You're not from Texas...

...but the guy who wrote the following post is.

And so are the fish that he writes about.

This is a guest post by the one & only Brandon Robinson (finally!!). Brandon is the brains behind FlyStock and is a fairly prolific freelance blogger. You can find Brandon on twitter (@OneBugIsFake) and see a directory all of his guest posts on his website.

Not only did he write this kick-ass piece on his home waters, Brandon even chose the music to accompany the post!

Thanks, Brandon!

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BRUSHY CREEK UNLIMITED - THE GUADALUPE BASS
A guest post & photography by Brandon Robinson

How often can an angler say that he catches fish found no where else on earth?  Okay, there are a bunch of Cutthroat guys that can say that, but who else?  There are two species here in Central Texas, more specifically the “Edwards Plateau ” river systems that can say that about.

One is the Rio Grande Perch, which isn't a perch at all.  In fact, it is a cichlid, and according to those smarter than me, it is the only cichlid native to these United States.  They are ferocious fighters, can grow up to a pound and a half, and can be readily taken on a fly.  They aren't my favorite fish here, but I do love to catch them.

The other fish is the Micropterus treculii, the official State Fish, the Guadalupe Bass, or Guad for the cool kids.  Again, according to those smarter than me, the Guadalupe Bass is only found in a smaller region of the “Edwards Plateau” than the cichlid.  This is a fish that prefers to feed on insects and smaller baitfish when they are in their predatory prime, rather than other sunfish.  This of course, makes them different than your regular bass, perfectly suited to be targeted on the fly.  So much so, that fly fishermen call them the “Texas Trout”, out of fondness for the little waterborne creature. This was an amazing thing for a brand new fly fisherman to discover.

I first started fly fishing after a month or so trying to regain some semblance of skill with conventional tackle.  The girlfriend (at the time) and I had just watched 'A River Runs Through It' when she let on that fly fishing was something that interested her.  I've always harbored a crush on the art as well, but only a crush.  To me fly fishing was an untouchable movie starlet or magazine darling, and I was content on just watching the movie over and over.  Being the spectacular type of boyfriend that I am though (ladies...?), I did some research for the girlfriend's benefit and discovered a wealth of information and supplies nearly at our door step.  The shop owner was a young fly-savant, and the son of a preacher.  I nicknamed him Brad Pitt, logically.  She was excited at my discovery, but wanted to wait for lessons.  I didn't.

My birthday came around, and while I rarely celebrate the event, it seemed like a good enough reason to justify jumping the gun and buying a fly rod without the previously agreed upon lessons.  Forty-five for the rod, fifty-five for the reel, sixty for the line, and ten dollars in flies later, I was in the water of a little creek right by the house called Brushy Creek.  After succeeding in getting one “Dee Snider ugly” cast out in front of me, I watched my dry fly disappear behind a small splash.  It was then I realized I had hooked my first fish, as well as my soul.  I was never going back.  In two years I have fished and re-fished as much of that creek as possible, and have brought to hand many species of fish from her depths and shallows. Nothing in that river compares to catching our two native celebrities.

Like little bundles of nuclear lightning, Guadalupe Bass are some of the hardest fighting fish known to freshwater.  They are the kings of their environment and they use every inch of the river to fight against you.  Naturally, they have no natural predators to speak of, their biggest challenge is something well known to you Cuttie-Freaks, hybridization.  Particularly with Small Mouth and Spotted Bass.  Hope exists; recently the State has begun to stock genetically pure Guads in certain waters, they have also stopped stocking non-native bass in those areas and thankfully, many others.  These little guys are tough, and there is some water in which they have outlasted the small mouth invasion.  Where exactly that is, is a closely guarded secret.

Generally speaking, I spill my secrets.  I will tell you everything, every little piece of intel I know on the subject.  Provided of course; that I discovered the information, when we meet you have a fly rod in your hand, or we are in a fly shop.  If intelligence is entrusted to me however, I don't share it but with a certain accepted few.  This is one of those areas, not discovered but entrusted.  A pristine flowing creek, not far from town, that is chock-full of Guads.  In four fishing trips there, I have yet to see a single largemouth caught or swimming.  Because of that fact (and the eating habits of sizable Guads), bait-dunkers and key-chuckers believe it to be a bad fishery and leave it alone.

But let me tell you, it is fly fishing heaven.  I can tell you the name of the creek: Brushy.  My home waters, my own fly-fishing 'school of hard knocks', and absolutely the most beautiful creek in Central Texas.  When you fish this area, you know you are in a magical place.  Wind may be howling, but down in the water, you are largely protected from it.  It lives up to its name though, so your 9' four weight is for the birds.  Literally, in the trees is where you'll spend most of your time.  As fun as Tenkara sounds, I can't imagine welding a eighty-nine foot fairy wand out here either.  I can tell you, this is where my Eagle Claw shines.

After spending a small fortune in gas traveling to find water, I wanted to fish locally.  I had thought Brushy to be off the radar due to our current shortage of dihydrogen-monoxide, however I intercepted some chatter at the fly shop that gave me hope.  I decided to act on it.  Despite the 88th day or so of 100+ degree heat, and the tropical storm strength winds, in my gut I knew the fishing would be good.

What happened in those few short hours with my fiberglass four weight, Morrish's Small Fry, and a couple of Backstabber variants, was a refreshing reminder of why fly fishing is such an amazing way to fish, and while Texas will never replace Florida as my home: Brushy Creek will always be my home waters.  Given the current worth of a picture, and allowing for the Canadian/US exchange rate I present to you, a weeks worth of verbage, in these pictures...

 

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