FLY Category:
North Bound
By: Jason Morrison
I looked up at the clock to see it was just a few minutes past midnight. I put my scissors down and tucked the vise back into the corner of the roll top desk. I admired the row of size 24 Baetis I had just got done tying. Carefully, I pulled each one out of the pink foam and placed them into my fly box.
Turning off the light to my fly dungeon I let out a large yawn and a sigh of relief. I knew that in just a few short hours I would be on the road, heading north bound. With everything already packed I open the front door of the house and step out into the cool autumn air. Loading the fly rods and gear into the back of the truck is therapeutic.
I lay restless in bed. Everything fills my head. The last few months have been rough taxing my soul. Rolling over I find myself cracking a grin and forgetting. Tomorrow I will be in good company and sticking fish!
I am greeted by Jason & Kenny early who are both eager to hit the road. After a moment or two of admiration for the “woodie” attached to the back of the truck we are off. The wooden drift boat behind the truck looks sexy and boasts jealousy to anyone already work bound in the early morning hours.
Every year a crew of us hit “Bobs Cabin” in Idaho. We head up from Utah and fish the waters that surround the famous Henry’s Fork. It is always a challenge to see how much water we can cover over an extended weekend. The evening hours are filled with high stakes.
Chris & Norm meet up with the “Clacka”. The snow begins to fall as we launch the boats on a section of the “Fork”. The wind is hissing and the water is low. “It doesn’t matter”.
Posting up on the deeper seams we managed to land a few fish. Jason makes two pumps with a large Sex Dungeon and the water erupts with a nice rainbow crashing the surface. With my camera bag in between my feet I pull out the “700” and begin firing off shots on the “wide”.
Kenny is standing in the back of the boat and switching up his fly selection. Turning around with the camera I take a few seconds to capture the action.
“Bling This Jay!” Kenny holds up the goods and lets out a laugh.
The afternoon wind and snow doesn’t stop any of us from having a great time. I rowed through a couple tail outs to catch up with Chris, Norm and Bob. We anchor up next to the Clacka and watch Norm throw to some risers taking small Baetis on top.
Not a bad way to end an afternoon of fishing.
The evenings back at Bob’s cabin are something to look forward to at the end of each day on the water. The laughter is loud, the steaks are cooked to perfection and the poker is out of control. Norm manages to clean my wallet out by beating my Straight to Ace with his Full House.
With it being 14 degrees in the morning we are late getting out of bed. Launching the “Woodie” mid morning gives us a short window to hit Henry’s Lake. It doesn’t take long for the wind to blow everyone off the water and have us re-think our game plan for the day.
Hitting the road we drive into Montana to visit Kelly Galloup. After sharing a few stories and talking with Kelly we decide it is time to pay the “Madi” a quick visit. As Kenny and Jason head out to the river I hold back for the shots. My evening is spent observing on the bank.
The past few years have taught me a thing or two. I have learned to not be in such a hurry. I now wield a camera more than a fly rod. I love seeing everything unfold behind the lens. I catch things that were once missed and I appreciate the small details that were passed up. The laughter and excitement of the take, the cries from the misses, and the magnificence of that which surrounds us. I fly fish through a camera lens and love it!
Here is to another year “North Bound.”
Something Silver This Way Comes
by Brett Colvin
It was 4:00 AM, and my phone’s alarm was screeching that it was time to wake up. Two hours earlier I had arrived at a small town hotel in Mexico after travelling all day. After a brief stint attempting to get comfortable in a bed so short that a spider monkey would have been forced to adopt the fetal position, it was time to fish.
The pre-dawn darkness revealed little about our surroundings as we made our way to the docks. A small marine light illuminated our home for the next several days, a nicely maintained panga-style flats boat with a 60-horsepower outboard.
Our guide put us at ease by asking us to stay alert and watchful as we sped through the blackness, explaining that many fishing boats lacked lights and that three pairs of eyes were better than one. The motor then broke the morning stillness, and we raced towards the mangrove jungles to the North under a tropical sky filled with shooting stars.
