I am a trout fisherman, by definition a person genetically predisposed towards a decided preference for cane rods, clear running water, and the cataclysmic strikes of ravenous rainbows, browns and brookies. Size 22 flies, 7x tippets, and three hours sacrificed to a single trout more finicky than Martha Stewart are, in my opinion, the essential components of a successful day on the stream. Fishless days are philosophically vindicated, and the small brookie which almost banged my Blue-Winged Olive is just as exciting as the big brown I almost landed. Nevertheless, every once in awhile, I have the irrational desire to actually catch a fish. Still water is not my style, but out of sheer desperation I sometimes ignore the accusing finger of conscience, slither off to the nearest pond, and renew my acquaintance with the lowly pumpkinseed.

The only water-based creature dumber than the fly fisherman is the pumpkinseed. The pumpkinseed is the finned equivalent of the village idiot, evoking both sympathy and humor at the same time. It is hard not to feel sorry for a fish that will hit virtually everything from a marshmallow to a Micky Finn. Yet it is mildly amusing to hook dozens of these mentally challenged panfish on a brightly dressed fly resembling absolutely no known food source in the entire universe. Pumpkinseeds have been observed, however, to occasionally key in on a particular insect and ignore all other offerings. In twenty years of fly fishing I have seen this phenomenon happen only once.

Around five years ago I was fishing a slow moving stretch of the Quabog late in March when I noticed rises as frequent as rain drops. A Quill Gordon hatch was taking place and the sunnies were sipping bugs off the surface quite purposefully. I had a teenager from church fishing with me, casting live bait. Pumpkinseeds always hit nightcrawlers, right? I mean, tossing a worm to one is like tossing a harbor seal to a great white shark. Not this day. The kid's crawler stood a better chance of drowning than being devoured. After examining a floating May fly or two, I extracted the closest department store equivalent from my fly box, and commenced hooking fish at a rate that now seems immoral. Matching the hatch would be a misnomer in terms of my criteria for choosing the right imitation. The only factors I considered were size and color, not exact or patterned replication. A selective sunfish is still a stupid sunfish.

Pumpkinseeds and their fishy relatives, collectively called bream, are being targeted by authors for reasons I do not fully understand. Entire books are being written upon the pursuit of panfish, as if bream are really big game. However, as far as I can tell, there is no mystery unique to catching pumpkinseeds, bluegills and the like, at least no mystery requiring two hundred pages of literary revelation. These denizens of the murky depths are dumber than dirt; they will hit anything. Thus, the sum total of wisdom on fly fishing for bream can be completely distilled into five simple points:

1. First, you need a good cigar, pipe, or some other effective form of insect repellent. Mosquitoes love the environment in which bream are found.
2. Second, expensive equipment is not necessary. Whereas trout fishing most certainly warrants the grace and glory of bamboo, glass or graphite will suffice nicely in this situation. If you have a bang-around trout rod, something you keep in the car for emergency use, it will handle the job just fine. The only suggestion I would make is that a lighter weight outfit will maximize your fishing pleasure.
3. Third, with the exception of large streamers, you can catch pumpkinseeds and bluegills on almost any pattern in your tackle box. Bream are notorious gluttons--stomachs with scales. To their inexplicable way of thinking, anything vaguely resembling food is worth tasting.
4. Fourth, panfish are not leader shy. A nine foot 5x leader is perfectly suitable, and a 4x would be preferable in lily pad laden waters where hungry bass are likely to lurk.
5. Fifth and finally, bream can be kept with a clear conscience. A few for the frying pan will not propel the remaining population of a pond to the brink of extinction.

The beauty of panfishing is that it requires no special talent. Anybody can do it, even those who can accomplish nothing more with a flyrod than a mere roll cast. If you are eager to catch a lot of fish, a lot of fish are eager to be caught. Flyrodding for bream is a blast and for any fisherman, especially the angst-afflicted trout fisherman, therein lies its justification.