Nestled in the rugged folds of the Kiamichi Mountains in southeast Oklahoma lies a hidden paradise for anglers like me—dozens of small ponds teeming with smallmouth bass. These waters, scattered across the Honobia Creek and Three Rivers Wildlife Management Areas (WMAs), offer some of the most thrilling and solitary fishing experiences you’ll find anywhere. With a little grit, the right gear, and a sense of adventure, these ponds are open to anyone willing to make the trek. Here’s my take on fishing this wild corner of the Sooner State.
Most of these ponds are on public-access land within the Honobia Creek WMA (nearly 79,000 acres) and the sprawling Three Rivers WMA (over 185,000 acres), both stretching across Pushmataha, LeFlore, and McCurtain counties. The catch? While the land is technically owned by timber companies like Weyerhaeuser, it’s made available to fishermen and hunters through a unique partnership with the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation. All it takes is a land access permit, which you can grab online at the same site where you pick up your Oklahoma fishing license—just a small fee for a big reward.
This arrangement has roots stretching back decades. In the mid-20th century, Oklahoma’s timber industry boomed, and vast swaths of the Kiamichi Mountains were logged for pine and hardwood. Recognizing the recreational potential of these lands, the State of Oklahoma struck a deal with the timber companies in the 1970s and ‘80s, securing public access for hunting and fishing while allowing sustainable logging to continue. The result? A patchwork of ponds and creeks—many formed by old logging roads and natural springs—now beckons outdoorsmen like me to explore.
Getting to these ponds isn’t for the faint of heart. Most are tucked deep in the backcountry, reachable only by Jeep, a sturdy 4WD rig, or my personal favorite, a dual-sport motorcycle that can handle the rutted trails. I’ve mapped out some of my go-to spots here, and you’re welcome to download it. Just a heads-up: ownership and regulations shift like the wind out here, so double-check each spot’s legal status before you cast a line.
The journey doesn’t end when you park. These ponds are often ringed by thick briers and tall grass—prime snake country. I always gear up in heavy pants and tall boots, wading through the thorns with an eye out for rattlers. To make life easier, I sling a lightweight kayak over my shoulder. It’s a game-changer, letting me paddle out to the sweet spots without snagging every bush along the shore.
Once I’m on the water, it’s all about the smallmouth bass. These feisty fighters love the rocky edges and submerged logs of these ponds. My tackle box is stocked with lures—spinners, soft plastic worms, and the occasional topwater lure for those early morning or late evening bites when the surface erupts. Smallmouth here aren’t the biggest you’ll ever catch, but their scrappy spirit makes every hookup a thrill.
This is remote country, though, and solitude comes with a price. Cell service is a pipe dream in most of these hollows, so I never head out without a first aid kit—bandages, antiseptic, and a snakebite kit, just in case. Communication’s tricky too; I carry a satellite messenger for emergencies. You’re on your own out here, so preparation is key.
The Kiamichi Mountains have become my escape, a place where the hum of civilization fades and the tug of a smallmouth bass takes over. If you’re up for the challenge, grab your permit, load up your Jeep or bike, and dive into this wild fishery. My map’s a starting point, but the adventure—and the responsibility to fish legally—is all yours. Tight lines!
