Bonanza Gold Bass

A piece that I wrote for a fly fishing journal:

           I was standing in the middle of a little back water on the East Branch of the Au Sable, National Guard helicopters whirling overhead, when my best fishing partner looked at me and said, “I really just want to catch a big fish”.  I was feeling his frustration.  We’d been concentrating on the fly rod for a long time, years, and while we have caught our fair share of fish maybe it was time to try something different.  I too felt the need for a tug, a pull, a jump; something big head shaking and rolling on the end of my line. 

A week later a co-worker asked me if I bass fished.

“I do,” I said, “But with a fly rod.” 

“I don’t have a fly rod,” he said. 

I wanted to go fishing really bad though.  I thought about what my best fishing buddy had said on the creek that day and I wanted to feel something big pulling back. 

“I haven’t used my spinning rod in a few years,” I said, “Let me check it out when I get home tonight.  Probably needs new line.”

Well, it turns out that the rod was fine but the reel hadn’t been used in so long that the bearings in the drag had frozen up.  The date on the reel said 1994, twenty one years, guess they just don’t make them like they used to anymore, even back then.  I had a Mitchell 300 stored in my gun cabinet, still in its original plastic packaging, the Taiwan model not the French model, so I put it on the rod and strung it. 

Two years previous I’d received a tackle box as a gift and stocked it with a few bass baits I’d seen on sale at the local sporting goods.  I never got around to using the box or the baits but figured, “what the hell,” and tied on a white paddle tail plastic job with silver specks.  I didn’t have any bass hooks so I threaded it onto an old Eagle Claw hook and put a split shot just above it.  The rig would have to do. 

We gained access to a pond through a friend and set off in search of the bonanza gold.  I had blood lust.  I wanted to see something viscous happen.  A big gnarly fish with a huge bucket for a mouth come out of the weeds and inhale something.  Then pull like a son of a bitch as I reared back on my twenty one year old rod and watch it smoke the drag on my Taiwanese reel.  No probing around on the river at night, no dainty takes on small flies, no fancy back cast, no fishing up stream, no long delicate leaders, and no pretty fish.  I was in search of the big ugly. 

I caught three fish.  They were smaller but they all attacked the bait like they’d never see another one as long as they lived.  My partners landed bigger fish, and just as the light was fading, a spinner-bait produced a good one.  A fish that could hold a dozen brook trout in its mouth like it was smoking a fist full of cigars.  A fat fish with that pretty light green color on its back and a black stripe on its side that makes your thumb hurt when you hold it up for a picture.  It was so satisfying that a couple of weeks later I told my best fishing buddy to meet me at the lake, “Don’t bother with the fly rod,” I told him.  I caught four better fish this time and hung one in some deeper water that made the drag on my Taiwanese smoke.  He spit the bait out before I could land him, but I’d done what I’d set out to do and felt the pull of a big fish. 

Now, you are asking, “Why is this guy writing a piece about bass fishing for a fly fishing journal”.  I’ll tell you why, because I’d forgotten about my spinning rod and how much fun that style of fishing can be.  I’d forgotten what it was like to fight a big fish, to experience that take and watch them jump and pull.  I’ve not left the fly rod.  Oh no, not even close, the salmon are starting to run up the rivers now and I can’t wait to probe the river at night for those monsters with my eight weight.  But I’ll also bet you good money that I won’t let another summer slip away without busting the spinning rod and bass baits out again.  Life’s just too short for that.