She Should Have Been My Bass!

 

It was a beautiful spring day in the middle of a hardwood forest in northern
Indiana.  My husband was flipping a Bill Dance frog into the lily pads covering the shaded corner of a small pond.  The water was 60-70 feet across and reflected perfectly the tall trees, blue sky, interrupted occasionally by bait fish hitting the surface.

On the other side of the pond, I was busy with my eight year old daughter, trying to coax the schools of blue gills just off shore into enjoying our bee moth treats. Our tackle was light and our hooks tiny.  The young angler squealed with delight as she reeled in hungry, colorful fighters that jumped and splashed with the energy of Celtic warriors.

After a while she lost interest in fishing and just played with the bee moths, letting them climb around in her lap.  I worked my way around the bank until I came to a large oak tree at the waters edge.  In the watery roots of that massive oak I saw a shadow.  It was something alright, something big!  Like a statue, I stood and watched patiently until she swirled into the sunlight, a big, beautiful largemouth bass.

I threw what I had, a tiny hook and bee moth, which was completely ignored.  I tried again, putting the bee moth right in front of her, nothing.

My bass rod was on the other side of the pond, and I was afraid I would spook her if I moved, so I got my husband’s attention with a wave of my hand, and motioned him to approach quietly.  I pointed and he saw her too.  I said, “Ok Bass Master, get that fish!”  

He went to his tackle box and studied his vast array of bait choices, his mind searching years of fishing memories – water clarity, season, temperature, native bait.  He made his choice, a floating perch Rapala.  He carefully tied the lure and approached from behind the oak tree. 

He flipped the lure four foot out and let it settle on the surface.  Twitch, twitch, and it disappeared without a ripple.  With a jerk the hook was set and his pole bent in half, the tip touching the water.  In one swift motion, he lifted her out and onto the bank, grabbing her by her huge mouth.  After 35 years of fishing, he finally got his trophy, 5 lbs. 10 oz.  What a beautiful fish.

Monty Astrip, an expert fish taxidermist from Peru, Indiana, did his magic and the reminder of that day lives on my living room wall.  She should have been my bass!