'Twas the Night Before the New Season

By Rob Newell

(pictured above)

'Twas the night before the new season, and out on the lake,

Not an angler was fishing; they weren't even awake.

The boats at the motel were covered with care,

In hopes that the first tournament soon would treat them fair.

All of their lures were tied snug to their lines,

While visions of 20-pounders leapt into their minds.

My tackle was done, so I hung up my cap.

Fishing's exhausting, so I lay down to nap.

When in my fitful sleep, what did appear?

A funky little elf with a long shaggy beard.

"Here's a little secret," he said with a sneer,

"Which will help you start a prosperous fishing career."

He held up a tiny bottle with a pea-green tint,

Said it was a magical fish-catching scent.

"This small vial is all you will need.

It is extracted from a rare seaweed."

His directions were simple and very profound:

"Put one drop on a lure, and 10-pounders will abound.

But don't abuse this, or a high price you will pay."

And, with that said, he just went away.

Suddenly I awoke to the dangdest clatter.

I peaked out the window to see what was the matter.

Out in the parking lot there arose a great bustle,

Pro anglers hooking up boats in a serious hustle.

I saw VanDam. I saw Yelas, Wendlandt and Nixon!

Then I realized I was in the same tourney they were fishin'!

Somehow, some way, I am really not sure,

I was a pro angler on the FLW Tour.

I looked at my watch; I had overslept!

It was not too late, so into action I leapt.

I gathered my things and quickly got dressed.

I grabbed my cap, keys, glasses, and life vest.

And as I was leaving, a flash caught my eye.

Across the room by the bed, something was awry.

On the nightstand where my spare change lay loose

Was a small green vial that read "Seaweed Juice."

My lungs stopped in a sudden gasp.

"Where did that come from?" I loudly asked.

I had certainly never spied it before,

And I was the only one who had been through the door.

'Twas my first tournament, and I was desperate.

So I slid the green stuff into my pocket.

I jumped into my truck, my bass boat in tow.

I stopped just long enough to pick up my partner Joe.

At the ramp, light was cracking the morn.

Bill Taylor was shouting on the bullhorn:

"Boats one, two and three..." his voice did call out.

I would catch 'em today, there was never a doubt.

At my first stop, I was filled with much glee.

I pulled out my green secret so no one would see.

I dabbed a drop on a bait and wondered how soon.

Looked around, made a cast, and the water went Kaboom!

The biggest fish I'd ever hooked was jumping around.

Joe freaked out and screamed, "It's at least 10 pounds!"

I got her up to the boat, my palms greased with sweat.

Ol' Joe jumped right down and scooped her into the net.

She weighed exactly 10 pounds on my miniature scale,

Then she went right into the livewell with a flip of her tail.

At that very moment, I immediately knew,

That my dream of last night was about to come true.

If 10-pounders were going to be so commonplace,

There wouldn't be one chance I'd let go to waste.

I told Joe, "Put away your stuff, get ready to run.

If this is how it's going to be, let's have some fun!"

I cruised up and down the lake for a bit,

And out on a river ledge I spied David Fritts.

I eased right up, just like a fox.

Then I pulled the ugliest crankbait out of my box.

He said, "They ain't bitin'." I asked, "That a fact?"

As I discreetly reached for my seaweed extract.

On the very first cast my drag started strippin'.

Momentarily, another 10-pounder I was lippin'.

"Have a nice day, Dave," I said with a grin

As I tore down the lake to find my next victim.

I rode 'round the lake for nearly an hour,

Then I happened upon Mr. Denny Brauer.

I motored up and began to encroach;

I don't think Denny liked my approach.

"Did you practice here?" he asked with emotion.

I just squirted my jig with the seaweed potion.

I trolled to the bank at a leisurely clip,

Picked up my rod and made just one flip.

As I set the hook my rod quickly bowed,

Needless to say, another big toad!

The brute began to thrash and waller,

But all I could hear was Denny holler.

I dropped her in the box, and off I went,

Chuckling about my magic fish-catching scent.

I found Clark Wendlandt working one on a bed.

"How big?" I asked. "10-pounder," he said.

"But she won't bite, I have tried for a while."

"It takes you WAY too long," I said with a smile.

I think Clark knew just what I implied.

Appearing very agitated he turned and replied:

"If you're so darn good, let's see you catch her."

I quickly dabbed a tube with the seaweed nectar.

Before he could blink, she bit the first pitch.

Clark just went crazy, pitching a fit.

I put her in the boat, gigglin' and laughin'.

Then I gunned my 250, with the rooster tail blastin'.

There was just one thing I had left to do:

Find that skinny kid from Kalamazoo.

To find VanDam took only one glance.

He was in the bow doing his jerkbait dance.

I pulled right up to him, feeling real brash.

"Kevin," I announced, "You fish much too fast.

Why you just fished past a 10-pound pig,

And now I am going to catch it on a Carolina rig."

VanDam's jaw suddenly dropped

As I made a cast to his outboard prop.

There was a solid thump from the big sow.

I set the hook and she leapt by his bow.

By now co-angler Joe was freaking out.

He was on the cellphone shouting out:

"Tell everyone this guy is the deal.

He's got 50 pounds--I mean it for real!"

He dialed up Bill Taylor and then Charlie Evans.

Over the phone they screamed, "Good heavens! Good heavens!"

By the time I checked in and sauntered ashore,

The crowds had gathered and I heard a big roar.

All the major networks had already arrived.

I requested two men to help me carry my five.

They brought a big bag, covered in black.

And I loaded my catch into the huge sack.

I worked up the media into a big tizzy.

When I tipped my hat to the ladies, they all became dizzy.

There were thousands of people from here and from there.

The smell of a movie deal hung in the air.

Up in the tent the crowd was in a rage.

Record bass in tow, I mounted the stage.

Then the crowd fell silent. There was not even a sneeze.

The only sound heard was the knockin' of Dean Rojas' knees.

"A new record creel?" Charlie inquired.

"Easily," I quipped to all that admired.

"Well, put them on the scale," Charlie announced.

"The weight? FIFTY POUNDS AND ONE SINGLE OUNCE!"

The crowd roared to a deafening pitch.

I was now famous, and fixin' to be rich.

I had rewritten bass-fishing history.

I waved to the crowd, and soaked up the glory.

"Show us those giant bass," Charlie said,

As I reached into the bag that was heavy as lead

And I thrust up two 10-pounders high over my head,

A hush swept the crowd and the roar just went dead.

Then a pain gripped my gut, intense and so sharp.

Charlie covered the mike, "Uh, Rob, those aren't bass. They're CARP!"

I was preparing to faint, and my stomach bunched up.

And just before I tossed all my lunch up...

I awoke, shaking from the bad dream.

I could not get over how real it all seemed.

So I thought it might bring you some holiday cheer.

And remember, with a new season being so near,

If you meet an elf in the middle of the night,

Who promises 10-pounders on every bite,

Tell him: "Good fishing to all, and that carp are a good fight!"

Rob Newell is a freelance writer and photographer who, for more than 20 years, has been covering tournament bass fishing. He's also a former FLW Tour co-angler champion out of Tallahassee, FL. This piece was first published at FLWOutdoors.com on Dec. 23, 2002, then, because of its popularity, was republished Dec. 23, 2005.