Remembering a New Year's Eve Day Past

It was Dec. 31, 1977, and Oklahoma native John Lee Smith was fishing Toledo Bend Reservoir when he achieved what, to the best of his knowledge, still stands as a record for that impoundment. On that date, he caught 10 bass weighing a grand total of 86 pounds (see photo of the mounts at left)...plus six more weighing between 6 and 8 pounds. 

Incidentally, Smith had the 10 biggest fish stringer-mounted since he caught them all the same day. I also should point out that he caught every single fish on a jig and eel.

As noted by Smith, "The stars evidently were aligned perfectly on that New Year's Eve: 45 degrees, wind calm, and a low barometer. I read a story about a guy in Arkansas fishing Lake Millwood on the same day who caught a bunch of 9-10 pounders, so I figure the weather conditions were the ultimate."

By any standard, Smith's numbers are enviable. More importantly, they're the rule...not the exception...for this self-acclaimed "old big bass fisherman." Here's why I make that statement.

In the years preceding when Florida-strain bass were stocked in Toledo Bend, Smith caught four bass in the 9-pound class, 378 in the 8-pound class, and 562 in the 7-pound class. And just for grins and giggles, he added another estimated 700-plus bass in the "measly" 6-pound class (I say that, in case you haven't guessed, with tongue in cheek).

"What a great lake it was, and what a blessing to have been there along my journey!" he remarked.

Said Smith, "Ninety-eight percent of these fish were caught on the same rig between December and March, with the majority coming in January, after cold weather had settled in for at least two weeks. You can read about how and see where (in a personal map) I caught these bass in my book titled The Journey of an Old Big Bass Fisherman," which was published Feb. 29, 2016. "Took me hours to get the map accurate. I marked the spots with an 'X', along with a description of what the hole was like."

Expect to find details like this in the book: "Brush piles were on 20-to-25-foot drops, but on the river bank, with a drop of 15 to 45 feet, fish were holding at 25 to 30 feet on tree roots that stuck out from the steep bank.

"The rig I used was a 3/8-ounce black/yellow hair jig with Uncle Josh spring lizard water dogs. I fished it all day and very rarely got hung up. 

"The average number of big bass per trip out of one brush pile was 2 to 7, and the average number of casts was 20 per pile.

"Brush piles were created when bulldozers cut boat lanes. They would push the trees until they were maxed out weight-wise, then turn and push them to the side. One particular boat-lane stretch of about a mile had a slope on the west side, which created a slide when they pushed the trees over the edge.

"We would anchor in the boat lane and cast into the pile on the slide. It was not a matter of whether you would get a bite but rather if you would get the fish, or he would get you."

From the time Smith (pictured left) moved to Shreveport, LA, in 1967, until he left some 30 years later, "Other anglers would just shake their heads anytime he showed up to fish an event," wrote Jimmy Watson, sports reporter with the Shreveport Times. "He figures he won more than $100,000 in local tournaments on Caddo, D'Arbonne, Bistineau, Cross, and the Atchafalaya, along with Toledo Bend. He began fishing the latter impoundment the day it opened to the public and quickly learned many of its vagaries."

Currently residing in north Dallas, near his grandchildren, Smith lives on a 52-acre lake designed by Bill Dance. He fishes there two or three times per week, while also teaching others to fish. But, as he shared with Watson during an April 2016 book-signing visit to Shreveport, he had hopes of fishing "a private lake south of Dallas in the coming months that has yielded a record 17.2-pound largemouth, as well as a 17.11-pounder. It costs $1,500 per day to fish it.

"The man who owns it," continued Smith, "put fingerlings in there and let it sit for eight years. Now the rule is if you catch a bass weighing 7 pounds or less, you have to take it out. You have a 90-percent chance of catching a bass weighing at least 10 pounds if you fish there."

A political consultant during much of the time he lived in Shreveport, Smith also does art sketches (about 100 per month) for two publications in Florida. Many of his sketches also are included in his book, The Journey of an Old Big Bass Fisherman. Retail price is $19.99. To order a copy, click on this link: https://app.thebookpatch.com/BookStore/the-journey-of-an-old-big-bass-fisherman/c786cec2-98a7-46e5-ab42-419e6412f908 .

For Period Ending Sunday, Jan. 3, 2021

Sunday, Dec. 27 (from Ron)...Having not fished since Dec. 3, it was good to be back on the water. Had a good morning, catching five bass (1-8, 1-11, 2-1, 3-2, and a 3-4), plus a slime dart. Also lost three more of the latter (all felt decent). Everything fell for the XTS Minnow (shallow jerkbait) that I trolled around Tecumseh. The 3-2 was longer but skinnier than the 3-4 bass.

Wednesday, Dec. 30 (from Ron)...Looking at the weather, it may have been the last trip of 2020.  Fished Tecumseh and didn't find a tap for two hours. Near sunset, managed a bass and a chain pickerel to avoid the skunk. Trusty XTS Minnow was the bait of choice. Lost a larger bass alongside the yak.

Friday, Jan. 1...Had a "Happy New Year!" note this morning from Ron, in which he included his year-end stats from 2020 (see chart at right. Just click on the chart to get a size you can read). He mentioned that his kayak trips added up to 204 (a light year), but that his fishing log contained only 195 entries...an indication that "I may have missed transcribing a few," as he allowed. "'Twas a good year for the skunk species," he continued. "I landed 25 of those, making for a far-too-high ratio. Many of those were while chasing the puppy drum, which is my most challenging to find." It was a good year for largemouths, though. He scored more than 400 of them..."and my best year for striped bass, as far as length went, with several in the high 20s and one a 30.5-incher," he said. "Let's see what 2021 brings," he concluded, along with "Tight Lines!" to all.

