I’m starting to sound like a broken record. We can’t seem to break ourselves of the addiction, or maybe it’s the obsession with fishing that stretch of the Flambeau, that houses those football-shaped smallies. But today’s fishing did not make it any easier for us to get a grip, and hit some new water. But more on that in a bit. We started fishing a spot that I simply call the “Tree Above The Island Hole”. I should change the name to the “Bald Faced Hornet Hole”, because every time we have fished it this past several days, we have been harassed by the foraging workers. They aren’t there to attack, but were annoyingly searching for food, and constantly buzzing around our heads, and around the boat looking looking for some unfortunate insect to take back to the nest. A nest that must have been awfully close to our location, although I could not see one in the trees nearby. Can you tell the fishing was slow today, because I’m taking up writing space talking about bugs? I come by it naturally, because I do have a degree in entomology. However, the fishing was definitely off today, but it was not entirely uneventful. The “Tree Above The Island Hole” gave up three nice smallies with the biggest coming in at eighteen and a half inches, and weighing three pounds nine ounces. We made a move upstream to a couple of rocks near the shoreline on river right, that we just started fishing this week. They produced a few mid-sized smallies on some of our trips, but nothing to write home about. One of the rocks reminded of the Rock of Gibraltar, and it looked like a great current break, as well as the other one. However, we never caught any fish around either rock. The smallies we caught were always about twenty to thirty feet away from the rocks toward the middle of the river. Every time we fished it, we still made numerous casts all around the rocks, because they both looked like they should hold fish. Today was no different, and even though past experience should have taught me that we need not waste any more time working these apparently rocky desert islands, I decided to make a cast about five feet upstream from the Rock of Gibraltar. A lot these rocks on the Flambeau are undercut on the upstream side. Depending on their size, these undercut lairs can not only hold a lot of fish, but occasionally some real bruisers. My bait had not drifted a foot before the take, and when I set the hook, and it didn’t move, I knew I had stuck a good one. Once it “woke up” it shot straight for the middle of the river. I like to back reel instead of using the drag, and it seemed like I was back reeling forever, before I was able to apply enough pressure to stop the fish, and slowly start easing it upstream. It made another forceful move downstream, and I could see that tell tale sign that a jump was imminent. When it exploded from the dark waters of the Flambeau, it was as dark as the water it calls home. A black fish, that I told my wife might go five pounds. It was close, and after a hard fought battle, this beautiful fish tipped the scales at four pounds and eleven ounces. The picture of that smallie is included in this report. A slow, but memorable day on the Flambeau. Off to Minneapolis tomorrow to visit my old college roommate and his wife. Need to give the smallies, and ourselves a day of rest.