Bassin' Gal Finds Out What It's Like To Fish With Someone Other Than Hubby

For decades, a woman bass angler, who shall remain anonymous, fished nothing but team tournaments with her husband. They even joined the relaxed atmosphere of a couples' fishing club, where half the time the wives sunbathed on the back deck, while the husbands fished. After weigh-in and payout, they all would have a big potluck dinner. With it being a small club, strictly for married couples, the competition was friendly, and the entry fees and checks were small.

There was just one problem with a club like this--couples always were deciding to get divorced, which is what happened to their little club. The anonymous bassin' gal and her husband subsequently tried a different couples' club. In this one, though, the teams didn't have to be married. As a result, local pros would grab any willing female and fish the tournament, which meant most other couples were fishing out of their league. Besides being pretty big, the club also was very cliquish.

This husband-wife team then joined a big team circuit that had a couple's option. They didn't get a check every time, but they did well enough to remain interested. In addition, the fishermen and the tournament staff were hilarious. They stayed with this circuit for years and made the championship tournament nearly every year.

All that fishing with her husband, however, didn't prepare this bassin' gal for the first time she would fish as a non-boater in another guy's boat. It all started one day when she and her husband got a phone call from a tournament director who was trying to fill non-boater spots in a state tournament. He said he'd compensate them for their fees if they'd each fish as a non-boater. It was a two-day tournament on a slot lake that they fished a lot, so they agreed to fish. Here's the way this event went down...in her own words.

I was paired with a local guy. He seemed really nice, and he told me when and where to meet him. All was well. When I met up with him that morning, though, he had a brand new truck, which he was ever so proud of. He went on and on about it as we headed for the ramp.

There was just one problem: The truck had a stick shift, and it had been years since I had driven one...going all the way back to when I was a kid and my dad had taught me to drive his. The first time I came to a stop sign on an uphill slope back then, I ended up parking and switching places with Dad. I mean, come on--the instant you took your foot off the brake and depressed the clutch, you started rolling backwards. I couldn't handle it.

Backing my partner into the water that morning wasn't too bad. Recovery, though, would prove to be a different matter. The ramp we were using was typical of Arizona: long and a bit steep. So you can imagine my stress, especially with this guy's prized new pickup in my hands. Adding to my dilemma was the fact that, once the boat was on the trailer, several fishermen started jumping into the back of the truck for a ride up that long, steep ramp. I managed to get the truck up the hill but not without leaving about half the rubber from its tires on the ramp. I can't tell you how intense the smell was from that burning rubber.

When I got to what looked like a little level spot, I decided I had had enough. The truck's owner could just darn well get his rump out of the boat and drive his awesome rig the rest of the way himself. I stopped, put the gearshift in neutral, and got out.

Thank God my husband was one of the guys who had jumped into the back of the truck for a ride. He told me later that he suspected I was going to do what I did. As the rig full of people began to roll backwards toward the crowded ramp, I had a vision of dozens of fatalities. I caught a glimpse of wild-eyed men with mouths wide open. I froze, but my awesome, incredible, wonderful husband reached the door, set the emergency brake, and saved a multitude of lives.

My boater, God bless him, was more than generous; he didn't choke me. I found him later and gave him all the cash I had on me for gas money. Meanwhile, it was hours before the weakness and trembling in my legs eased up.

Following the episode just described, this bassin' gal went on to serve as an observer in multiple big bass-fishing championships, which she described as "a whole different thing."

First, you don't have to drive. One time, we were way down south, referring to a tournament on a big river. I never had been down there before. My experience with forests in Arizona didn't prepare me for this. In Arizona, we have pine forests, where the trees are nicely spaced, and the ground is pretty much open between them, with a nice carpet of pine needles to walk on. One look at the forest down there made we wonder how pioneers ever got through that stuff.

The first time I had to "use the facilities," I just asked the fisherman to put me ashore. No problem, but as the day progressed, I began to notice things--like snake skins hanging from tree branches on shore...like giant boars gnashing their fangs. My boater casually mentioned that he was going to pitch, rather than flip, since the local snakes mostly were water moccasins, and they tended to drop from trees into the boat. "Really!" I thought. "At least our Arizona snakes have the courtesy to rattle at you before they kill you!"

After that, I decided hell would freeze over before I'd step foot out of the boat into that jungle again. And from that point on, I always just made a deal with all my boaters--if they had to go, I'd look the other way, and vice versa. It took some getting used to...believe me.

One time at a boat show, I was chatting with some fellow lady bass anglers, and we were swapping stories about our experiences while fishing with guys we weren't married to. One of them had us all laughing because she said she always peed in a coffee can. One morning when she was loading her gear into her partner's boat, she couldn't find the can. She asked the boater if he had seen it, and he said, "Oh, yeah, I put it in with the lunches." She never did tell him what it was for.

After fishing with probably 100 different guys, I've only once been paired with one who wasn't nice. That guy thought women on the boat were bad luck. I wished he would have asked to be reassigned, but instead, he just grumbled all day. He caught nothing but trash fish, and it somehow was my fault. The only bass he had on all day got off, and that, too, was my fault. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a black cat, and he made sure I knew it.

The vast majority of bass fishermen, in my opinion, are the coolest dudes around. The best way to get along with them is if they don't talk, neither do you. When it comes to the bathroom issue, you settle it before ever leaving the dock. And, finally, you ask about netting procedures before anyone catches a fish. I try to do whatever they ask, no matter how hard it is.

I remember once being in a lock with Dee Thomas, and rather than tie off his boat, he just had me hang onto one of the pipes on the wall. And, of course, a half-dozen boats came alongside him and hung onto his boat so they could chat. My arm about had come out of the socket by the time we finally got out of that lock, but I hung on. Then later at dinner, he told his wife I was a  "tough old broad." I was as pleased as punch!

The most important thing women need to understand about bass fishermen is that when the men are on the front decks of their boats, they have only one thing on their minds: catching fish. A friend of mine went fishing with her husband soon after they were married, and while they were way upriver, with plenty of trees around, she stripped off every stitch of clothing she had on and struck a pose. "Mikey," she then said in her most seductive voice. Her newlywed husband simply glanced back at her and growled, "Can't you see I'm trying to fish here?"

That, ladies, sums up everything you need to know about bass fishermen.

Adapted from an item I found on bassresource.com.