The neighborhood bass pond suffered a dramatic fish kill from last winter's thick ice. I spotted numerous two and three-pound bass, dead. My son found a dead bass over five. Shallow from shore to shore, the deepest water may be about four feet, but that water is super fertile and of good quality. My son and I once hiked the nearby mountain, locating the feeder stream almost at its spring source. Why we didn't follow it on up directly to that spring seems to speak of negligence now. Would have been interesting.
Matt fished the pond last week, losing a 14-incher on a buzzbait. I guess that got me interested. Why else would I have fished this evening? I haven't all year, but I sit by the pond every day when walking our black Lab Sadie, thinking the worst of the situation with the bass.
I began flicking my Chompers next to algae mats thinking that once upon a time, we were always sure the pond holds a five pounder. Matt caught one that big here once. Very soon, I caught a 10-incher, wondering if hardly any larger survived. Answer came quick. A nice 17-incher got posed before my camera lens after a chugging fight. I wasn't terribly surprised. After all, just because dozens of big bass die, doesn't mean the majority don't live on, perhaps. Or some.
I caught another 10-incher and that was all after about 25 minutes.