Before long we were rapidly approaching the entrance to a tidal river, and the motor suddenly fell silent. Dawn was breaking to the East, and I grabbed my 8-weight and stood on the casting deck while attempting to discern the shoreline as we poled through a series of tiny mangrove islands.
The water was gin-clear and without so much as a breath of wind the surface was like an expanse of glass. Looking down, I noticed the constellation Orion was mirrored on the sea as though it were my own reflection. Then I heard it: The sound of rolling tarpon.
This type of fishing can quickly become an addiction. Casting a fly towards fish you can see, then stripping it near the surface only to see a powerful wave begin pushing water towards it as the tarpon charges. The take is ferocious.
The hook set must be strong and well-executed in order to endure the coming spectacle. The first jump comes quickly, and is often followed by half a dozen others within the first few minutes. It is not uncommon for these fish to clear the water by 6 to 10 feet or more.
Flats fishing was short-lived on this trip as the sun began to rise. It was then that things would get interesting. The tarpon would retreat deep into the mangrove jungles, and we would follow them. Initially the guides would use poles to push the boats into the mouths of tidal rivers, and begin moving us upstream. It would not be long until these waterways would turn into tunnels, leading under dense forest canopies while narrowing rapidly. Spiders with the diameter of a baseball would periodically drop into the boat with a “thunk” and cause no small amount of spontaneous movement. At times fleas which were easily size 14 could leap into the boat from the surrounding vegetation and make a mad dash for the nearest gringo.
Ultimately we would be laying down flat on the casting deck, pulling the boat forward by grabbing mangrove roots a few feet at a time. Invariably, the ever-narrowing rivers would give way to small lagoons, at times more than a mile from the ocean. Here the tarpon would be, and here epic battles would ensue as powerful fish were hooked in confined spaces surrounded by snarls of root systems on each bank. It seemed like a land before time, and when everything occasionally went right – bright fish would come to hand and smiles would glint like scales in the sun.
If anyone is interested in trying this adventure out for themselves, drop me a line. I would be more than happy to put you in contact with the guys that made this happen. Thanks for reading.
Brett Colvin
flytowater.com
Flickr Gallery
Snake River
By: Andrew Simon
Fall starts every year when the Snake River drops to 62 degrees. The river changes from luke-warm system irrigation runoff hosting fisheries for bass and catfish to a dynamic thumping engine, charged by steelhead and salmon. I wait all year for fall and once fall is over, I want for it again.
Above Lower Granite Dam 67 miles of the Snake, designated wild and scenic, flows under natural gradient. The river’s character changes enormously in the area from Clarkston, Washington to Hellers Bar, the entrance to Hells Canyon. At Clarkston, the river lays tepid, a film of sawdust and fuel covers the surface near shore. The valley’s stink, courtesy of Potlatch mill, softly bites my nostrils as I pass thorough the languishing sister towns of Lewiston and Clarkston. The towns are awful, flat, and sprawling. I grew up near them and never found reason to venture there until I found steelhead fishing. Turning upriver past Clarkston, hope is renewed. For several bends of the road, the snake flows upstream invariably flat. Then near Asotin, jutting rock meets 20,000 cfs as the river’s gradient overcomes the dams stifling reservoir. Here the river begins. These are the biggest rapids I’ve ever seen. The scale seems fake, and the sound during high flow is disarmingly loud. Here begins one of the finest steelhead fisheries in the world. The road is narrow and big trucks scream along it with 26 foot jet boats in tow.
Contained within the watershed are some of the healthiest producers of wild steelhead in the country. The main Snake, Imnaha, Salmon, and Grande Ronde all contain sustaining populations of wild steelhead. The dozen or so of smaller rivers closed to fishing in the region contribute more wild fish. These fish emanate the vigor of the ocean. If the conditions are right, these steelhead rise to a dry fly as if they were trout. A bit of luck is required to bring steelhead to the surface. Being first down a run during the morning is fore mostly important, and swinging flies in a run being pounded by legions of jet boats, six lines in each, is a loosing proposition.
