Deb, the girl behind the bait shop counter, eyed us up as we walked into the store. We weren’t wearing orange.
“So, I suppose you already got the deer cut up?” she said.
“Nope. Fishing.” I replied.
“Not hunting this year?”
I explained how one of our three-man deer camp—a guy we refer to as “The Shark”—had to pull out of this year’s opening weekend hunt to attend the wedding of one of his wife’s shirttail relatives.
“Well, that’s the first domesticated shark I ever heard of,” she chuckled.
“And who the hell gets married over deer opener?”
“Non-hunters, I guess, and sadists marrying hunters,” I replied.
"Pretty much everybody's done fishing ... too cold. At least in the fishhouse you've got a stove," she quipped.
Still undeterred, we paid for our snacks and tackle and headed back to the water.
There are those fishermen (let’s call them bassochists) who take pleasure in catching open-water fish up to the very bitter end, no matter the Herman Melville-meets-Jack London brutality of it all: 20-40 mile per hour winds, freezing air temps, and the potential icy grip of hypothermia.
We see your posts on the North American Fishing Club Facebook page every day. NAFC members are out there doing it, fighting the good fight, fishing every chance they get, regardless of hail, rain, snow and sleet. The word hardcore comes to mind.
All this to catch bass?
After all, the rewards of the conscientious bass angler make pretty thin soup. At least the orange-clad have dreams of chops fried in bacon grease and a quantifiable return-on-investment to keep them warm …
Truth is, though, fall bass fishing can be epic. Find them, develop a workable pattern and it's game on.
Like Web Guy Greg told me recently: “I forget about the cold when I’m fishing. I’m just that addicted to the hookset.”
In last week’s blog “Halloween Bass Eat Scary Creature Baits (On Lake X)” I wrote about what was supposed to be my last Minnesota open-water largemouth bass foray of the year.
So, just when I thought it was safe to put away the bass sticks, baitcasters, and countless bags of plastics, Web Guy Greg told me he had heard about a killer, big-bass swimbait bite.
How could I say no?
So, there I was, back at it again.
Greg and I left the office late-afternoon Friday and decided to stop and fish smallies on a small metro river before making the 3-hour haul north.
No sooner had Greg cranked the outboard when I noticed flames jumping out from under the hood.
“Greg! Where’s your extinguisher?”
Greg threw me the extinguisher but I couldn’t get it to engage. I threw it back to Greg. No-go.
Quick to the draw, Greg grabbed a cut-off two-liter soda bottle and set about dowsing the flames with river water. Once the flames were extinguished we waited a couple minutes and then popped the outboard cover, checking for damage.
Luckily, the only thing that melted was a negligible portion of the foam hood liner. All hoses and wiring seemed fine, but there was obviously a gas leak that needed repair. I pumped the bulb and gas poured from a bad section of hose off the carb.
For guys that fish a lot, by the end-of-fall (if not summer) outboards are ready for some time in the shop. Only two hours into our trip and we were experiencing first-hand why guys were putting their boats away for the season.
I looked at Greg: “No retreat, no surrender fishing.”
Greg: “We’ve got hall passes for the weekend—and I can smell the big bass. Failure’s not an option.”
CHECK BACK NEXT WEEK FOR PART II --
Slack is evil; tight lines,
Jim