Sunday, Jan. 3 (from Ron)...Made first trip of the new year. Wanted to get out yesterday but had to replace a fuel pump. There was a light drizzle, with murky water flowing out at Ashville Bridge Creek. Caught six dink bass, three chain pickerel, one crappie, and one white perch. Nothing of any size, but sure beats a skunk. Also had one bass that may have been over 2 lbs., but it threw the hook before I could grab him. All fell to a white micro spinnerbait.

For the Anglers...Mostly

"For many fishermen, there's a ghost fish that, along with the memory of the knot that slipped, and the line that snapped, or the hook that gave, will haunt his dreams forever." (Luke Jennings, Blood Knots, 2011)

By Glenn Busch

A few weeks ago, I lost a fish, perhaps one of those fish we anglers like to refer to as "the fish of a lifetime." I don't want to settle into that degree of certainty, but it could very well have been the largest brown trout I have ever caught. Unfortunately, circumstances intervened, and the big fish got away. And it wasn't the first time.

There was that time on the South Holston when I set the hook on what felt like a concrete block. Tugging on the line a couple of times, I was convinced I'd snagged bottom, until the block started moving away...slowly, with confidence, the way a big one does when it's more annoyed than panicked.

I tried to turn that fish, with no more effect than a half-bent rod and screeching reel. With a gossamer tippet attached to the fly, all I could do was watch line unspool until the tippet snapped.

Then there was that New River smallmouth, so many years ago. Dave and I were casting cicada patterns from a drift boat, working tight to the banks, when we came opposite a pile of fallen timber--ideal habitat for lunker bass.

What looked to be about a five-pounder came out from under a tangle of submerged limbs and rose to the fly; as I was preparing to set, a dark shadow twice the size of the five-pounder shot out from under a log and inhaled the bug. It all happened in an instant, an instant that I recall as clearly as though it happened yesterday.

I came very close to boating that fish, which no doubt contributes to the heartache of losing it. The hookset was solid, and I was able to steer the bass away from the snags, but it took off for deeper water, and our guide had to row hard to keep pace with the flight.

Once in open water, my confidence grew, and eventually I had the fish near the surface...only yards from the boat. The guide readied the net just as the great fish jumped, and in my dreams, I still hear Dave as it came into view: "My God, that's the biggest smallmouth I've ever seen!"

But not for long. Seeing the net, the fish dove for the bottom, where I felt that unmistakable tremble of leader rubbing against rock. It's a sickening feeling, because every seasoned angler knows what it potentially means, which in this case was the worst. The leader severed, and my prize escaped.

This latest disappointment occurred on Mossy Creek, a narrow, spring-fed run in limestone country known for its elusive, outsized browns. Conditions weren't ideal, with the water low and clear, and the unobstructed sun making it tricky to keep our shadows off the water. Even so, I had landed fish throughout the day...nothing to brag about but enough to suit me.

Then, as the sun eased below the horizon, signaling that we would soon have to reel in and head for home, I tossed a Kreelex into a narrow slot between two rows of aquatic vegetation. The fly scarcely had settled when a long brown submarine appeared, ate, and immediately did a one-eighty.

When a hefty fish turns the instant it takes, the physics align in the fish's favor, especially on 5X tippet. And so it was...snap! and the burly brown disappeared among the weeds. I hadn't done anything wrong. It was just one of those things.

Our guide seemed more disappointed than I was, as he carried on about "the shoulders on that fish, how big it was, and how fish are even larger than they appear in water."

Having been around so much human tragedy, I have a hard time getting too worked up over losing a fish, even when it's a good one. So I didn't say much, but grief was there, or I wouldn't be writing this post.

Maybe it's because of all the sheltering in place and having too much time on my hands. Whatever the reason, I've been doing a little philosophizing lately, including why we anglers get so emotional over a lost fish.

I'm wondering if it has something to do with an unconscious connection to other losses, such as lost opportunities, lost loved ones, lost youth, lost dreams...that sort of thing. Surely, there is something metaphorical going on here, something we project onto those singular moments of piscatorial disappointment, something that stands in for other griefs we carry deep within our souls.

I'm still thinking about that. No conclusions yet. But with three quarters of a century and two joint replacements behind me, I'm philosophizing that I don't have a lot of time left to catch the fish of a lifetime, while sitting here hoping that the next one won't break off.

About the author: Glenn Busch retired to Lynchburg, VA, in 2008, as rector emeritus of St. Mary's Church in High Point, NC, after a pastorate of more than 27 years. It was during the High Point years that he also became a college teacher. While serving as rector of the parish, High Point University asked him to become an adjunct faculty member, where, for 18 years, he taught for the department of religion and philosophy. Glenn and his wife, Kathleen, have two children and two grandchildren upon whom they dote as often as time and distance will allow.

A New Rod for Gramps: A Christmas Story

By Robert Vail

Young Cris had been going fishing since he was old enough to walk. Gramps, as he called him, was raising Cris as best he could, living on a fixed income.

Cris's parents had been taken from him in a car crash when he was only six months old, and his Gramps was just like a dad to him. Gramps had lost his wife to cancer a year before Cris was born, so the two of them needed each other very much.

Living within a mile of one of Texas' largest bays, Cris enjoyed the time he and his grandfather spent on its shores. Gramps had spent many hours schooling him in the finer art of angling for redfish, and he always admired the pretty copper-colored battlers that his Gramps caught and later cooked for dinner.

Cris fished with a push-button reel on a rod that was tattered and missing an eye or two. Limited as to what he could catch on his smaller outfit, he was just as happy catching croakers for Gramps to use for cut bait to lure the redfish they ate.

Gramps fished with an old knuckle-busting reel that had no drag and direct drive mounted on an old six-foot rod that was a little stiffer than he would like, but it was all he had, and he couldn't afford a newer model, so he made do.