Our first fall trip was a suicide mission, leaving Missoula at 10pm for Washington, arriving at 2am with the time zone change. It seems like there are more people over here every year. Thusly, I figured I should wader up and walk down to my sitting rock. Others chose sleeping bags. I have never showed anyone my rock, but it’s fairly flat and good for sitting. I’m not sure if anyone else would like it. It lays with other rocks, about the river’s shore, at the start of the finest steelhead run I know. Bushes surround the rock so I’m half invisible in the dark, while still having a view of the entrance to the run. Here I can watch the silhouettes of other anglers framed against the morning-chrome river. Here I sat for 3 hours, until dawn lit up half the sky weakly lavender. I tried to be pensive but ended up cold and tired. Today no others waited with me. The river lay in a deep canyon, and the dawn streaks had yet to reach down here. After hours of silence, a steelhead rolled hard 40 feet into the current. I grew excited and stood, instantly lightheaded. The lava river bottom wasn’t getting along with my boots as I slipped from rock to rock. I put enough water between me and the brush to manage a d-loop.
Why am I fishing, it’s dark, I thought as I pulled running line from the big reel and shook the head free of the guides. The first cast rolled invisibly onto the shining surface, aimed above where the fish broke. I figured the river was possibly still receiving more light from the moon than the sun. It was too dark to see my caddis skating, but I could feel the sweet tension of a good swing in my left hand as it gingerly pinched the running line. Halfway through the swing I felt a series of soft ticks, and thought it strange that a smolt would be playing with such a large offering. I put another cast over the same water for no other purpose than to sharpen my casting before working down the run. I felt those ticks again, but after the third bump, a steelhead broke the surface into a shattered arena of droplets and flew over the fly in grandiose fashion. It looked black and still above the water for seconds. Holy fuck. It didn’t eat. Cast again. The fly had lots of elk hair so it whistled loudly when I cast. Same place, now a boil formed in the middle of the river as the hanging loop of line was ripped from my hand. The fight was standard, wonderful, a series of short dashing runs, two jumps, and a bit of close end slugging before he turned sideways and lay ready. My hand was now on his caudal peduncle, turning him on one side and then the other. It had been four months since I’d seen a steelhead, and the first of the fall is one I cherish.
I figured the ticks I’d been feeling were steelhead tracking and nipping the fly before committing to it. Several other fish boiled after the caddis before I reached the bottom of the run.
The last take was memorable. I was in the tailout, fishing over water two feet deep. Near the end of the run a steelhead rose to the surface, dorsal fin protruding, and tracked the caddis for 15 feet until the fly was hanging directly down river. A mouth broke the surface, and brought the bug down. The fish moved impossibly slow, lazily rolling its body back into the flow. I released the loop and felt a bump as the fish turned and left without the fly. It was a glorious morning. I walked off the run smiling deeply as the sun broke the ridgetop, spooking a flight of chukar into the draw above me.
Back at camp breakfast was simmering. Everyone was satisfied with their morning, something easy at steelhead camp. I ate some potatoes with eggs, cheese, sour cream. The breakfast chef has no spatula so used a glove to stir. The sun’s early warmth made me drowsy. The sleeping bag was finally unpacked and the sweet reverie of sleep came along to me.
SPIN Category:
To Save a Fishing Lure…
By: Steven Speldewinde
I left Sweden toward the end summer and headed back home to Australia for the start of summer (furthering my pursuit of an endless summer for the rest of my life). I have managed to get out a few times with my brother who is a mad keen fishermen for a fish since I have been back in the home country. In fact not more than three days after I touched down in Sydney airport my brother and a mate whisked me off to Coffs Harbour on the Northern New South Wales coast for a few days of beach sunshine and fishing.
My dad had managed to acquire an inflatable kayak from a friend whilst I was overseas and my bro and I decided to explore and fish one of the many creeks that run into the Pacific Ocean just near Coffs. These creeks are teaming with fish Flathead, Whiting, Trevally and a bit further inland the much sought after Australian Bass… oh yeah and the scenery is stunning!
