For Week Ending Sunday, March 4, 2018

Monday, Feb. 26 (from Ron)...Thought the cold front would make for a lackluster bite, but they were pretty active. Caught seven dink bass near a pound apiece, as well as a 1-6. Also enticed two crappie and two small yellow perch. Lost a few as well. The wind, cold and rain wasn't very much fun, but the bite was consistent. Didn't manage any bowfin or chain pickerel. The XTS Minnow and beetlespin were the tickets to success. Fished Milldam from 4 to 6:15. It was very clear for a change. 'Twas an erratic bite, with some close to shore and others in the middle--no discernible "pattern" at all. Half were caught trolling, with the other half from casting to points and shoreline.

Tuesday, Feb. 27 (from Ron)...Had a decent trip to Milldam this evening. Started very slow with a very small dink (5 inches?) and then a long lull of nothing for an hour until right before dark. Just as I was about to throw in the towel, got a nice white perch near 12 inches on the XTS, followed soon after by a decent yellow perch on the beetlespin. On the next few casts, I managed a 2-1 and a 2-6 bass, plus two more dinks on the XTS. Water was low at 1.2 but clear. What I want to know is where the 3-pounders are hanging out.

Wednesday, Feb. 28 (from Ken)...Couldn't resist the temptation to get another day on the water, considering the predictions our weather people are calling for through the weekend. Given the low-water conditions when I launched at 8 o'clock this morning, decided to stay in West Neck, despite the fact the water didn't look all that great. Fished both ways from the bridge and caught fish on both sides. Ended my day about 2:15, with a total of 5 bass, including a dink, 1-0, 1-2, 1-4, and 1-7. Also boated two white perch and one striper. Caught everything on two different crankbaits. All the fish came off wood...before the wind became a bear. Once it kicked in, the bite died, and my enthusiasm wasn't far behind. The aviation weather site early this morning was calling for max winds of 12 knots, but I can assure you they were considerably more than that when I quit. Wore a sweatshirt and two jackets (with the hood pulled up) all day and never cracked a sweat.

Friday, March 2 (from Ron)...I went out Wednesday and found two crappie. Took Thursday off to prepare for a tournament. I launched today at Lake Smith. To say it was windy would be a gross understatement--howling would be a much better description. It was all I could do to avoid getting flipped by the gusts; it's very tricky keeping pointed into that kind of wind. Did mark some fish and managed one decent crappie before I just couldn't take it any longer...after only 45 minutes.

Spring Truly Is Busting Out All Over

Headed to West Neck Marina early this afternoon with plans to install the renewed registration decals on my boat. As things worked out, though, I accomplished that task and had the pleasure of also renewing some friendships at the same time.

Actually, I just had peeled back the cover on my boat when I decided to go to the store and purchase my favorite: a nice, cold Mountain Dew. I picked up the soda but, before heading back to my storage shed, spent some time talking to Tom about a whole host of items. Finally, though, I headed toward the shed. A quick glance around revealed a couple of old friends tending to their rigs, as well. Ray Scott had just come in from his 2018 maiden fishing trip, so I stopped and had a conversation with him, before moving a little farther up the line and renewing my friendship with Doc Murdock. It was while talking to him that Gary Coderre happened on the scene, and so he, Doc and I settled into a three-way conversation.

After something like three-and-a-half hours, I finally returned to my boat to install the new decals. Unfortunately, however, I discovered I had misplaced my Mountain Dew somewhere during my journey...without ever getting the first sip, as best I could remember. To this point in time, I still don't have a clue where I left the soda but decided to just chalk the whole matter up to another one of those "senior moments."

I enjoy renewing old friendships, just like I enjoy the promise each new fishing season holds...at least early on. With my 2018 maiden voyage under my belt, I'm looking forward to getting in at least one trip this coming week if all goes well.

'Twould seem spring fever is hitting most everyone, based not only on the number of friends I encountered today. I also noticed the parking lot was pretty full of vehicles. The fact we're having some nice weather certainly doesn't hurt any. It won't be long before things will really shift into high gear.

Bottom Line: It's All About R-E-S-P-E-C-T

For a while now, I've thought of fishermen as members of a fraternity, and as it turns out, there are others who share that philosophy.