In the spring of Cris' eighth year, he accompanied Gramps to a local pawn shop, where Gramps was going to try and sell his old shotgun to help pay for some of his medical bills. Gramps reasoned that since he was too old to tromp the salt marsh after ducks any more, he might as well use the gun for something good.

While in the pawn shop, Cris noticed his grandfather wander over to a rack of fishing rods in the corner and pick up a shiny seven-foot rod with a new, bright red Garcia reel on it. Gramps held the rod admiringly, sighting down the length of it. He tested it for balance and made several make-believe casts before setting it back in its place.

Cris knew then what he wanted to give his Gramps for next Christmas.

All summer long, Cris did as many odd jobs as he could, saving every penny he earned mowing grass and washing cars. In between fishing trips with his grandfather, he carried out the neighbor's garbage, and as summer turned into fall, he raked leaves all over the neighborhood.

Finally, two days before Christmas, he had enough money saved. Cris hopped on his bicycle and pedaled down to the pawn shop...only to find that the rod and reel that his Gramps had so admired had been sold only hours before.

Disappointed and with his gaze fixed on the ground, Cris slowly rode his bicycle back home. He knew he didn't have enough money to buy Gramps a brand new rod and reel. He needed time to try and figure out what to do, and he knew no better way to think things over than to go fishing.

Grabbing his push-button reel and rod, he quietly slipped out the backdoor as Gramps napped in his chair. He figured he would be back before Gramps even knew he was gone.

When he arrived at the edge of the bay, he noticed that the tide was unusually high, and the bay was as calm as glass. Only the occasional swirl of a passing mullet dimpled the surface.

Cris had brought only one piece of cut mullet, because he didn't really think he would catch anything, but he enjoyed the peace and solitude. Mainly, he wanted to try and figure out what to do about Gramps' Christmas gift.

Casting out his piece of bait, he held onto his rod but let his mind wander. Watching a lone seagull glide effortlessly overhead, he pondered what to do.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp thump on his line. Then it slowly began to move to one side.

Reeling in the slack, he set the hook into what he instantly realized was a bigger fish than he ever had hooked. He pulled on his flimsy rod and reel as hard as he dared, and to his amazement, the fish began to swim toward him. Reeling for all he was worth, he had the huge fish wallowing in the shallows at his feet before he knew it. He reached down and gently slid his hand under the gill plate of the huge red, hefting it to better admire it.

When he lifted the fish, he noticed a shiny new hook in the opposite corner of its mouth. String still was attached to the hook, and it dipped into the water. Laying the fish on the bank, he grabbed the string and began pulling. He felt a resistance from something on the other end of the line.

Tugging harder, he saw the tip of a rod break the mirror surface. Giving a final yank, he couldn't believe his eyes when a new rod and Garcia reel--just like the one in the pawn shop--emerged from the water.

What luck!

Turning his attention back to the huge redfish, he found that it was gone. Somehow, that fish had thrown the hook and disappeared. Did it flop back into the bay? How on earth did that fish vanish without so much as a splash?

Cris looked around for signs telling how that fish had disappeared when he noticed a short, round man in a red suit with black knee-high boots disappear into a stand of sea cane nearby. Cris paused. Could it be...you know who? Maybe...Nah! Probably not.

One thing he knew for sure. That redfish had delivered a brand new, shiny rod with a bright red Garcia reel that he had worked so hard for all summer long.

Cris gathered his things and started for home on his bicycle, knowing...kind of...what just had happened. Arriving there, he hid the new rod and reel in the garage and slipped back inside just as Gramps was stirring from his nap.

On Christmas morning, he was up before Gramps, placing the now clean, shiny new rod and bright red Garcia reel under the evergreen tree with the glittering golden star on top.

The smile that lit up Gramps' face when he saw the new rod and reel was the best Christmas gift Cris ever could have received. He knew he and Gramps would spend plenty of quality time together in the days to come, sitting on the edge of the bay in pursuit of the mighty redfish.

This story first ran in the Dec. 16, 1998, edition of the Penny Record, a weekly newspaper from Bridge City, TX.

'Twas the Night Before Seniors' Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas at Rock-Away Rest,

And all of us seniors were looking our best.

Our glasses, how sparkly, our wrinkles, how merry;

Our punch bowl held prune juice, plus three drops of sherry.

A bed sock was taped to each walker in hope,

That Santa would bring us soft candy and soap.

We surely were lucky to be there with friends,

Secure in this residence in our Depends.

Our grandkids had sent us some Christmasy crafts,

Like angels in snowsuits and penguins on rafts.

The dental assistant had borrowed our teeth,

And from them she'd crafted a holiday wreath.

The bed pans, so shiny, all stood in a row,

Reflecting our candle's magnificent glow.

Our supper, so festive (the joy wouldn't stop),

Was creamy warm oatmeal, with sprinkles on top.

Our salad was Jell-O, so jiggly and great;

Then puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate.

The social director then had us play games,

Like "Where Are You Living?" and "What Are Your Names?"

Old Grandfather Looper was feeling his oats,

Proclaiming that reindeer were nothing but goats.

Our resident wanderer was tied to her chair,

In hopes that at bedtime she still would be there.

Security lights on the new fallen snow,

Made outdoors seem noon to the old folks below.

Then out on the porch there arose quite a clatter

But we are so deaf that it just didn't matter.

A strange little fellow flew in through the door,

Then tripped on the sill and fell flat on the floor.

'Twas just our director, all togged out in red.

He jiggled and chuckled and patted each head.

We knew from the way that he strutted and jived,

Our Social Security checks had arrived.

We sang--how we sang--in our monotone croak,

Till the clock tinkled out its soft eight-p.m. stroke.

And soon we were snuggling deep in our beds,

While nurses distributed nocturnal meds.

And so ends our Christmas at Rock-Away Rest,

For long you'll be with us, we wish you the best.

It is not known who wrote the preceding parody-song lyrics. However, the original song title was "A Visit From St. Nicholas."

