Tag: Fishing Stories

I’ve never been a morning person.

There are only two things that get me up & at ’em before sunshine pokes over the dark horizon outside our bedroom window.

One is fishing… the other is… well… that is not your business…

On this day, it was option #1.

I forced myself to roll out of bed and stumble downstairs when the alarm went off…

That sucked.

The carpet was dry and scratchy under my bare feet during the descent to the main floor; the air was noticeably colder.

Groggy, mental gymnastics began as I slowly staggered along, intent on pouring my first cup of coffee. Bed was especially tempting this morning, because strange weather had made it difficult to put fish in the boat with any consistency since returning from our annual fishing trip to Minocqua, Wisconsin.

The bite was just off.

“… you have to go, you have to go… the kids start school again soon, Old Man Winter is headed this way… make the time to fish before you don’t have it…”

Upon entering the kitchen, the inviting smell of freshly brewed java was… oh no… dear God no…

… missing…

Last night before bed, the delayed-start was never turned on.

The coffee pot was cold & empty.

That sucked.

*click*

*drip… drip… drip…*

I stumbled over to my desk to sit and wait. Angrily. Eyes began to droop.

“… frickin’ idiot… this is gonna take forever…”

*BEEEEP!*

Finally poured the first cup after a brief shuffle back to the kitchen. The piping hot liquid smelled delicious, and the sun was just now starting to peek over the trees.

You could see the orange and red and yellow as it lit up the sky, spreading out with surprising speed. I thought about my fishing plan for the day.

“Gotta go with a creek man, the bite is always pretty reliable. Should be able to move at a good steady pace, covering water and locating fish.”

The truth was I hadn’t slept well, and the previous evening had been spent frantically setting up jigs & micro-swimbaits, loading a single Plano container with a handful of downsized presentations aimed at getting the attention of smallmouth bass.

A clever new combination would be my workhorse: 1/8 ounce bass jig with a green pumpkin living rubber skirt – plus the secret sauce – a single strand of blue and a single strand of orange, tipped with a Z-Man Trick Shot to match the small local forage.

Smallmouth bass – my favorite fish – would surely destroy it. Even though said smallmouth had been throwing curveballs lately… and that off-speed pitch will getcha.

Time to throw one right back.

I took a big noisy slurp of coffee and decided to get moving.

“Today will be a good day… it’s time to go… but now I need to load the truck. The truck is empty. Why is the truck EMPTY. I should have loaded the truck last night. I didn’t load the truck. I don’t want to load the truck now. What do I need to put in the truck? WHY DIDN’T I LOAD THE DANG TRUCK?!”

I had to load the truck.

That sucked.

I angrily hurled the small kayak into the bed, grabbed the paddle and a few bottles of water plus my fishing backpack, pole, camera, fired up the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

By 7:30 the sun had come up completely as the creek rolled into view.

With the window down the sound of water slowly gurgling past the large piles of tree trunks and branches stuck on the bridge pilings made their way into the cab. The gravel began to crunch beneath the tires as the truck pulled off the road and slowed to a crawl, approaching my favorite parking spot just off the highway…

… but it was occupied.

I would not be fishing alone this morning.

That sucked.

There are two reasons I prefer to fish by myself.

One? The silence – I like to speak to God without interruption – unless that interruption is a fish.

Two? I look ridiculous with a camera attached to my head…

I grabbed my gear and dropped in.

The paddle started to swish and swash, left and right, methodically, as I made my way upstream.

Suddenly, there he was…

Up ahead… the filthy parking spot thief.

The better fisherman. The one who got the jump on me. Probably hit all of my favorite spots. Displaced my fish. Ruined my morning.

As we paddled closer to one another, a chipper, feminine voice rang out –

“GOOD MORNING!”

“Oh… hey, good morning ma’am.”

“It’s beautiful out today – make sure you check out that rock structure up ahead. It’s really neat and I got some great pictures. Have a good day!”

“Thanks, you too.”

We softly paddled past one another.

Upon realizing that she was simply sight-seeing, it seemed safe to start working the area. The fish were probably not bothered, and surely they would be ready to devour my fancy custom jig – you know – the one with a single strand of orange and a single strand of blue in the skirt.

I made casts for an hour without a bite.