I found one of those like-minded individuals, quite by accident, while reading an online blog post. The one in question centered on Mike Iaconelli's November 2016 conflict with a local angler on the Potomac River (see this link: https://scout.com/outdoors/bass-fishing/Article/Confrontation-over-Fishing-Etiquette-with-Mike-Iaconelli-on-Potomac-River-101457520). It seems a Facebook post on that topic had included a comment from a kayak fisherman, who said something along the lines of, "If you want to find the rudest guy on the water, just look for the bass fisherman."

This comment had somewhat startled the blogger, who admitted that, until recently, he would have aggressively said he "subscribed to the old-school mindset of uncommon courtesy and giving a guy plenty of distance. Today, though, I'm not sure," he said.

The blogger went on to note that, during a recent fishing trip with his son, they were fishing a road bed he had been fishing for more than 20 years when another fisherman drifted within 50 feet of them. It upset him, but as his son reminded, "This is a community hole now, Dad. You just have to deal with it."

"You might say that was an enlightening moment for me," noted the blogger, "and not in a good way. In my day, you stayed away from other anglers. I've come to learn that, in the bass-fishing world of the 21st Century, though, it's apparently OK to fish within spitting distance of someone else.

"With that said, no matter where you sit on this fence, I think we should all agree that courtesy should prevail. If you believe it's OK to share a spot with another angler, that's cool, but be courteous about it. In my mind, that means you should ask, 'Hey, how's it going? You mind if I fish here? I promise not to snag your line.' Something like that goes a long way with me. We're all brothers and sisters in a fraternity of fishing, and we should all respect each other."

As the blogger further allowed, "That's exactly why the kayak angler's earlier comment depresses me. If we continue down this road of fishing only for our own ego, we will contribute to a bad reputation for the sport that we love. I encourage every bass fisherman to behave in a way that contributes to a positive reputation for our fellow anglers. Conduct yourself in such a way that kayak anglers, other bass fishermen, pleasure boaters, and, for that matter, everyone else on the water will consider you to be one of the most courteous individuals they've ever met. At the very least, our reputation is at stake, and I think our sport fares much better when we demonstrate we're good ambassadors for this sport we all love so much."

In short, "Do unto your fraternity brothers and sisters as you would have them do unto you" is my take.

For Week Ending Sunday, Feb. 25, 2018

Tuesday, Feb. 20 (from Ron)...After four days off the water, I went for a therapy session at the "Milldam Clinic." Got a prescription of mood-altering therapy. Started with a nice 2-5 bass, followed by two dinks just under a pound apiece. Also boated a small crappie and white perch before I found the first serious pole-bender of the season: a 7-lb 14-ounce bowfin! Made my day. Couldn't have asked for a better outing. All now is right in the world. Didn't mark a single fish in the main or feeder creeks. Water was clear and about 60 degrees. Caught all fish while casting to shoreline and points on the XTS. Not a single tap on the trolled beetlespins.

Wednesday, Feb. 21 (from Ken)...My first trip to the water each season always causes me certain fears, and today was no exception. Nevertheless, I was up before dawn, getting dressed, and gathering my tackle, with hopes of catching a few fish before the end of the day. Decided to change my plan when I arrived at West Neck Marina this morning and saw the muddy conditions, along with a bunch more trees that Steve has taken down in recent days. Figured this would be a good time to go check out the new ramp at Pungo Ferry. Don't know how anyone else feels, but I personally give the new ramp two thumps up. Have never had my boat slide off my trailer with such ease before. That being said, I decided to try Albright's today and ended up fishing my way from the mouth to a fair distance in the back. Lost the first fish I hit on a point with a cranakbait. He came unbuttoned beside the boat, without my ever getting a look at what he was. A good while later, I finally boated a small yellow perch, also on a crankbait. Not long after that, I was cranking another point with a chatterbait, when all of a sudden, the shaking stopped, and I set the hook on something that had a little weight but didn't feel like a fish, and I was right. What I lifted out of the water was an old, dirty beer can that the chatterbait hook and my line had entwined. Once I had untangled everything and was ready to toss the beer can in the bottom of my boat, I saw some kind of movement near the can's pop top. Close inspection revealed a little baitfish that was too big to slip out of the hole (check it out in my accompanying photos). I carefully enlarged the hole just a tad, and the happy little baitfish flipped out on my deck. I immediately picked him up and dropped him back in the water, where he wasted no time taking off. Near the end of my day, while still working the chatterbait, I had a solid hookup with what turned out to be one of Ron's favorite fish: a bowfin (about 4 lbs. worth). I quickly unhooked him, then wrapped up my gear, and headed for Pungo Ferry. Bottom line: The day wasn't anything to write home about, but I dodged a skunk and had a little fun, too.

