Blog the Contest 5.14
The second weekend of the contest has proved a success. I had a few goals in mind for the weekend and they were mostly accomplished. One goal was balancing the obligations of Mother's Day with the need to catch a few lunkers. The solution....a Chinese restaraunt a few minutes from the lake. 
So after careful planning I found myself staring through polarized lenses at huge largemouth bass on their spawning beds. The sun was bright, the water clear and the sand bottom made for good traction. Besides my chest waders getting a bit warm at times, this May afternoon was a dandy. It wasn't very long before my slow sinking Zoom craw was sucked in by a healthy fish. I saw the subtle but quick twitch of my line and set the hook. A nice bass emerged from the depths and shattered the glass. The fish was in the air a few feet from me and there is an instant that time freezes, you can see the tiny water droplets exploding from its shaking head, you can see your hook embedded in the corner of the mouth, you can see that lifeless eye filled suddenly with fire. This is a critical moment, because when time unfreezes the fish may have not freed itself, but of course maybe it has...
After a few were caught, photographed and released we packed up and headed for the next pit. I needed a smallmouth bass. I parked the truck in the parking lot as my brother and I finished yammering about the big mother bass we had been seeing. We got out and started rigging some rods and then turned towards the water's edge. A scraggly older fellow approached me. This guy had seen many miles but was explaining he didn't have enough gas to make it much further. I pulled out my gas can and gave him a couple gallons. In return, he gave me a winch. I'm sure it will come in handy some time.
A few casts in the pit and I had a small smallmouth fighting with more determination than a largemouth twice his size. I unhooked it, took a measurement and photograph and released it. Mission accomplished. Moving on.
The next day brought a mix of drizzle my nizzle. I could still appreciate the spring weather, the rain was warm and made everything seem lush. Still, I enjoyed gore-tex and rubber boots! A break in the weather and my daughter Rowan joined me. She wanted to catch a fish almost as much as I did, so I tied on a jig head tipped with baby crawfish and soon enough she was cranking in a little bluegill and moments later had another one. Smiles all and the rain perked up enough to send the sane to comfort. Meanwhile I had a few showdowns with some goliath bass and some more slippery fish whose teeth left a lasting mark on my hands that day.
Monday morning I sat at my desk examining my raw thumb and wishing I had slept a bit more over the weekend. Of course my thoughts were still somewhere out there, hovering over the water like an insect...waiting to be slurped up, waiting to be taken into the mysterious depths where the suffocating muteness of color and sound is only a stage for primal destiny and the audience is addicted to adrenaline.
So after careful planning I found myself staring through polarized lenses at huge largemouth bass on their spawning beds. The sun was bright, the water clear and the sand bottom made for good traction. Besides my chest waders getting a bit warm at times, this May afternoon was a dandy. It wasn't very long before my slow sinking Zoom craw was sucked in by a healthy fish. I saw the subtle but quick twitch of my line and set the hook. A nice bass emerged from the depths and shattered the glass. The fish was in the air a few feet from me and there is an instant that time freezes, you can see the tiny water droplets exploding from its shaking head, you can see your hook embedded in the corner of the mouth, you can see that lifeless eye filled suddenly with fire. This is a critical moment, because when time unfreezes the fish may have not freed itself, but of course maybe it has...
After a few were caught, photographed and released we packed up and headed for the next pit. I needed a smallmouth bass. I parked the truck in the parking lot as my brother and I finished yammering about the big mother bass we had been seeing. We got out and started rigging some rods and then turned towards the water's edge. A scraggly older fellow approached me. This guy had seen many miles but was explaining he didn't have enough gas to make it much further. I pulled out my gas can and gave him a couple gallons. In return, he gave me a winch. I'm sure it will come in handy some time.
A few casts in the pit and I had a small smallmouth fighting with more determination than a largemouth twice his size. I unhooked it, took a measurement and photograph and released it. Mission accomplished. Moving on.
The next day brought a mix of drizzle my nizzle. I could still appreciate the spring weather, the rain was warm and made everything seem lush. Still, I enjoyed gore-tex and rubber boots! A break in the weather and my daughter Rowan joined me. She wanted to catch a fish almost as much as I did, so I tied on a jig head tipped with baby crawfish and soon enough she was cranking in a little bluegill and moments later had another one. Smiles all and the rain perked up enough to send the sane to comfort. Meanwhile I had a few showdowns with some goliath bass and some more slippery fish whose teeth left a lasting mark on my hands that day.
Monday morning I sat at my desk examining my raw thumb and wishing I had slept a bit more over the weekend. Of course my thoughts were still somewhere out there, hovering over the water like an insect...waiting to be slurped up, waiting to be taken into the mysterious depths where the suffocating muteness of color and sound is only a stage for primal destiny and the audience is addicted to adrenaline.
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