Oh yes, she is in there. You know she is

Have you ever had one of those places where no matter how many times you cast, you never get a bass to strike? I do not mean just a particularly fishy looking hole in the bushes where you have cast before and just now made a couple of more casts. I mean a place where for thirty-feet in any direction you have never had a strike, ever. Not in ten thousand casts. You know the type of place. So dad gum fishy looking you just know there is a bass laying there. And I do not mean just any old bass; I mean a bass, the bass. The, with a capitol “T”, b with a capitol “ASS”, bass! But she just will not strike.

It does not matter what you throw at her. Top water, under water, bottom runner, mud-bug, live bait, dead bait, trolling motor, it does not matter. And how do you know there is a monster bass in there? Because there are never any other fish within thirty-feet of the place. The big bad girl has already eaten everything that has came within thirty feet except your lure.

That is how you know she is in there.

I love bass fishing!

I know a place like that. I have known a couple of places like that. And how, you might ask, do I know there was a trophy bass laying in those places? Without exception sooner or later the big bass has left me tattered and torn. Lines busted, hooks straightened, tackle destroyed, end of story.

Well, not quite the end of the story.

The most recent thorn in my side is a very narrow place in Gridleak Bayou I call the Widow Maker. The Widow Maker surrounds two very large cypress trees standing no more than six feet apart in the middle of the bayou, one behind the other. This makes it impossible to cast a lure directly in the spot between the trees, where I am sure the old girl is laying. One must be content with casting past the trees and retrieving in front or behind the hole.

These trees tower above all others for miles around. I do not know if they are so tall because of their location, completely in the water, or because of their age. Probably both. They are without a doubt the elders of the neighborhood and it is easy to imagine them standing proud amongst their many children, grandchildren, great grandchildren...

I call this place the Widow Maker for two reasons. First and most obvious are the very large snags of branches high in the trees that with a proper bump of the boat would surely snap and kill a man as he snoozed in their afternoon shade. Second, any woman who’s husband is unfortunate enough to encounter this bass haven would surely think herself a widow as her husband spent hours, and days trying to entice the big fish.

Oh yes, she is in there. You know she is. This morning, fishing from my little bass rig, the Lazy Boy, I find myself once again trying to lure her out.

Let’s see where was I, oh yes, cast number ten thousand and one…ten thousand and two…ten thousand and three…

To be continued.

Gridleak

 

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