Bass Quest 2

By Jeff Lund. I’ve always thought bass were ugly fish; fat bellied swimmers that ate too many calories for their stubby frames. Beautiful fish were silver, or a different shade of green with energetic oranges and reds. Even spawning salmon or trout were pretty, except when mold was involved. Anyway, the salmon runs in California have collapsed, and I am a quarter tank of gas (round-trip) away from any sort of trout possibility, and even then they are small, and most are stocked.

So I played snob for a solid three years, ignored bass and only fished during the summer, in pursuit of the salmon I grew up pulling in by the mouth and beating over the head with clubs. 

I can’t say whether it was boredom, a new found appreciation for all fish, or another excuse to put off grading research papers for my English class, but last week I started an ernest quest for bass.

I watched fishing shows on Versus for tips, and asked friends that do the family thing more than the fishing thing for advice, then set out for the muddy river not more than nine miles from the barn I rent. The river drains into the famous San Joaquin Delta, the site of numerous bass tournaments and plentiful populations, so I figured it would be easy-ish to hook a few.

I dropped $20 on crank-baits, swim-baits and spinnerbaits that were on sale. My reel was rigged with braided line from a previous outing, but since we used bait and it was inactive, night fishing, I don’t really count those nights as much more than fun outing with buddies.

My buddy Chris recommended a spot in which to start my quest, where I could, “park at the gate”. “The gate” of course had some key words I had to call him about.

“So, are the signs that say, ‘No trespassing’ and ‘No parking’ a recommendation or serious?”

Naturally he didn’t answer his phone, so I had to leave that on a message and make the decision to commit a misdemeanor in the name of catching my first non-deep sea bass or head to a public access point.

As I walked over the levee and left my trunk in front of the western most ‘No Parking” sign, I saw the bend in the river Chris told me about, and started casting a green spinnerbait into the dirty water.

It was the first of five adventures to locations up and down the river, that featured snagged hooks, lightening, and some hippie lady that was ‘taking photographs with friends’ near the levee and does ‘psychedelic art’ for a living. How the heck am I supposed to try and catch fish with some lady sitting on a pipe 30-feet from me asking me three times where I lived. She didn’t appear to be under the influence of anything, but did ask if she could swim in the water.

“I’m not sure if there is a rule against it, but I can bet it wouldn’t be healthy.”

That’s how I closed the quest, seven days after it began innocently, by fulfilling my quest from a strip of land that didn’t belong to me or any other member of the public. By the way it was obvious I wasn’t the only one that had hooked a fish there judging by the sheer amount of garbage.

I leave out details of the actual catch because it really was one of those, ‘oh, uh, now what?’ I don’t remember what I did, how the hit felt, or if anything went through my head just before the yank.

I snapped an awkward video, which further distracted me from enjoying the moment.

I fished four more times that week at different places (the rest public). Three times after school then Saturday after six hours of fly-fishing for trout on the same river, only way up where it runs clear and narrow and where the fish are trout and only three times bigger than the swim-bait I used for bass.

The only other fish I managed to land during the week was during a similar situation. No idea what I did, in fact the bass did all the work, as most fish usually do I guess. I figured there were two stupid bass in the river and I caught them both without any skill. Still, I caught them.

The riveting story is documented in a video, so you can watch and laugh without having to admit you felt the same helplessness at some point in your own fishing career, and still believe that all, or at least most of the fish that bite are because you are just that good.
—
Jeff Lund
Teacher/Freelance Writer
Manteca, CA