By Charles Dickey
Between a boy's first cane pole and a tottering old man we find a strange creature called a bass fisherman. They come in assorted sizes, but all of them have the same creed: To hurry to the water right now and enjoy every second of every fishing trip, and when it's past time to go home, to make just one more cast.
Bass anglers are found nearly everywhere--floating silent rivers, lost in a swamp, kicking a motor at a boat ramp, sneaking into secret ponds, turning off alarm clocks at 4 in the morning, and telling fishing stories at business meetings. Mothers love them, young girls can't understand them, brothers and sisters tolerate them, the boss envies them, and Heaven helps them. A bass fisherman is Truth with dirty fingernails, Beauty stranded in a driving rain, Optimism against all odds, Wisdom with a love of Nature, and the Hope of the future with goodwill toward mankind.
When you are busy, a bass fisherman is thinking of crankbaits, lonely lakes, and country roads. When you want him to make a good impression on someone, all he can talk about is plastic worms, bass beds, the lunker he lost last week, the pH factor, chartreuse skirts, and bassin' rigs.
A bass fisherman is a composite. He likes Vienna sausage and rat cheese at a country store, but at home, he's on a special diet. He eats moon pies with one hand and casts with the other. He has the energy of a hurricane when he starts fishing but hires the neighbor's kid to mow the lawn. He has the lungs of a top sergeant when he gets a strike but goes deaf when you get one. He has the imagination of a scientist as he tears through his tacklebox for a secret weapon. He has the courage of a lion as he sits quietly, shivering in a cold front. He has the enthusiasm of a firecracker as he pounds each brush pile. And when a lunker finally hits, he's forgotten to set his drag.
He likes sloppy britches with plenty of seat room, dirty tennis shoes, long weekends, CAT caps, frequent holidays, private ponds, vacations, and questionable companions who are also bass fishermen. He's not much for social gatherings, water skiers, kinfolk who visit on weekends, neckties, litterers, double time on Saturdays and Sundays, or neighbors who don't fish. Without thought of race, creed or color, he likes people who bass fish year-round and talk about it in between.
Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late straggling in to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of chasing minnow schools, searching for structure, or getting his line busted. Nobody else suffers so patiently with aching hind end, chapped lips, and blistered cheeks. Nobody else can cram so much into one tacklebox--42 plugs he hasn't used in 10 years, a compass that doesn't work, a flashlight without batteries, a hunk of fruit cake from three Christmases ago, a rainsuit which won't fit back into the plastic bag it came in, a change of drawers, a punctured can of oil, and a copy of Roberts Rules of Order.
A bass fisherman is a magical creature--you might get sore at his constant chatter about solunar tables, but you can't lock him out of your heart. When the bass are bedding, don't expect him to show up at birthdays, Sunday School, anniversaries, or picnics. He'll do more than his share of work on the job, but just don't count on him when the weather gets warm on weekends. There's only one remedy for bass addiction.
You might as well give up--the bass angler is a child of Nature with a hopeless one-track mind. He's always going to be late cleaning the garage when the bass are hitting. And you may as well quit trying to understand why he needs another rod when every closet in the house is loaded with them. Just forget about hot dinners and leave his in the oven.
And though you get sore at him at times, you know you'll always like him. There's something about him that rings true, that you can really count on. He's a simple and kindly man who only asks of life that the water stays clean, the bass grow big, and he's there when they're hungry.
My thanks to Kelly Broderick and Florida Wildlife for allowing me to share this story with my readers.
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