It wasn’t an ideal place to pitch a tent, but I didn’t care in the slightest. After driving 40 minutes down a dirt road at midnight into the middle-of-nowhere Alabama, we were ready for some shuteye. The only other thing in the dirt lot we pulled into was a white Silverado with missing hubcaps and upwards of 500 mountain dew cans in the bed. It wasn’t my ideal bedroom, but I wasn’t much concerned with walking around the woods to find a good spot to camp, so we pitched the tent right there. I slipped into my sleeping bag to the noise of 10,000 tree frogs and a Barred Owl’s ominous nighttime call. Tomorrow would begin the first day of a glorious trip tangling with the redeye bass of the South.
BY STONE MILLER
My buddy Bryce and I took off for this trip just 8 hours earlier on a humid summer evening with a canoe strapped to the top of my 2005 Toyota Tundra. Just a few months prior, the bones of this epic fishing trip came together. I’d long been fascinated by the many bass species of the southern United States. My interest began with a float trip for Shoal bass a few years back, which snowballed into a flat-out shoal bass obsession, which exposed me to a whole new world of southern bass fishing.
The redeye bass complex has become a particular fascination, as these small upland species are painted with bright and beautiful colors, and live in breathtaking backcountry streams. Once simply called the redeye bass, the bass have been split into separate species under the redeye complex. They are as follows: Coosa (redeye), Chattahoochee, Tallapoosa, Cahaba, Warrior, Altamaha, and Bartram’s, the latter two having been officially designated as new species in 2025. The range of these fish are small, mostly encompassing parts of Georgia and Alabama, and many of these fish have dwindling ranges and populations, some being seriously threatened by invasion fish.
At the beginning of the planning process, I was hoping just to catch a couple of these species and get 5 total bass species for the official Georgia Bass Slam (via GA DNR). I texted a good friend and guide down in GA I’ve fished with more than a few times and he quickly got me in touch with a graduate student buddy of his who was studying to become a biologist. After a phone call and a few texts, Garrison and I quickly became friends over our shared love of bass. I told him my plans for getting 5 species in 4 days in Georgia, and his response to that was this: “Ya know we could just go for all 8 in both Georgia and bama”. This wasn’t something I had considered, because frankly, without his knowledge of these fish and where they live, it would’ve been an impossible undertaking despite possessing what I’d like to think are some decent DIY fishing trip skills.
The day began early, as we hoped to catch 3 redeye species in Alabama in one day, traveling hundreds of miles in total. The name of the game on this trip would be everybody’s favorite bass fishing technique: topwater. In this particular case, chartreuse and yellow Boogle Bugs. To begin our first day, Garrison and Bryce headed downstream while I decided to go up. The scene on the creek at 6AM was nothing short of breathtaking.
“A morning mist hovered over the blue-green water, and the bright clear sunrise light shot through the trees.”
A cool mist came off the creek as the sun began to peek through the hardwoods. As I passed the first hole, a massive jet-black cottonmouth greeted me from the base of a log jam with a loud-and-proud hiss. At the next pool, a 4 foot otter swam through a crystal clear hole and made his presence known as I made my first casts. At the base of each pool I made a careful approach, staying away from the waters edge and gently presenting my popper at the end of each pool or near the best looking structure. In the first pool a small fish with dark black stripes down its side rose for the take; a Warrior Bass. A species not known by many, it boasts brilliant warrior-like splotches and yellow-tipped fins, with the aggressiveness and attitude of your typical bass.
After the first holes I came up empty. I had fish rise but had difficulty hooking up due to their size. I encountered the first bend upstream to see the widest pool yet. A morning mist hovered over the blue-green water, and the bright clear sunrise light shot through the trees. I raised my rod and made a decisive cast mid-pool, with the goal of working my fly through the deepest water all the way up to the pool’s head. It took but one cast for a Warrior Bass to strike. I raised my rod, set the hook and soon netted the fish. Awestruck by the novelty of a fish once known to me as a far-off dream, I quickly documented the catch: my first species of redeye bass.
