There's Nothing Like Fishing in the Rain in a Leaky Rainsuit

Ahhhhh... You haven't lived until you've spent a whole day bass fishing in the rain with one of those El Cheapo rainsuits. You know the kind I'm talking about. It somehow first lets a little, and then, as the day wears on, a whole lot more of the rain leak in at the neck of the suit--even getting inside your shirt collar.

At this point, the drops are at the mercy of gravity. They have no choice but to start running all the way down your back--to and, more times than not, inside your skivvies, all the way to your far nether regions. I mean, what die-hard bass fisherman doesn't truly love spending eight or nine hours on the water in a soaking rain, then driving home in more of the same, only to peel off all his wet clothes and find other unmentionable parts of his anatomy matching his "prune" face, fingers and feet?

Oh, I almost forgot one other little detail. Figuring that the El Cheapo was going to keep you dry, it was a no-brainer just to leave everything in your pants pockets, including, of course, your wallet. So now, you have the distinct pleasure of removing it, along with all those old, smelly, stuck-together dollar bills; credit cards; and other items and spreading 'em out to dry for a spell. That's what I call "livin'!!!"

OK, so maybe I lie a little bit, stretch the truth, or whatever else you want to call it. After all, I'm just a fisherman like the rest of you.

The truth of the matter is that, if you've been a part of this sport of ours for a while, you've no doubt figured out it pays to part with the bucks to buy at least a decent set of rain gear. Those inexpensive ponchos like you find on a discount shelf in the local market are just a waste of your time and money, especially if you wear one in a stiff wind. You'll be lucky if the poncho doesn't end up wrapped around your neck, choking you to death. Instead, look for a rainsuit with a flap-covered, zippered front, Velcro adjusters at the wrists and ankles, dry pocket flaps, and waterproof sealed seams all the way around.



And if you're a serious bass angler--one who fishes a lot, especially in foul weather--you're better off buying the absolute best rain gear available. It very well may cost you $200 or more for a top-of-the-line suit, but that sticker shock will fade quickly the first time you wear the gear on a cold, blustery day without feeling the usual effects.

The best rainsuits on the market today are those that "breathe" and allow body moisture to escape, while keeping out the rain. Those made of Gore-Tex material are especially good. The lightweight but 100-percent waterproof Frogg Toggs also are a good line. Yet another preference among some serious anglers is one called Kool-Dri. It's lightweight, totally waterproof, and comes with bib-top pants.

Something else to consider is a pair of light boots to wear over your shoes anytime the temperature dips to around 45 degrees. You might even want to opt for a pair of insulated boots if the temperature drops any lower. The same considerations go for your head and hands in cold weather. The odds are that you'll fish a lot better and harder if you're comfortable.

Once you're comfortable, it becomes a matter of understanding what the weather conditions are doing to the fish. Rainy-weather days normally reduce light penetration in two ways. First, with the cloud cover, there is a reduced amount of direct sunlight. Second, the usual winds, as well as the rain itself, disturb the water's surface, diffusing and scattering much of the existing light.



Accordingly, it's relatively safe to assume the rainy-day bass are more shallow, more active, and more responsive than normal to lure presentations. Another positive result of the rainy weather is increased absorption of oxygen, as a result of the wind and rain creating surface turbulence.

The rising water conditions, no matter how slight, resulting from rains also cause currents to develop and water to move, which adds oxygen. It also mixes the water and distributes the oxygen throughout.

Moving water has a very special meaning for fish--it spells food. The rains wash in small parts of the food chain from the surrounding shorelines, and larger creatures gather to feed. Bass, particularly, can be expected to gather anywhere run-off water is entering a main body--from small, normally dry gully cuts, to swollen, year-round feeder streams.

As with nearly all aspects of fishing, consistent success is a matter of applied knowledge. Understanding the positive aspects of those rainy days, coupled with physical adaptation and protection, can mean a lot of fish in the livewell, while others sit home waiting for a nicer day.

Demanding Your Rights Can Have a Down Side

There really is something to be said for persistence. I've spent the better part of a month now researching the Internet for material I could use one way or the other for some holiday posts on my blog. It's been a struggle ever since I started, and it wasn't until today that I finally got lucky and happened upon the item that follows.

As I've learned countless times before, the biggest secret to finding what you're looking for on the Internet lies in your ability to come up with just the right search word or phrase. Unlike the game of horseshoes, close counts for naught.

The author of the following piece is an Oklahoma writer and a former civilian U.S. Army public information officer. She's a regular contributor for a variety of Internet sites. As best I can determine, this item first appeared Dec. 27, 2007. Hope you enjoy.

A Christmas Story

By Sheila Samples

I have a cold, and I got it the only way I know how to do things--the hard way. On Christmas Eve, I decided I'd give myself a present. I had this bright idea to get a head start on the new year by testing the strength of the Equal Rights Amendment--you know, the ERA--the free pass that enterprising women have used for years to back stubborn men into corners.

