Red, White & Blue

Could there be a fish more American than a bluegill? From sea to shining sea, these panfish span the width of the country, from the lakes of California to the backwaters along the Gulf Coast to the impoundments of Maine and those within the upper Midwest's amber waves of grain. Their readiness to get down to business and hard charging demeanor whether chasing after what they want or while on the line, reflect the mindset of the anglers that pursue them. Certainly, this time of year, photos of a youngster hoisting up a brightly colored 'gill on a dock in the summer sun are as frequent as those of the same kid holding a flashing sparkler in the fading twilight of July Fourth.

Bluegills also represent the American journey. Highly adaptable, they take to most waters well when stocked or introduced, providing an angling experience that calls out to many in the fishing citizenry well beyond their youthful days. As the opportunities have expanded, so has the pursuit of finding those lakes where fish exceed the magical 10-inch mark, and occasionally the hopes of one nearing that legendary foot-long tick on the measuring stick. Those prospects are becoming rarer and rarer however, as they require a little bit more effort to locate (and keep secret) as those lakes with just the right balance of habitat, fish, food and limited angling pressure are tougher to find and hang on to. With a little bit of help from Uncle Sam and his state-based nephews and nieces, there are certain waters that remain producers of these larger panfish that were more common in another era.

A strong sense of Americana filled my youth. In addition to the storyline of Rocky IV, the red-white-and-blue Twins logo twice above the phrase "World Series Champions" and the fact I was but two generations removed from the end of World War II, and that greatest generation still led the way for mine, bluegills were the foundation for my foray into American angling and part of that patriotic mix I grew up with. My childhood was certainly filled with panfish, where every one seemed to dwarf the size of my hand. I can recall staring down at one particular bluegill that appeared to be the size of the pancake platter back at the cabin before tossing it into the water to catch the next one which was only slightly smaller, followed by another and another until my bait ran out. Sometimes I wonder if it was just the fact that my hands were tinier then, or if these fish really did get that big. As with all American legends and tales of the "good old days," I like to think it was the latter. Similar to the stories told by my grandparents about the things they overcame, the battles fought overseas, or the way things were and how they should be, the tales of those bluegills, and the moments lived fishing them, very much set the standard for my future on the water and that of many others, as the bluegill likely comprises the first fish caught by a greater percentage of today's anglers than any other species.

The great thing is – whether they become the hump-headed ten-inch bulls lurking in some farm pond off an old two-wheel track, or the voracious groups of five-inch freshwater piranhas schooling at the end of the dock – no matter how advanced we get as anglers, or what other species we end up pursuing, bluegills remain the base fabric of the American angling quilt. Whether on the fly, or a slowly twitched Crickhopper on the surface for an added challenge, or simply with a chunk of worm under a cork, they're there for us to catch, admire and toss back to be caught again. They remain there, in all sizes and shades, to be shared with the next generation as well, starting someone off on a similar journey, spurring dreams of bigger fish. Likely then, stories of how things were, how they should be and how these fish represent the good in the country around us can be shared. There are few other things that would be more American.

Nick Simonson is the lead writer and editor for Dakota Edge Outdoors and can still be found fishing bluegills from shore in his swimming trunks on the Fourth of July weekend.