My choice of lures was a no-brainer. About 99 percent of the time, I start a trip with what I last caught fish on from the previous trip--in this case, my outing with good friend, Charlie. You may recall that I finished that trip by catching two bass in the last hour on the firetiger Bomber.
My tally at day's end today was nine bass. Their weight breakdown was as follows: two at 1-1, two at 1-2, two at 1-3, one at 1-12, one at 1-13, and one at 2-12 (pictured above). The best part of the whole day was, after all the years I've fished West Neck Creek, stumbling onto a stump field on a point that I hitherto had no clue it even existed. I sat on that same point for better than two hours and caught seven of my fish, plus missed a bunch more because I couldn't always differentiate between the lure bumping a stump and getting a strike.
I tried a couple other crankbaits throughout the day but kept going back to the Bomber, 'cause the fish, for some reason, wouldn't touch the other two. I finally quit experimenting and just stayed with the Bomber.
Near day's end, I ran across Bob Glass and Allen Napier, who said they, too, were catching fish--no idea, how many, though. They had been experiencing the same kind of strikes I was getting all day, where you really had to be tuned in to those "ticks" you kept feeling. I have no way of knowing what their sentiments are, but from my perspective, it was just a really fun day from start to finish. If I had anything even remotely similar every time I go out, you'd never hear me complain.
The only downside to today's outing came as I pulled up to the ramp to recover my boat. There, parked smack dab in the middle of the ramp, was a pickup with a trailer attached and backed down in the water, ready for recovery. The only problems: There was no boat in sight, and no driver for the pickup was anywhere to be found, either. I knocked on the door of the port-a-john down there at the ramp but got no response. The only choice I had was to wait and see what or who showed up.
Eventually, a younger fella came ambling toward the ramp from the store. Shortly after he stopped at the pickup to puff on a cigarette, I turned and saw a pontoon boat coming down the channel from the store. I now knew what was going to happen. It took the duo forever to get the boat on the trailer. If that had been the last I saw of them it would have been one thing, but I was destined to meet up with them yet again, when I arrived at my storage garage. They were blocking me again, as they proceeded to park the pontoon boat in another patron's spot.
Less than 15 minutes after they finally had gotten everything in order and departed the premises, the fella, whose spot they had taken, showed up, scratching his head and asking me what I knew about the situation. I filled him in, at which point he went down to the store to find out what was happening. The person on duty, of course, didn't have a clue but gave him a temporary spot to park his boat, while she called Steve to report the problem.
I have no idea how the matter will be resolved, but suffice it to say: The two dudes with that pontoon boat didn't make any friends today--with me, or the fella who is assigned to space no. 33, where the pontoon rig was sitting as I drove away from the marina. I can only hope Steve does the right thing, and I feel certain y'all know exactly what I'm thinking. Rude people deserve a dose of their own medicine.
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