RRN Online Volume 537

September 16 '06

Volume 537

Big Fish My Personal Best

A Nine Pound Bass Among us hunter/gatherers, there is a drive or quest to slay or harvest the biggest, whether our quarry is animal, mineral, or vegetable. In my mind, this also applies to fishermen. In The Old Man and the Sea, Hemmingway devoted an entire novel to one man's epic adventure in the harvest of a great fish and his struggle to get it back to the shore for Show and Tell. As surely as spoils belong to the victor, bragging rights belong to the individual who achieves a personal best in his favorite sport. On Thursday afternoon before Labor Day, I managed a personal best in my favorite pastime, bass fishing.

Jim Hess had driven up from Vicksburg for a couple of days fishing with me and whoever else was up to the challenge. Joel Hale allows us to fish in his lake, and we're good to follow the "house rules" that Joel sets. On most trips, Joel encourages us to keep a "mess of fish," but even if all we do is catch fish and return them to the lake, we have a lot of fun. Joel works hard to maintain a large number of bass and bream in his lake and because of his hard work there has been but one occasion that I can recall having fished there and not caught a single bass, and even then I caught several bream, just no bass.

Of my recent trips, over the past year or so, to Joel's lake, I've boated a lot of bass in the one to two-pound range, occasionally pulling in a slightly larger fish in the three to four-pound category. The larger ones are always returned to keep a healthy balance of fish in the lake. Big fish eat little fish and in so doing serve a vital part in controlling the fish population. Joel puts in a lot of time at his lake, broadcasting fertilizer to control aquatic vegetation, trapping snapping turtles, shooting beaver, and the occasional otter. For the fish, Joel serves a dual role of both predator and protector. Unfortunately, fish don't have a large enough brain to know any of this, but they are, nonetheless, beneficiaries of Joel's game management practices. And, because Joel spends a lot of time on his lake or on the banks, he sees a lot of fish.

"I know there are some good fish in here," he often states. "I've seen them moving along the levee, as well as in the shallows."

What he hasn't seen is a big fish on the end of his line.

Jim, Joel, and I were all in my boat. I should point out that Joel is kind enough to let me keep my boat at his lake. Joel jokes that it's "our boat" and sometimes speaks of it as "his boat."

"Yeah, if you die, I know Barbara will call me and say, 'I don't have any use for that boat; you just keep it,'" Joel likes to tell, whenever he and one more have a chance to gang up on me.

And, Joel also likes to remind me that the boat needs some new seats, "I guess, I'm gonna have to buy some new seats for my boat," in spite of me telling him I'll split the cost if he finds some he likes.

We had first fished along the levee and the shallows of the upper end and were working our way to the side opposite the levee when Joel caught a keeper sized bass on a crank bait. I had been fishing with top-water lures successfully, but because we were in deeper water, I switched to a crank bait. On my second cast, after changing lures, I thought when my line tightened that I had snagged an underwater stump. It wasn't until my line moved to the left that I realized a fish was on the other end. At that point, I jerked hard on the line to "set the hook." Apparently, the fish didn't appreciate my action, and it suddenly pulled in the opposite direction. Thanks to a working "drag" my line didn't break under the strain.

To facilitate quick lure changes, I normally fish with two different rods and reel combos. I was using an old rod and reel, but it happens to be my favorite. The rod got a new tip two summers ago and the reel is prone to acting like it's got a stripped gear. I usually just dunk it in the water to quiet it and keep fishing. The drag mechanism is down to two settings, no drag or full drag. I keep it on full drag and use a fourteen-pound test monofilament leader in front of the 40-lb. test braided line. I'll probably keep using the old outfit until it breaks down, completely.

I knew I had a big fish on the end of my line when it stripped line off my reel, though I was expecting something in the five-pound class. When it surfaced in an effort to shake itself loose we all saw it was a big fish. I was glad we were in open water and I only had to worry about keeping the fish from getting tangled with the stringer of fish we had chained to the boat and the trolling motor at the other end of the boat. A large fish can easily break fourteen-pound test line if it gets it wrapped on something. I worked the fish as best I could into the waiting hands of Jim Hess, who occupied the middle seat of the boat.

"This fish'll weigh eight to ten pounds," Jim said, hoisting the fish to me.

Struggling to remove the hooks from the fish's mouth, I suggested, "I don't know if he's that big…maybe, seven or eight pounds."

"He's bigger than that," Jim responded. "That's the biggest fish you've ever caught!"

Joel grabbed his spring tension scales from his tackle box and passed them to me.

"Looks like nine pounds," I said proudly. "Here, see what you make of it."

Both Jim and Joel held the scales with the fish dangling, and both agreed the weight was nine pounds.

