I’ve spent the past hour on Google, looking at some very profound quotes and witticisms from around the world on the topic of humility; I’ve spent the past six days tasting it.
The reason I was browsing the internet looking at adages and proverbs about humility was because, once again, I had been schooled, taught that what I thought I could do easily was not going to happen.
Fishing is an activity that will quickly return you to “ego-reality”, usually within days of thinking you “knew-it-all”.
Bear with me as I share a story from a number of years ago, an unusual event that happened to me at Lake Burton.
I was pre-fishing the 2800-acre gemstone lake in Rabun County, getting ready for a club tournament eight days later. It was a Friday, it was early September, and the weather was spectacular. The only problem was I never caught a fish; not one bite in seven hours of fishing!
Wounded, I returned to the boat ramp for the 90-minute drive back to Gainesville. At the ramp three guys from the DNR were pulling their boat out of the reservoir. They had spent the day electro-shocking the waters, taking a survey of the fish population.
They asked me how my day had been.
“Miserable,” is what I think I told them. “Are there any bass in this lake?” I asked facetiously.
Ten minutes later my boat was on the trailer and I was ready to head home when the DNR guys walked towards me. ‘I sure hope I have my fishing license with me’ raced through my mind.
That wasn’t their interest, however. One of the guys stepped forward, introduced himself, and told me that it was his last day working for the DNR. He explained that he was retiring and planning to start a guide service on Burton and other mountain lakes.
“Let me be your first customer,” I pleaded. (At that point in time there was a noticeable absence of guides that served Lake Burton.)
He laughed, and then sank deep into thought. Scratching his chin - something deep-thinkers apparently do often - he made me a very unique offer.
He said if I would pay for his gas and lunch, he would take me out on the lake Monday morning and we would try to catch some bass.
“Sign me up,” I said, my voice cracking at the excitement I hoped to disguise.
Monday morning arrived and as I drove up to the boat ramp I noticed the retired ranger was already in the water with his boat, but so was the DNR electro-shocking boat. He was chatting with his former co-workers as he gestured for me to park and come to the dock.
As I climbed into his boat he told me we were going to do a little experiment with his DNR cohorts. Did I mind? I never got to answer as he throttled the boat forward and we headed straight for a steep rocky bank with half-a-dozen trees that had fallen into the water - a great looking place for bass to live.
For the next hour we fished that thirty-yard stretch of bass-heaven with every lure imaginable, from every angle possible and with as much attention to detail as two men could muster.
Nothing. Nothing at all…not even a nibble.
About that time the DNR boat “mysteriously” appeared. We hoisted our trolling motor and moved a couple of hundred feet away as the DNR crew took our place, lowered the twin electrodes into the spot we had just thoroughly fished and turned on their generator.
Within minutes we got the signal from one of the rangers to approach. Thirty-nine fish were now floating on the surface of the lake, temporarily stunned. The rangers quickly documented the result of their action, even weighing a couple of the bigger fish.
Thirty-nine fish; I was as stunned as the fish were. Crappie, bream, catfish, perch, walleye and bass everywhere…at least ten bass!
Where did they come from? Certainly not the spot we had just fished, I thought. If they did, then how did they avoid getting snagged with our lures as we made over a hundred casts right through the middle of them just moments earlier?
This scene was repeated twice more before the morning was over. Every time the results were the same: guys with fishing rods, zero; guys with the DNR, dozens of fish.
That morning I learned a lesson that freed my thinking from self-condemnation. No matter how thorough and capable a fisherman I become, I cannot make the fish bite.
Fast forward to this week; six tough days of fishing reminded me of that earlier lesson learned.
I fished areas that I knew held fish, I cleverly varied my presentation and lure offerings and I was persistent, but it was a struggle.
So my fishing advice to those of you frustrated right now – stay patient, stay deep (30-40 feet), and stay alert. The bass are going to bite when they feel like it and not a moment sooner.
Humble pie is something fishermen and women sample from time to time, and not by choice. However, it can either make you, the fisherman, bitter…or better. You get to decide.