Wednesday, Feb. 21 (from Ron)...Fished Tecumseh in search of bass and maybe some taco fare. Found both and a few surprises, too! Was trolling an XTS minnow lure and thought I had hooked into a 10-lb. bass. Turned out to be a 4-lb. 7-oz. channel cat. Few minutes later, got another 4-pounder and quickly got out of that area! Super PITA trying to manhandle those slimy buggers. Bass came in at 2-8 and 1-8, along with eight crappie (with three throwbacks). Keepers were 11 to 12.5 inches. Also caught a white perch. Tacos are in the dinner menu! Didn't find any bass trolling. Instead, caught them while casting to cypress trees and structure. Crappie fell to beetlespins and a small feather-jig head, with a worm-like plastic trailer about 2 inches long. Bugs came out at sunset,  and the frogs were making a bunch of noise. Spring here, maybe?

Thursday, Feb. 22 (from Ron)...Took a long trip this evening from Blackwater Trading Post out near North Landing. Got a 1-8 on the XTS and then, after a long lull, tried a Senko and found three dinks and a 1-1, all holding close to structure. Trolling back, snagged a small crappie and white perch on the XTS. Then had a serious pole-bending drag screamer, which I thought might be an early-season gar, but when I got him Yak-side, it turned out to be a big ol' blue catfish. Struggled for 10 minutes, trying to lip-grip him to no avail. Couldn't get a hold of him, and he finally threw the XTS. My guess is he would have been in the high teens for weight and maybe 30 inches long. Note to self: You have a net; bring it!

Friday, Feb. 23 (from Ron)...Went in search of bowfin or striper but found neither. Marked a whole bunch of bait and what may have been carp or catfish on the finder. While throwing the XTS close to structure, I managed a dink and an oddly shaped 2-6 bass. Not the best outing, but no skunk.

Saturday, Feb. 24 (from Ron)...Fished the oxbow south of the Pungo Ferry bridge. Was windier than forecast. Caught two dinks and a 1-13. Supposed to be windy again tomorrow, ugh....

Sunday, Feb. 25 (from Ron)...As the wind died down and the rain clouds seemed less likely, went out for an evening trip to upper North Landing in search of bowfin from 4 o'clock 'til dark. Water was high and still and not moving either way, so I knew it would be tough. Managed one odd-shaped dink bass to avoid the skunk. Seem to be in a slump. Can only get better, I hope.

Finding Lost Bobbers Floats Wisconsin Man's Boat

The late-Ronald Robert Frisk and his wife, Irene, retired to Prairie Lake, in Cameron, Wisconsin. A former steel-mill worker, Ron was an avid fisherman and outdoorsman his entire life. He also enjoyed making his own jigs, which he reportedly shared with many. In retirement, he added a new hobby to his repertoire--collecting fishing bobbers--which became the subject of at least one newspaper article prior to his passing March 20, 2015, at the age of 76. I recently stumbled across that article by accident and decided to share it here and honor the memory of another fisherman who lived life "his way."

By Meg Jones

Ask Ronald Frisk why his collection of bobbers is so large, and he'll tell you it's because some anglers, especially those who head out onto Prairie Lake, don't know what they're doing.

Weekends are big because the novices, amateurs, first-timers, and clueless are out on the lake on Saturdays and Sundays, leaving behind the stuff they just bought. Holidays are busy, too.

Frisk's collection of fishing bobbers numbers 1,550 (as of May 23, 2009, when this newspaper story was posted) and counting. Those are just the ones he's pulled out of Prairie Lake behind his home in Cameron in northwestern Wisconsin. He's found a lot more, but he gives some away to friends.

Pretty much every heavily fished lake in the state has lots of fishing gear that once graced tackle boxes but got snagged, lost and caught, prompting the angler to get disgusted and leave without it.

"I don't know why they leave them," Frisk said from his backyard.

"Because they've got money," chimed in his wife, Irene.

Aside from the bobbers, he also has a sizable collection of jigs, spinners and lures.

Some bobbers look like they've been in the lake since a retired Dwight Eisenhower fished in northern Wisconsin (in 1956), and some look like they were taken out of the package five minutes ago. Some come from Hungary, a couple light up, one says "Wisconsin DNR Help Keep Our Lakes Clean," and a few are made from wood and cork. "Some are at least 50 years old," Frisk said.