That sucked.

Decided to stick with the jig, but make my way further upstream.

However, there was one big problem with that plan.

Well… several big woody problems.

Mother nature had decided to knock a few trees down. They sat directly on top of the riffles completely blocking certain narrow sections within the creek, and while I had been prepared to carry my kayak over the shallow, rocky areas – I was not prepared to lift the kayak over my head and climb trees.

But we don’t quit.

Ever.

The climbing began.

Over… and over… and over…

I must have stopped and lifted the kayak 30 times or more.

That sucked.

Even with all of the grunting and the sweating and the swearing and the cuts and the scrapes and the blood splats peppering my arms and hands there was an attempt to move quietly.

Mustn’t scare the fish, after all.

BOOM BOOM SNAP CRASH BOOM BOOM CRASH SNAP SNAP THWICK!!!

“GAH! Is that a freaking MOOSE!? A MOUNTAIN LION??”

No… it was… a buck.

I scared a buck that was taking a drink in the creek ahead of me. Didn’t even see it.

Have you ever been isolated, surrounded by complete silence, and startled a deer? It is incredible how ungraceful these animals really are when they are trying to escape from you.

Sounded like Sasquatch ripping through the trees.

ROOOOOAAARRRRRRR SNARL ROOOOOAR!!!

“CRIPES! Is that a freaking GRIZZLY BEAR!?”

No… it’s… two racoons fighting over a crayfish.

They looked up at me for a split second, puzzled, cocked their heads to the side and bolted, plodding their fat ‘coon butts noisily through the underbrush.

“Good Lord why are all these animals so uncoordinated and loud – and why am I so paranoid?? Better slow down and pay attention so I don’t have a heart attack…”

Decided to slow down.

That sucked.

I couldn’t cover as much ground, and as a result, it took me way longer to get to the deeper water way up ahead.

The slow plod continued…

“Lord I hope I can paddle soon… I guess on the bright side if I’m careful I won’t break my ankles on these slippery, slimy rocks…”

That’s when I noticed something in the shallow water…

A hagstone.

“Ok great so no fish but I got a cool rock. Yippee.”

I knelt down and retrieved the treasure, rolling it back and forth, over and over in my hands. Father Time and a slow trickle had punched a hole right through the center of the stone.

“Guess the kids have wanted to see one of these since we learned they existed… super, MORE crap to carry.”

I tossed the stone in the back compartment of the all-plastic ‘yak, and the noise it made was so LOUD it made me think of the animals who had startled me earlier. Sounds surrounded me. Sounds of nature. Water. Wind. Leaves rustling high above. The area was so isolated that they all seemed so LOUD.

Why was it so quiet… wait… my phone hadn’t rang or dinged or beckoned me for hours now…

No signal.

I was missing important phone calls for work.

That sucked.

Surely everything was on fire at the office.

Surely all of the websites I’d ever created were broken.

Surely someone had an emergency and was trying to get ahold of me.

Surely.

I wandered into a wider section of the creek with a nice outside bend while thinking about all the problems piling up back home. The kayak was placed carefully on the bank, and the jig was unhooked from the keeper on the rod.

In one extremely coordinated, professional movement, I flicked the lure into the fishy looking area – and promptly watched it land right in the “Y” of a massive branch poking above the water. With a skillful snap of the wrist, I proceeded to bury the hook deep in the wood. Finally, with one amazingly adept tug on the rod I was rewarded as my line freed itself from the log!

It also freed itself from the jig.

“Fffffffffffffffffff… frick.”

My line broke.

That sucked.

I stood there, knee deep in the water with the jig I had carefully, meticulously crafted the night before – remember, the one with a single strand of orange and a single strand of blue in the skirt – permanently planted in a branch 30 feet away over deep water, surrounded by entire trees that prevented me from kayaking over… and I wasn’t about to go swimming.

With the rod held between my knees, I awkwardly pulled the Plano container out and selected a simple jigworm, then tried to balance while tying a new loop knot I’d been working on learning.

Wrong. Snip. Start over.

Wrong again. Snip. Start over.

WRONG. AGAIN. Snip. Start over.

Finally, my bloody fingers managed to tie the perfect non-slip loop knot, which would give my jig just a bit more action.

