When most readers see an article about bass fishing or hear someone talk about pursuing bass, their minds immediately go to large lakes, manmade reservoirs, or local ponds—especially in the southeastern United States, where few natural lakes exist. There is, however, a growing group of anglers pursuing bass the way their ancestors did, fishing any flowing water they can legally access. Often, the weight of the fish is not the trophy; rather, it is the fight of the bass and the experience of the pursuit.
I have a distinct memory of my great-great-grandfather and great-grandfather (on the Adams side), standing proudly with a string of fish in front of a porch full of barefoot children, all eager to have their picture taken with the two proud fishermen in a black-and-white photograph. My grandfather would talk about memories of them seining for fish in creeks I would not even consider fishing today. It was a different time. People in the rural South—especially in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains—did not have much money. Much of the food they ate was grown or harvested from the woods and streams that surrounded them.
My dad has told me stories about his father, uncles, and grandparents loading up on the old “TF Railroad” (Tallulah Falls Railroad) with rods and nets for weekends on mountain streams, or later—after Georgia Power dammed the Tallulah River in 1920 to generate electricity for Atlanta—fishing the lakes created in the Tallulah Gorge. By the time my dad was born, people had begun building small houses along Lake Burton, including my grandfather, marking the transition from river and creek fishing to lake fishing in much of the Southeast.
Brandon Adams
I also recall my grandfather telling stories of walking or taking mules to the Chattahoochee River where the Soque River empties into it, setting trotlines along the banks, and fishing the shoals and sandbars with rod and reel or cane poles. He spoke of the bass and catfish they caught, and how, at some point during the day, the ladies would join them with biscuits and jelly, frying fish and potatoes for supper before returning home ahead of the sun setting beyond the western ridgeline.
There are times when I—and others—reminisce about these simpler days, before expensive bass boats capable of running over 50 mph, before touchscreens and side-scan sonar, and before lures that cost more than a month’s worth of groceries did in the 1950s. It was a time when fishing was about feeding the family, enjoying time together, and listening to water ripple over rocks—before social media, when people fished for sustenance and experience rather than likes and follows.
As life became busier and I became a father myself, I drifted away from frequent fishing trips with my dad. I would occasionally go with friends who had boats, but I could not justify purchasing one, knowing it would sit at home more than it would see the water. Instead, I began fishing local rivers and creeks flowing through parks and public land. As my kids grew older and learned to swim, I bought kayaks for myself and both of them, allowing us to venture into local ponds where we had permission to fish, as well as rivers and areas near boat ramps on larger reservoirs.
I had fished rivers for trout as a teenager after my parents moved back from Atlanta to Habersham County in the 1990s. I was fortunate to grow up with a close friend whose family owned several miles of some of the best trout water in the Southeast. Eventually, I began targeting bass in the warmer waters farther downstream. My dad and I even started putting a jon boat into the Chattahoochee, drifting through the same waters my grandfather fished in the 1940s, learning the areas bass and panfish called home. We were catching largemouth and shoal bass before many people realized shoal bass ranged that far north. I loved the fight these river bass put up—far more than their lake and pond cousins. Fast forward ten years to when I learned of a then-undescribed species of redeye bass now known as Bartram’s bass.
Rivers, streams, and creeks are ever-changing, living bodies of water, filled with life both within them and along their banks. One of the primary targets for anglers in Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina is the redeye bass family, which has gained two new members in the past year. One of those species inhabits the Savannah River drainage near my home in Georgia. In 2025, marine biologists in South Carolina and Georgia released research documenting the distinct traits of Bartram’s bass. Anglers in the Savannah drainage had known about these fish for years, but formally identifying a new species is a lengthy process requiring documentation of subtle differences that set it apart from others.
The news was exciting for those of us who chase these warm water species, as it meant Bartram’s bass would finally receive the recognition and protection they deserve.
Bartram’s bass are the only redeye bass not named for the drainage they inhabit; instead, they are named for naturalist William Bartram, who traveled the region during the time of the American Revolution. As I learned the local name for these bass—often a bycatch while fishing the upper Savannah headwaters for trout—I began reading Bartram’s book describing his travels through Georgia and into Florida. The untamed, road-less wilderness he described drew me in, especially as a history teacher. His writings deepened my fascination with the fish unofficially bearing his name.
As I continued trout fishing with friends, my focus slowly shifted toward bass in rivers and creeks. Rainbow, brown, and brook trout became the bycatch as I targeted this small bass species.
Brandon Adams
Bartram’s bass rarely grow beyond 15 inches, yet their fight is far stronger than that of a lake or pond bass of similar size. They have developed powerful muscles to navigate swift currents. Often, they bulldog into submerged boulders or fallen trees, attempting to break free, or they launch into aerial leaps that can throw a lure or fly if slack forms in the line. Their colors and patterns—used to hide from both predators and prey—set them apart from other bass species. Those who seek redeye bass understand what words struggle to convey. It is something that must be experienced, as photographs and scientific drawings fail to capture their true beauty.
It is not just the pull of the line or the leap of the fish. It is the smell of the woods, the clarity of water you could almost drink without fear, the call of thrushes at first light, or a gobbler sounding off from a ridge above you. It is the silence of the modern world, where planes are too high and cars too far away to hear. Along these waters, it feels as though William Bartram himself might step out of the laurel at any moment to see the fish bearing his name.
When I began, I used wax worms and small trout lures—inline spinners and jerkbaits—that caught Bartram’s bass as frequently as trout. As I focused more on Bartram’s, I switched to 3 to 4-inch jerkbaits in baitfish patterns and crawfish imitations. Line strength had to be reduced to the minimum needed to land them, often 2 to 4-pound test, with the drag set light enough to keep fish out of rocks and timber in deep pools.
Eventually, I returned to fly fishing, purchasing a new fly rod specifically for redeye bass. With advice from other anglers, I chose a 9-foot, 5-weight rod instead of the heavier 8-weight I had used for large trout in my youth.
Fishing for Bartram’s bass on a 5-weight fly rod brings an entirely new experience. You feel every head shake, every scrape of line against rock, and every surge as the fish rockets skyward from cold, oxygen-rich water. Even farther south in warmer waters, the pull of a river bass on a fly rod rivals—or exceeds—that of the large trout I once chased.
My preferred flies include terrestrials, crawfish patterns (typically green and orange), dragonflies, cicadas during hatches, and the Sam’s One Bug—a fly well known among redeye bass anglers. I have also begun using streamers and muddler minnows.
If you want a challenge and a return to simpler times—when it was just a stick, a line, and a lure between you and the fish—return to your ancestral roots. Explore the creeks and streams you can access. Find your Bartram’s bass, or head to the Georgia–South Carolina border and try for this newly described species. Local guides can help, from Unicoi Outfitters in Georgia to Chattooga River Fly Shop in South Carolina.
When you land one of these beautiful bass, it will inspire you to learn more about William Bartram and his adventures. Remember to respect the unique ecosystem and the animals that call it home wherever you seek Bartram’s bass within the Savannah River system. Pack it in, and pack a little extra out—the reward at the end of your line will be well worth the effort.