My friend, Bernie, is always bragging about what a success he is at snagging bass. He says it's too bad the Bass Club is men-only, and he lords it over me that bass fishing is a "man's" thing--not for wussies. Not for women. Not for me. Well, I don't like to brag, but I've caught my share of fish over the years, and I can spin a tale with the best of them. I decided it was time to shut Bernie up and crash the "men only" bunch of happy hookers. So, when I approached the president of our local bassin' club, I was armed not only with the ERA but with myriad rebuttals for his excuses, arguments or evasions.

"Sure, you can join," he said, his eyes sparkling good-naturedly. "All you have to do is fish in two tournaments. If you can pass muster, you're automatically voted into the club."

"Really...just like that?" I asked suspiciously. "OK, then. When fishing weather rolls around..."

"Oh, no!" he countered, the sparkle now a glint. "Be out here at 3 in the morning. It's always fishin' weather, and we're having a tourney tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But tomorrow is Christmas!"

"Three-ay-em. Unless, of course..."

"I'll be here!" I exclaimed hurriedly, determined not to be dispensed with so easily. "I'll be here. But, don't the tournaments usually start at six?"

"Yeah," he grunted. "But you're gonna be fishing with the best--good ol' Luther, and he likes to get out early and get the lay of the lake."

Thus, I became a willing and unsuspecting pawn in the hands of good ol' Luther. I was even buoyed by a feeling of camaraderie as, excited and shivering, I approached the icy, pre-dawn waters on Christmas morning.

"Where have you been?" an angry voice shattered the stillness. Peering into the darkness, I saw the lean, impatient Luther, gandy-dancing on the dock. He confronted me, blood in his eye, rod and reel poised like a lion-tamer's whip. His coveralls, zipped to the lip, were blazoned with a lightning bolt and the words, "Idi Amin Dada--Conqueror of the British Empire!"

"Bu--but it's only 3 o'clock..."

"We leave at three," he snapped, as he leapt lithely into the shallow bassing rig, leaving me to clamber unsteadily aboard and slink into the "tower seat" high in the sleek boat.

"...life jacket!" Luther mouthed, as he started the engine--a sudden explosion that sounded like a reverberating howitzer. While I groped in the darkness for the jacket, Luther blasted out of the cove. If he noticed I was smashed into the seat, if he heard the snap of my neck--the castanet rattle of my spine--he gave no indication. I still get grim satisfaction out of knowing that there are irreparable "chin gouges" in the back of the padded seat in Luther's flat-out racing bass boat.

I could tell right off that "fun tournament" was beyond Luther's comprehension, as he tried to get the jump on the rest of the club members who were beginning to show up. He held full throttle; we were aboard a devil craft, rocketing into the eerie pre-dawn fog. Whimpering, I clung to the side of the boat, where I'd fallen upon take-off. Luther ignored my groans when my thermos of steaming coffee went spinning into the lake. He glared at me menacingly when my plastic worm slipped from stiff fingers--and warned me wickedly that bass fishin' was serious business.

Each time the wind shifted, we were off again--the tip of the boat standing at haughty attention. There's nothing more invigorating on a Christmas morn than icy spray rattling on teeth set against lips frozen into a permanent snarl...

I tried to get Luther's attention, but I didn't have a gun. I prayed for deliverance. I prayed for Luther to get snagged by one of the dead, witch-like trees that grasped and clawed as we soared by. Then--I just prayed.

Finally, mercifully, it was 5:30 and time to head back to shore and "rev up" for the fun tourney. From my position in the bottom of the boat, I could hear light "men only" banter, as the rest of the gang jockeyed for position.

I struggled to give good ol' Luther a scathing look, but my eyes were frozen shut. "HELP!" I whispered, as we nosed against the dock.

They all pitched in to get me out of the boat, and it didn't take but a few minutes to chip away the two inches of ice around my feet. They didn't even break anything when they folded my stiff body into the seat of my car.

"Be back out here tomorrow at the same time for the final phase of your initiation," Luther said, patting me on the head ever so gently, so as not to break my hair. "That's the fun part--going after the big ones. All you gotta do is catch yourself a bass, and then you'll be one of us."

ME? One of THEM? I stared at Luther with wild eyes--now frozen open. "When donkeys fly!" I attempted to shriek, but my frozen lips could only muster a plaintive "Aaaaarrrhhh..."

So, here I am, still shivering and nursing a cold, and coming to grips with the fact the ERA isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Happy New Year!

This Man's a Fishing Machine

I'm talking, of course, about my good friend and fellow blogger, Charlie Bruggemann.

You're apt to find this guy nearly anywhere in the local area. If there's a body of water to fish, especially a new spot, he's all about checking it out to see what it has to offer. And he does it all from a kayak, then shares the details of each trip through text and video on his blog (http://vbfishguide.blogspot.com/). If you're not already familiar with it, I urge you to have a look.