Fishing continued.

Over the next hour I saw fish. Heard them splash as they jumped for bugs, saw their bellies reflect sunlight as they turned slightly sideways in the shallow water, noticed small groups of them swimming with one another, darting this way and that – but they weren’t interested in my offering…

Lockjaw.

Except for one.

*tick… tick tick*

5 hours in, exhausted from lugging the kayak through the trees, with bloodied hands and ripped up pants, I finally felt the tiniest of strikes, and set the hook.

The fight was anticlimactic.

3 seconds later I had him out of the water.

One bass.

I caught one bass, and it was time to go.

That sucked.

I took a long look at the miniature bronzeback before releasing him back into the shallow water. So much work for ONE fish?

“This is ridiculous. It’s mental.”

The bass zipped off like a laser as soon as my fingers loosened underneath his soft belly.

I wiped my hands – hands that now smelled fishy, like success… but me & God knew the truth…

Today had been an absolute waste, and it was time to lug my kayak all the way back, over the trees and up the hill, back to the truck and eventually home…

The trip back was silent.

Not even the obnoxious deer or snarling racoons wanted to keep a loser like me company.

My head hung in shame.

At dinner that night, my wife asked me…

“How was your day?”

Are you kidding me?! Didn’t she know?? IT SUCKED! The WORST day of creek fishing EVER!!

“Waste of time! Waste of energy! Waste of money! First I got up super early – “

“So you saw the sunrise?”

“Yeah, and then I forgot to set the coffee pot – “

“So you got fresh coffee?”

“Yeah, and then I forgot to load the truck – “

“So you got to make a few last minute adjustments?”

“Yeah, and then someone was in my parking spot – “

“So you found a new place you could park?”

“Yeah, and then I ran into some lady sight-seeing – “

“So you were the only fisherman in the creek?”

“Yeah, and then I made casts for an HOUR with no bites – “

“So you got to practice your casting?”

“Yeah, and then I had to keep moving upstream and there were trees down everywhere – “

“So you got a bunch of exercise carrying the kayak into areas other fishermen won’t go?”

“Yeah, and then there was this deer crashing through the trees and a couple of racoons literally roaring at each other – “

“So you got to hear sounds most people will never hear in person?”

“Yeah, and then I had to slow down and couldn’t cover as much ground – “

“So that’s when you found that hagstone for the boys and made their day?”

“Yeah, and then I realized my phone had no signal – “

“So you got to explore the area uninterrupted?”

“Yeah, and then I broke off on a log – “

“So you got to practice that new loop knot you’ve been learning?”

“Yeah, and then I ONLY CAUGHT ONE FREAKING FISH – “

“So you didn’t get skunked?”

“Yeah! Yeah I… yeah…”

We stopped talking.

The only noise at that moment was the clicking and clanking of silverware on our finest Corelle plates as the boys devoured their food.

She looked at me and smiled, then set her fork down and folded her hands underneath her chin, well aware that the point she’d made was slowly beginning to sink in.

“Well… that sounds like it was just the WORST, huh?”

“… uh… no… maybe not…”

She picked her fork back up and began poking the food on her plate.

“… so… you going to try again tomorrow?”

“… yeah… yeah I think I will. Hey… thanks.”

One of my boys who’d hardly been listening looked up from his macaroni and blurted:

“DADDY! How was your day?!”

My wife smiled and took the tiniest sip of milk.

I smirked.

“You know what buddy… it was actually pretty dang great. In fact, it was awesome. Let me tell you why it was one of the best days of creek fishing I’ve ever had…”

Tight Lines & Godspeed, Patriots.

The silence woke me from my sleep.

Seems odd to say that.

With an infant in the room, some sort of sound machine is always buzzing away, creating fake rain or running water noises to mask movement. Our breathing, cover adjusting or pillow fluffing.

But now – silence.

I could see massive puddles in the street, and the drops falling from the tree leaves and power lines made soft ripples that glistened in the moonlight. Clearly a storm had come through and killed the power.

“… something’s wrong“, I mumbled to myself, and rolled out of bed as quietly as a clod can when half-awake at 3:30 a.m., “better go check the basement…“

The basement, you see, is prone to flooding. This spring it had already happened. We have two sump pits in the basement, and both were equipped with heavy-duty pumps. I say “were equipped”, because one day they magically burned up at the same time – no surge, no other electronic devices were damaged, none of the circuit breakers were flipped… they just died.