No Matter Where You Go, It's Looking a Lot Like the Holidays...

From decorating rods...

To decorating boats...

         To decorating a tree with lures.

'Twas the Day Before Christmas

By Doug (Last Name Unknown)

'Twas the day before Christmas,

I snuck out like a mouse;

To go fishin' with Joe,

So we met at his house.

Up to Crescent we drove,

Pulled around in Joe's boat;

We loaded our stuff,

And I put on my coat.

In five minutes time,

We had one in the net;

And a second was hooked,

But was not a sure bet.

He waggled his head,

And then broke off the line;

Swam away with our lure,

But still we did not whine.

Got chilly and cloudy,

And started to blow;

Still it's always a blessing,

To be fishing with Joe.

So we trolled, and we trolled,

And the wind it did bristle;

We hoped and we prayed,

Even tried the "Fish Whistle!"

And finally all of

Our efforts did pay,

A fish in the box,

At the end of the day.

So enjoy all your friends,

Here's a holiday wish;

May your blessings be great,

And catch lots of big fish.

Ever Decorated Your Christmas Tree With One of These?

I certainly haven't. To be honest, I'd never even heard about Christmas pickle ornaments until I ran across it online a couple days ago. For that matter, no one seems to be quite sure at all how this tradition got started.

It has been noted, however, that in the 1880s, Woolworth stores started selling glass ornaments imported from Germany, and some were in the shape of various fruit and vegetables...with pickles perhaps being among the selections. Some folks claim the Christmas pickle indeed is a very old German tradition, and that the pickle was the last ornament hung on a Christmas tree. Subsequently, the first child to find the pickle got an extra present. That claim, however, also has its doubters.

There are two other far-fetched stories linking the pickle to Christmas. One features a fighter in the American Civil War, who was born in Bavaria (an area of what is now Germany). He was a prisoner, and starving, he begged a guard for one last pickle before he died. The guard allegedly took pity on him and gave him a pickle, which gave him the mental and physical strength to live on.

The other story is linked to St. Nicholas. It's a medieval tale of two Spanish boys traveling home from a boarding school for the holidays. When they stopped at an inn for the night, the evil innkeeper killed the boys and put them in a pickle barrel. That evening, St. Nicholas stopped at the same inn and found the boys in the barrel. He miraculously brought them back to life.

There's also an old legend about St. Nicholas rescuing boys from a barrel, but the barrel held meat for pies--not pickles.

The truth of the matter might be that an ornament salesman, with a lot of spare pickles to sell, invented the legend of the Christmas pickle.

This much is certain: The American city of Berrien Springs, MI (also known as the Christmas Pickle Capital of the World) holds a pickle festival during the early part of December each year.

Season's Greetings to One and All!

"Be a Hero:" It's Not Just a Slogan

Sometimes, slogans prove to be accurate, and that indeed was true in a case I recently read about online. Seems Corey and his brother, Todd, were fishing Alabama's Pickwick Lake on May 20, 2017, when Todd got hung up and eventually reeled in...of all things...a GoPro Hero 3 camera.

Corey subsequently took the camera home, cleaned it, and recharged the device, then decided to give it the acid test. "There's no way it still will work," he thought. But when he turned it on, (voila!) footage immediately began downloading to his laptop computer. This footage was dated Feb. 28, 2014, which meant the camera had been on the lake's bottom for three years, two months, and 21 days.

The footage showed a fisherman on his red and white Nitro (as seen in the above photo) just seconds before the camera flopped off and fell into the water. As the GoPro sank into the abyss, it continued filming and revealed an iPhone also sinking.

"Our assumption,"  said Corey, "was that the owner apparently lost the latter after diving in after his camera. The last image was the GoPro hitting the sediment on the bottom of the lake."

Corey posted all of this footage, along with some photos, on Facebook, hoping to reunite the camera with its owner. "We would love to reconnect the owner with his lost treasure," said the ad.

It wasn't long before the rightful owner contacted Corey through Facebook and confirmed the story. "The GoPro was a Christmas gift from my parents," noted the owner, "and this was the first time I'd used it."

Corey subsequently packaged the camera and shipped it to the owner, proving that he indeed was a hero...just as advertised in the slogan, which, according to GoPro CEO Nick Woodman, "came out of the name of our first product, the HERO camera. The idea," he said, "was that our camera could help you capture photos (and eventually video) that made you look like a HERO. 'Be a HERO' similarly inspires you to do your best at whatever you do."

Art Linkletter Had It Right: "Kids Say the Darndest Things"

One Christmas Eve day, Harry and his nephew went hunting for deer near his brother-in-law's house. They just had entered the small patch of woods when a four-point buck jumped up in front of Harry.

Using a Remington 12-gauge shotgun, loaded with No. 1 buckshot, he fired two shots, hitting the deer solid in the shoulder...or so he thought. The deer subsequently ran toward the house, crossing a small field and fell dead in the side yard.

Relatives heard the shots and looked out the windows in time to see the deer run and fall. They immediately exited the house en masse, looking first at the deer, then at Harry, as he came walking toward it. In their midst was a small nephew, who said, "Mama, look! Uncle Harry has killed Rudolph!" Everyone laughed.

Meanwhile, Harry made a decision to never ever hunt again. He, instead, turned to fishing all the time. As he was heard to remark, however, "With my luck, I probably will run over Flipper with my boat one day while en route to a fishing spot."

The Story "Behind" a Christmas Tradition

When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the pre-Christmas pressure. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa her mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth, and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where.

Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground, and all the toys were scattered.

Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drunk all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of it.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and an irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said very cheerfully, "Merry Chistmas, Santa! Isn't this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?"

And thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree. Not many people know this.

How Good Are You With a Rod in One Hand and a Net in the Other?

Some of you probably are pretty good, but I'd venture to say that most anglers would prefer to have a net person in the boat to help him/her land a fish...especially if it happens to be a big 'un.