Kneeling down over the pile of bobbers, he plucked out a few. "Here's one that says 25 cents, this one is 30 cents. Here's one with a happy face," he said, noting that bobbers now go for 50 cents to a couple of bucks, with lighted bobbers costing around $3 apiece.

Frisk made himself a bobber retriever out of a 16-foot aluminum pole and a beer-can-sized wire-mesh basket. He uses it to free bobbers from trees, where they got snagged after inattentive anglers cast without getting the lay of the land.

Three times, he's seen birds in trees entangled in fishing lines. He rescued two of them, both chickadees with hooks in their mouths, and the third bird was dead when he discovered it.

After weekends and holidays, he heads out on Prairie Lake to look for bobbers, jigs and lures that he sees floating in the water or along the shore, in trees and caught on debris. A lot of times, finding one wayward bobber leads to the discovery of more. He's been doing this for two decades.

"I'm out here on the lake all the time. People pick up litter off the road. I thought I'd pick up on the lake," he said.

Before Irene married Ronald 49 years ago, her soon-to-be mother-in-law gave her a tip, which turned out to be true. She said, "You won't see him much during the summer."

That's because Frisk loves to fish. He said he's been fishing since he was in diapers, figures he's caught 100,000 or so. He bought a home on Prairie Lake, which is part of the Chetek chain of lakes, after he retired from his steel-mill job in Indiana, just so he could walk out his front door and fish whenever he wants.

Does he catch and release? "I catch and release them in a bucket. I catch 'em to eat 'em."

Frisk also makes his own jigs in a small workroom in his garage. He sells them at local taverns under the name Link Lures.

The odd part about his collection of bobbers is that Frisk doesn't fish with them--he prefers adjustable torpedo bobbers, and he's never managed to find those while scouring Prairie Lake.

Irene Frisk doesn't mind her husband's vocation, nor the fact that he's out on the lake so often.

"It keeps him busy. It keeps him out of my hair. He enjoys going out after the weekend and cleaning up after the people who can't throw straight," she said.

About the author...Meg Jones is a journalist and war correspondent who frequently writes about the military, history and veterans issues for her hometown Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. On four trips to Iraq as an embedded reporter and another four trips to Afghanistan, between 2003 and 2014, Meg followed Wisconsin troops as they performed their missions in war zones. Born in Rhinelander, Wis., which officially makes her a Hodag ("a fearsome critter," according to Wisconsin folklore), Jones grew up in Milwaukee and earned degrees in journalism and history at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where she worked as a reporter and photographer for campus newspapers, played in the UW marching band, and rowed on the Badger crew team. She was a reporter for daily newspapers in Marinette, Shawano and Wausau, Wis., and worked for USA Today before being hired by The Milwaukee Sentinel shortly after The Sentinel merged with The Milwaukee Journal. She taught journalism at Marquette University for more than a decade. Jones was a Pulitzer finalist at The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel as part of a team that covered the outbreak of chronic wasting disease in Wisconsin's whitetail deer herd.

A Mouthful, With No Room to Spare

One May, Wichita, KS, resident Bill Driver happened to see a kid's 8-inch basketball bouncing around a little strangely in a lake near his home, and he went to investigate. It turned out that a flathead catfish obviously had "bitten off more than he could chew," and the ball had become lodged in its mouth.

The fish was totally exhausted from trying to dive but not being able to because the ball kept bringing him back to the surface.

Bill tried numerous times to remove the ball by pulling on it but was unsuccessful. He finally had his wife, Pam, cut the ball to deflate it and release the hungry catfish.

Following are the photos Pam took to document the account, which I happened across on JeffBridges.com. An expanded version of this story also appeared in The Wichita Eagle. For the benefit of any "doubting Thomases" out there, this fish story was verified as true by Snopes.com.

Be kinder than necessary, 'cause every living thing is fighting some kind of battle.

Proving That Bad Luck Can Indeed Become Habit-Forming

Once a bass tournament is in the record books, especially one held in the heat of summer, it's not unusual for participants to feel extremely tired, grouchy and hungry, among other things. In many cases, we're also fighting a giant-sized headache. I figure it's probably safe to bet that the overriding thought on most of our minds is something along these lines: "Dear God, please just let me get my gear cleaned up and everything put away without any problems."