Then the water came.

Watching your basement flood is an interesting experience. It puts you in your place. You quickly realize that you are at the mercy of nature and the local water table. The cracks in the basement floor become dark and obvious as the water starts to seep through. The pits slowly overflow. You scramble like a madman to move every box and memory from the basement floor to higher ground.

The mind begins reeling:

“Why didn’t I clean up down here??“
“Why aren’t these paper documents on a shelf??“
“When is the water going to stop?!“
“Why do we have so much STUFF?!“

But it doesn’t matter what the answers are – all that matters is that you run. Run to every single object, hoist it over your head, move faster, up the creaky wooden stairs to deposit the item on higher ground so you can repeat the process many, many, many times.

Fortunately (fortunately?), as mentioned the first flood of the year had already happened a few weeks ago, and everything was still piled up haphazardly in the garage. As I ambled downstairs on this dreary, dark morning, I was not frantic – only curious. Was there water rising in the pits?

Yup.

“Well, shoot… guess I better fire up the generator and get these pumps working ASAP.“

I shuffled back upstairs and pulled out the gas-powered generator my father-in-law had gifted us last Christmas. As long as the pumps weren’t magically burnt up again this should work well.

A prime.
A choke.
A quick tug on the cord.
Loud noises.

She fired right up, and I was able to do two very important things:

First, I ran two large cords from the generator to the pumps so that they could lower the incoming water, and I was relieved as they began gurgling & ejecting immediately.

Second, I ran an extra cord from the generator, across the garage floor, into the door by the hallway, past the pile of dirty shoes and up into the kitchen.

To save the food in the fridge, you ask? The frozen meals in the deep freeze?

No… to make sure the coffee pot would start up for my wife at 5:00 a.m., and after resetting this, I went back to our room filled with silence and slipped into bed… my most important husbandly tasks now complete…

We met in the kitchen 2 hours later.

My wife daintily teetered in as I was sitting, enjoying my first cup. Her robe cinched up, she could hear the generator grumbling away outside, took one look at me, then the nearly-full pot of strong black coffee.

She smiled.

Victory.

She poured a cup and gave me a quick smooch, “thank you, what’s the plan today?“

“I’m not sure“, I said, “I was going to go try to learn to use a jerkbait and see if I could muster up a few cold largemouth bass, but with everything going on I’m not sure I’ll have time… maybe I’ll go next week…“

She took a deep, noisy slurp off the top of her piping-hot coffee, then in a very matter-of-fact tone said, “the mess will be here when you get home, you should go“.

She was right of course. It is in her nature to push me to do the things that she knows will make me happy, but leaving her home with all the kids, no power and a generator running… I couldn’t do it in good conscience.

After a brief discussion, we decided that I would go, but later on. Late afternoon. The forecast showed overcast skies and low temps all day. If I was going to have success with the jerkbait today, a few hours shouldn’t be a make-or-break deal.

Plus… I’d never caught a fish on a jerkbait before… so what’s the rush?

We finished our coffee, and after a few hours the power returned. Cleanup ensued, then my rod, reel & gear were prepped.

Time to fish.

When I arrived at the lake, it was cold. It was overcast. I had planned to fish from shore, and as I began walking around the edge of the lake searching for a fishy-looking spot, I realized something…

Nobody was here.

Good.

City lakes have a tendency to get rather loud, but at times, noisy lakes are all you will be able to fish – we can’t take a 6-hour trip to the creek and isolate ourselves from society every day. City lakes allow us to scratch the itch… but the sweet sound of a lawnmower running over sticks and rocks does not create the ambience we crave.

I welcomed the cold. The drizzle. The mud. The cracked, bloody fingers. The wind.

The payoff, was silence.

Silence, like what woke me from my sleep early this morning.

Silence, that would allow me to hear the slight click of my bail opening, the lure whipping through the air, pulling my line through the guides until further down the bank the presentation entered the water with a soft “plop”, the bail clicked back over with a quick motion of the hand, and then with the initial twitch – we were fishing.

The only problem was that I was using a jerkbait.

