(Fish Tales is a narration or essay written by club members or guests that relate to their experiences fishing in Still Waters bass tournaments.)
Hubbard Creek Reservoir 2003 October
Tournament
by Richard Rhodes
Fall
fishing can be a beautiful time of the year. For West Texas the oppressive
heat has begun to subside and the mornings can even be very cool and
calm. The first Saturday in October at Hubbard Creek Reservoir proved
to be ever bit that. The morning temperature hovered around 60 degrees;
the wind was calm; the sky was cloudy and an approaching cold front
was due in late afternoon. I thought that the conditions were perfect
for a good day of fishing.
I planned to fish a section of the lake that contained weed and grass patches adjacent to deeper water. I wanted to drop a worm into the weed pockets and down beside the standing timber and trees in the water or float a jerk bait over any patches of grass. Little did I know for a day that seemed to have perfect fishing conditions soon became an ordeal to get any strikes at all. I dropped a worm into the weed pockets and beside dead standing timber all to no avail. I did managed to coax a small bass into taking the worm as the worm decended to the bottom of the lake next to a dead tree in about 6 feet of water. I continued to work the docks and floating structure on the east bank of the lake with little results. I'm still amazed at the effects of the drought on the lake conditions as the docks extended far out into the lake or were left high and dry on bare land several yards away from the water 's edge. After a few hours of working the east shore line and boat docks and catching only a couple small bass, I started my boat motor and moved to work the east side of some adjacent islands hoping to catch at least one legal sized bass.
The small islands had shallow water extending out into the lake with grass protruding to the surface and creating surface patches that made it difficult to fish a worm or about any type of bait except a jerk bait. I knew that bass often hide in the pockets or just beneath the surface waiting for unsuspecting prey to venture near. I floated a Bass Assassin Charm over the grass, slowly moving it as a struggling fish would move and then allowing it to settle into the grass pockets. Occassionally a fish would strike the soft plastic jerk bait and I would allow it move through the water as I took up the slack line. With jerk baits, the strike must be hard enough to drive the hook through the thicker body of the bait and into the jaw of the bass. My personal experience in getting a good hook set versus strike with the jerk bait was not as good as it is with the worm. The fishing conditions along these shores demanded that I fish the jerk bait.
I tossed the little bait over a patch of grass and moved it closer to the dense tendrils and strings covering the surface. An explosion enveloped the green and white Charm as I tried to mimic a dying fish in the water. I waited a second or two and then set the hook hard. The bass buried up in the dense grass. Instead of trying to pull the bass through the grass, I simply held the line tight and moved my boat to him. I could still feel the small struggling vibrations on my line as the bass was trapped in the grass and caught with the hook and line in its mouth. I soon was directly over the buried bass and lifted the bass straight out of the water. Finally I had a bass that was long enough to weigh at the tournament's end even though its weight would be minimal.
I continued to fish the bait with an occassional strike all the while fishing the grass and weed patches. I tossed the jerk bait close to a tree and weed patch and it silently disappeared beneath the surface waters quicker than normal. I watched the line move through the water as the bass was taking its prize somewhere else. I took up the slack and set the hook hard. The hook barely caught hold of the bass as it broke the surface in its struggle for freedom and just as quickly threw the hook back at me. It seemed a fitting end to a long and arduous day. Everything seemed perfect: the weather, the wind, the temperature and the cloud cover. I had prefished part of the lake earlier in the week and mentally I was ready. All of my best laid plans didn't work out in spite of my best efforts. I landed only one fish that I could put in my livewell.
Life is often played out the same way. Sometimes when we seem to do everything we possibly can do to prepare for what life has in store for us, nothing seems to work. We can work hard and study and prepare the best we can do, but life remains an empty shell without the presence of the Lord. His presence fills the void within us that can't be satisfied in any other manner. When we know him in a personal way, the setbacks we occassionally receive seem trivail and inconsquential because he fills us with that unfathomable love that makes everything right when we look beyond the horizon.
My best laid plans and preparation for a successful day of fishing went astray because of conditions that I didn't really understand, but that didn't really matter. I was outside with a fishing pole in my hand, a boat under my seat, and the Lord in my heart. What could have been better
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