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Hit the GMR on foot after work. Water was 67 degrees and vis was about 10 inches.
I started out throwing what was tied on, a marabou jig. After about fifteen minutes of no interest I tied on a Smokey Shad Z Too for the first time this year. I cast it to where the water was turbulently entering a good size pool. After a couple of casts I saw a boil near my bait as soon as it hit the water and set the hook, the line when tight and the drag buzzed for about two seconds and then nothing.
After several more casts I added a small split shot an inch or two above the Z Too to get it down. A few cast later I felt a tic and set the hook. The fish stayed down and put up a good fight. I was positive it was channel cat in the twenty inch range judging from the fight. As I got it closer it splashed and I caught a glimpse of its tail and knew it wasn't a cat, but I was still confused, no way a small carp hit a Z Too, maybe a Buffalo.
I continued to let it tire itself out until I felt safe to bring it to the surface. When its head poked through and I saw the unmistakable red eye and profile of the smallmouth bass, my heart rate immediately jumped and I got that adrenalin rush that only big smallies seem to give me. No one will ever convince me you can't be addicted to fishing. With trembling hands I reached down and grabbed its lower jaw with the boga grips. Any thought of it being a twenty incher was dashed as I lifted it out of the water, but it was still a good sized smallmouth, if nothing else it was fat, maybe a PB.
I laid it on the board and stretched its tail out and it was seventeen and three quarters of an inch long. Not a PB; not a twenty incher, but a fish to be proud of non the less. This tale is less about that particular fish and more about the enjoyment I get out of fishing and pursuing the twenty inch smallmouth.
A small part of me hopes I never catch one. I don't want to lose that rush.
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I started out throwing what was tied on, a marabou jig. After about fifteen minutes of no interest I tied on a Smokey Shad Z Too for the first time this year. I cast it to where the water was turbulently entering a good size pool. After a couple of casts I saw a boil near my bait as soon as it hit the water and set the hook, the line when tight and the drag buzzed for about two seconds and then nothing.
After several more casts I added a small split shot an inch or two above the Z Too to get it down. A few cast later I felt a tic and set the hook. The fish stayed down and put up a good fight. I was positive it was channel cat in the twenty inch range judging from the fight. As I got it closer it splashed and I caught a glimpse of its tail and knew it wasn't a cat, but I was still confused, no way a small carp hit a Z Too, maybe a Buffalo.
I continued to let it tire itself out until I felt safe to bring it to the surface. When its head poked through and I saw the unmistakable red eye and profile of the smallmouth bass, my heart rate immediately jumped and I got that adrenalin rush that only big smallies seem to give me. No one will ever convince me you can't be addicted to fishing. With trembling hands I reached down and grabbed its lower jaw with the boga grips. Any thought of it being a twenty incher was dashed as I lifted it out of the water, but it was still a good sized smallmouth, if nothing else it was fat, maybe a PB.
I laid it on the board and stretched its tail out and it was seventeen and three quarters of an inch long. Not a PB; not a twenty incher, but a fish to be proud of non the less. This tale is less about that particular fish and more about the enjoyment I get out of fishing and pursuing the twenty inch smallmouth.
A small part of me hopes I never catch one. I don't want to lose that rush.
jk
