When I was in college, one of my roommates and I were big watchers TV fishing shows. We liked nothing better than to see Roland Martin set the hook in another one of those tremendous Florida bass. "Son!" he'd say, as he rared back and reeled her in.
Well, son! We reeled them in on our trip to The Big O. My friend Stuart and I had a fantastic time. After I drove for what seemed like all day I finally arrived in South Florida at roughly the same time Stuart did, only he had to drive about two hours. Of course, the second we arrived we immediately went to Wal-Mart. Well, not immediately. First we had a cold beer and toasted our ingenious idea of fishing Lake Okeechobee that weekend. Then we went to Wal-Mart. As if we needed any more fishing equipment. Of course we did. With that and some food in hand, we headed back to the hotel.
At the hotel, we spent the next few hours carefully studying all the tackle we brought. What would work? What has worked before? What has never worked but looked great when we bought it? After much deliberation, we rigged up a handful of rods. We were ready for topwater, soft plastics, crankbaits, spinnerbaits and live shiners. Then I commenced to making sandwiches and getting the food ready for the next day with the guide. As all fishermen know, the food is as important as the tackle on a big fishing trip. That way, if the fishing stinks, there's at least a good sandwich to talk about.
The first day we went out with our guide, Fred. We spent the morning casting topwater plugs against the rip rap along this one stretch near the marina. We then ran up the Rim Canal a bit and threw plastics just off the rip rap before heading over to a dynamite hole, where we fished crankbaits a while. We both had good luck on a green pumpkin Senko.
In fact, I set the hook on one fish who immediately headed for deep water and bent the rod completely under the boat. By the time I got my wits about me, the rod was practically doubled over, with the drag a-zinging. And then that sound came you never want to hear. Plink. Actually, it's more of a pleeeeenk. The sound of the line snapping. Ten pound line isn't all that flimsy but it snapped like it was nothing. I don't want to talk about it. I've already convinced myself it was a loggerhead turtle.
The second day turned out to be a better day than the first. Day One was a bluebird day. Day Two was more overcast, which made for great fishing. We hit the topwater bite first thing and had more fish in the boat within an hour than we did all of Day One. And it went like that the rest of the day, especially on plastic worms. I even hooked an alligator, though I certainly wasn't planning to. I threw it in a pocket, something tugged at it, I set the hook and watched the end of my line pop up from under the water in the mouth of a gator. Not good. So rather than wait on him to decide what he was going to do, I bent down and bit the line in half and chalked it up to good luck. Stuart got the big fish of the day, though none of them came in less than two pounds.
All in all, a good trip. We were both back to the normal grind the next day. But that zzzzzziiiiinnnngggg sound of the drag running out on the big fish that never was keeps buzzing in my head. It's enough to make me yell "Son!" all right.
Quickly followed up by a few other words.
Comments