The phrase “heading south” typically refers to a time when things begin to fail or take a turn for the worse. Euphemisms aside, the waters of the southeastern United States hold an unrivaled amount of freshwater biodiversity, including many species that can be caught with a fly rod. Despite Alabama’s designation as “America’s Amazon,” pursuing fish with a fly is still largely perceived as a sport reserved for the elite who chase tarpon in the Keys or the many species of salmonids out West. Thankfully, a culture is brewing among southern anglers that is built around the desire to celebrate the unique pursuit that is flyfishing for redeye bass. These cool-water stream specialists exist in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Georgia, South Carolina and Tennessee, but Alabama is home to some of the largest populations and more species of redeye bass than the surrounding states. 

The redeye is often called the “brook trout of Alabama,” owing this distinction to their similarities in size, preference for breathtaking waters and bodies adorned with a palette of colors that are usually reserved for tropical reef inhabitants. Like brook trout, redeye bass have characteristic aggression that is a byproduct of living in the relatively unproductive mountain streams they call home. They cannot afford to pass up a potential meal. Within a millisecond of a popper hitting the water, they accelerate and often breach the water on the take. While the take is addictive, the real treat is the arena in which this occurs. 

above Matthew Lewis practices a slow upstream approach, paramount when fishing the clear, shallow streams of Alabama’s Talladega National Forest. The tapestry of freshly bloomed mountain laurel envelops the clear waters in early spring and provides the perfect setting for anglers in pursuit of redeye bass. Photo: George Constantine

Several national forests in Alabama are full of waterfalls, hidden canyons and many miles of clear water and hungry, colorful redeye bass. These places are special because they are the last vestiges of wilderness that we have left in the state. There are no guardrails or concrete steps to help one experience a taste of adventure, just the unaltered real thing. Armed with only a 3-weight, I seek respite in these places. The trickling sound of water rushing over riffles and falling over ancient bedrock is soothing to the ears, while lush streamsides flanked with blooming mountain laurel appeal to the eyes. A shooting pain from walking into a briar thicket interrupts my musings. A snake spooked by my thrashing is a gentle reminder that I am not dreaming. Forging new trails and scaling rocky cliffs lead to a battered and bruised body. Here, you are physically tested, and sometimes pushed to your limits, all for a fish that might never reach a foot in length. 

One of the beauties of flyfishing for redeyes is the simplicity. There are no volumes written about chasing them, no mass-marketing campaigns geared to the pursuit. Being the smallest member of the black bass family, flyfishing for redeye bass encapsulates the joy of catching a beautiful native fish in some of the most wild and scenic waters the southeast has to offer. To promote the awareness of redeyes and their native waters, a grassroots movement—the Redeye Bass Slam—emerged in 2018 to challenge anglers to catch all four species of redeye bass in a calendar year. Successful completion of the Slam is commemorated with a custom certificate, but more importantly the pursuit is helping to educate anglers about watershed-level conservation and the intrinsic value of native fish.

During the last couple of decades, we have learned of serious conservation threats to redeye bass across the southeast. In a region that prides itself on trophy angling for crappie, catfish and largemouth bass, most of the research dollars have followed those species over the years. This type of fisheries management has left significant knowledge gaps in the geographically limited populations of less-popular sportfish like the redeye. We now know that many populations of redeye bass are declining due to hybridization with introduced bass species and in some cases with fellow natives. The latter can be facilitated by human-induced habitat changes such as turbidity, increased sedimentation and structures such as dams that fragment populations. 

above A stealthy approach and a well-placed popper along current seams produce consistent eats all day long in the redeye’s remote and rugged waters. Just remember: Any color works as long as it’s yellow. Photo: George Constantine

Thankfully, Department of Natural Resources agencies in Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina have committed research funds to allow for these timely projects to occur. Researchers at Auburn University and Clemson University are working to determine the type of habitats that are required by redeye bass and investigating how habitat disturbances may be driving hybridization in parts of their native range. Understanding these unique life history characteristics rather than applying those of a more generalist species, such as largemouth bass, are crucial to developing sufficient management and conservation plans. The funding from license sales and excise taxes highlight the importance of anglers in the efforts to better inform the management and conservation plans for these unique species of riverine sportfish. Fortunately, a new generation of fly anglers in the southeast are more receptive and committed to conservation than ever before. More emphasis is being placed on the experience—by locals and travelers, both fly and conventional anglers—and the trend is peaking at the right time. The fish need us more than ever. 

Flyfishing for redeye bass celebrates the opportunity to interact with a landscape and an ecosystem on a level that goes much deeper than sitting in a boat watching a bobber or probing the depths with the latest swim bait. I am just as guilty as the next angler for falling victim to the euphoric rush of a large fish thrashing on the other end of my line. Still, I fail to understand why so many adventure-seeking anglers revere truncated versions of fisheries over the opportunity to interact with a truly wild fishery untouched by artificial propagation in hatcheries. Just look out west: Native trout are still out there, though sadly it is too often the case that not much thought is given to whether the fish on the other end of the line is native. We would do well to be more attuned to the pursuit of wild things in their native habitats. Pioneering conservationist Aldo Leopold noted the devaluing of our wild places and animals thanks to human involvement and artificiality. Whether brook trout in Appalachia or redeye bass in Alabama, there is real value in experiencing something in the place where it belongs. With any luck, and with a bit of care and reflection, the redeye bass won’t join the greatly reduced populations of cutthroat trout in the annals of what used to be.