We inflated the kayak and pushed off with the incoming tide up the creek only to find that it had a leak. For one reason or another we had thrown the foot pump into the kayak before we left so we hooked it up and I pumped air back into the kayak at the same time as paddling whilst my bro trawled a soft plastic trying to attempt a Dusky Flathead or maybe a Bream. It wasn’t long before my brother managed to land a small flathead and my inexperience in ‘kayak paddling whilst simultaneously pumping and dealing with quite a strong current’ landed the kayak in a creek side tree poking another hole in it. As the kayak deflated, we ended up in the drink and had to swim it across to a nearby sandbank just barely managing to keep the rods, reels and tackle dry.
We decided to leave the kayak and wade the sand flats casting soft plastics and prawns into dips and holes trying to tempt a big flathead. I spotted a likely looking snag next to a deep hole and expertly flicked my lure straight into it ruing the inaccuracy of my non-fethastyx spin rod. The thought of losing my $2 soft plastic was too much for me so I swam over to the log to remove it. No sooner than I had de-snagged it, I noticed my brother hooking up – I quickly swum back to the sand bank and reached into my pocket for my bro’s water-proof camera to take some footage… it was gone. In the process of saving my $2 lure I had managed to drop my brothers $700 camera into deep water next to massive snag!
My brother and I put our extremely limited free-diving-without-a-mask skills to the test for half an hour only to come up with a lot of scratches and no camera. I was determined though and as I again descended again, this time I glimpsed a small patch of red buried in the mud just under a tree branch… it was the tiny red label of the camera case, with my last ounce to breath and subjecting myself to more cuts from the vicious tree I managed to lay my hands on it coming to the service arms raised in victory!
After a semi disastrous start to the trip the fishing only got better from there. My brother showed off his flathead expertise landing them on both soft plastics and prawn baits. He managed to land two 60cm plus specimens on very light gear by working the very same deep gutter that we had punctured the kayak on.
Having been completely out classed by my bro on the flathead front I decided to wade further up the creek chasing the many schools of whiting that were cruising the shallows. Fishing conditions were perfect, clear water and a seemingly endless supply of different habitats making every cast exciting. Nevertheless the whiting proved to be behaving very circumspectly sometimes approaching my bait, even touching it but never striking. It wasn’t until the next morning, when my bro and I headed out again, undeterred by the rain, that I was finally successful in landing a 40+ centimetre specimen. For those of you that don’t know the Australian Whiting, it is a reasonably close relative of the Bonefish, and is incredible sport on light tackle as well as being delicious eating.
A great end to the trip until my bro left the camera on the top of the car as we were packing up, we didn’t notice until a while later but when we retraced our drive sure enough we found it sitting in the middle of the road, on the other side of a roundabout somehow unscathed!
Time To Get Crankin’ – Making Them, That Is.
By: Alexander Arceo
Greetings! This is an accounting a journey I embarked upon in June 2009 that is rich in tinkering, trial, error, the excitement of the unknown and joy that I believe is worth sharing with anyone willing to read it.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009 – Inspiration and Making Thought Reality
I got inspired by someone to give crankbait making a shot. I used some scrap balsa I found in the garage. I figured if balsa is good enough for Rapala, it ought to be good enough for me.
This was the starting balsa block, which I cut in half length-wise.
I cut it in half as in the photo below and realized that I could probably get two crankbaits from that one half-piece. I also traced a basic shape.
Next, I cut out the shapes and then carved out the shapes by “eyeballing” it.
In the photo below, the one on the right was made first. I used sandpaper mostly, which seemed really slow, tedious, and not very precise. After giving it some thought, I wondered if a hobby knife could make carving the basic shape easier. The latter was definitely faster and more efficient, but care was needed to not shave off too much wood at one time. The blank on the left looks better to me.
