Bass Fishing at its Best

THE LATE-AFTERNOON south wind was gusting to 20-plus as we shoved the 12-foot aluminum boat into the lake. Naturally, the best-looking bass water was on the far south end.

I sat in the front, playing the age-has-privilege trump, as Rickey Morris stepped to the stern. We nosed the skiff into the wind. He fiddled with the battery cables and turned the trolling motor handle to full power.

We didn’t exactly go in reverse, but the splashing bow failed to reveal any discernible progress.

“Hmm, battery seems a bit low,” he muttered, the master of understatement. “We’d better start paddling.”

Morris passed over a broad-bladed wooden paddle and started digging with its mate. The coveted shoreline bristling with green promise was perhaps 400 yards away. I settled into a steady rhythm, punctuating each fourth or fifth stroke with a choice epithet.

After 200 yards into the hammering chops, I felt every hour of my sagging 74 years. 

“Keep stroking! All this paddling exercise will help your surfing.” I’ve known the 50-something Morris for 25 years, mainly through a shared obsession for wave riding.

By happy coincidence, he and his family live on a subdivision lake. By unhappy coincidence, he pays more attention to Fry Surfboards than Delco products. 

The grueling exercise finally reached the leeward bank. I slumped forward, sweating and panting. Morris had the good sense to pack a beverage cooler, and I reached back, waggling an impatient hand.

“Ah, much better,” I allowed, wiping frosty foam from parched lips.

By paddling a few soft strokes and slipping a mushroom anchor after each sly advance we were able to semi-effectively work the bank. Tall reeds and fishy-looking stickups punctuated the promise. I used a crankbait, and he chunked a Texas-rigged plastic. Thirty minutes later, nothing. 

The late sun was settling behind low clouds, and the air was cooling. You don’t bass fish for more than half a century without picking up a few clues. I stashed the crankbait rod and grabbed a topwater rod. The 6½-foot stick was rigged with one of my all-time favorite plugs, a Norman Wounded Flash.

Lake Livingston pro Jack Segall introduced me to the Wounded Flash back in the mid ’70s. The chubby torpedo profile is fitted with slim fore and aft chrome propellers that twirl and flutter with each rod-tip “slush.” It’s just the right weight and balance for smooth level-wind casting. Many fine slush-type plugs are available, but the old Wounded Flash remains my “confidence bait” when topwater conditions for bass are right.

As if a switch were flipped against the growing shadows, the topwater conditions were utterly and totally right.

My first cast—yes, my first shot—into a tight shoreline pocket drew a prompt blast. A three-pound bass tore into the plug, and I whooped against the bent rod. The fish was healthy and strong, pulling and diving with surprisingly vitality. Like most bass stuck on surface lures in shallow water, it made several twisting, shaking leaps—all you could ask from an A-list game fish.

I held the glowing prize aloft before plucking the trebles and releasing the fish.

“Not bad,” Morris said, ditching the worm rig and grabbing a topwater rod. His choice was a classic Heddon Torpedo, slightly smaller and fitted with a single tail prop.

During the next hour we caught 15 or 20 bass, most in the honest three-pound class and several pushing four to five. The runt of the bunch was a gung-ho one pounder that nailed the Flash. We each missed several blowups (mainly hitting too soon), but I do not recall losing any exceptional fish. 

My best was a thick green and gold beauty that struck at the end of a smooth cast tight to the reeds. The fish jumped repeatedly and pulled with alarming power—my reel drag was too tight, a rookie mistake that the 15-pound mono covered.

It was an excellent session. Any decent largemouth that smashes a well-cast topwater lure (plug or fly) along a pleasing green shoreline carries the game to a high level on the style meter of Sport Fishing. Even Morris’s cheesy boat was a plus—the small skiff puts the low angler closer to the experience, a front row seat.

I thought about bass fishing during my short drive home. 

Years ago, I spent many days on the big East Texas reservoirs. One of the standard patterns in open water was to work bottom structure such as a hump, creek channel, or roadbed. Most of this fishing occurred in 10 to maybe 20 feet.

No casting targets were visible, only a vague notion of the bottom contours and perhaps a few blips of fish or bait as marked by the electronics. Go-to offerings were Texas-rigged plastics, deep-diving crankbaits, and jigging type lures (such as Mann’s Little George tailspinners and Bomber’s Slab spoons) Bass often schooled over main-lake structures, and the fishing could be very productive.

Back in the catch-and-keep days 10-fish limits were routine, mostly one to two pounders. Occasionally, a larger bass would push the “schoolies” aside and hit. It was fun. But it was not as exciting as what Morris and I experienced, and it was not as significant. 

What we experienced is what made the largemouth America’s fish. It is available on lakes and ponds across the state. The accurate cast, the violent blast, the repeated leaps, those elements combined with a pleasing shoreline are bass fishing at its best—Well, those things and maybe a hot trolling motor.

 

Email Joe Doggett at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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