That being said, I'll get to the heart of this story--the "fishing machine" that is Charlie. Back on June 15, 2012, when I first featured him in a blog post, he already had scored a better-than-15-lb. bag of bass that year, with nearly 300 total bass to his credit for only the halfway point in the year.

Fast forward now to yesterday when, despite steady rain, Charlie launched at West Neck Marina and stayed in the creek, where he boated seven bass, plus a pickerel and a striper. His best five bass tipped the scales at 1-5, 2-0, 2-3, 2-11, and 4-14, for a total weight of 13 lbs. 1 oz. That, however, is not his biggest bag this year. In recent weeks, he also has scored one that went 14+ lbs., followed by another that weighed in at better than 16 lbs. And his yearly total to date is 550+ bass and still counting.

He's no slouch by anyone's standards. I've had him in my boat on two occasions now--the first being our shootout contest last October, and then earlier this month when he joined me for just a fun day on West Neck. Both times, he simply fished circles around me, and as he demonstrated to me in our latest outing, he can do it from the front of the boat, as well as the back. He's just good at what he does--make that "everything" he does. His paint job on hard baits is nothing short of fantastic. He's also a skilled taxidermist, photographer and computer expert--to name only a few more of his many qualifications.

It wasn't until near the end of the day in our outing this month that I think I finally figured out why Charlie had been catching fish all day while I simply had been thrashing the water. The difference, as I learned, had been the depths at which our two crankbaits were running. The one Charlie had been fishing ran about 2 to 3 feet, whereas I had been using one that ran 3 to 5 feet. In the last hour of fishing, I tied on one that also dived only 2 to 3 feet and managed to put a couple fish in the boat before quitting time.

Whether the day's final outcome would have been any different if I had been using the shallower crankbait the whole time is anyone's guess. Even if it would have made a difference in the totals, that fact in no way would have negated the ease with which Charlie brought one fish after the other over the gunwale all day.

I for one firmly believe that if Charlie ever were to find a way to put a livewell in that kayak of his and then joined our Dewey Mullins Memorial Bass Tourney Series, he'd be a force to be reckoned with on a regular basis. I'm convinced he's just that darned good.

As I said earlier in this post, if you haven't checked out Charlie's blog before, you need to take a peek (see earlier link I provided). Find out for yourself just how easy he makes it look to catch a boatload of bass.

All I Want for Christmas Is...

If I were to ask folks out in California to complete that headline, it seems a pretty safe bet the vast majority likely would exclaim in unison: "some rain to end our drought." And if I were to pose the same headline to folks up in New York right now, the response from most probably would be: "no more snow."

In reality, however, I asked some fellow fishermen locally to complete this headline, and while only a couple rogered up, their responses weren't what some might expect from such a group. For example, one fella said, "For my family and friends to be healthy and happy." The other one wrote back, "Real and lasting peace on earth."

And you know what? While few in number, these two fellas were anything but in the minority with the nature of their responses. Quite the contrary, actually. The sincerity expressed in their holiday wishes mirror the kind of responses I saw spread all around the Internet.

My research revealed countless numbers whose central wish was for "our troops to return home safely." As one added, "It's very hard for me to wish for trifling things for myself while our young men and women are dying on foreign soil."

A fair number also expressed hope "to keep my job for at least another year." There also was a fella who, in a similar vein, said he always wishes for "good health so I can cast for bass just one more year." This same individual told the story of a friend he once had who still was asking the good Lord for "just 10 more good years of fishing" when he died some 25 years after first making this an annual request.

In another case, I came across a man who asked nothing for himself, noting, "My wish list has been filled many times over." He went on to explain that he just had completed his first year of retirement from a great job of 41 years and, at the same time, had celebrated 10 years of good health since heart surgery. "With a great wife, two fine sons, and four terrific grandchildren, a loving church family, a pretty good old bass boat, and most of all, a loving Savior who forgives my daily sins, what more could I ask for?" he said.

I would be lying if I didn't admit I found instances where fishermen were asking for material things they typically might want. I'm happy to report, though, their numbers represented a clear minority.

In that regard, I found this statement by one thoughtful but choosing-to-remain-anonymous source online: "No doubt, we would all agree with the sentiment, 'There's more to life than things.' Yet, much of our lives seem to be spent in the acquisition, maintenance and disposal of material goods.

"Certainly, we cannot enjoy the basics of food, shelter and clothing without a concern for 'things.' The truly important things of life,  however, are those which cannot be encountered by the physical senses, purchased with money, or placed on a shelf. When we take a look at what we value most in life, we generally find family, friends, health, peace, contentment, laughter, helping others, and communion with God foremost on our list of priorities."

If that's not what Christmas, and for that matter, life in general, really is supposed to be about, I've surely been functioning under a mistaken belief for a very long time.

