Getting A Big 'Un
Growing up on Snow Lake, Indiana, bass fishing is more than a hobby. It’s a more like a way of life I knew how to fish by the time I was two, using a 3-foot spin-cast rod & reel combination. At that age I caught mostly bluegill and perch, but within a few years I was ready to move up to the big-leagues.
One warm summer night, my dad shook me awake. It was midnight; time to get out on the lake. At night, there's no speedboats or jet-skis churning up the water--and everyone knows the fish bite better at night. For a minute I wasn’t sure I wanted to move, but the thought of my first night trip on the lake spurred me out of bed and before I knew it I was dressed, standing on the dock with my rod and tackle box in hand. We headed out to a favorite, “secret-spot” that I thought only my father and I were privy to. I couldn’t see, but I could easily work the rod in the dark; years of casting every day had ingrained the process in my mind. It was second nature.
We caught a few “little guys,” bass weighing one and a half pounds or less, and decided to move on to the next spot. We headed to a spot off the shore of a public beach in Pokagon State Park. There was a large grass flat on the bottom, with five or six feet from the top of the grass to the surface of the water. Out in this open area, the lure of choice is a black spinner bait; a quickly-retrieved, flashy, vibrating bait. My dad told me how to fish it: let it hit the water, count to three, and begin reeling it back. The key is to have the bait skim the surface of the weeds, now and then pausing a little so the bait drops a foot or two.
While fishing in the dark so many things are important: keeping the lure away from my father so as not to hook him, being silent so the fish can’t hear us banging in our aluminum boat, and doing everything possible without the lantern, as it might scare the fish away. I fumbled a few times and made some noises, but my father was forgiving as it was my first time out at night. He told me not to worry: he had a good feeling about that night.
I was “chuckin’ and reelin’ “ for what seemed a long time. The ripples in the moonlight would fade, and I would make another cast. We weren’t getting much action, and I was beginning to get tired. I couldn’t complain, though: my family doesn’t complain while we’re fishing. Plus, I wouldn't dream of being excluded from any future night trips.
I was reeling the bait in, and gave it a pause. When I restarted, I got the slack line reeled up and felt a weight on the end of my line. “Great,” I thought, “grass bass.” That’s what we called weeds on the hook. Then the grass pulled back, and my years of training kicked in. I set the hook so hard I nearly toppled out of the boat trying to rip his lips off. He was on to my game, and he tried to dive into the grass. I muscled him back up, keeping him in the open water--you can lose a fish in the weeds. I was reeling like mad, and my dad was cheering me on. Another dive, another save. The he made it to the top and broke the surface, jumping and flipping back and forth, trying to shake the bait from his mouth. I could see him in the moonlight, and it only made me more excited: I could tell he was a big ‘un. Soon he was exhausted, and I eased him up to the boat. My dad netted him and we turned on the lantern.
I had bagged the biggest fish of my life. Not only the biggest fish of my life, but a smallie, the smallmouth variety that was so coveted! We put him in the fish basket, and my dad patted me on the back. I was as high as the stars: that fish was a monster! We kept fishing until dawn, and my dad caught a lunker himself, although it couldn’t compete with mine. The weigh-in results confirmed that: my five-pounder had beat his four-pounder, and tied his personal best for smallies, and I was only six!
I went back to bed, and woke up around lunch time. I came downstairs and my dad was frying up our fish. I shared my meal with my dad and my little sister, and I had never tasted such a wonderful taste. I finished up my lunch and hollered “see ya” to my dad as I ran out to the dock to try and round up another big 'un.