Now, there was a time in my life when I would have had a hard time putting a nine-pound bass back into the lake. I would have wanted it mounted and on display at work or at my house. I guess I'm getting old, because the thrill of the catch was sufficient exhilaration. Okay, the envy of my fishing partners counts for something, too. As of this writing, I'm having a problem remembering the thrill and I'm still kicking myself for forgetting to pack a camera for the afternoon fishing trip. Joel said he had intended to bring his camera, but like me, also forgot. However, I have two eyewitnesses who can verify the truth of my big fish story and by returning the fish to the lake, there's a chance someone else may catch it and it'll be the biggest fish they ever caught, as well. Why, I may hook it again, though that's about as likely as Joel getting a big fish on the end of his line.

Little Fish Friday Morning Adventure

When Jim Hess and I were planning our recent fishing trip, Jim asked if I would try to get permission to fish the lake we once called Jacobs' Lake, when it was owned by George Jacobs. When Jim Hess and Gordon Sansing served as ministers at FBC, Pontotoc, they often fished at Jacobs' Lake. It was a small watershed lake, teeming with small bass. On a good day one couldn't cast a lure without getting a strike.

Wyliss Kemp bought the Jacobs' properties several years ago, and like George limited fishing privileges. Jim and I have fished there a few times since the change of ownership, so I didn't mind asking Brenda Kemp for permission to fish the lake, when I ran into her at church the Sunday before Jim came up to fish.

Brenda encouraged us to take fish out of the lake, stating, "There are way too many fish; we need to get a lot of them out of there."

I thanked her for permission and told her I'd call to let her know which day we'd arrive, though I stated it would probably be Friday morning, early.

Jim and I had invited Lee Gordon and Gordon Sansing for the fall fishing trip, but only Lee was able to work it into his schedule, for Friday only.

Lee got to my house while it was still dark and waited on Jim and me to finish getting ready. We were at the lake "at the dawn's early light."

As Jim attached his trolling motor to his boat and connected it to the 12-volt battery, he discovered the motor didn't work. A gloom quickly settled over our "fishing adventure."

Rather than strike out to Wal Mart for a battery, Jim announced, "I can paddle us; let's go."

Five minutes later, Lee and I were fishing as Jim paddled us to a favorite spot. I threw top-water baits most of the morning with a goodly amount of success. Jim caught a lot of bass using spinner baits, and Lee probably caught most of his fish with plastic worms.

As expected, our catch for the morning netted a lot of bass, averaging about a pound each. Lee estimated we caught about one hundred and fifty bass. No one counted the ones we tossed back, but we counted the ones Lee filleted. The final tally was fifty-one bass and two bream.

Jacobs' Lake is still a good lake for catching bass, and only if one had fished it during its younger years would one complain today about the number of strikes or the number of fish caught.

Not all of our fishing trips can be classified as adventures, but most qualify, and often it's something going wrong that makes the trip a true adventure. In addition to the dead battery incident, and by the way, Jim didn't do all of the paddling, the tips of two of Jim's fishing poles broke in transit from Vicksburg to Pontotoc, and the reel seat of a third broke on our first day of fishing.

Thursday qualified as an adventure in that I caught the biggest bass of my fishing career, though I doubt I'll remember that incident any more vividly than I do being struck in the head with Lee's fishing lure on Friday.

Close Quarters (Lee and Jim) We had all gotten out of the boat for a leg-stretch/ biological break and had just returned to fishing when Lee misjudged the distance separating the two of us. The "whap" to the side of my head sent my straw-hat tumbling and left me with the sensation of being struck with a tire tool. I felt the side of my head, making sure I still had an ear.

"Am I bleeding anywhere?" I asked an apologetic Lee Gordon who was gravely concerned that he might have seriously injured me.

"Just a little," was his response.

I touched the area with my fingertips to feel a whelp and saw a small amount of blood on my fingers.

The bleeding soon checked, and apart from a heightened sense of the dangers of casting in close quarters, the business of having fun and fishing with friends overshadowed the incident and is best evidenced by my remark to Lee at the end of the day, "Thanks for knocking some sense into me."

To his credit, he did not say, "The pleasure was all mine."

Bodock Beau Bubba's Pet Fish

Bubba, carrying two buckets of fish from the river, was stopped by a game warden.

"Do you have a license to catch those fish?" asked the warden.

"No, sir," Bubba replied. "These are my pet fish."

"Pet fish?" asked the warden.

"Yes, sir," Bubba said. "I take these fish down to the river and let them swim around awhile. When I whistle, they jump back in the buckets, and I take them home."

"That’s a bunch of hooey!" the warden said. "Fish can’t do that."

Bubba stared at the warden for a moment and said, "Well, I guess I’ll just have to show you. Follow me, and I’ll demonstrate how it works."

The warden followed behind in disbelief and watched Bubba pour the fish into the water. After several minutes, he said to Bubba, "When are you going to call the fish back?"

"What fish?" Bubba asked.