So far, so good. Next, I have to figure out how much weight (lead) is needed to ballast the wooden blank, which I have no clue.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009 – Getting to Work and Learning Along the Way
I drilled a hole through the center of the pencil lead for the wire that would hold the belly hook. Next, I drilled a hole in the belly to insert the lead. I used screw eyes for the nose (for the line tie) and tail (for the rear hook). I realize this might be a risky move given the softness balsa possesses. It is a chance I am willing to take. I will try though-wire construction for the next one. I will look into other materials for the lip and body too. I cut a slot for the lexan lip and attached it with epoxy.
Lead for ballast and wire for the belly hook.
After some trial and error… okay, a lot of trial and error, I finally got the crankbait to balance with a piece of ¼” diameter pencil lead. The bait seems to balance well in the water.
I am going to secure the pieces into the bait with epoxy.
It has been a challenge but rewarding at the same time. I am glad that it floats and balances, but does it wiggle? That is the question indeed.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009 – First Field Test
It works! I stopped by my home lake yesterday to see if the crankbait would work. I wasn’t sure if it would work correctly and the creeping thought that it might not work was something I couldn’t remove from my mind.
With eager anticipation, I tied the Rapala knot for their cranks without a split ring and pitched out the lure. It made the typical plop, splash, dip, and rise back to the surface that a crankbait is supposed to do. Yes!
Next, I walked along the dock and was biting my nails figuratively as I watched the line in front of the bait become taut. The lure started wiggling back and forth. Yee Hah! That’s exactly what I shouted, along with a few fist pumps and Sho-Ryu-Kens.
It was working, and working very nicely. It has nice and loose wiggle, reminiscent of a swimbait. It dove down deeper than I thought it would, probably somewhere in the 4-6’ range. Other folks on the dock thought it was pretty cool too. All right!
I tried a few “real” casts and it casts as well as a Rapala DT6. Ahh yeah!
I am very stoked about the how far I’ve gotten. I primed it with white paint this morning and have to come up with a simple color scheme. I’ll be facing my biggest challenge and weakness… Painting.
Friday, June 19, 2009 – Optimus Primed
The crankbait has now been primed in white as shown. Sorry that the picture isn’t too clear. I am still undecided on the color scheme!
Thursday, June 25, 2009 – Painting 101 Class Required
I have to work on my painting skills, maybe even take a class. Although I am not proud of the paint job, I am proud that I saw this project through to this point.
I find it odd that I can shape and carve the wood with ease but I cannot paint worth beans. Here are some images of the finished lure.
As for the shark teeth, they are my signature trademark on my poppers and prop baits. I thought it would be interesting to see on a crankbait. The painting was done with regular hand brushes and acrylic paints.
Oh well. I will make more when I have more time. I plan to paint rainbow trout, perch, and bass color schemes on future crankbaits.
Friday, June 26, 2009 – More Field Testing
Simply Unbelievable! Praise the Lord!
3:00 PM – Session Number One
I got to my “home” (Steel) lake to give my crankbait its maiden trial and to get its action on video for the archives. Although it was a bit of a challenge to troll the crank on foot and film at the same time with my limited capability digital camera I managed to capture what I needed.
Next, I tried to film a cast but wasn’t too successful. I reeled the crankbait to about ten feet from the dock and stopped to put away the camera when all of a sudden; an 18” bass comes out of nowhere and zips right up to my floating bait to within kissing distance. It stops, circles it like a shark and swims away.
My excitement level shot up. Next cast, nothing. After a few more casts, a school or about 10-12 baby bass came out to inspect it and turn away.
The positive thing is that it has gotten the fish’s attention but something was missing from the equation that prevented them from committing to strike. I rubbed some scent on the body, casted it out, and got a hit! Unfortunately, I acted like a dear in the headlights and the command from my brain to my hand to start reeling was left in the queue and not getting through. The bottom line was I lost this one. I had to pick up my son from school so this session was over.
8:00 PM – Session Number Two
Enter lake number two, Bradley Lake. I make it to the floating dock that was already occupied by a few people. I talked to two guys on the dock that had been there pretty much all day and learned there was no action. However, I didn’t let it deter me. I made a cast right next to some submerged grass and my son tried his hand at reeling one cast in. A few more casts (all casts were made in a span of about five minutes), SMASH!! My rod slammed down hard and the two guys next to me immediately took notice.