No one deserves to find themselves in the position of one tournament angler I recently read about. It seems he just had backed his boat inside the two-car garage and unhooked the trailer from the truck. He subsequently had to run some errands, so he climbed back in his truck and eased down the drive a ways before hitting the remote to close the garage door.

Glancing in the rearview mirror to check the door, he noticed that, instead of closing, it was going back up. "What the hey?" he wondered, but instead of getting out to check the situation, he simply reached up and pushed the door opener a second time. Unfortunately, he watched the door once again start down but stop and go back up.

It seems reasonable to think that most people, by this time, would have gotten out of their vehicle to see what was going on. Not this fella, though. "Nope," he said. "My tired, dumb arse reached up and pushed the door opener a third time. And I'll be darned if the door didn't again go down, then right back up."

By now, the gent was mad, so he finally climbed out of the truck to see what the heck the problem was. "OMG!" he thought. "I forgot to collapse the trailer tongue."

As a result of the garage door repeatedly smacking the trailer tongue, the door's aluminum panels were crumpled beyond repair. A new garage door set him back to the tune of $2,100.

That expense, however, isn't the only one this angler has had to endure; rather, it's just the most expensive one.

In another incident, he once ran over his bicycle tire with a wheel on his trailer. He also has run over the mailbox while turning out of the driveway with his boat and ended up having to replace both the wooden post and the mailbox. He further has ripped molding off the garage with one of his trailer fenders, and finally, he once hit and broke the taillight-lens cover to his wife's SUV with a back corner of the boat.

Don't know how the rest of you feel, but if I had incurred that much damage trying to get my boat in and out of a garage, I tend to believe I would have been investigating other alternatives for storing my "toy."

I Woulda Been W-a-a-a-y Past Messin' in My Skivvies

I've never been brave, especially when I'm out on the water. That's why I always duck and run for shelter anytime I see a storm heading my way, or if I meet up with one of those "big boys" pushing a lot bigger "wall of water" than I'm comfortable with. And even at that, there have been a fair number of times over the years I've still had the bejesus scared out of me. Those instances, however, would pale dramatically in comparison to the predicament a couple of anglers from Roanoke, VA, found themselves in one July day.

As explained in the article I read, a bass fisherman and his partner, a physician, made it to an open tournament on Lake Erie. Before the practice-day launch, another competitor offered them one of his water socks, saying, "It'll slow the boat in case it gets caught in the wind." The launch was no problem, and the two Roanoke fellas headed into Lake Erie--for the first time ever.

Once on the lake, the swells soon climbed to 4 feet, but the two anglers weren't having much problem with them, despite the fact they never had fished such waters before. Like everyone else practicing in the same area, they bobbed and weaved.

But then, with no warning, no increase in the wind, no storms, no nothing, they looked up and saw water above and all around them. In the blink of an eye, those 4-foot swells had swollen to 8 feet. At this point, in case you haven't already figured it out, is where a pair of messed up skivvies would have been the least of my worries.

Water came crashing over the transom, flooding the engine compartment and the console area. The two anglers held on as a second wave soon followed. Quickly, one of the men grabbed a 5-gallon bucket that happened to be on the boat and started bailing, because they knew the bilge pump wasn't powerful enough to deal with this much water.

In the meantime, a third wave crashed aboard, ripping the seats from the Champion bass boat and causing the transom to go under. The outboard by now had cut off, so the boat owner grabbed the water sock and his three Steez rod-and-reel setups (valued at $3,000), and both guys climbed out of the boat and held onto the sides. The bow of the Champion didn't totally sink, thanks to all the foam in it, coupled with the fact the forward compartments all were closed.

Fortunately, other bass boaters in the area saw what was happening and made a distress call to local authorities who contacted the rescue boat for assistance. When it arrived, both anglers still were holding onto the side of the Champion and bouncing in what now was 4-foot waves again. The 8-footers had disappeared as fast as they had arrived.

The Champion bass boat and two first-time Erie fishermen subsequently were towed back to the ramp without further incident.

Several different theories were offered as to what happened. The tow-boat captain suggested the problem may have been big storms somewhere else on the lake, causing waves to build as they slapped across the lake. "Guys who fish this lake," said the captain, "know to turn their boats into these big waves. Once you get hit in the stern, there is very little you can do but hope for the best."

The captain also went on to explain that pros who fish Lake Erie always have two or three bilge pumps on their boats.

