Far back in the pea-soup shallows, a place hemmed in by hanging willows, brambles and clumps of saw grass, I could hear them smooching. Though Lepomis macrochirus can sometimes be tough to spot, there’s no mistaking that distinctive lip-smacking – the sound of bluegill feeding, rising to kiss insects off the surface film.

I was float-tubing Henry Hagg Lake, a square-mile irrigation impoundment within Moped distance of Portland. Well known for its season-opening hoopla of freshly stocked hatchery trout, Hagg also happens to harbor a variety of self-propagating spiny-rays, including several class sizes of black bass and bluegill. But, today, cookie-cutter trout weren’t part of the agenda. Nosiree, Bob. It was bluegill in the brambles, bluegill the size of porcelain saucers, that riveted my attention.

Magilla Bluegilla

On ultra-light tackle, plus-size bluegill can prove more than a handful.

I admit it; I’m a sucker for bluegill. In my estimation, a half-pound bluegill is stronger, meaner, more tenacious and tastier than any 1- or even 2-pound trout that ever swam down the pike. If you ever hooked one, you know what I mean. An above-average-size bluegill amounts to a twisting-turning-frenzied-dervish of a fish. To put it in another context (as a hypothetical), there’s no way you could ever hope to land an 8-pound bluegill on anything smaller than tarpon tackle. Of course, bluegill never get that big. Although they occasionally exceed 1 pound – in rare instances, 2 or 3 pounds – an 8-inch bluegill ranks as a real toad.

Bluegill typically spawn from late May through June when water temperatures reach 67 to 75 degrees. The male starts the courtship process by building a nursery, using his tail to fan out a depression in fairly firm-bottomed shallows, usually near dozens of other nests. The female responds by depositing her eggs – as many as 50,000 – in multiple nests. The eggs hatch in two to three days; thereafter, the surrounding throng of attentive males guards the fry for almost half a moon phase. From that point on the fingerlings are on their own.

Like all species in the sunfish family – pumpkinseed, green sunfish, redear and crappie – bluegill are prone to overpopulating, which leads to stunting. If left unculled by predators, especially such voracious customers as bass and pike, bluegill can and invariably will inundate a farm pond or small waterway in less than three years. The moral to the story is this: Catch ’em and cook ’em; you’ll be doing the remaining fish a favor. Provided the water isn’t contaminated with some sort of hazardous byproduct of human enterprise, don’t hesitate to harvest a reasonable percentage of the small to mid-size bluegill. The firm white flesh is excellent table fare. But refrain from taking the magilla bluegilla. Not only are larger bluegill the champion brood stock, the purveyors of superior genes, but they are also efficient cannibals, helping keep juvenile populations in check.

Abundant Bluegill

The beauty of bluegill is that they live everywhere. Well, not quite everywhere. Not Wasilla, Alaska, for instance. But almost everywhere, which, roughly translated, means some portion of, if not throughout, every single state in the contiguous U.S. Like the bulk of mankind, bluegill are lowland dwellers, preferring the mild climes found below 4,000 feet elevation. Bluegill thrive in warm, still water and in sluggish rivers, particularly backwaters and lagoons, and in habitat with abundant aquatic plant growth. As a species, bluegill are nothing if not resilient, as durable as a pair of old Converse high-tops and seemingly capable of surviving in even the most barren, depressing and inhospitable of ditches, including highly alkaline desert reservoirs.

Over the years, I’ve experienced outstanding bluegill angling right in town, in the core urban areas of bustling Western cities such as Spokane, Seattle and Portland. Public parks with willow-shrouded waterways often offer prime habitat for bluegill and crappie. But you won’t know they’re even there unless you wade through the goose droppings and joggers and yowling kids and take a hard look. By the same token, while wandering the outskirts of metropolitan areas and on surrounding rural roads, it’s edifying to see just how many small reservoirs and farm ponds dot the landscape. Don’t go anywhere without the basic tackle inventory for properly probing the water. Obviously, private property rights must be respected and local laws observed. However, it’s amazing how many doors (and gates) will open for anglers who approach landowners in the right manner: with reserve, humility and a clearly stated regard for the resource, as well as the occasional, subtly proffered fifth of Jack Daniels.

Visually confirming the presence of bluegill is usually an unrealistic expectation. Instead of scanning for fish, look for conducive habitat – reeds, lily pads, weed beds, dead trees, overhanging willows or brush and man-made structure such as docks, ramps and bridge pilings, the more decrepit the better. Given the presence of such telltale factors, the next step is to probe the water with flies, jigs, bait or whatever terminal tackle you prefer. Personally, I think it’s hard to beat flies, not only because bluegill are demons when hooked on a wispy 2- or 3-weight fly rod, but because the bluegill’s mouth is rather small, requiring it to feed almost exclusively on small aquatic insects and terrestrials. Bluegill were designed to take flies. Size 12 to 16 yellow, chartreuse or black poppers fished on a floating line and leader tapering to 2- or 3-pound tippet are proven enticements during spring and early summer when bluegill feed near the surface. It’s also advisable to carry some black foam ants and beetles, plus a basic selection of conventional dries representing adult mayflies and midges.

Bluegills aren't usually picky, typically willing to take small chartreuse, yellow or black poppers with rubber legs.

At other times of year when the fish are likely to be holding deeper, the best means of searching is with a clear intermediate (gradual-sink-rate) fly line and a size 12 to 16, black woolly worm or a simple, soft-hackle pattern. You’re most apt to find bluegill by resolving to cover the water, moving quietly along the shoreline (no motor) and casting to structure, including the most obscure and shadowy pockets in thickets of weeds, tules and woody debris.

On this balmy spring day at Henry Hagg Lake there was no need to go searching. The bluegill were calling me in – blowing kisses from the brambles – and all I had to do was maneuver my float tube to within reach. I got close enough to the smooching sound to detect a slight disturbance – nervous water and bubbles – in the weed-choked back alley of the cove. I unfurled 30 feet of line, pulling back on the forward cast to loft the popper gently onto the water. Proper presentation normally entails letting the popper sit, then twitching it slightly, letting it idle again and, finally, actively popping or chugging it back on the retrieve.

Before I got around to applying the first twitch, a bluegill smacked the popper: splut (a sound you couldn’t make up even if you wanted to). Then it augured into the weed bed, performing that hyper, line-twisting fandango so unique to the species.  I confess; the antics of a hooked bluegill never fail to induce a silly grin. And they’re beautiful, too, in the way bantam roosters are beautiful. This tough little slab of muscle, probably weighing no more than 8 or 9 ounces, was a breeding male, marked by an especially vivid blue-green chin and an orange tinted chest. Bluegill in general may be identified and distinguished from other sunfish by their overall light to dark olive coloration (some older fish having a purplish tinge), a dark blotch at the base of the dorsal fin, the solid black opercle flap and bluish highlights on the cheeks and gill covers, hence the name bluegill.

I reached my forceps into the bluegill’s dainty, bottleneck mouth and seized the popper, prying it loose like a champagne cork, which come to think of it, may not be such a bad analogy. Bluegill, after all, are a quite gregarious species – true, fin-frisky party animals. Where and when you hook one, there are usually more, often many more, to follow.

The cork had popped. The boogaloo was just getting started.