Elite Series pro Jeff Gustafson, the person in the photo at left, is one of those people.

"To be honest," he says, "I've probably lost more fish over the years...trying to muscle them that extra little bit towards a net."

I think it's safe to say there's no better way to ruin a day on the water than having the fish of a lifetime come unbuttoned and swim back to the depths just because someone tried to do two things at the same time. Even when you have a net person, there are no guarantees you're going to get a fish in the boat.

Let's say the net gets caught in a cluster of fishing line, rod tips, treble hooks, and/or a host of other things as you reach for it. What do you reckon the odds are for landing a fish of any size then? The whole idea of this fishing thing is that you're going to use a net off and on throughout the fishing day, so make sure the net is ready before you ever leave the dock. Most of the time, this means keeping it laying on or near the seats, so it's off the floor and ready to use.

Here are some more everyday tips to help ensure a safe netting job:

Stay out of the way. If you're fishing with a partner, make sure to give them enough room to fight the fish. All too often, people get excited and want to get up on the front deck or near the angler to see the fish, only to get in the angler's way and cause them to lose the fish. Wait until your partner tells you to get ready with the net.

Don't rush the net. One of the worst things a net man can do is try to hurriedly land a fish. Don't chase the fish around with the net. Instead, let the angler work the fish until it's ready to be landed. Rushing the process often can cause the fish to run toward deep water, which ends up lengthening the landing time. It also gives the fish more opportunity to spit the hook.

Don't stab at the fish. Instead of lunging at the fish with the net, use a scooping motion that goes down and below the fish, then bring the net upward toward the surface. If the fish runs for deep water, it will swim directly into the net, or if it decides to jump, your net already is beneath the body, giving you a better chance of catching it in mid-air.

Be a sporting angler. Once the fish is in the net, get it out as soon as possible, snap a photo if you want, then get it back in the water. Too much time in the net can stress a fish and reduce its chances of a healthy existence after the fight.

The accompanying photo and some of the text comes from an article in the latest issue of Jay Kumar's BassBlaster.

For Period Ending Sunday, Dec. 13, 2020

Thursday, Dec. 3 (from Ron)...I went back tonight to the scene of the crime to my son's vehicle last night. Sanitized my truck and left the window down when I launched. To say the bite was much improved would be an understatement. Caught stripers measuring 18, 19, 22, 24, 26.5, 27, and--finally--one that went 30 inches. I am going to make a bunch of tacos!

Local Boat-Ramp Parking Areas Subject of Break-Ins

Learned just today from my kayak-fishin' buddy, Ron, that hoodlums are targeting unattended vehicles in the parking areas of local boat launches. Seems he and his son, Alex, had their own experience with the problem this past Wednesday evening.

Upon returning to their separate vehicles at 9 p.m., following a 6 p.m. launch at Willoughby ramp, Ron's son, Alex, found his car window shattered (see above) and his wallet, backpack and skateboard missing.

Ron said he earlier had heard of some boat-ramp break-ins. He provided this link to a local piece of news reporting about the incidents: https://www.wtkr.com/news/thieves-target-local-boat-launches-to-carry-out-car-break-ins?fbclid=IwAR2dobMmsViF9GRzzh9PPE-9ZfwtV10Esh5Pm51sh0V2J_aU00qeblSR_KI.

'Twould appear that the best advice here is not to leave any valuables in your vehicle at local boat ramps, regardless of the time of day. According to the featured victim in the above video, some cars are even being hit in broad daylight.

UPDATE

It seems hoodlums struck again tonight at the Willoughby ramp. Had another note from Ron, telling me that he had bumped into a painter and also an avid fisherman tonight, who here awhile back had done a painting job for Ron. They had swapped a slew of fish stories in that earlier meeting and became friends. It was quite by accident that Ron encountered the fella again tonight. He was tucked under the bridge, trying to stay reasonably dry when Ron happened upon him.

The two chatted a bit, and during their conversation, Ron gave him one of his go-to paddletails. He also told the fella about the earlier break-in of his son's car and added that he didn't figure they had to worry about the thieves showing up tonight in all the rain.

Guess what, though. About an hour after the friend left, Ron received a text from him, stating that upon recovery at Willoughby, he had found his car window smashed, too.

"Really sucks that these degenerates are breaking into cars at boat ramps," said Ron, who allowed that he again had left his vehicle unlocked and sanitized...and, fortunately, had again dodged a similar problem.

The only upside to his friend's experience tonight, as Ron explained, was that he had managed to catch a couple of nice stripers...a 24-incher and a 30-incher.

Is Your Boat's Rub Rail Rubbing You Wrong?

If the problem is with some of the screws under the rub rail working loose and creating bulges in it, there is something most average do-it-yourselfers can do to fix it. That's the word from Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Famer George Kramer in an Aug. 21, 2013 blog post he put up.

As noted in Kramer's original post, bulging rub rails are a common problem with Nitros and Skeeters...at least older models...so if you happen to own one of those boats, you're probably familiar with the problem.

The rub rail, of course, is that bumper of sorts that runs along the cap line of the hull/deck...the most outward edge of the sides of your rig. The bracket that secures the rail is screwed into the fiberglass, or as often is true with older boats, may be riveted in place. So, like everything threaded, with enough vibration, those screws can work loose and start pressing on the rail from the inside.

Close up, you can see the "grooves" that let the rubber pop back into place. Fortunately, this can be addressed with a minimum of technical savvy and tools, which is a good thing. It means that, before the rail shakes loose and blows back in your face, it can be secured for next to nothing. For Kramer, the only cost involved was $6 for some blue Loctite. It should be noted here that some fellas prefer to use silicone, vice Loctite. Either product seems to work.