The Champion and its 225-hp Mercury motor turned out to be a total loss, despite the fact it never sank. The owner also lost $1,500 in tackle, plus two Lowrance side-scan units and his MinnKota trolling motor.

The most important aspect here, though, is that no one was injured or killed. I also see one very important "lesson learned" for all to consider: Do your homework BEFORE fishing unfamiliar water. Know exactly what you're getting yourself into and plan accordingly.

For Week Ending Sunday, Feb. 18, 2018

Monday, Feb. 12 (from Ron)...Fished North Landing in search of panfish, but didn't find any. Couldn't find any largemouth in my usual hot spot, either. Had to settle for some pole-bender striped bass. Caught four of them, with two reaching the 18-inch mark. They gave a great fight, even the smaller ones. 'Twas a bit breezy, with light rain and temps in the upper 30s. Great evening!

Wednesday, Feb. 14 (from Ron)...Didn't notice anything different at the Pungo Ferry launch, but it is nice and convenient. Fished Albright's, and the water was surprisingly clear and a bit low. Lost one, caught a dink and a white perch. Not a total waste of time.  Marked a lot of bait. Always nice to be out.

Thursday, Feb. 15 (from Ron)...Fished Milldam Creek from about 4 until dark. Marked a bunch of baitfish in the main creek but nothing in the feeder creeks. It was in the feeder creeks, right up against the shore in the shallows, that I found four bass: a 1-1, 1-2, 1-14 and a 2-5. Didn't get any hits trolling. My lure of choice was the XTS Minnow, as it runs so shallow (1 foot max). Surprisingly, no panfish or chain pickerel. Was really nice to be out without hat and gloves.

All Set for a New Season on the Water...Well, Almost

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting at the dining-room table, helping my wife assemble a jigsaw puzzle--something I haven't done for longer than I can remember. Suddenly my cellphone rang, and it turned out to be Wayne, my boat mechanic. "Ready to get your spring service done?" he asked.

Knowing that the latest weather forecast I had heard hadn't sounded too promising for any outdoor activities, I asked if I could call him back early this morning with my reply. A check of The Weather Channel revealed chances of some showers this morning, but only between 5 and 10 percent until 11 o'clock, when the chances jumped up to 50 percent, with the possibility of some thunderstorms thrown in for good measure. It wasn't exactly the kind of forecast to give me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

A subsequent call back to Wayne, though, was all the reassurance I needed; he said he would be done in an hour and a half...max. I gulped down my breakfast, grabbed some rain gear, and headed for West Neck.

A half-hour after my arrival there (not bad for me, considering I was going slow, so as not to overlook something), I was on the road to Wayne's house.

Once there, it was the usual: spark and compression checks, change oil in lower unit, install new plugs, spray some cleaner, install new fuel/water separator filter, service the tilt/trim (probably will have to be replaced in due time), then hook up the garden hose and run the outboard for a few minutes. A check of trailer-tire pressure followed, and I was on my way back to West Neck Marina. Time elapsed: exactly 1 hour and 30 minutes.

The way I see it is that you can't beat a mechanic who does quality work and keeps his promised delivery time to boot. If only I could get the same thing from my auto mechanic.

In conclusion, let me explain the "well, almost" part of my headline. I have a couple new registration decals to apply one of these nice warm days. Could have done it today, but that was something I forgot to grab before heading out the door this morning. Just have to make sure I get this job done before my first trip on the water because I'm long overdue for a check by the game warden--can't remember the last time I had one of those, either.

Now comes the itch that can only be scratched with that first trip to the water of the new season. I can hardly wait.

It's Official...

The gates at Pungo Ferry have swung wide open again, and you once more have 24-7 access.

For the Week Ending Sunday, Feb. 11, 2018

Friday, Feb. 9 (from Ron)...Made a quick trip from 3:30 until dark. Spent some time playing around with a new fish finder, which I concluded will take time to figure out. In any event, it didn't help much in the way of my totals. I managed four or five chain pickerel to 20 inches and a 1-8 bass on the XTS jerkbait. Oddly, didn't find any panfish.

Saturday, Feb. 10 (from Ron)...Headed out for a Milldam trip at about 11 a.m. Rain was forecast at 3, but it arrived early, and the wetness, along with the wind and cold, drove me off. However, I still managed a 2-lb. 5-oz. bass to avoid the skunk. The water was very, very murky. Am keeping my options open for perhaps going back out later in pursuit of some stripers.