Our plan for the day was to catch 2 other target species in Alabama before some rain hit late- afternoon. I headed back downstream to find my buddies in hopes they had shared in similar success. Soon I found I had been fortunate — both of them were still skunked. Bryce soon had a small fish to hand but Garrison was having his struggles. These upland bass species can be a difficult catch. Rarely do any of these fish reach 12 inches, many of them being 4-8 inches, with a citation fish often being 8. He had plenty of takes but no hook-ups. After fishing down I encouraged the party to head upstream beyond the pools I’d fished in search of better water. We made a long trek up only to find more frustration. A fish would rise but no hookup. Minutes turned to hours and the tensions were rising. I felt a great deal of guilt for having caught a fish so quickly when the man who made the whole trip possible was still searching for his first Warrior Bass. Pool after pool he fished as we watched him come up empty. A few fish rose for the take, but no hookup. Nearly our 4th hour on the creek, Garrison was feeling the pressure. “I can send you guys the next pin and you can go ahead without me”. Bryce and I both insisted on staying to see him get his Warrior. The next pool was difficult to make out, the glare on the water was significant with the rising sun, and the water was deep. Each side of the stream had large rocks, one of which Garrison stood on and made his cast upstream. Almost immediately, a Warrior rose ferociously and gulped in his popper. A short fight later it was netted to a glorious collective celebration. A truly special fish and a truly special moment on a perfect morning of June fishing in the backcountry.
Long drives were ahead to our next 2 spots, and with a thunderstorm closing in on the early evening, we didn’t have much time. The mandate for each spot would be simple: get everybody a fish and go. This sort of fishing is unlike anything I’ve ever done. Usually I’m after a big fish, and will fish a creek for 6-9 hours to do so. This was the polar opposite: just catch the target species, of any particular size, and get a move on. Our target this go around was the Cahaba Bass. A fish officially declared its own species in 2013, these special fish only grow to about 12-13 inches at the max, but take on beautiful colors and live in breathtaking Alabama streams. On this trip, Garrison would fill us in on the many threats to these fish. Upon entering our next stream, we would soon catch one of those threats. Not long after hopping in the creek, the midday feeding window was clearly open. I had a number of fish rise to my fly, to no avail. I looked ahead to see Garrison’s rod bent, and after soon netting the fish he looks down and says “this might be a record”. I walked over to see a massive Cahaba Bass in the net. He theorized it could be hybridized with the introduced Alabama Bass, considering its size.
It was difficult to tell if that was the case. Regardless, these fish, like many other bass species in the southern United States, are threatened by introduced species. Both angler (or landowner) and state introduced fish like Alabama Bass, trout, and Smallmouth bass threaten these fish with what is often termed “genetic swamping”, a process in which a population of fish hybridize to the point there are no pure genetics left, effectively bringing the fish to a sort of extinction. The trout of course, do not offer that same threat, but compete with native fish for food, and prey on their young. Garrison’s first Cahaba may have been exhibit 1, and soon after we would encounter exhibit 2 and 3.
I traveled downstream ahead of both Garrison and Bryce to pursue my fish. As soon as I caught a Cahaba (within a reasonable time period) we’d move on to the next spot. I found a large pool behind a series of rocks ahead. I could see Cahaba Bass at the back of the pool patrolling sandy flats. Countless presentations didn’t seem to coerce them. Two large Alabama Bass patrolled the pool as well, continually chasing a large channel catfish out of their hunting grounds. I moved down stream in pursuit of fresh fish to target. Moments later, Garrison takes a cast in that same pool and immediately lands a Cahaba. At this point, I’m feeling the pressure. It was hard to be disappointed with the day but I was feeling bummed that it just might not happen this time. I fished downstream until I hit a massive and deep hole, one that could not be waded through. It was time to turn back. On the way back I methodically worked a popper along each line of structure and against every bank. Each spot, my hope faded. Entering the home stretch on the way back to the truck, I sent a cast to the earlier spot I had received a take. As soon as my popper landed: ffwaaap! A small fish had come right off a line of rocks and slurped my popper and was soon in the net. A beautiful Cahaba on a beautiful stream.