My Best Thanksgiving Wishes to Everyone

Fishing on Thanksgiving Day

By Paul Thomas Roussell

 

On a cold November morning with a Northeast chill

Along come a sense of gratitude and a hungry heart at will.

Heading to the east on a working man's sail

As a tired old moon drops off our tail..

 

Summer's gone with all the misty fog,

Only memories remain with a salty old log.

I recall days of old, on this one special day,

When a group of Europeans left their land astray..

 

A ship called the Mayflower, in a treacherous sea

Headed for Virginia for the new world of free

But a navigating mistake changed their course instead

And they ended up at Cape Cod's famous ocean bed.

 

A pilgrim's tale is based on a Puritan Thanksgiving

As they ventured west to change their way of living

With eager hearts and a grand will to live,

A tradition was invented, God's will to give.

 

Wampanoag Indians joined in this gathering plan.

It is a religious day, for the working man.

It all started in the year sixteen twenty-one

A harvest feast of joy under the old New England sun..

 

Approved by congress, a nationwide proclaim

And after the Revolution, it remained the same.

Men of feat, that sailed across in fame

Men called Pilgrims were surely to blame.

 

The fourth Thursday of November, I honored a day to fish,

With thoughts of those who sailed on a wish.

Tales of the sea, as I sail from the bay,

Getting underway to fish, on Thanksgiving Day.

 

Thanksgiving means many things to different people. For most traditionalists, though, this holiday is synonymous with festive meals, parades, football, family and friends, and, of course, turkey.

 

For many, it's also about spending time together, catching up and enjoying one another's company. The Thanksgiving holiday is a reminder to give thanks for the good things, people and providential events in our lives.

 

For die-hard fishermen, however, Thanksgiving usually means a day or two extra off work and a chance to spend more hours in pursuit of your favorite pastime. Making it special is the fact you don't have to deal with any traffic to speak of. Everybody is too busy feeding their faces on Thanksgiving Day, and then, of course, there are all those Black Friday sales events the next day to keep people occupied.

 

All you must do is make sure you wear enough warm clothing, have an abundant supply of your favorite hot beverage on hand, and go enjoy a Happy Thanksgiving Day your way--on the water.

 

No matter how you choose to celebrate the holiday, keep it safe.

Worst-Ever Fishing Lures

Do you know how to tell if you've got one of 'em? The consensus among a bunch of fishermen I read about online recently is that if you find these words on the outside of the package--as seen on TV--you can be sure you possess one of the worst-ever fishing lures.

There are three in this category that immediately come to my mind. They are the helicopter lure, the flying lure, and, of course, the banjo minnow (see photos of some of the original packaging for these lures spread throughout this post).

I found one guy in those I was reading about who, while badmouthing the helicopter lure as the worst he ever had bought, also acknowledged he once had "caught a nice 4-lb. bass on it." He still called it a piece of "junk," however, noting that the bass was on a bed, and he had to tease it for about 40 minutes before it would take the bait.

Another fella remembered that one of Roland Martin's original infomercials for the helicopter lure showed him "nailing 8-lb. bass like nothing down in one of those Mexican lakes," but as someone else chimed in, "Roland Martin will try to sell anything to make a quick buck." Still another guy said he found a pack of helicopter lures at a flea market for $2 and had to get 'em "just for laughs," but when he caught a bass on the third cast, he had to put 'em down and start focusing on his banjo-minnow technique.

I came across three gents who reluctantly admitted they had caught fish with the flying lure. Said one of them, "I did very well with it pond fishing when I was younger." Another explained, "I once bought a whole kit off the clearance rack in a store and took them to my favorite lake. The white ones worked great, especially for getting under the docks."

Some local folks also may remember that, shortly after the flying lure was introduced, the late-Dewey Mullins began some experimentation of his own. He was making a version of the flying lure out of different sizes of the Johnson spoon. I was one of those asked to do some testing for him, and I caught a few fish with it, too. Overall, though, the results weren't good enough for Dewey to start producing them for sale.

Getting back to those anglers I was reading about online, I found several of them talking about lures I've never heard of. One was a "throbber--the lure with a heart." The duped angler described it as "a little plastic topwater bait that had a metal ball on a spring inside. Long after you'd cast the lure, the metal ball was supposed to vibrate and imitate a living heart."

Another such lure, also a topwater, was once advertised on QVC by game-show host Chuck Woolery. The victim, in this case, didn't recall the name of it but described the lure as having a line attached to a split ring on the front. When you made a cast, the line would pull out and go back in, causing this lure also to vibrate. "The worst $14 I ever spent!" the fella exclaimed.

"The dumbest lure I ever purchased" is how yet another victim described a kicktail swimbait. "Supposedly, it was banned in tournaments. It should have been banned from sales because it was complete trash," he asserted.

For the first time, too, I read about a crankbait called the tipsy. The not-so-lucky dude who owned this bait said "the bill was off center--like they had made a mistake while building it. The thing wouldn't run straight--just a piece of crap--but being a crankbait junkie, I bought one," he lamented.

