Big Bass and Pickerel Early Season

The past five years on the job have been tough; yesterday was one of the more tough days at meeting customer demand, but before I was on the road for home, unsolicited, I exclaimed to my boss, "All's under control!"

"I wouldn't doubt it for a second."

Gives the backbone some steel to have heard it form him. 

I got home, made some further arrangements with Brian, got sleep, got up at 4:30. I had been hoping, low key, that today I would begin my yearly tally of 18-inch largemouths. Every season, I catch a number of them, usually some 19-inchers, and last year I caught two 20-inchers. The bass in the photo struck an inline Mepp's Aglia as if nothing was going to stop it from going. I measured it at 21 1/2 inches. That's difficult to do in the canoe and the measurement might have been a little off, but not by much.

Brian had said, "Nice one?"

"Big," I said. 

I got it to the net swiftly, Brian not having yet seen it, me feeling as if the connection to the treble hook might be weak. The bass seemed to carry with it an ominous shadow the size of a small hippopotamus, which seemed to be no mere physical attribute, but an intelligent presence--if on the dark side--that told me I better not lose it. And if I had, I take it all of my life hereon would have sunk a little deeper into such shadow. So unnecessarily. As if the necessary thing was to boat the bass, though it had been a gamble from the beginning. 

He lifted, and exclaimed, "It's a six-pounder! Twenty-two, twenty-three inches!"

"It's not 23," I said, experiencing a clear image of how massive my 23 1/4-incher from Merrill Creek Reservoir appeared. But I did think it might be 22. 

I think it was a half inch shorter, but in any event, the bass was bigger than my 20's last year. How much it weighed, we don't know, more concerned with releasing the fish safely. I felt certain it wasn't six, but surely a smidgen over five.

Brian nailed one a minute later on a Chatterbait I thought was 19 inches, though we didn't measure it. Later, he caught one about 18, another about 15, and four pickerel, including one I thought was 24 inches, though skinny. His other pickerel were nice fish, but it's the one he lost--and by the feel he thinks it was a pickerel--I wanted to know about. I saw how the 24-incher put a bend in his rod and fought. And I saw how the bigger fish did the same by a deeper bend. Brian couldn't move it. It went deep and stayed in place, the rod twitching at its thrusts.

There probably are pickerel in this lake slightly over 30 inches.

I ended the day with the single bass, two pickerel, two perch a foot long, and a bluegill almost that long. I also lost a big pickerel, which might have been 26 inches but not nearly 30. The head came out of the water and impressed me as massive. The spinner shook free, and like Brian and his loss, all that remained was a moment of longing as large as the lake. 

It's a privilege to fish that lake, and I thank Brian and Sam. We treat the fish well, trying to release them as if the worst consequence is an improved education. We all know how that can hurt, but maybe it makes us a little wiser.  

Big Bass