With a flat screwdriver, pry off the rub rail, which will let you see the condition of the screws. You can do a whole side of the boat, or just go a few feet at a time...probably the best option if you choose to be cautious. Once exposed, simply apply a little Loctite or silicone to the screws before retightening.

As Kramer advised, you might want to check all the screws while they're exposed to find out just how tight they all are. If they come loose with only minor pressure, you likely would be better served to just go ahead and expose some more thread, apply a little Loctite or silicone, then retighten all of them fairly snugly...no more than about a quarter turn, though. Remember: You're screwing into fiberglass, so don't try to ratchet them down as if you were going metal to metal.

Now you're ready to put the rub rail back in place. While holding the lower edge of the rub rail in its slot, simply push down on the top slotting with the same large flathead screwdriver, and the rubber should ease back into its track. Then take a rubber mallet and tap along the course, and when you're done, you shouldn't be able to tell the rub rail ever was off.

It's not a big job...at least, it wasn't for Kramer. "Took me maybe an hour as a first-timer. If I had to do it again, I probably could do it in half that time," he said.

If you're interested in watching a video about how to do this job, here's the link to one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ok9o-XlFlsQ.

My Thanksgiving Wish for All of You

A Thanksgiving Story

Author Unknown

I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened, and a small woman in her 90s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat, with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knick-knacks, or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she asked.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm, and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that once had been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman already was seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent down and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. Instead, I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware...beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

As the award-winning poet Maya Angelou once wrote, "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." You might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate.

For Week Ending Sunday, Nov. 29, 2020

Sunday, Nov. 22 (from Ron)...Got on some striped bass this morning at HRBT. They were biting well, and all were over 20 inches, with the best at 25. Great fun catching them and dinner will be yummy.

Tuesday, Nov. 24 (from Ron)...Still chasing the stripers and having a blast. Caught about a half dozen that were all short of keeper length, then around 2 a.m. (following a midnight launch), hooked into a really nice one that went 23 inches, which I kept for the oven. We tangled for a few minutes, and I eventually landed him. Felt very good indeed.

Friday, Nov. 27 (from Ron)...The striper season is going very well. Unlike years past, where I would catch about 10-15-inchers before I found a keeper (20-inch plus), almost all of them this year are over 20. Got a nice 24 and a 28.5 this morning, as well as a couple more that I didn't measure. All pretty thick and healthy. Great fun, and the weather has been near perfect.

Friday, Nov. 27 (from Ken)...Had the itch again, so got up with the alarm clock this morning and headed out in all that fog, with plans to spend a few hours in West Neck. It was "deadsville" until about 12 noon before the bite turned on a bit. Fished a chatterbait, square-billed crankbait, and a jerkbait, all to no avail, but business quickly picked up when I started tossing a coffin-lipped crankbait in one of the late-Al Napier's favorite colors. Ended up with six dinks during my last two hours on the water, which was sufficient to arrest my itch. Water temp was 59 when I started about 9:15 this morning, as well as when I threw in the towel at 2 p.m. Shared the creek with some hunters this morning, as well as some fishermen (in both boats and kayaks), plus a couple boats that were hot-dogging over each other's wakes. I kept waiting for one of them to crash because they were cutting it awfully close. Too bad John Law was no where to be found, or they surely both would have inherited citations for their actions. Started out above the bridge this morning, but some gunshots from up the way of that first blind sent me scampering the other direction. Don't like taking chances, especially on a morning when you barely can see your hand in front of your face. That fog, incidentally, lasted 'til almost 11 o'clock...not only a couple hours as the weatherman said about 7 o'clock.

What's This "Frog Fishing" Deal All About?

By George Kramer

Knowing how devious the typical bass guy can be, I got to wondering if the whole frog-fishing gig was some kind of ruse--you know, like a snipe hunt. After all, most of those tournament guys would choose the Chinese water torture over telling you and me what's working...even if it's in Taipei.

Gosh, it must be hard for foreigners to figure out the bass-speak. Why, for instance, do die-hard, catch-and-release guys still refer to certain fish as "keepers"?

And look what they've done with the term "kicker." Anyone who's been to the National Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame knows that's some kind of small, ancient outboard motor.

And trying to figure out the whole sonar scene? Forget about it. I'm not even going to get into a conversation about "flashers."

Anyway, this whole frog-fishing deal has got me scratching my head. The guy at the tackle shop said, "It's no bull; these Spro Bronz Eyes really catch bass."

But after today, I'm not so sure.

About this item and the author...
This item originally appeared as a Sept. 15, 2011, post in the Kramer Gone Fishing blog. Elected in 2012 to the Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame as a "legendary communicator," George Kramer began his freelance writing career in 1973. He often is associated with Western Outdoor News as a columnist and bass-fishing editor. Kramer shut down his online blog on Nov. 18, 2016, after a seven-year run.

Some People Catch Bass in the Darndest Places

And one of those places happens to be an old cemetery. I'm talking about Lake El Salto, a body of water in Sinaloa, Mexico. Some anglers consider this body to be the best trophy-bass lake in the world.

Said one visiting angler, "I never would have imagined catching bass hiding around tombstones, but that's exactly what happened. My wife, Theresa, cast a purple plastic worm, let it sink, and worked it through the headstones. On six casts, she caught six bass weighing 2 to 4 pounds. Then, much to my great pleasure, I hooked one of the biggest hawgs I've ever landed...a 9-pounder that fell for a deep-diving crankbait wiggled past a tall cross.

Also read about a fella whose son, Josh, an Arkansas avid bass angler in his own right, who often fishes a spot in eastern Arkansas the locals refer to as "The Bass Hammock." He doesn't know how the honey hole got its name, but it refers to a large tractor tire that was pushed into a broad bottomland creek. The tire produces a bass nearly every time Josh fishes there.