I also read about a diving lure that ran on two watch batteries. The owner didn't remember its name but said the lure had blinking red eyes. "I only cast it a few times before it hung, and I lost it," adding, "Good riddance!"

Another first for me was reading about a Burke talking frog. As described by the owner, "It made a croaking sound when you got it wet."

And last, but certainly not least, was a poor chap who said when he was younger, he would buy any lure he saw on TV. The absolute worst one ever, though, was a hard-bodied minnow.

"It would lay on its side, with the hooks on the bottom," he said. "It had a pull string where you tied your line to the lure. When you gave a quick jerk, it would wind up the lure, and its tail would flop up and down on the water. It was supposed to look like an injured baitfish, but it really didn't," the victim concluded.

There are a couple of active sayings that I think may have some bearing on this or any similar discussion. One is that "fancy lures more often catch the fisherman, not the fish." The other is this: "The action catches the fish; the paint job catches the fisherman."

I truly don't know any way to turn off all the many forms of temptation that exist today for buying fishing lures. I constantly wrestle with the problem. For example, I sat in my boat last Wednesday, watching my buddy, Charlie, catch one fish after the other with a crankbait color I don't have yet... but soon will, thanks to a small order I placed a couple of days later. If any of you have a foolproof solution to this dilemma, please share it with me. In the meantime, don't be watching any TV infomercials, 'cause you certainly don't want any more of those "worst-ever lures."

If You Really Want to Be the First One to a Fishing Spot...

And/or if you're really tired of others passing you, why not do the obvious and buy a faster bass boat? And, no, I'm not talking about boats that run just 70, 80 or 90 mph. I'm referring to boats capable of reaching triple-digit speeds. My online research reveals there are at least three brands seemingly capable of taking you to that favorite honey hole at speeds greater than 100 mph. In alphabetical  order, the choices are Allison (pictured above), Bullet (pictured at bottom) and Stroker (pictured midway down).

Your best bet, however, likely is an Allison XB-2002, since it holds the current APBA (American Power Boat Association) Kilo speed record of 116.594 mph. It set that mark back on April 22, 2005--under adverse weather conditions, no less.

A word of caution, however, just because your pockets may be deep enough to afford a boat like this doesn't mean you should rush out and buy one without due consideration and preparation. There's more to operating a high-performance bass rig than jumping into the driver's seat, firing up the outboard, and laying on the throttle, especially if it's your first one.

Become familiar with the capabilities of your boat. Start slow and only run it at higher speeds when conditions permit. Too many bass boaters know nothing between dead stop and full throttle. These individuals often are a threat to themselves, their passengers, and every other boater on the same water. Do everyone, including yourself, a favor, and forget a high-end boat if you can't act responsibly at the helm. There are enough jackasses in this world--and that's without counting the politicians.

Part of being a good driver at high speeds is knowing when you can put the hammer down and calculating the best route to your next spot. While the shortest distance may be a straight line, it may not be the best choice. You need to consider wind and boat traffic, either one of which can make the shortest route hazardous. You ultimately can end up with two options: run fast and take a roundabout route, or back off on your speed and follow a straight line.

Stay clear of other boats when possible because there are risks involved with jumping their wakes, especially at high speeds. You also have no way of knowing the capabilities of those other drivers. They might be total morons, who could hurt you or damage your boat with their stupid actions. Driving a boat safely is as important as driving a vehicle safely on roadways with high-traffic volume.

Another consideration is to wear adequate eye protection. For some, that may mean wearing goggles or sunglasses when operating a boat. A motorcycle or snowmobile helmet may be in order to endure winter conditions or perhaps to reduce wind resistance so that you can see better. Let's face it: Whether you're running 70+ or 100+, you need to have clear vision.

Don't forget to fasten the kill-switch lanyard every time you're at the boat's helm. Bear in mind, though, that the kill switch is just one part of a boat's safety equation. The main thing you have to remember is to drive the boat safely.

Earlier, I mentioned the "deep pockets" it takes to afford today's high-performance bass rigs. A boat owner's expenditures, however, include more than just the purchase price. You also have to buy insurance and, of course, gas. I asked a friend the other day about his high-performance boat's gas consumption, and here was his response. "If I were to run my rig at full throttle for an hour, I would burn approximately 11 gallons of gas." His boat turns about 70 mph wide open.

Bottom line: You need to weigh all these matters carefully before you commit to buying a high-end bass boat.

Here's a list of some videos you might enjoy:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoDhyqS2SMk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqH0hfsde2g
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3YTO1Sde3Q
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9ux5fwmHxU

A Year Later, the Results Are Very Similar

If you've been following my blog for a while, you very well may remember the logo above that my friend, Charlie Bruggemann, put together for our first-ever shootout on Oct. 30, 2013. On that occasion, Charlie boated 7 bass and 1 striper, with his biggest bass weighing in at 1-8. I, on the other hand, boated 3 bass and 3 white perch, with the biggest bass a 3-14. Per our agreed upon terms on that occasion, Charlie was limited to fishing all soft plastics, and I had to stay with crankbaits all day.

