Casting About

The best hand warmers have scales

“Are you kidding me,” I thought to myself after yet another fishless cast.

The weather was the polar opposite of the day before. Sustained north winds of 20 mph and a high of 36 degrees were cranking out a brutal wind chill. Every fifth cast required dipping the rod in the water to clear the ice from the line guides. Suddenly, I began to regret my recommendation of waiting until that day to take my buddy Joe fishing.

Joe and his wife, Chasity, hail from western Louisiana. Our friendship dates back to the summer of 2005. Needing a map of the Red River for an upcoming tournament, I placed a call to Clarks Marina, south of Bossier City, La. Next thing I know, the cordial attendant had me connected with Joe, who extended an invitation to stay at his house during the tournament. Joe and Chasity are just those type of people: kind, fun, great hosts and even better anglers. Since then, we have remained in contact and now alternate years visiting each other’s homes. This year was our turn to host.

They arrived at our house just after 1 a.m. on Saturday. Joe and I had already decided that Sunday would be our day to hit the water, given their late arrival and that a local tournament would be in full force on Saturday.

We have a lot of fun when we’re on the water. But we also take advantage of our differences. Sharing techniques, baits and strategies are always part of our focus. Joe is a master of the Red River. I always kid him that he needn’t spool so much line on his reels since he only uses the first ten feet. But that is his strength, and it has earned him tremendous respect. He returns fire with comments about the need for downriggers and how his reels don’t hold enough line for my style of fishing.

We hit the water early. The previous day’s tournament results and other reports of numerous bass taken on jerkbaits and crankbaits had my adrenals in overdrive. The cold wasn’t a factor at first. Anticipation and chatter about life happenings dampened its bite at first. But after a couple of hours, a thermos of coffee and numerous spots without a response, the chill began to build. The jerkbaits and crankbaits weren’t producing and the wind made boat control difficult. And the waves crashing on the bank muddied the shallower water we were fishing. Frustrated? Absolutely. Defeated? Never.

With half the day behind us and little to show for it, confidence was grudgingly giving way to anxiety. We needed a game changer, a ninth-inning rally, and an ounce of hope to salvage the remainder of the day.

The foul weather had apparently deterred other anglers; there weren’t any signs of other boats. Our conversation took that ominous turn to justifying our failure.

It was time for something completely different. We headed offshore. Trying to warm my fingers, I idled into the mouth of a creek adjacent to the main lake. That’s when we spotted some gulls diving off in the distance. I told Joe to hang on as I tromped on the throttle. My heart began to race as I felt the warmth of adrenaline running through me. I’d seen this deal before.

I lowered the trolling motor in the midst of the gulls and loons and locked my eyes onto the graph. Sure enough, a giant school of baitfish had bass schooling beneath them in 70 feet of water. Grabbing our spinning rods, we lowered our 1/8-ounce, homemade jigs. When the jigs had made it about 2/3 of the way down to the fish, the graph lit up with bass streaking up toward our baits.

The action was intense. Drop after drop we watched the graph as the chaos erupted. The cold was relegated to a mere memory. That Sunday is one I will never forget.

Our success was a result of finally opening up our minds. We had been locked into the previous day’s results and what the bass “should” be doing. That had to be flushed out before we could adjust, and something as natural and easy as the gulls and loons tipped us off where the bass were feeding.

Looking back on that January day, I still remember the sting on my fingers as I held my rod, but the cold of the water as I reached to lip another bass has somehow escaped my recall.