Lunker: A Whole New Ball Game

It's high water time. Rain, snow, more rain has pushed streams and rivers over their banks. The drive in to Yellowwood is up to the doors in some places.

I kick out. The computer weather said this would be a "fair" day for fishing. I'm here to find out.

The weather is still having a hard time warming up. Hot coffee continues to be an essential accompaniment to the day.

I'm the only one on the water. The solitude and peace form a background for a feast for the ears. The spring peepers are in full voice. An osprey wheels in and heads for a tree top perch, its repeated high piercing calls echoing around the lake. The first swallows swirl over the water, their liquid twitterings a counterpoint to the peepers.

And, twice during the evening, the call of the loon ululates over the water and into my spirit. Shortly after launching I had seen what I took to be a single canada goose. It would be unusual, however, to see a solitary goose at this time of year. I dared to hope, kicked silently closer, and confirmed it as a loon. It is an honor to share the water with these birds of the wilderness. I wonder where the other one is: at this time of year when you see one loon you'll often see its mate.

I fish the south end by cutting my usual loop in half. When I make my full loop I often run out of time to cover this end dominated by the dam and spillway.

Not much happens until I get up to the dam. Some bluegills are tucked in close to the bank.

I finally see both loons, a pair on their way to northern nesting grounds.

I tie on a big leech pattern and start down the dam and past the spillway.

Where the spillway ends and the natural bank begins I get a tug and a miss. I cast back in and get another tug but no hookup. I can't get another tug.

Dusk has fallen and a mist is rising by the time I start down the last stretch of shoreline. So far it has been a typical trip. I'm thinking about the truck heater as I kick slowly along casting and retrieving, casting and retrieving. Then everything changes.

I get a take. A soft take. I raise up and feel a fish. It feels like a bass. I begin to strip it in and it comes along peacefully. Then it pauses--this is how I remember it--realizes it's hooked, and decides to put an end to this foolishness. It bores down, swims around the float tube and begins to surge back to the bank

I'm kicking away from the bank as fast as I can and keeping a good bend in the rod. I turn her and get her back out into deep water. She stays deep for a few turns around the tube then begins to yield to the pressure of the rod. I take in a couple feet of line, she drives down again and takes one back.

I finally get her up to where her back breaks the surface. It looks like a submarine surfacing. This is the biggest bass I've ever caught.. I get her head up, lead her to the net, and scoop her up. I have to adjust her a little to get her to fit securely.

So there she is, a miraculous bass, a feast for the eyes.

I don't have anything to weigh her with, but I stretch her out on the 18 inch measure on the stripping apron. She laps over at least two inches on each end, and one could make an argument for three. According to the various formulas out there that puts her in the 6 to 7 pound range.

I put her back in the water, take a few minutes to revive her, and watch her swim into the depths and out of sight.

I look up and realize it's a whole new ball game.