Being "One" with the bass...

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For some peculiar reason lately, every good fishing story I have ends with a Rat-l-trap.

You have to become "One" with the bass. I've heard about this age-old technique with regards to just about everything. Fishing, hunting, motocross, skateboarding...they all say it. You have to become "One" with your 'blank'.

When I was younger and learning to do various skateboard tricks off staircases, the advice that I sought always came back as "Let the board be an extension of your body...become 'One' with the board." To some degree, this logic works well and eventually I was busting-out Pop Shuv It's and Heelflips off structures with the best of them.

Back to fishing...you have to think like a fish, become 'One' with the bass. Put yourself in their shoes, so to speak. I believe I took that theory to the next level this morning.

I was out early at a small public lake, not hitting squat and decided to adhere to my 40 minute rule which basically states: if I'm not doing well within 40 minutes, I move on to another lake. (the benefits of being a die-hard bank angler) Since I had only caught 1 fingerling, I moved on.

(my lone catch at lake #1)

I arrived at the next body of water loaded for bear and began my clockwise trek around the lake. I should have known it was going to be a special morning because I almost always work this lake moving counterclockwise...likely to minimize my impact on the environment and help maintain the earth's natural rotation.

I started throwing a Bomber Square A in Red Craw in an attempt at working the logs and other evils that the "powers that be" toss haphazardly into the puddle to help maintain habitat. I bounced the little Craw off everything I could find, but couldn't seem to garner a strike. I switched back to a 1/4oz Rat-l-trap because it was the only thing that worked at the lake I had previously endured. I opted for a white and pink shad with a flat finish (a vintage color by Rat-l-trap) instead of the Chrome/ Green back I had tied on earlier because the water in this lake was considerably muddier. The flat white cuts through the murk like a torch in the night. I knew it was a huge risk given the fact that I was rapidly approaching Missouri's version of the Bermuda Triangle which has voraciously devoured millions of dollars in fishing tackle over the years...especially those irresponsible crankbaits with low-hanging trebles.

I willingly threw caution to the wind like a one legged granny on a Harley and started slicing through the cove with my small lipless crankbait with surgical precision. Less than 5 minutes had elapsed when I began the fight of my life.

I threw the bait beyond a log perpendicular to the bank and retrieved it parallel within a foot or so. Half way in, I got a nice big strike. I set the hook and let the fun ensue. I pulled him in around 5 feet and almost instantly it felt like I had 2 monsters on the line. I would gain only a foot and he would instantly take it back. Given the fact that I know big bass don't instantly reproduce a new replica as they likely do in kids alien-bass video games today, I realized that he had quickly become entangled in hordes of hi-viz 20# catfish line and 50# bass braid that likely dated back to the American Revolution. The Bermuda Triangle strikes again.

Well I knew I had a few options, the first being to just pull with all I had and hope my 14# Stren mono is fresh and perky enough to break the other lines. My second option was to go back to the truck and get my heavy braid rod and try to snag the snag and pull the entire mess ashore, the 3rd option facing me was to cut my losses and my line and hope for a better day ahead.

Not being one to give in so quickly, I began with option 1 (within reason) followed by option 2... neither of which were successful because as I trekked 300 yards round-trip to the truck for my braid rod, he pulled me deeper into the snags. I grabbed my line and pulled it back fairly hard to attempt to get the gist of what was happening and I could see that big beauty and my lure ensnared in the mess. I was at a loss and was considering option 3 when I realized that the bass would die there if my line broke. It was at this point that my life training came to mind. "Be One with the bass" echoed in my mind.

I emptied my pockets, tossed it all on my backpack on the bank, and I went swimming. I waded into the chilly water with my rod tip high. Once it hit the top of my boots, it was game-on. When I reached the snag, I was literally chest-deep in murky soup. I started feeling logs against my leg and as I reached in, I quickly located the caged beast. I could feel its jaw, my lure, and enough old line to spool every reel on the Pro tour. Heaving it all free of the log was easy, getting back to shore without falling completely in was tricky.

I waded back to freedom and took a moment for a quick photo op. I looked at the mess of line and lures I had retrieved and noticed that the split ring attached to the front treble on my hero 'Trap was a frog's hair from being completely pulled apart. I felt fortunate, blessed, & grateful. I noticed that there were at least 6-7 other people across the lake watching intently but I wasn't embarrassed. In fact, I think I had just become a bit of a hero.


(5 1/4 pounds)




(Darn near lost this one!)



(The mess of lures that came with all the line and fish)