Josh also fishes a spot on another creek where an old peanut picker was sunk. "I hook a bass every time I fish it, but at least half the time, I break off my line trying to get the bass out. A peanut picker," he explained, "is kind of like a mansion with many rooms. Somehow, a bass can get you from the front porch to the basement quicker than you can set the hook."

Peanut pickers aren't the only vehicles that attract bass, either. As Josh further noted, "My friend, Daniel, told me there's a Chevy S-10 pickup sunk in Black River in north Arkansas that usually has some fish in it, including some dandy largemouth bass."

And a retired Arkansas Game and Fish Commission wildlife biologist tells a great story about finding a stolen vehicle in Mallard Lake in Mississippi County during a year of low water. "When we had the car hauled from the water by a wrecker service," he said, "we noticed the windows were down. Upon opening one of the front doors, a deluge of water poured from the interior, carrying with it 17 slab crappie and a 6-pound bass. The tow-truck driver wasn't happy when I released the fish back into the water, since he thought he should have had 'salvage rights.'"

Finally, there's bass pro Greg Hackney, who believes the best place to catch a large bass is where no one else is fishing...and possibly where no one ever has cast a lure. "These types of places may not be as remote as you think," he said. "If you're more concerned about how you'll get a bass out of structure than you are about a bass biting, that's where you need to fish."

Hackney goes on to describe one of the biggest bass he ever caught as coming from the center of a giant cypress stump. "I'm sure that plenty of other anglers had cast lures all around the sides, the back, and the front of that stump," he said. "However, I doubt that anyone ever had fished right in the center of it. This underwater stump had a hole in the top and bottom. From the surface, it looked like it might have been solid below the water. For some unknown reason, I threw a red-and-shad-colored worm right in the center of the stump and caught a 7-and-a-half-pound largemouth. This was how I learned to fish weird places for big bass."

When asked to tell this story, Hackney says he's usually asked how he managed to get the bass out of the stump. His response: "I pulled the boat right up next to the stump, got the bass close to the surface, and then reached down in the stump and grabbed that bass by the jaw. The stump was as big as the hood of my truck, and I couldn't believe it was hollow all the way to the bottom. I could just about guarantee that no one else was dumb enough to fish a lure right in the center of that stump...which probably is why that bass lived long enough to grow as big as it was. What made this stump even more special was that it was right out in front of the boat launch. More than likely, thousands of fishermen had driven past that stump without ever fishing the hole in it."

Continued Hackney, "I fish a number of places and structure that many other anglers also fish for bass, but I try to fish those regions in a different way, or with a different lure or presentation. "The biggest bass I ever caught in a tournament was on Lake Amistad in Texas. That fish weighed 11 pounds 11 ounces. I caught it on a Strike King Shadalicious swimbait. It was holding in the top of an underwater tree in about 25 feet of water. I was slow-rolling that swimbait through the treetop when the fish snatched it and got hung up. The water was very clear, so I could see the fish, which, at first glance, appeared to be about an 8-pounder.

"Once I finally worked the bass out of the tree, it came to the surface and jumped. I'd never seen a bass that big in my life. That same year, I caught an 11-pound 7-ounce bass during a tournament at Falcon Lake, also in Texas.

"As a result, I've learned that fishing weird places with various tactics that others weren't using could pay off with big bass," Hackney concluded.

There's More Than One Way to Work a Jerkbait

Read this in a forum post recently: "I caught one LM bass yesterday in 48-degree water while swimming a Rapala Husky Jerk 10 (HJ10) jerkbait. Water was lightly stained but overall pretty clear, considering it had been muddy the past few weeks. My question is: Does anyone just swim jerkbaits? If so, with what kind of success?

"The reason I ask is because I fished a particular area for about an hour and a half with a jerk-jerk-pause 5-30 seconds, and also a jerk-jerk-jerk-pause 5-30 seconds, with no bites. It wasn't 'til the very end of my retrieve that I began to swim the HJ10, and the bass crushed the lure. I then switched to a brighter color, I downsized, upsized, and switched to various moving baits, all with no luck."

Most of the forum responses that angler received came from wise-acres, so I decided to pursue an online investigation of my own. Found one writer who pointed out, "Jerkbaits--aka minnow baits--are similar to soft swimbaits in many ways. Both closely resemble prey fish on the retrieve. They catch predator fish everywhere, and they're easy to fish. But when bass are in a tentative mood, you need to elicit reaction strikes by manipulating lure action, and well-designed jerkbaits provide endless retrieve options."

According to pro angler Mark Fisher, "Real minnows dart around, stop quickly, and often hang in suspension. Quality jerkbaits mimic this action, while most soft swimbaits sink toward bottom on the pause. A suspending jerkbait remains in the strike zone and creates a collision that often triggers bites. Another benefit is that treble hooks catch nippers or lazy bites, whereas fish need to eat single-hook swimbaits to get pinned.

"The beauty of minnow baits is that anyone can cast them out, reel 'em in, and be successful," Fisher continued. "Just remember to experiment with a variety of retrieves until you start getting bit, then repeat what's working."

Another fisherman offered this suggestion: "Just cast the jerkbait out and retrieve it, using a combination of sporadic turns of the reel handle, coupled with well-timed twitches of the rod tip. This kind of wind-wind-jerk-pause cadence makes the bait swim enticingly just below the surface."

As this fisherman explained, however, it takes more than making a couple of casts to get the rhythm down. "Actually, the average person likely will spend several hours twitching and jerking at all the wrong times and frothing up the water so bad that any fish which might have been in the area surely will have left or decided not to eat anytime soon," he said. "You might even resemble Frankenstein chasing villagers down a hillside before you finally get the cadence."

While doing my online research, I came across a couple of videos that may help explain these details a bit better. Here are the links:

     * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9N3FODGuLQ

     * https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09AJL_iPV6A

(My apologies to anyone who was trying to read this post while I was trying to get the video links to work right. Believe me, I was sitting here cussing Windows 10 and blogger every bit as much you likely were me. Hopefully, everything is right now.)