This time, instinct took over and not the deer in the headlights action that happened earlier. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I have been “Iaconelli’ing” it lately when I have hooked into decent-sized fish. I was shouting out things like, “Yeah!! That’s right!! Yeahhh (mental fist pump)!! My first fish on a homemade lure!! Yeahhh (mental double fist pump)!! Yeah (mental high five)!! That’s right, baby!!! Yeahhh!!! I embarrassingly concede that everyone within a 150’ radius heard me because a group of people suddenly appeared along the bank on both sides of the dock.
I knew I had a good-sized fish on but something was telling me it was probably not a largemouth bass. A long, slender, and silvery-pale torpedo shaped body nearing the water’s surface confirmed it. It was a trout. A big trout! I was not targeting trout, but I will take it.
I observed that the trout hammered the belly treble quite aggressively, such that it wasn’t going to come off. My Shimano Curado 101D and Clarus trunk rod made short work of this most excellent battle. The gentleman next to me was kind enough to offer his net and assistance. I carefully guided the trout into the net.
I removed the treble, took two photos, measured her, and released this beauty as soon as I could. She measured 20” and I give a best guess estimate weight of maybe 2.75 lbs.
This is a kiss that would make Jimmy Houston proud.
My heart was still pounding and my hands were still shaking ten minutes after this blessed experience as a million thoughts coursed through my mind. The first three thoughts were:
1. The first fish off of my first homemade crankbait.
2. The first fish I ever caught out of Bradley Lake after numerous attempts through two seasons.
3. The biggest trout I ever caught in my life.
I revived her before I released her to fight again another day. Everyone thought I was nuts to let it go.
Here is a photo of Bradley Lake. You can see the dock in the background.
My son reminded me that I promised to take him to Krispy Kreme for a treat, and who would I be to disagree? After all, this was definitely an occasion to celebrate.
This lure making journey has come full circle, from inspiration to conception, from to construction and examination and finally culminating into a hooked and landed fish.
Thank you for tagging along on my journey. I hope it wasn’t too boring of a ride. One of the things that I like about this story is that it is not the typical fishing report that we have all come to enjoy reading. I hope it is a tale worthy of a Fetha Styx rod in the eyes of the judges. I have liked their look and feel in my hands since the day I first held one at an expo.
[currently untitled] fly entry..
By: Sherri Russell
Hey ladies, you don’t have to be a “tom boy” to like to fish. I am certainly not your typical fishing person and I’m not shy to show it either. I am a “girly-girl” at heart who truly loves the sport of fishing. I am who I am and I like what I like.
Last week, I overheard some locals mentioning that the Salmon were running. The Salmon are running…and I thought to myself, boy, I would surely love the experience of catching such a large fish. So, I decided to take action and plan a fishing trip on the Muskegon River with local fisherman, Jim Churchill, of Riverside Outfitters LLC.
When my scheduled fishing day finally arrived, I was so excited that I could hardly stand it! I was like a kid in a candy store. I got prepared and headed off to meet Jim at the designated launch. Once I arrived, I got out of my vehicle and proceeded to walk towards him. Jim stopped and looked at me in surprise and asked me if I was planning on fishing in high heels. I laughed and said “you betcha, these are my lucky high heel shoes”. He said that he had thought he had seen it all until that day. So, he invited me to step on board his riverboat. Jim started the motor and away we went down the river in search for Salmon. We traveled for a while, and then proceeded to slow down and stop and anchor. Anxious to fish, Jim then outfitted me with all the proper gear and explained exactly what I needed to do to catch a Salmon.
