Frog Darter

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Fishing Tackle?

I went today with my buddy, Cool Breeze. It was sorta cold, very windy and not the best day for fishing. We caught a couple and had a couple of strikes. But, for the most part, it was a slow day, fishing-wise.

I definitely get this fishing hankering from my Daddy, though my Mother is a pretty good fisherman in her own right. I was one of the fortunate kids in this world whose Daddy took the time to take him fishing. But he didn't just take me. He taught me. We spent many, many days fishing, waking at the crack of dawn to get on the water in time for the early morning bite. I can't count the number of times I've seen the sun come up sitting in a jonboat out on some pond he'd discovered. We both preferred bass fishing, not just because of the fighting nature of the fish but because of the multitude of gear we needed (or thought we needed) to be able to do it "right."

Take a look at his tackle box. The Umco 3000. Opened, this tackle box is easily as big as your average coffee table. Look at it! It's as big as a tricycle! How he fit that thing in the boats we usually fished in was a miracle. I'd sit in the back of the boat, with my small tackle box between my feet, and wonder if I would ever have that much gear, that many lures, that much stuff. Just look at his compared to what I would have been toting at the time.

I envied that tackle box. Every lure you could imagine using was there. Crankbaits, both plastic and wooden. Spinnerbaits, before they were popular. Jerkbaits, including the broke-back ones. Plastic worms (or "rubber" worms as we always called them), especially black ones. And all kinds of tackle.

But where he really put his money was in topwater lures. The man was crazy about catching fish on a topwater plug. And who could blame him. There's not much that can compare in all of sport fishing to a pissed-off largemouth bass that explodes from underneath the surface and seizes a topwater plug chugging along and working its magic. Cast it toward a stump, let it sit until the ripples go away, slowly twitch it, let it sit still, pull it a few inches toward you, let it gurgle, let it sit, pull, gurgle, sit, pull gurgle, sit. I've seen a bass knock that plug two feet in the air trying to tear into it. That gurgle gets them every time.

His favorite topwater plug (mine, too, naturally) was this one with a prop at the front and a prop on the tail, sort of a fat cigar shape. I have one rod and reel combo set up that is dedicated to this lure and this lure only. I don't throw anything else with that rod but this lure. This plug is hard to find these days. And whenever I see it, I buy as many as are hanging on the rack. In every color. In every weight. Don't try to find one within 25 miles of me. There ain't no more.

My wife kids me that I'm trying to corner the nearby Bass Pro Shop with all the gear and tackle in our garage. She looks at it and sees volume. I look at it and see holes. It's not the fishing stuff I have that I want the most. It's what I don't have that I crave.

Sorta the way a bass craves that topwater plug. He can't help it. It's in his genes.

At least I get it honest. Thanks, Daddy.

Scratching A 10-Hour Bass Itch

After watching that great catch during the Super Bowl, I figured I could go out and do the same thing. Well, not exactly the same thing, but as close as I could get. I could go catch some bass. Which, thank goodness, doesn't require much athletic prowess at all.

We were at my friends' Stuart and Sue's house in West Palm Beach, which took about 10 hours to get to since we drove instead of flying. I know Stuart through work and he and I have become fishing partners. Since he lives in South Florida and I live in Middle Georgia, we only get together a couple of times a year. So we were both looking forward to the Super Bowl Party/Fishing Trip adventure. But Stu ended up with the flu and missed not only his big Super Bowl party but our two days of fishing, as well. He was a little perturbed, to say the least.

I, on the other hand, was as pleased as punch, as Stu had set up for me to go fishing with his local fishing buddy, Connie. What's a guy to do? I could have said no and sat around and moped, probably like Stuart. Or I could go fishing and catch a few for both of us. Easy decision, in my mind.

Connie and I spent the next couple of days fishing the canals and waterways that make up Lake Ida in West Palm Beach. On Monday, our guide was a Brooklyn native named Don, who named his fishing guide service Lone Star. I asked him why and he said, "Would you want to go fishing with guide service called 'I Love New York?'" Good point. We spent Monday with Don, who put us on good fish. And Tuesday, Connie and I took Stuart's truck and boat (adding insult to injury?) and fished on our own in similar waters.

We mostly fished with plastic worms, Senkos to be exact. We rigged them Texas style and wacky, which in case you aren't familiar, is just about as the name suggests. Here's a couple of shots of what a wacky-rigged worm looks like.

We had a fair day on the water both days, putting 25 fish in the boat (though, technically, not in the boat, as we released all of them once we caught them).

When we got back, Stuart was feeling better. Seemed to have his color back. Was laughing and joking and acting like his old self. Until Connie and I shared what a great time we had. On his boat. On his lake. Catching his fish. On his fishing trip.

He suddenly felt sick all over again.