My grandson, Ronnie, and I took a three day break from camping and fishing after the major storms moved through the area the first week of June. Area rivers flooded and many folks were busy cleaning up downed trees and other debris. We spent our time organizing bass fishing gear and made plans to hit a few lakes and ponds as soon as the weather cleared.
Ronnie is an accomplished bass fisherman. He’s spent much of his life fishing with me and has learned much about fishing over the course of a decade. He’s now thirteen.
Ronnie’s newly acquired teenage voice crackled with excitement shortly after I awoke him from a deep sleep at 5 a.m.
‘It’s time to go fishing!” I barked. “Are you gonna sleep all day?”
“I love you, papa,” came his response. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
We each grabbed a coffee mug full of black coffee and a handful of iced oatmeal cookies to eat on the 15 minute drive to a local lake we have permission to fish. Ronnie began his usual braggadocio routine about how he would catch the most fish for the day. I retorted with my usual, “I’ve got 60 years of fishing experience on you.”
Undaunted by my septuagenarian rant, Ronnie continued his vigilance vowing to fish me into utter shame. I interrupted his wordiness and charged him to open the farm gate, while also remembering to close it so the farmer’s horses didn’t escape.
It never ceases to amaze me how many lessons a youngster can learn on a fishing trip. I assured him that should those horses escape, we wouldn’t be welcome there ever again. And that would be a major loss of a fine bass fishing opportunity. Ronnie thoroughly understood and gained a little insight into landowner relationships.
The drive down the farmer’s lane was almost a mile before we broke over a hill and a 15-acre lake broke into view. Glowing hillsides of yellow coreopsis and purple milkweed, along with the greenery of magnificent white oaks, framed the lake perfectly. A blanket of light fog decorated the early morning scene, adding to our thoughts that we were a million miles from anywhere.
“That’s a beautiful sight,” Ronnie said, with a serious tone to his voice.
I smiled inwardly, while realizing that much of what I had taught him, or at least talked about around him for over a decade, had begun to sink in. He was obviously beginning to formulate his own thoughts about the world of nature around him. He loves hunting, fishing, camping, kayaking and being outdoors. We have literally spent thousands of hours together in the outdoors, drowned lots of worms together, floated many miles together, and spent more nights than I can count under the stars together from the Ozarks to the Florida Keys. Our memories of our adventures are seemingly endless and certainly are priceless.
Ronnie jumped out of the truck as we reached the lake. He knew the routine. His job was to guide me down the rather steep slope as I backed the boat towards the water. There were big rocks and a few bushes to avoid and I trusted his guidance fully. He knew that if we tore something up there would be no fishing.
By the time I dropped the trolling motor, Ronnie had cast his bone colored Whooper Plopper far out into the lake. I heard it splash down and then heard his happy squeal as a bass exploded on the lure.
“Darn, pawpaw, it got off,” Ronnie yelled.
“That’s what you get for trying to get ahead of me,” I said. “That’ll teach you to try and cheat.”
“I’m not a cheater,” he said. “I’m just faster than you!”
I ran a big yellow buzz bait along a weed line as I trolled down the lake bank. A small 12-inch bass inhaled the bait, jumped high in the air and spit the bait. Ronnie hooked up again on his Whopper Plopper and yelled, “Pawpaw that’s my second fish. How many do you have in the boat?”
The endless ribbing had just taken on a more serious note. Ronnie really did intend to beat me on this bass fishing trip. I began to think about changing my tactics.
The topwater action slowed as quickly as it had begun. I had pulled the boat along several hundred yards of normally productive shoreline cover. I had not landed a fish. Ronnie had caught two bass and a massive bluegill.
I headed the boat towards the north end of the lake. With the recent abundant rains the lake had risen several feet covering a massive weed flat and an area of water Lillies. I tied on a pearl colored Flute and flung it into the weeds. I twitched the minnow imitator and allowed it to slowly drift towards the bottom. A 12-inch bass inlaid it and went airborne, where it promptly came off. Ronnie laughed loudly.
I quickly abandoned the weeds for the steep, rocky bank of the eastern shore. I rigged a Junebug colored YUM Dinger worm on a 5/0 hook. The weight of the big hook slowly pulled the twisting worm down. I caught my first bass of the day on my first cast. Ronnie wanted a Dinger worm, too.
The action picked up considerably as we trolled down the rocky ball. It seemed as if we were catching fish for fish as we continued. At last, I hooked a respectable 17-inch female that had spawned out. Her tail was worn to shreds from both nest building activity and fanning to keep her eggs free of silt.
I pointed out to Ronnie that I had caught the biggest fish of the today. He responded with, “Well, pawpaw I said I would beat you fishing, not catch the biggest fish! I still win!”