So I cast one time, two times, three times and then four times and WHAM…! I suddenly realized that I just hooked a fish! Jim was instructing me every step of the way, pole up, pole down, reel in, let the drag out etc… it was so exciting that my heart was racing from the thrill and the challenge of getting that enormous fish into the boat without losing it…the 30lb power pro test line held up great…Finally after 10-15 minutes, the Salmon tired out and we netted it and got it into the boat. We were both truly amazed at the size of the fish. Not just any fish, but a huge 18lb male Salmon. I told him my catch was attributed to my lucky high heel shoes and my natural casting ability and he chuckled and said, “you amaze me…it very well could be”.
Jim then gave me my 18lb prize fish and showed me how to handle it properly. I struck a pose and held the fish while he took my picture. Boy, it was quite a day and an awesome experience that I will never forget, like a first kiss.
I then realized that I should share this story with others so that they may be inspired to sometimes take action and create their own experiences in life or it will pass them by before they know it.
Taking “time out” by fishing can be a great way to offset some of the many challenges and stresses that we women all seem to be faced with today. Sometimes just being somewhere away from the fast pace of life – even if just for a few hours – can provide a new perspective and a fresh outlook.
Fishing as a hobby is continuously growing with women and that is why the estimated number of women who acquire fishing licenses each year is more than 12 million.
So ladies, I encourage you to support our local fishing guides and take “time out” for yourselves, get out the pole, put on your lucky high heels, step onto the boat to see what you can do. Most of all have fun and good luck!
I can’t wait to go out and fish again.
Big Burtha
By: Tanner Farnack
It was a cold mid-day on Oct, 12, 2009 the fog is just beginning to drift up. Me (Tanner) and my partner were thinking go fishing or stay inside and stay warm, without conversation we pick fishing. Around were I live there isn’t any lakes for miles, however there is many farm ponds. We fish in about 8 different ones around here but there is one that was the favorite of all, it was my grandfather’s pond and it’s been there for many years. My brother and I fished that pond since we were kids. The main reason why that pond was the most favored was for a largemouth that has the name of Big Bertha; it was named by my brother and me when we were fishing one summer evening during the spawning time. Jacob (brother) estimated it to be a 6lb bass, I was just a kid so I was just astonished at the size. Big B was never caught till the day I’m writing about.
Adam and I hoped on the ATV and headed out when we got there we started fishing ASAP with hopes of catching Big B. Adam (partners name) was throwing a senko and me a crank bait, many bass were caught but none not near the size of Big B. After we were there for around 2 hours we were deciding to go home. Adam said that he was going to head up to the ATV and wait for me because I was getting all my stuff together. As I was putting my stuff away I hear Adam yell at me from the other side of the pond “Tanner get over here!” I dropped my stuff and ran over there just hoping that he has spotted Big B, when I had got there I saw her , Adam had stopped a couple of feet behind were she was so he didn’t spoke her. I then relaxed myself and walk back over to my tackle box and grabbed some stuff to try on her.
When I got back Adam had thrown almost all he had and she wasn’t interested in any of it while I was putting on a Banjo Mini he had put a bass jig on and made a perfect cast in front of her and reel it slowly in and she started to follow and she turned away. I knew that there was only on more bait that might work “live bait” I thought to myself so I turned around and walk to the side of the pond that had many bluegill nests and I put a little jig on and caught one it was perfect size. I tied on a large hook and put it threw the bluegills lip and walked over were Adam was still trying for her. As I fixed my spool I told Adam “she won’t be able to resist this “I casted a couple yards in front of her and reel it in front of her mouth and she took it! I yelled at Adam who was right behind me “I got her” I let her take the bait for about 5 seconds because it wasn’t all in her mouth. SMACK! I set the hook perfect. Adam heard my drag going off and ran up to beside me to watch the fight .As I was letting her fight she was smacking the dirt around every witch way so I couldn’t see what she was doing. I told Adam that I was going to bring her up to the shore and told him to grab her. I fought her for about 5 minutes and finally got the beast on the shore Adam grabbed her and lifted her up and handed her to me. My heart was racing from the excitement. She weighed in at 7lbs and 21inches in length. It wasn’t a monster but for a pond that is a big bass. Adam snapped some pictures and I let her go to fight another day.