Sunday, Feb. 11 (from Ron)...To find wind protection, launched at  Lotus Garden for Muddy Creek. At the 2-hour and 47-minute mark, I had my first hit and reeled in a 2-3 bass. Ten minutes later, I stumbled across a 1-5, and that was all. The wind was a bear, but at least it was warm.

A Bass on Your First Cast--Good Luck or Bad?

The answer to that question appears to depend on whom you may be talking to at the time.

There are those who will tell you that a bass on your first cast simply means you started at the right spot--nothing more or less, and a lot better than nothing.

As another fella noted, however, "I'll never forget the day a buddy and I fished a local, 8-hour tournament. It was mid-fall, with cooler-than-normal temperatures and breezy conditions. On the first cast of the day, I boated a 14-inch keeper. We were pumped, thinking we absolutely were going to kill it--not so, however. We spent the next 7 hours and 45 minutes without another bite. Weighed our one fish and finished 4th out of 12 boats--a really brutal day," as he described it.

And what about those of us who, any one given season, slay fish on one particular stretch of water with one particular lure and return to the same site the next season, figuring to pull off a repeat performance? Consider, for example, the guy who one year consistently had found bass on a section of rip-rap, where the water dropped off quickly to 12 feet. He often boated fish all day long on his visits there with a 7.5-inch grape-shad Culprit worm, then went back the next year, and on the first cast (with the same Culprit worm), caught one better than 2 pounds. In his mind, he just knew, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that he was destined to repeat his successes of the previous season. And you know what? He spent the next 4 hours of that day, as well as many more, trying his dead-level best to prove it...but often without a single tap.

It doesn't take much research to determine that a large number of anglers have "first fish" superstitions, regardless of whether they catch that first fish on the first cast or the 101st. I read about one fella who makes it a point to kiss each day's first fish for good luck. Also read about one who swears he always releases the first catch of the day on the spot, no matter what, for good luck.

I can't help wondering, however, if that latter angler could stay true to his word if his first fish of the day, especially a tournament day, turned out to be a big 'un. Let's say, for example, his first fish of the tournament day happened to tip the scales in double digits. What kind of tournament angler could possibly bring himself/herself to release a first fish of that magnitude on the spot? I won't say there's not one, but I sure would like to meet such an angler, if one exists.

Based on an account I read about in the March 25, 2017, edition of The Wichita Eagle, there's a Lawrence, KS, tournament bass angler who didn't immediately release the 10-lb. 15-oz. largemouth (pictured at top) he caught on the first cast. Incidentally, that March 18, 2017, fish set a new record for La Cygne Reservoir. Instead, the angler waited until after the weigh-in had taken place, and he had locked up a 2nd-place finish with a two-fish total weight of 15 lbs. 1 oz. Here's a link to the video of that event: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIm9XE5272M.

In conclusion, I think it's fair to say we all have our own ideas about superstitions, but I propose that a big bass is likely to make any of us perhaps put all superstitions aside--at least for a little while.

Another Pungo Ferry Ramp Udate

Thanks to Skip, we easily can see that the work is now complete. Just one more thing remains--that being a final inspection--and the facility reportedly will be ready to reopen for business.

As explained earlier, the new ramp is designed to accommodate boats up to 26 feet in length. Take note, however, that, as was true with the old ramp, "no power loading is allowed" with this new one, either.

Bad News Isn't the Only Thing That Runs in Threes

As I learned from reading a fellow native Kansan's Jan. 8, 2018, Hays Post newspaper article, good news also sometimes runs in threes. It all has a lot to do with timing.

By Karen Madorin

After every rifle season, lucky hunters celebrate their success stories, recounting details of the hunt to their friends and anyone else who will listen. Over the years, I've heard many a tale about how one little turn of good fortune transformed an ordinary hunt into the extraordinary hunt.

I doubt that any of the hunters involved in the following three tales, though, realize how lucky they are...how fate protected them from permanently injuring others, or worse. The first tale involved neighbors who lived west of us. The wife came home around dusk the first Wednesday of rifle deer season to discover a high-powered rifle bullet had shattered the family-room bay window. This room happened to be where her grandchild played and napped when visiting Grandma.

The bullet-shattered glass shards exploded through the room so thoroughly the insurance company replaced furniture, carpeting and window dressings, since splinters couldn't be totally removed. Thinking about what could have happened had any human, let alone a small child, been in that room sickens me.