I had never caught a fish on a jerkbait in my life. The one that I had tied on looked so good… so good in fact, that I had been looking at it for 5 or 6 years, planning to use it “one day”.

Today was the day.

I knew that lethargic, cold bass should respond well to a bait that I could pause in front of them – they had to. I had read so many articles and watched so many videos on how these baits could be fished, how they could work… but with limited time, it became apparent that I may have made a huge mistake.

“Ok so I twitched it… now what the heck do I do?“

My awkward cadence was underway.

Twitch-pause-reel-pull-hop-twitch-pause-pause-jitter-shake-pauuuussseee-reel-twitch

“I have no idea what I’m doing… this looks ridiculous…“

It was obvious that there needed to be a simple pattern I could follow so that I was able to focus on my line to see if it jumped. After all, I didn’t know what a strike would feel like. A pull? Slack? Something in between?

“Twitch twitch pause, twitch pause, repeat.“

There. Done. That was it. My simple pattern. For the next 45 minutes I would live or die by the double-twitch pause twitch pause.

I made another cast, then another… then something happened.

The rod bent over in the direction of my jerkbait.

“Oh my gosh, are you serious?! Oh my gosh – that’s a good bass!“

My drag clicked a few times. The rod stayed bent as I reeled – I could see the thump-thump-thump of the tip-top as she made runs in the opposite direction – she felt huge.

But she wasn’t.

As I brought her in, I could see that the jerkbait had caught the bass on the top of the back.

Foul hook.

Still, I had my “first” jerkbait fish – right?!

No… deep down I knew the victory was tainted.

“I’m still gonna count it!“, I proclaimed, knowing that was a lie, but trying to convince myself that I had achieved my goal.

The fish was unhooked, measured and released, and as the initial shot of adrenaline started to fade, so did my conviction towards the fact that I had “caught” a jerkbait bass. Wrong. I had snagged one.

Shoot.

With time dwindling, I decided to keep working the bank, making cast after cast, hoping that I might place my jerkbait in front of another bass, one that was more interested in eating as opposed to inspecting, as the previous bass had done.

Less than 10 minutes later, the casting paid off.

What did the strike feel like?

Well, if memory serves – it just felt like a tiny bit of weight, as if the bass had inhaled the jerkbait in a soft, subtle manner that I didn’t even feel on my end, but as I tried to move the lure slowly towards me, it stopped.

BOOM.

I set the hook, pulling in the opposite direction, and she was off.

She swam hard, and stayed deep. You could tell instantly that this was a bigger fish. If there was any doubt, it went away when my drag decided to scream in my face as she made a powerful run –

Reeeeee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eeee!!!

“Oh my gosh, that is a good bass. That is a GOOD bass. Hahahahahahahaha! I just hope I got ‘er in the mouth!“

She pulled away from me several times, and as I worked her closer to the shore I could see that I did have her in the mouth.

Barely.

A single barb on the rear treble was all that connected me to the fish. I could see the entire body of the jerkbait as she kicked & thrashed close to shore – I had to get her up by the rocks so I could grab her. Now. Before she was lost forever.

I held my breath, gave the spinning rod a final mighty tug, and shoved my thumb into her thick, powerful jaw.

Success.

She was mine.

As I hoisted her into the air, laughing like a crazy person, I was even more grateful for the silence and solitude. No gawkers. Nobody running over to inspect my catch. No questions about the bait I was using.

Just me, and my first jerkbait bass.

She was gorgeous.

With the tiniest of tugs I dislodged the single hook from her face, grabbed a quick measurement and some pictures, and we said our goodbyes.

As quickly as it started, it was over. I knelt down to carefully release her back into the cold, dark water, and she took off with a single, powerful kick.

The ripples her tail created on the surface began to fade, and I was left, surrounded by silence once again.

My goal had been achieved in a most spectacular fashion… but now it was time to get back to real life. Time to go home and clean up the garage, the flood piles… my hike back to the truck began. I would head home and start my work… but I knew that all the while I would be thinking about everything that had just happened…

Thinking about the cold, the silence – and that one mighty jerkbait bass.

My first – but definitely not the last…

Tight Lines & Godspeed, Patriots.

Quick Note: This day was recorded and can be seen here.