, but passing by a road I've never been down before is like turning down beans and cornbread. It just isn't natural.
Now, I haven't yet run across a cabin full of people that use banjos and guitars instead of talking, but I never know what I'll find. If I ever run across those fast-fingered folks, I hope they don't ask me to sit in because they'll be thinking music, and all I know how to play is football.
Most of my backroad running these days has something to do with water. Running water, as in rivers, smallmouth seclusions, bronze back bungalows; you get the idea. Not that I have to fish so far from the crowd that I need buckskins and a five-day supply of food, but hey, I'll go wherever the fish are.
Naturally, with river bronze, that means going wherever the river goes. In my position, that means it's hog heaven for 'Splorin.' All new places to go, and an excellent reason for going there.
Starting with the best state road map I can find, I pick out the river I want to learn more about. Asking around and taking Pappy's advice to keep my eyes and ears open and my mouth shut ("You learn more that way, son."), I pick up what I can about locations. Internet message boards about fishing are great for this. Then, I wait for the opportunity to take a few hours to scout the place out.
Not long ago, I had nine hours to go one hundred fifty miles, and only forty or fifty miles out of my way was a river with an excellent reputation. Man, oh man, I had to strike while the iron was hot! I got close by and pulled over to drag out the map to get my bearings. That's bearings, not marbles. I have not lost my marbles. I just needed to make sure I knew which way was what. After that, I did what I usually do. I followed my nose. Hey, if you ever saw my nose, that isn't easy to see around, hoss.
I found the river, but I was on an interstate grade divided highway crossing it, and that isn't good. Limited access expressways are hard to get on and off when a person wants to. I got lucky, though. An exit to a side road turned upstream just on the bridge's other end. Hang that right! Check the mirror! Nope, no cops. I hope that lady behind me didn't get my tag number. I don't think so; she had little time and no warning.
OK, the river's on the right, and I'm running upstream. The river's way down there is the problem, and I'm up here. I have to be careful how I get down there, though. I'm not real anxious to turn around in some retired cop's driveway at the end of a dead-end road.
That's not just a colorful phrase about a hypothetical situation, either. Thankfully, the gentleman understood while insistent that I get off his place. The point is when it says "Private Property," it means it, and there may not be warnings on the side of the road. Provide MORE respect to strangers than you want for yourself. I wouldn't care who turns around in my driveway, but he did, and it was his place.
Keep a sketch in your mind of each minor road you go down as you break off the parallel road to the river. Be aware of turns in your parallel roads, especially gradual ones. It's easy to think the river is still about a half-mile away when it's five because you have been easing left while the river has been easing right. Stay as close to the river as you can to keep from getting confused, and pay strict attention to the lay of the land. Luckily, the road I found stayed on top of the bank until the next bridge, and the accesses were marked. All in all, an easy one. They are not all that way.
For instance, there was the time I 'splored the Rappahannock. I found that from US 29 north of Culpeper to Fredericksburg, Virginia was a pretty good stretch of water. That's a hard two-day float of the river, and if you fish it well, figure three days. Anyway, I was in the area for something else with time to spare, and you know how I spent it. The state map showed two roads bracketing the stretch from US 29 downstream but upstream was another matter. It ran through farmland with no roads indicated anywhere near the river.
It would have taken me half my free time to run down a county map, even though that is a good idea. So I pointed the car towards the upper end of the river and took off. I found the river and turned downstream. Since it wasn't falling fast, I used the trees along the bank as a locator. With plenty of doubling back and head-scratching later, I popped out on US 29 and eliminated that part of the river for smallies. No rocks, no pools, and a lot of mud bottom. I needed to get farther downstream.
After following the line of trees from across fields and farms, doubling back some more because of washed-out roads, and slowly bearing away from the river, I found myself on a road that paralleled the river. The problem was, I thought the road should be intersecting the river. It worked out OK; I popped out at Kelly's Ford to a lovely pool and three-quarters of a mile of what would be class I/II riffles when the river got down to summer pool. It was excellent smallmouth territory, and I knew it should get better downstream. I got going that way with the river on my left. Again, the road I was on was parallel to the river but a ways away. When I started climbing, I kept looking left for a road back down to the river.
I finally found one, and when I got to the bottom, I found a branch running right to left instead of the river. No problem there, it's running to the river, everything's fine. The road started climbing again, though, and no road went to the left toward the river.
The next drop took me down to the river, and I felt pretty good. If you have been picturing this in your mind, you'll understand my confusion when I crossed the bridge and found the current running right to left, not left to right like the river should have been flowing. It turned out it wasn't the same river. It turned out the scale on the map wasn't accurate for the backroads sections. It turned out the river I thought I found was still a good 3 miles in front of me. It also turned out this new river I found was good for smallies, too. One of the nice things about 'splorin' is the occasional bonus.
For those relatively new to river bass fishing, maybe this will give you some ideas for expanding your fishing horizons. Splorin' makes for an incredible Sunday afternoon drive with the wife and family. Of course, it may involve stopping to see the antiques in an old country store, but who says that's bad? To those fishing a long time, unknown scouting places is an old hat. Our fathers and grandfathers used to keep a rod in the model A, just in case they ran across something they couldn't refuse, and I'm pretty sure from talking to them that they relished 'splorin' the unknown road. I don't see why we shouldn't keep a great tradition alive.
