In Some Cases, Tattered, But Still Prized

A fisherman just never forgets those fish that have given him/her a bigger-than-usual adrenaline rush over the years. My first fish in that category (see left) dates back to Saturday, Oct. 12, 1974, while I was fishing the Shenandoah River, out of Front Royal, VA. It tipped the scales at 5 lbs. 8 ozs.

You don't have to look very closely to see the results of having hung on the wall for all of the past 38 years. I still treasure  it, though.

As I launched an old johnboat that morning, some old-timers sitting on the bank and dunking live bait said, "Hey there, young feller, we've been watching an ol' bass break water around that tree yonder," pointing to a giant tree that lay perpendicular to the shoreline just below where I launched the boat. "You might want to check it out before you head upriver." These fellas all knew my habits well because, most times, they were sitting in the same place when I launched.

Back in those days, I didn't have the vast assortment of baits that I'm lucky enough to have in my arsenal today.  I dug around the lone small box that I had without finding a single topwater bait. However, I found a chrome-with-black-back Big O that I knew I could work on top without too much trouble. I backed off and started casting upstream and toward the shoreline, twitching the Big O the whole time as it came alongside the fallen tree and down its front end. It didn't take but three or four casts before ol' bucketmouth jumped all over my Big O. He leaped into the air multiple times after feeling the bait's hooks, shaking his ol' head from side to side, but stayed buttoned long enough for me to get him in the boat.

Another one of those magical moments came on Saturday, Feb. 28, 1976, when I hooked this fish (see right--look closely, and you'll see a crack in the rear section) while spending the day on Lake Anna. He fell for a chartreuse-with-black-back Balsa B and weighed in at 6 lbs. 5 ozs.

For better than a week, anglers had been pulling 6-pound-plus bass from Lake Anna. One of my friends and a fellow bass-club member already had brought home two wall-hangers and was taunting me to see if I could match his success. This particular morning, I was wearing out a series of coves that reportedly had been yielding most of the big bass that anglers had been weighing in with the same color of Balsa B I was throwing.

After repeated long casts along both sides of this particular cove, I was about ready to move on when, all of a sudden, my Balsa B just stopped. I first thought I was hung on one of the laydowns present, but then I felt some movement and saw my line jump. It didn't take long for all the acrobatics to start, each time causing my heart to skip a beat or two. Back in those days, I fished with 12- and 14-lb. monofilament--not the "anchor chain" (40- and 50-lb. braid) that I use today. Despite all the graceful but "ah shit" moments I endured, this bass finally dropped in my net, with both hooks of my Balsa B still lodged squarely in his jaws.

My last "magical moment," for which I still have the skin carcas hanging on my wall, was this 6-lb. 10-oz bass (see left) that I boated on Friday, June 19, 1987, from North Landing River--Milldam Creek, to be exact. He fell for a brown-orange Slider worm fished on a Slider rod, rigged with 6-lb. monofilament. Of all my prized fish, this one is extra special because my pop was holding down the backseat of my boat the day I caught him.

The giant tree roots I pulled this fish from don't even exist today, but I never pass the entrance to that cove where they used to be that I don't remember that day and the battle I had on my hands before getting him in the boat. This bass immediately wrapped in the roots when I set the hook, and I could feel his ol' head shakin' down there. I kept pressure on him for the longest of times with absolutely no luck--he just stayed put.

Eventually, I started moving slowly toward the fish, making sure I held pressure the whole time. Once over the roots, I lay down on my stomach, where I could see the fish and my wrapped line. I asked Pop to pass me the clippers, and then, while clamping the bass by the lower lip with one hand, I reached out with the clippers in the other and cut my line. Using both hands then, I worked the fish out of the roots and lifted him aboard to Pop's beaming approval smile.

I took a few minutes to retie another brown-orange Slider before moving to the other shoreline to work some cypress trees. Only two or three casts into these trees, I hung another bass that would have made a perfect match to the other one I just had boated. Neither Pop nor I could believe our eyes when we saw this bass do his first tail walk. His second time out of the water, however, was the last time we would see him--the Slider came flying back in my face.

The rest of that particular day was uneventful, except for Pop losing a rod over the side, but Lady Luck was with us, and after making repeated casts with a bare hook and heavy sinker, we snagged the rod and pulled it back to the surface and into the boat.

None of these fish were as big as one I boated from Back Bay when it was the area's hot spot. Late one evening, while fishing with a friend, I pulled a 7-pounder from that grass on a Johnson's silver spoon. I never even got a photo of that bass. We stopped at our pastor's house on the way home and gave him the catch for a fish fry being held at the church the following evening.

My biggest bass of all times so far came many years ago while fishing a stand of lily pads in the Chickahominy. I was holding down the back seat that day for the same pastor I had given the 7-pounder to for the fish fry. Like the Back Bay bass, this one fell for a Johnson's silver spoon. I should explain here that I always fished this lure on a snap swivel to reduce line twist. Once I had the bass alongside the boat, the pastor reached over the side but, instead of grabbing the fish, grabbed the line just above the snap swivel. The giant fish jerked his head at the same instant, shattering the snap swivel and my dreams of a citation bass--perhaps forever, if the current trend continues. He easily was an 8-lb. fish. My preacher friend felt bad for a long time afterward over that incident, but I kept assuring him all was forgiven. We fished and prayed together for a lot of years yet and still were friends when he passed.

In the past two years, I've boated a couple of bass over the 6-pound mark but nothing approaching the 8-pounder I keep hoping to land. Perhaps it'll happen, perhaps it won't. Either way, I've had a lot of good times on the water, and I'll cherish all of 'em to my last day.