Fishing: It's All About Having the Right "Touch"

My partner and I really were looking forward to the Dewey Mullins Memorial Series tournament yesterday. We felt like what we had learned a week earlier very well might be productive a second time, and as we know now, of course, it was, even though we then and still don't completely understand why.

That's OK, however, 'cause it's the good part of yesterday...the one we want to remember. Unfortunately, there's also a bad part...the one, if you will, that we'd just as soon forget, if that were possible. It happened just as my partner was working a big bass to the boat. Given the aerial demonstration it had put on for us, we knew it was in the 6-to-7-plus-pound-or-so range. My duty was clear: Perform a Midas-touch netting job. After several harrowing moments, though, the rambunctious fish was...you guessed it...gone, and all I had in the net was air.

Over the years, I've blown a few inconsequential netting jobs, but Sunday marked only the second time ever that I've cost a tournament partner a big fish, and I feel as big a boob now as I did back the first time. I couldn't have blamed either fella for feeling as though they wanted to "reach out and touch me," too... with something like maybe a 2-by-4.

On both occasions, that big fish was right there...alongside the boat...for several moments, no less...plenty of time for even an old codger like me to slide the net under that bass and lift it into the boat. For whatever reason, though, I didn't get the job done.

I have a pretty good idea how both those fellas felt, 'cause I once, many years ago, found myself on the receiving end of a similar situation. I was fishing the Chickahominy with a really nice preacher friend when I, too, got hooked up with a big bass...'twould easily have been my PB to this date. We didn't have a net, so when I had maneuvered the fish alongside the boat, the preacher reached over and, instead of lipping or belly-landing the fish, took hold of the line. The fish subsequently made one final thrust, causing the snap swivel I was using to explode and allowing the fish to go free.

The climax to my day yesterday came about an hour before weigh-in. Wayne and I had returned to West Neck and pulled into a cove, to try and get out of some of the wind. In very short order, I succeeded in making two back-to-back errant casts that went so far off the mark that I had to cut my braid...and leave a hazard in the water for some unsuspecting angler who ventures into the same area.

I truly dread ending a fishing day on that kind of note because experience has shown me that, more times than not, I simply will pick up where I left off the next time I head to the water. That thought will haunt me as badly as the botched netting job yesterday. So, oh boy! I can hardly wait for my next trip. It ought to be a real doozy! Harry and Charlie Hall of Fame, here I come!