A born again bass fisherman
By Dave Bates
For the Observer-Reporter
John 3:3 Jesus answered and said unto him, “Verily, verily I say unto thee, “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” KJV
I know some of you are chuckling in thinking that Bates has resorted to quoting scripture in his column. Lord knows he needs it … That being noted, I’ve always felt that trout fishing was akin to baptism.
I don my waders and immerse myself in the trout waters, feeling closer to God all the while. Rising from the depths I feel refreshed, renewed in body, mind and spirit.
I wouldn’t say I fish because of God; that would be a stretch, even for me. However, I do feel closer to God in the outdoors than just about any place on earth.
When it comes to bass fishing, I have enough farm pond experience to be dangerous, wetting the occasional line around home. I would not call myself a fisherman, much less a bass fisherman, and certainly not a smallmouth angler.
That ended a few weeks ago after spending the morning with the Suskie BassMasters. It was right about then and there that my fisherman’s transmogrification took place, my fishing epiphany if you will.
One of the perks of pretending to be a writer is the chance to get together with actual writers once a year at the POWA (Pennsylvania Outdoor Writers Association) Conference. This year’s gathering was held in Wilkes Barre along the Susquehanna River.
Friday morning of the conference found me piling out of a friend’s SUV with a collection of writers, some nearly as much of a fishing greenhorn as this columnist. We were the invited guests of Christian Ostrowski, head man for the Suskie BassMasters outfit and organizer of the fishing event which was designed to do exactly what they accomplished; make fishermen out of novices like me.
We disembarked from our vehicles at the Nesbit Park Boat Launch and were greeted by Christian and his band of merry men. He commenced dividing up pairs of fishing partners with each boat, of which there were three bass boat/guide combos.
Joe and his granddaughter, Ruby, were an obvious match for the first pair. Two of the other fellows had traveled to the conference as pals so they naturally teamed up, leaving two boats for two individuals.
I asked the young fellow who was standing next to his impressive bass rig if he’d like me to fish in tandem with the remaining angler and my guide, Joe Malloy, just smiled and said, “Get in.”
The next words he spoke endeared me to him for the remainder of our fishing excursion. “Let’s get out of here and away from the crowd!” Joe is young, maybe early twenties.
He has an easy smile, handles a boat as well as most men twice his age and has a no-nonsense approach to fishing that I love. Joe does not show off. At least not intentionally, anyways.
After taking a look at my sorry rod and reel combo, Joe handed me his Binford 5000 package worth more than my last pick up truck. Since I was fishing with just a guide and no additional partner and Joe was not about to waste a great morning on the river babysitting me, he began to cast.
It took him at least three or four casts to land an average size smallmouth. Smugly, he looked back over his shoulder at me and smiled as competent guides do. The ensuing 20-30 casts landed seven or eight more fish for Joe.
Joe began to worry, as he realized he was breaking the first commandment of fishing guides, “Thou shalt not catch more fish than thy guest.” Joe made some suggestions regarding my casting and presentation of my soft plastic bait.
He slowed the pace of his casting so that he would not accidentally catch another fish before me. It had been about an hour and I had still caught nothing.
He reeled in a few more fish, encouraging me to cast out ahead of the bow, allowing the current to work on my behalf. Still nothing. Joe provided continual encouragement regarding my casting disability.
I got a couple of nibbles but landed nothing. Inside, I could tell that he was secretly snickering at my fishing related dyslexia, maybe feeling a bit sorry for me. If he told me to cast nearer the short, my cast would fall short. If he suggested a left-handed approach, my lure would end up wide right.
Then, it happened. I landed a nice, 16-inch walleye. I’d never caught a walleye before, so this was quite a treat for me.
The next several casts brought two or three decent sized smallmouths and a couple of smaller fry. Our haul wasn’t exactly loaves and fishes proportions but certainly put a smile on my face.
We only had three or four hours to fish, not nearly enough time before heading back to the afternoon’s scheduled events.
Like the great guide he is, Joe pretended not to see the hands of the clock approaching the noon hour. We caught a couple more and he pointed the boat towards Nesbit Park and had us back in no time. We were officially 20 minutes late with my complete blessing.
Many thanks to Christian, Joe and the other fellows in the organization. I had never been pampered like fishing royalty until that day. They are truly great am “bass” adors for the sport.
I am already making plans to fish with my brother on the Susquehanna this summer. If you’d like more information on bass fishing the Susquehanna, give me a shout. Where once there was no fisherman at all, now stands a born again bass fisherman. A-men.
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.