Don't See One Like This Every Day

As published in the latest issue of Jay Kumar's BassBlaster, this ultra-rare species of what he dubbed as a "solar-flare bass" was caught by pro angler Cliff Crochet's Cajun friends on a spinnerbait.

In reality, however, these gold-colored largemouth are in no way connected to a solar flare. They turn gold because of an extremely rare occurrence that is believed to be caused by a genetic mutation. This genetic anomaly is known as Xanrochromism or xanthism. It's often associated with usual red pigmentation being replaced with yellow.

Xanthism also can affect birds, reptiles and other species of fish. This mutation causes the bass to lose its ability to produce the colors needed to turn its scales green, making it have a gold hue.

Although some of the photos floating around the Internet are photo-shopped, the one above right is the real deal. Incidentally, the photo at left shows a solar flare. As you can see, there is a distinct connection to the color of the fish you see pictured here.

"Do the Dew:" It's More Than Just a Slogan

As I learned yesterday, while engaged in some dock talk, Mountain Dew soda pop provides a lot more than a thirst-quenching refreshment for anglers. It also offers healing powers for fish that have been gill-hooked.

Said the fellow angler I was talking to, "I had such a fish in the livewell that already was belly up and barely breathing. I introduced a small amount of Mountain Dew on the injured gills through its mouth, and in no time, the fish was bouncing around in the livewell as if nothing ever had happened."

A subsequent Google search revealed that introduction of a soft drink with some citric acid (e.g., Mountain Dew, Sprite, Mellow Yellow, 7Up) indeed appears to back up what my friend had told me earlier. "Once a fish begins to bleed from the gills or gullet, pour the soda on the affected area," noted one writer. "The acid in the soda will make the capillaries shrink and reduce or stop the hemorrhaging entirely."

While pouring a soft drink may well stop a fish bleeding from the gills, there are those who contend that "it's a better strategy simply to put your fish back in the water--or a healing tank--and let it heal naturally." The only problem with this advice, however--as I see it--is that just putting your fish back in the water doesn't always work. In fact, more times than not, it doesn't work...and that's based on a number of personal experiences over the years.

Check out this video link and draw your own preliminary conclusions: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g9sN1J6Yu8. You also might like to consider the following information, which I gleaned from an April 2019, Wired2Fish article that was written by fisheries biologist Steve Bardin. He conducted a study of the subject matter.

Bardin began by noting that gills are made of three main parts: The arch, which is the central structure of the gill, the rakers, which are positioned under the arch and protect the gill, and the filament, which is the red-colored part where blood actually flows against the water that enters the mouth. This process is how fish pull oxygen from the water and release waste, such as ammonia...which, ideally, should stop any bleeding of the gill fairly quickly.

The fisheries biologist designed his experiment, using three 10-fish treatment groups. All 30 fish were captured, using electrofishing and measured between 12 and 14 inches. All 30 fish were sedated and randomly assigned a treatment group.

For group "A", Bardin used a hook to create a laceration in the area where the gill arch meets filaments and applied no soda. For group "B", he used the same procedure to create a laceration, then applied soda to the gill until the bleeding appeared to stop. Group "C" was the control group, which were sedated but had their gills untreated.

Groups "A" and "B" were marked with a unique fin clip to denote their treatment type, and then all 30 fish were released into a .20-acre hatchery pond that had been stocked with forage fish but no other predatory fish.

He used angling success to determine recovery. At 24 hours post-treatment, angling began in small 15-to-30-minute attempts to measure fish recovery, based on successful recapture. Once recaptured, each fish was removed from the study, and images were taken of the gill filament.

Following laceration of the gill of treatment group "B" fish, soda was an effective method to stop bleeding. This was achieved, using low volumes of soda. For the 10 treatment fish, a total of 30 ounces of soda was used. Some lacerations did take two pouring attempts to completely stop bleeding. Interestingly enough, although sedated, every fish had a muscular reaction to the soda application. All fish released recovered from sedation, except one treatment "B" fish (soda), which died.

On day one, following the treatment, one group "A" fish (no soda) was captured via angling. The gill filament of this fish showed slight discoloration in the immediate area where the laceration occurred but appeared healthy in all other ways.

On day two, at 48 hours post-treatment, four fish were captured via angling--two from group "A" (no soda) and two from group "B" (soda). None of these four fish had discoloration in gill filament around the laceration area.

Fish were recovered in both treatment groups "A" (no soda) and "B" (soda) on days three, four and five. Day five was the first day a group "C" (control) fish was recaptured. This trend continued over 14 days, as all fish were recovered.

Based on this study and the angling results, Bardin concluded that "the best management practice for an angler who hooks a fish in the gill and causes bleeding is to use pliers to remove the hook and get that fish back into the water as quickly as possible.

"If, on the other hand, you prefer to use the soda trick, it appears to coagulate the blood and stop the bleeding but does not appear to improve recovery."

However, he also went on to note that he used only a single brand of citrus-flavored soda during the study, adding, "it would be interesting to determine if other brands had similar results." He also pointed out the study was conducted in early spring conditions, when water temperatures were stable between 58 and 65 degrees. At this temperature range, all fish appeared to recover and become catchable again within 24 to 48 hours, regardless of treatment group. "The results likely would be different as water temperatures increased into the summer months," Bardin concluded.

One vocal critic of the soda trick is outdoor writer Spencer Neuharth, who wrote a blog post in 2017, pleading with anglers to stop dousing fish with Mountain Dew. "Not only is this soda theory wrong," he wrote, "but it's potentially bad for fish. The weak acid from pop would (I suggest that he should have said could) throw off the chemistry of the fish."

My bottom-line advice is this: Follow your own convictions. Personally, I'd much rather see a fish swim off from a gill injury, rather than go belly up after I've released it.