As I told Charlie in one of our email swaps yesterday, that's a spot where a couple other friends who once fished our Dewey Mullins Memorial Bass Tourney Series used to do rather well on a constant basis. They won more than a few of our outings in just that one area, and they made no bones about it.
Several years ago, I, too, fished that area a lot, as well as the little stream that lies about halfway between the two ends. And, I even got brave enough a few times to pick my way into the middle of all those barges and fish--with success--but with caution, as well, I might add. Those metal spikes on those old barges aren't to be taken lightly, I assure you. More than once, I had an unnerving moment when my boat's fiberglass hull would s-c-c-c-r-a-p-e across one of those spikes.
The memory that I was referring to, though, when I passed my advice to Charlie involves that big white rock that stands at one end of the oxbow. It was early one summer morning many years ago when I eased my boat within casting distance of that ol' rock, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, and let go a long, arcing cast with a topwater bait. I watched my bait land right beside that rock and just let it rest for the longest of times. Finally, when I couldn't stand to wait any longer, I twitched the bait ever so slightly, at which point the water literally exploded, and the battle between David (me) and Goliath (the fish) was on.
To this day, I don't have a clue what kind of fish it was--could have been the world's biggest grindle, as far as I know, but I'll never forget that power I felt at the end of my 14-lb.-test mono line and the rod clenched ever so tightly in my hand. This battle didn't last long, because my mono was no match for what was in the water around that rock.
I've stopped a few times at the same rock in the years since that incident and tried to tempt "Bubba" one more time to give me a chance with my braid, but he has chosen to ignore me. Or, maybe he's found a new home, or perhaps some other angler has claimed him as his prize. If he's still taking refuge in that same ol' rock, though, nothing would please me more than to see my buddy, Charlie, get hold of him. After all, my friend still is looking for his first 5-pounder, and I can guarantee you the fish I lost that summer morning weighed a lot more than 5 lbs.
If Charlie locks up with that fish, he'd best hold on tight to that yellow kayak, as well as his rod, 'cause I predict he's going for a ride like he's never had before. He'll have a story he'll be talking about for the rest of his life.
Incidentally, for the benefit of those who haven't seen Charlie's latest blog video, I urge you to take a look (http://vbfishguide.blogspot.com/). You'll get to see him use his paddle to scoop up a turtle shell, minus the turtle, and toss it in his kayak. He tells me that, once it's cleaned up, the shell will go on display beside the nutria skull he found a few years back.
What's next for this seasoned fisherman/kayaker/adventurer/computer guru/taxidermist/lure painter/etc.? I can't help but wonder.
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