Our next adventure would be for the namesake Redeye Bass, also known as the Coosa Bass. Another couple hours of driving were ahead, and this time we’d be a little more pressed for time, as a thunderstorm was rolling in from the west, and daylight would soon be fading. Upon our arrival, we quickly made a plan to split up and cover different water. Garrison went downstream, I went up, and Bryce took off on the trail to move further upstream. The stream had a dark tannic stain, and each side of the stream had thick bushes and trees leaning over each side, making casts difficult.
After hanging up my fly several times trying to make casts in pocket water under the brush, I came to a small bend in the river. A slower pool had formed with a trough that appeared 3-4 feet deep. Upon the first cast a fish aggressively rose and took my fly. In the low light of the forest canopy, his dark orange fins and blue streaks on his face stood out on his otherwise dark green body. I raised him in my right hand above the stream, snapped a photo, and released him to his home.
I made my way up the creek to fish a little more and find Bryce to see if he’d managed a fish. The clouds grew darker as the storm drew closer. I continued to fish along fallen logs and pods of grass, to no avail. Eventually I ran into Bryce; he too had landed a decent fish. We quickly made our way downstream back to the put-in, to merrily find Garrison had also landed a fish. The rain began to pour, and it was time for us to find our way to our camping spot for the night. Tomorrow we would begin our most in-depth venture for the Tallapoosa Bass.
The second morning of the trip began with a disappointing look at the river: dirty brown. After discussing alternatives, we decided this was our best shot, and we figured we could make the best of the difficult circumstances with a full day of fishing ahead. Today we’d be floating at least 4 miles on a large river, with countless shoals and seemingly limitless places to throw a fly. Our day began slowly, with only a single Alabama Bass to show for our efforts. Soon after, Garrison connected with a beautiful redbreast.
“Today we’d capture our fish via phototank, and this little fella would act as exhibit 1”
A couple hours into our float, we didn’t have much to show for our efforts. Bryce and I seemed to find a pattern with Spotted Bass at the top of riffles, but we couldn’t seem to buy a Tallapoosa. We later connected with Garrison, who would soon land a considerable Tallapoosa Bass of brilliant blue colors.
Hours passed and several native Alabama Bass were caught. We pulled over onto a shoal to search for our final redeye species in Alabama. The shoals were a brilliant rich brown, and water willow and water lilies covered many of them, making for ideal Tallapoosa Bass habitat. This particular shoal had many parallel lines of water-filled gaps between lengths of rock. There seemed to be endless places to cast our poppers. Finally, at the far end of the shoal, Bryce managed a beautiful little Tallapoosa.
With Bryce and Garrison on fish, we departed the shoal in search of one final fish before the takeout. We had all day if we really wanted to, but with a long drive ahead to tomorrow’s spot, time was of the essence. Bryce kindly rowed me in his canoe around each shoal, turning to face them as we passed so I could make a clean presentation against each face of rocks. Minutes felt like hours as cast after cast landed with a plop of the popper and no take. Thus far, the trip had blown our minds. It had been perhaps my favorite fishing trip ever. Regardless of how the rest of this float went, I’d had an absolute ball pursuing these fish.
We approached one of the last big shoals and methodically approached each spot. A large pool opened below and little riffles burst forth over the upstream rocks. I worked my popper in the pockets of still water behind the largest rocks and between the riffles. Upon landing my casts, I’d let the popper sit in the pocket for a moment, and then pick it up to re-place it elsewhere. We came upon a shoal with a few riffles dumping in and a shallow pocket below. I placed a cast between two riffles and a bass went airborne, trapping the popper from above via aerial pursuit. Bryce loudly exclaimed having seen what had taken place, but my only reaction was to set the hook and stay calm. I didn’t want to lose this fish, and I also understood it could be a smaller Alabama Bass. I soon grabbed my net and scooped him in, to see a brillliant blue-faced and green-speckled fish. A 10 inch fish that may as well have been 10 pounds. A worthy reward for a hard day’s fishing.
Our final day would encompass a quest for the final three redeyes: Altamaha, Chattahoochee, and Bartram’s. We would again travel hundreds of miles in a dash to complete the final leg of the trip successfully, only this time in the Peach State. Our first target would be the Altamaha. Upon our arrival, it appeared this drainage also received a good rain the day before, as the water was a stained light brown. I made a few casts of the popper before I put on a small black clouser minnow. At the edge of a riffle near the backside of a run, I quickly found a fish, just barely measuring 8 inches (a GA slam requirement). Today we’d capture our fish via phototank, and this little fella would act as exhibit 1.