That outing was the first and, until today, the only time Charlie and I had fished together. Today's trip, though, wasn't labeled as a shootout, nor were we either one restricted to the type of lures we could fish. Instead, it was just a friendly get-together between a couple of fellow bloggers, and we fished any and all kinds of baits.

Charlie's final tally today was 8 bass and 2 white perch, with his biggest bass going about 1.25 or 1.50 lbs. His productive lures were a crankbait and a jig. My total was 2 bass, with one that probably matched Charlie's biggest. I caught both of them on a crankbait.

Since we were just out for the fun of it, we didn't bother to weigh our fish or take pictures of any of 'em. Our bottom-line motivation for being on the water was simply to get our licks in one more time before the weather takes a nose-dive, as all the local weather forecasters are promising.

We weren't exactly surprised to find that, as the fog gradually wore off this morning and the sun came out so brightly, that several other anglers joined us on West Neck Creek. When we launched at 8 o'clock this morning, however, there wasn't another vehicle in the parking lot.

One of those other anglers we saw today was Jim Bauer. He finished the day with a total of 9 bass, including 5 keepers that weighed approximately 7 lbs. All of his fish fell for a crankbait, too.

Meanwhile, "Doc" Murdock's pursuit of largemouth yielded two fish, with one weighing 1-6, the other 1-7. He caught both on a crankbait. His cellphone app showed the following conditions at the time: water temp - 58 degrees, air temp - 56 degrees, barometer - 30.01 inches and rising, winds - WNW at 12 mph, and relative humidity - 62 percent.

Charlie and I also ran across Bob Glass fishing the upper end of the creek this afternoon. As I recall, he told us he had caught 5 bass, all on a Senko worm--the same bait that was so productive for him all summer. He just had lost a nice fish when we met up with him. "He straightened my worm hook," said Bob.




Given that everybody we talked to had fish, I can't help but chalk today up as a success. Charlie put it in perspective like this: "At least, we postponed the rust for a little while longer."

What Sets Some Pro Bassers Apart from Others?

The answer, I believe, is character.

For example, many probably still remember the ruckus created when a certain bass-fishing legend and, at the time, popular TV bass-fishing-show host allegedly denied a dying boy's request to fish with him. The legend attributed the problem to a lack of communication, but in the final analysis, it took a fellow TV fishing-show host stepping up to the plate and taking the boy fishing to quell the uproar.

And who can forget the scene that flashed across national TV screens when another pro basser opened his livewell during a big tournament, saw some fish floating belly up, and went off the deep end? The four-letter-word tirade that ensued was enough to make even a veteran Sailor blush. This angler didn't stop there, either. The grand finale was a shot of him ripping out and destroying the boat's rear running light, which held an American flag, then tossing the whole thing over the side.

Fortunately, the bass-fishing industry survived these black eyes, thanks in no small part to other pro bassers who know how important it is to keep their heads out of places where the sun don't shine.

One such shining star is a pro who, along with his tournament partner, noticed a local angler having trouble getting his outboard started. With what looked to be a severe thunderstorm approaching, this pro and his back-seater left their fishing spot to help the fisherman, who had his young son with him. The sky was darkening and strong winds were building as the pro and his partner pulled alongside and offered to see if they could help solve the mechanical problem.

After several possibilities had been examined with no luck, the local angler decided he needed to do something quickly to allay the fear he saw in his son's eyes as lightning flashed about all of them. He also didn't want to endanger the pro and his partner. The local angler told them he knew a nearby landowner and could use his trolling motor to get there.

The pro and his partner wouldn't let the man and his son leave, though, without first giving them two costly sets of rain gear. They asked only to have the gear returned to their lodging location once the angler and his son were safe. The pro and his partner stood by and watched the pair until they had made it to shore, then set out for their own destination.

This story ended on a positive note, in that the local angler eventually was able to start his gas motor, get back to the boat-launch site, and return the rain gear as agreed upon.

Another such "good Samaritan" account involved a pro angler who was asked to visit a 12-year-old boy whom doctors had diagnosed with a rare cancer that mainly affects children. The pro gathered up a care package of tackle, among which was a lure another bass pro immediately cut off his line and autographed for the young man upon hearing of the situation. Shortly thereafter, the boy died, but that wasn't the end of the pro's involvement.

The 12-year-old's parents asked the pro to lead the hearse from the church to the cemetery on the day of the boy's funeral. They felt that would be a nice way to honor a young angler who had loved the sport all of his short life.

In the words of William Penn, "I expect to pass through life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again."