The second story involved a friend who stored his bass boat in his mother's barn. Come warm weather, he prepared his boat for the upcoming fishing season when he discovered a problem with the engine. It wouldn't run because a high-powered rifle slug was lodged in it. After doing a little detective work, he, too, discovered an errant bullet had whistled through the barn wall, through the boat hull, and into the engine. Once again, a lucky hunter avoided injuring a human, though he or she wreaked havoc on my friend's fishing season.

Historically, bad luck comes in threes. Perhaps good luck does also. The third story involved several pieces of good fortune stitched together. Just a few weeks ago, another neighbor traveled much of December and early January. Upon his return, he invited my husband to his barn to show him a bullet hole that hadn't been there when our neighbor left in December.

On a mission to discover how a bullet hole exited a locked barn, the two began searching. What they found made them realize another rifle hunter narrowly avoided tragedy. This individual had to have fired a rifle, apparently coming over a nearby hill. We assume he or she aimed at a deer in an alfalfa field and missed. The lead pierced the barn wall, passed through a wooden plank propped against it, struck the corner of a wheat drill that split the still moving projectile, sending both fragments through the front door toward gas tanks in front of the barn. Our friend frequently parks his pickup in that location, so it was fortunate he was traveling when the incident occurred.

This is not an essay against hunting. This sport is a wonderful way to enjoy nature, learn more about our place in it, and fill the freezer. This is an essay that celebrates some hunters' good fortune in that they did not kill or injure another human when they failed to follow the most basic tenet of hunter safety: Know where your bullet is going before you pull the trigger. High-powered rifles make it possible to shoot a bullet an average of 3,500 feet per second. Those using them have a responsibility to know where the bullet will end up if it misses the target.

Somewhere, someone is bemoaning a lost deer. Instead, that hunter needs to celebrate not ending up a statistic in the back of the hunter-education manual.

Native Kansan Karen Madorin (pictured at top) is a writer and retired teacher who loves sharing stories about places, people, critters, plants, food, and history of the High Plains. I sincerely thank her and the Hays Post for allowing me to reprint this article.

Little Things Mean a Lot

That's the title of a tune that, back in 1954, hit the No. 1 spot on both the U.S. Billboard and Cash Box charts. More importantly, though, it also signals the way I thought of fellow angler Duane Kessel. Here's why I say that.

From the earliest record I could find of when Duane started fishing the Dewey Mullins Tribute Bass Tourney Series (now Dewey Mullins Memorial Bass Tourney Series), which was July 14, 2012, one thing stood out for me. It was that, each tournament morning before he ever left dockside to go fishing, Duane would have Dewey come over and lay a hand on his Winner bass boat.

I was a little puzzled by this ritual, so I finally asked Dewey one day what the significance was for it. He explained that, while earlier employed at Princess Anne Marine, he had rigged the Winner that Duane drove. The "laying on of hands," generally speaking, was Duane's idea of a "good luck charm," of sorts.

For me, the ritual demonstrated a side of Duane I never would have gotten from just looking at and/or talking to him.

And then came this past tourney season, when Duane and his newfound tournament partner, Bobby Moore, became two of several anglers vying for 2017 Angler of the Year honors. As the end of the regular tournaments approached, Bobby was leading Duane by about two pounds. "But if they were fishing as partners, how could they have had a different total weight?" you may be asking. The short explanation is that each had fished an earlier tournament or two in a solo status.

With only two or three tourneys on the schedule remaining, I sat down with both anglers and reminded Duane that the only way he would have a chance to finish as 2017 AOY, or perhaps to share the honor with Bobby, is if he were to break away and fish solo at least once more before the season ended.

The response I got was without any hesitation whatever. Duane said he and Bobby were going to finish the season together--and they did. His actual words went something like this: "I wouldn't do that to Bobby--or anyone, for that matter. Friendship means more to me than any awards."

These two "little thing" incidents made me realize that, under that rugged persona of Duane's, beat the heart of a gentler man than most (in my opinion) probably ever would think possible, especially at first glance. He truly was one of "the good guys," and he's going to be missed--not just for this coming tournament season but forever.

For the benefit of those who couldn't make the memorial service today (Saturday, Feb. 3, 2018) for Duane, following are the links for the opening and closing musical pieces (in that order) that were played at the service:

Frank Sinatra, My Way, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljrFQyE1hAg

Vince Gill, Go Rest High on That Mountain, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jXrmAKBBTU

As I've already said once, "Rest in peace, my brother."