I left the influences of the Midwest in 1974 and headed south, never to return.
I knew from adolescence that living in northern Illinois just wasn’t a part of my future. I enjoyed the outdoors – particularly fishing – too much to have my season limited by nearly five months of blustery, unforgiving weather.
Since that time Florida and Georgia have been my home. There I began to focus on bass almost exclusively, especially after getting seasick, violently seasick, the first three of four times I ventured out onto the ocean.
Lake Okeechobee during the 1970’s, and Lake Lanier from 1981 to the present, have been much more welcoming than the salt air and rhythmic wave action of the Gulf Stream off Miami.
(I can almost feel my stomach churn as I think back on that infernal motion-of-the-ocean. Yuck!)
A decade of largemouth fishing in Florida did not prepare me well for spotted bass fishing in north Georgia. Flipping huge jigs onto and through hydrilla and lily pads in 3-feet of murky water during the 1970’s did not ready me for Sydney Lanier when I moved in 1981.
The learning curve was steep.
I at least had the sense to join a local bass club, a “draw” club where names of fishermen were drawn randomly from a sweaty ball cap, creating teams for their monthly tournaments.
It was January, probably in 1982, when Jerry (I have no idea what his last name is) was “lucky” enough to be paired with Marc Eggers from Florida for their monthly tournament on Lake Lanier.
Bass on Lake Okeechobee spawn in January; I knew that from living in south Florida, but I also knew Lake Lanier might be a little bit behind on the annual mating ritual- Lake Lanier was a touch further north according to my map - and that I should prepare for a pre-spawn experience.
Boy, was I ever mistaken.
When I said spawning on Lake Lanier would be a little behind the timing on Lake Okeechobee I never imagined that it would be three months, or more, away.
So when I showed up Saturday morning and began to load my stuff into Jerry’s boat, I brought with me spinner baits with hubcap-sized blades as well as a full-sized Hula Popper and Jitterbug, all tied to 25-pound test monofilament.
For the next couple of hours I thought Jerry just naturally had “bug-eyes” and didn’t like to chit chat. I now realize that my approach to fishing that frigid January morning scared the poor guy.
I recall that the first question he asked following an hour of abject silence was whether or not I had spent time fighting in Viet Nam. I considered it a question generated out of his strong sense of patriotism. He was simply trying to understand what might have happened to influence my thinking.
To be honest, watching him dunk tiny plastic worms straight under the boat into 40-feet of water (an on 8-pound test line!!!) had me concerned about his current mental state.
Why nothing smacked my Hula Popper placed delicately along the shoreline, or chased my giant spinner bait with a mega-sized pork chunk attached for extra appeal, had me baffled.
The fact that Jerry caught a pair of scrawny, strangely colored fish that sort of looked like bass from the muddy bottom in 45-feet of clear water, never diminished my determination to make my Jitterbug splash and wobble seductively as it passed over a shallow lay-down tree.
The day ended far too soon. I could have spent another eight hours working my magic with those surface baits, but the time to weigh-in was upon us.
We returned to the ramp and Jerry quickly gravitated to a cluster of close friends to share his experience with Mr. Topwater (me). I might not have had a bite, but my fishing prowess was undoubtedly what they were discussing.
Oh, by the way, Jerry finished second in our tournament with his two green largemouth-wannabes. The winner had three fish that weighed slightly more. And 40-local fishermen probably spent the next week talking about the guy from south Florida (me) who thought he was something special.
Humble pie tastes awful and I got a huge slice of it that day.