Ray Hardy--Passionate About His Fishing

The thing I remember most about this man (who owned a roofing company in Virginia Beach) was the fact he grabbed every opportunity that presented itself to get in some fishing time. He'd come wheeling into the West Neck parking lot in that familiar, big Bronco at nearly any hour of the day (just depended on when he could spare an hour or two from his job), drop his boat in the water at the ramp, and take off. He'd return a little later, load his boat on the trailer, and be gone just as fast as he had come.

For the most part, Ray fished year-round, even when a sheen of ice covered the shallows in West Neck Creek. On those occasions when there was ice, and we arrived at the launch ramp about the same time, we took turns going first and breaking a path through the channel to the main creek for the other one. And if we happened to bump into each other on the water before one of us called it a day, we always compared notes on how the fishing had gone.

One of Ray's friends was Dewey Mullins, who, while running the service area for Princess Anne Marine, rigged the Winner bass boat that Ray bought and spent so much time in on the water. As Dewey often would tell the story, he had a difficult time getting Ray to understand the necessity of running his boat hard.

It seems that, for some time, Ray handled his new boat with kid gloves, and as a result, the motor would get to needing a tune-up. Dewey would fix the problem and hand the boat back to Ray, reiterating that he needed to start running the motor hard.

In due time, Ray finally listened to what Dewey had been saying, and then it became a matter of "Katy, bar the door!" You'd hear Ray's outboard screaming as he flew through those twists and turns in West Neck Creek. I didn't have to wait until he came into sight to tell it was him. Only one person drove a bass boat that way on West Neck back in those days.

Ray's bass-fishing prowess on the local scene was well-documented. It was good enough to earn him a whole series of segments on WTKR-TV Channel 3 back in the 90s. He consistently demonstrated that he knew where to find 'em and how to catch 'em.

And his angling skills weren't limited only to freshwater. As his nephew, Chuck Hardy, Jr., explained to me, "We spent many fall and spring days and nights down on Hatteras surf fishing together. He was pretty much the best uncle and fishing mentor a young boy ever could have asked for," continued Chuck. "It's because of Uncle Ray that my dad and I still fish out of West Neck to this day."

When Ray passed on June 6, 1998, at the age of 59, some of his ashes were spread on his favorite spots in West Neck Creek, and the rest were spread at The Point on Hatteras. His daughter, Emma, recalls that she never caught a bass in all her fishing adventures with her dad while he was alive. She noted, however, "After we spread his ashes, I caught a bass in one of his favorite West Neck spots."

Ray was a regular patron of West Neck Marina for a lot of years, dating back to the days when it was run by the original owner, Bill Brown. I consider it a distinct privilege to have known him and to have swapped fishin' stories with him on many occasions.

My special thanks go to Ray's nephew, Chuck Hardy, Jr., and to his daughter, Emma, for helping make this story possible.

Conjuring Up a Successful Fishing Trip

As I was going to bed last night, it suddenly occurred to me that an unusual number of days had passed since I last had had one of my cluster headaches. About four-and-a-half hours later, I awoke with a real head-splitter and had to take one of the caffeine-laced prescription pills that I carry with me everywhere I go--have had to for a lot of years now.

During the next couple of hours, as I lay awake, wrestling with the normal accompanying side-effects of the pill, I couldn't help thinking how I wished I could create an unbelievably successful fishing day for myself just by thinking about it.

This day would have to be one like I heard a kayaker had on West Neck Creek a couple of days ago. According to an unsubstantiated report from one of my friends, this kayaker (and no, it wasn't Charlie) had caught a whole slug of bass throughout this particular day, among them two 4-pounders and one that weighed 5. My friend said the kayaker had referred to it as "the best day I've ever had." He even was considering calling his wife just to find out if she minded his staying out for a couple more hours.

Who could blame this fella for being so hyped up? I can't speak for anyone else, but 13 pounds of bass in only three fish would put a smile on my face that would last a while--no question about it. Supposedly, the kayaker had caught all of his fish on crankbaits. And, friends, when the "fall feed" or "fall frenzy," as some like to refer to it, is on, that's a hard bait to beat.

Here are some places to fish your crankbaits:

     * Where deeper water is located near shallow areas, such as flats.

     * Where there is any remaining vegetation.

     * Where you find schooling bass.

     * Where you find "solitary" stick-ups and trees--forget the clusters. Make repeated casts to anything solitary that you find.

The "fall feed" or "fall frenzy" simply means that bass are feeding shallow, deep, and all points in between. It also means the best locations will depend on temperature trends, time of day, and types of cover available. Last, it means that bass will be moving, and to be successful, you have to be moving, too.

Had Company on the Water Today

It all started with a sky full of these birds that kept swooping in unison from one side of West Neck Creek to the other and back. In some cases, their trajectory was so low I was betting my lure either was going to hook a couple of 'em or knock 'em into the water.