The conditions were tough, so we quickly bailed and moved on to the next spot, to pursue a truly special fish: the Chattahoochee Bass. Colored with bright orange-tipped fins, these fish possess a mystique about them. Perhaps the most unique in appearance of the redeye complex (rivaling the Tallapoosa), its habitat, genetic purity, and range have decreased significantly over the years. From streamside developments, to invasive species (thanks again Alabama Bass) and landowner introduced trout populations (new predator), these fish are under a tremendous plight.
“The future status of these gorgeous fish are seriously in doubt”.
Upon our arrival we spotted a pickup parked as we approached our access point. Fortunately, Garrison knew these folks, who happened to be bass biologists themselves. Seeing that they had traveled upstream, we chose the downstream side. Bryce quickly found himself hooked up with a trophy size hooch bass, a gargantuan 9 inches. A wonderful candidate for the photo tank.
The future status of these gorgeous fish are seriously in doubt, as the aforementioned introduced non-natives threaten a fish that typically doesn’t grow much longer than 10 or 11 inches, making them susceptible to the larger predatory introduced species. This stream was easily the fastest flowing and most difficult to wade, and its cold flow helped you see how a trout could survive and thrive in this water. The streambanks were rocky and sandy, and the water was crystal clear, projecting a slightly brown color from the bottom. Our poppers found rises but no hookups as we moved downstream. Upon the ridgetops were expensive homes, fortunately hundreds of yards from the streamside. As I cast my popper on each passing log or behind each rock, the likelihood of a Chattahoochee Bass felt less likely. After all, these may be the rarest of the Redeye species in terms of pure numbers.
A small and shallow run of boulders downstream was calling my popper’s name. I shuffled downstream in the fast current and tossed a bright yellow popper in between some rocks. After several drifts downstream and around the rocks, a fish rose and slapped my offering. I soon netted the fish to my disbelief: a pure-strain Chattahoochee Bass. A fish not many have caught, and a fish that will likely be caught by fewer and fewer in the future. I was holding a fish that I may never hold again.
Satisfied with having checked off perhaps the most beautiful species of the complex, we headed back to the access point. Upon our arrival, our bass biologist friends were waiting. Soon a discussion on these fish and the larger mistreatment of redeye bass ensued. One gent had a hat that read Bass > Trout on. I told him that I loved trout, but couldn’t argue with him, especially since bass were the predominant native gamefish in North America. He clarified that the hat really just means that we should prioritize native bass over non-native and introduced trout. A sentiment I think many anglers agree with, but many do not, as state game agencies, including that of Georgia, continue to introduce non-native rainbow and brown trout into waters historically inhabited by native species of bass.
Our final destination was in pursuit of the final fish of the complex on our list: The Bartam’s Bass. Namesake for naturalist William Bartam, this fish received its official designation as a unique species just a few short months after our trip ended. All it took was a short wade through boulder fields and the cold crystal clear waters for Bryce and I both to land a citation-sized fish: a completion to the Georgia Bass Slam for both of us and a completion of the Redeye Bass Slam for myself. It was difficult not to feel emotional at the end of this trip, as we’d traversed breathtaking country, caught some of the coolest fish God made, with great company who made such an epic trip possible.
I was also saddened, as many of these fish are in peril. With the way things are looking for Chattahoochee Bass, I may never catch a pure genetic specimen again. Many anglers aren’t interested in these fish because of their size, and so the conservation of these species have fallen by the wayside. But these fish matter. As a longtime angler, this trip affirmed something I think I’ve already believed for a long time, but just couldn’t articulate: native fish matter, even the ones you can’t, won’t, or don’t catch. Native fish need our advocacy because corporate interests, development, and invasive and introduced fish continue to threaten their existence. Upon leaving from this trip, I knew my time with these fish was not done. As soon as we departed for home, the clock started ticking on planning for the next trip to these southern rivers, to see the southern bass that call them home.