You can well imagine the one central uneasy thought I had as they moved over the top of me throughout the day. All I could do was to keep my fingers crossed... and my head down, just in case they suddenly decided to start taking target practice on me and/or the boat. If they had, I'd probably still be cleaning up the mess.

The birds, though, weren't my only company. Long-time friend Jim Bauer was prowling the creek with me, seeing what he could stir up with one of his favorite crankbaits.

This 5-14 beauty was the highlight of his day. Sorry but I'm sworn to secrecy about the spot where he caught it. All I can say is that I had checked out this same spot earlier this morning--with the very same bait, no less, but "Bubba" either wasn't home at that hour, or he evidently didn't like my presentation. Either way, my loss proved to be Jim's bonanza, and I'm happy for him. He told me this evening he also caught one dink today.

My day wasn't a total loss, as evidenced by this 2-11, which jumped on my crankbait right beside the boat. I had stopped moving the lure for a few seconds as I navigated the boat around one of the big trees in West Neck. This fish was my best but not my only one of the day. I also boated a 1-3 and a 1-4 before all was said and done.

Like yesterday, I wiped out the potential for a skunk early on--in 10 minutes today, compared to only 5 minutes yesterday. Perhaps my luck is improving.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

The water temp when I launched this morning read 54 degrees, and it still was that temp when I quit today, too.

With rain in the forecast for tomorrow and some honey-do's in the offing for Friday, I have to take a wait-and-see attitude about when I'll get back out again. Just hope the bite doesn't go away in the meantime.

Went Fishin' and Did My Civic Duty, Too

It only took me a grand total of about 10 minutes this morning to dispel any possibility of another skunk. My watch read 9:10 as I brought the first bass aboard. He weighed in at 1-2.

Before ending my day at 2 o'clock, so I could collect the wife and get to the polls and vote, I had caught another four bass, the biggest of which was this 4-7. The other two that I weighed came in at 1-4 and 1-15. I also had one dink, plus about a 2-lb. pickerel. Three or four more fish made passes at my lure today but didn't get connected.

The fish in this photo snatched my bait behind one of the trees in West Neck Creek and immediately started taking drag. Given the low-water conditions today, I wanted to get him to deeper water. I clamped down on the spool with my thumb, used my foot to add more power to the trolling motor, and simply dragged the fish to the middle of the creek, where I landed it.

I caught everything in West Neck today on a crankbait. The secret to finding fish seemed to be finding isolated pieces of structure and wearing it out.

The water temp when I started this morning showed 50.5 degrees, and I failed to check the reading when I quit today.

Tomorrow is a new day, and I plan to be back out there trying to find some more fish, now that the fall bite seems to finally be kicking into gear. I had an email from my friend, Charlie, a little earlier, and he was telling me his best five fish yesterday weighed a tad over 14 lbs., and he, too, is going to be back on the water tomorrow in search of largemouths. Hopefully, we'll both find at least a few.

Remembering My Friend and Mentor

This year marks the second anniversary of my ol' friend's passing, and so it's once again my privilege to honor his legacy. I've chosen to pay my respects with the poem that follows:

Requiem for a Fisherman

 

A quiet troll across the lake

Its surface still and mirrored

The moisture in the air so thick

As morning sun appears

 

The line is whipped with deft finesse

It sails with graceful ease

Near reeds exposed, and tangled roots

Just missing willowed trees

 

The first bite starts the tingled thrill

All time is stopped in place

No sound or movement, not a breath

This single-focused face

 

A stronger tug, the pole is flicked

The hook so cleanly set

The game goes on with line kept tight

The prize steered toward the net

 

The feeling of accomplishment

It saturates your soul

Where skill and silent patience

Are the answer to the goal

 

You may not get another bite

For hours through the day

But Nature's sweet serenity

Is often why you stay

 

There comes that day for all the best

The fishing's done at last

The final time you tie a hook

The final spinning cast

 

But Lord, we hope a lake exists

In Heaven's grand design

Where once again you'll feel the thrill

Of tugging on your line

 

Copyright by Jeff Wright

 

I unfortunately never got to spend a day or, for that matter, even an hour on the water with Dewey. However, many were the times he would regale me and other regular patrons there in the West Neck Marina Store, especially during those long winter months. I still can see him reared back there behind the counter in his favorite chair, telling of fishing trips past that he had taken.

I particularly remember one such occasion when Dewey's long-time friend, Woo Daves, dropped in unexpectedly and spent a few minutes reliving some special moments he and Dewey had enjoyed together over the years. That reunion occurred in the year 2000, shortly after Woo had become the first and, to date, only Virginian ever to win the Bassmaster Classic. He had an autographed photo from his victory celebration that he wanted to give Dewey that particular day.

My fine, bewhiskered friend made a lasting impression on me, and I'll always be grateful that I at least got to know him rather well while he was here with us. And, Dewey, if there indeed is a lake there in Heaven, I sincerely hope you'll catch a great ol' big 'un just for me.