Bass fishing

December 7

You might have read in my blog last week that one of the neighbor’s name is Ronnie. I got to know Ronnie better this week. He, like me, is sixty years old and was recently terminated at his job at a manufacturing plant near by. This area is experiencing recession as the construction industry is overbuilt, logging has virtually stopped, and farming has been devastated by the draught. Ronnie’s company faced job cuts and he was let go. With his wife working at a local bank, Ronnie is only passively seeking a new job. He is not passive about his avocation. He is passionate.

When I met Ronnie last week, I was blowing the leaves from the driveway near the street and he came out to get his mail. I stopped and introduced myself. We weren’t long into our initial conversation when he asked, “Want to go fishing next week?” I did not hesitate to accept his invitation.

I am going to flashback to several years ago when I was planning this trip. Even before Ben met Penny, Barb and I had planned to drive our RV out here and spend a month or two in the area. We had located an RV park just outside of Atlanta near Ben’s townhouse and planned to stay there. However, it was a city setting in a commercial area and a long term stay there was not appealing. As plans developed, I found the RV campground at this lake 60 miles east of Atlanta. In a phone call around two years ago, I asked Ben about Lake Oconee. “How did you find out about Lake Oconee?” Ben asked. I shared that our Thousand Trails membership has a reciprocal agreement with the RV campground on Lake Oconee and it would only cost us $8 a day to stay there. “Well, this is interesting,” Ben responded. “We are looking for lake property there.” The rest is history. Ben and Penny were soon married and the lake house was purchased within the year. After their purchase, I did further research regarding the lake and found that Lake Oconee is one of the premier sites for bass tournaments. My interest in fishing was rekindled. I even looked into signing up with a guide service.

Ronnie and I left around 9. It is near freezing at night now and he saw no reason to fight the early morning cold. However, the temperature was 34 as we left. He has a 20 foot bass boat with all the necessary equipment, including a depth-finder front and back, a water temp gauge, two elevated seats that swivel 360 degrees, an electric troll motor mounted to the bow that he directs with his feet, and a 235 horsepower Mercury outboard. As we pulled away from the marina he warned me to bundle up and to hang on to my hat. He had been careful to inform me that I must wear my life vest and that he even attaches a “kill switch” (a device that “kills” the motor) to his wrist in case he is ejected from the boat. By the time we idled out of the marina, I had settled into my seat with my heavy coat, hood, vest and gloves on. On crossing the “no wake” buoys, Ronnie nudged the accelerator forward and within seconds we were skimming across the water at speeds between 60 and 70 MPH. Fortunately, the trip lasted just a few minutes.

He pulled into a small cove. As he prepared us to fish, the sun warmed us and the coat and gloves were soon removed. It was then that I realized that I was with more than just a casual fisherman. On opening one of the deck holds it was revealed that Ronnie kept an inventory of at least 15 rods and reels readily accessible. Another hold revealed 7 14”X14’ plastic boxes, each labeled, and each with 20 or so compartments full of jigs, rat-l-traps, crankbaits, lures, etc.

Within a few minutes he had me positioned on the elevated seat, baited pole in hand, and was instructing me how to place, cast, and move the line. He then took his place in the front and we were both fishing. With his feet he skillfully guided the boat via the silent electric troll motor. It would be an understatement to describe Ronnie as a focused fisherman. He intensely watched his line, moved the boat around, and moved his bait along the bottom of the lake. We were fishing in 6 to 12 feet of water. Within minutes he had hooked and landed the first large mouth bass.

As intensely as he fished, thankfully Ronnie is a conversationalist. I know that some fisherman do not talk for fear of disturbing the fish or their concentration. Ronnie readily debunked that theory and he eagerly shared fishing techniques and lore. We also discussed family history, our own pasts, the local economy, and we even entered into conversations regarding the most sensitive of issues, politics and religion. Ronnie has fished the lake most weekends for 20 years. Since his job termination he fishes 4 to 5 times a week. He is secretary treasurer of the local bass club and has won several of the tournaments. He never travels more than a hundred miles to compete as housing and travel costs can eat into his recreational fund. His largest bass, which is mounted on his living room wall with several of his trophies, is 8.2 lbs.

By the second or third hour, in addition to the one rod we each had in our hand, Ronnie had set up two more rods for me which lay at my feet. At his suggestion, I would change from rod to rod based on his judgment of water conditions and whether or not the fish were biting. We fished for 7 hours in 6 of his chosen spots. He did not hesitate to share those spots with me because he knew I wouldn’t divulge since I didn’t know any of his competitors and I really had no idea where we were located. Barb had made us a lunch and we stopped about ten minutes to eat, something which Ronnie shared that he usually does not do.

I don’t know what I enjoyed most about the day. Skimming along the water at more than 60 MPH was exhilarating, albeit cold. The sun warmed us as we sat in the quiet coves with no building in site. An armadillo emerged from the forest and was walking on one beach. “They eat em in Texas, you know. They call em possum on the half shell,” one of Ronnie’s many quips. We caught fish. The boat was so comfortable. I cannot stand long on these ankles. The seat gave me full range. But the most impressive part of the day was observing Ronnie at work. It was watching pure art mixed with science. And that expertise was reflected in the day’s results. I hooked about six fish and landed two both of which were released because they were less than 14 inches. Ronnie caught around 20. He usually releases all his fish but he kept 5 that were large enough to keep and plenty enough for Barb and I to enjoy.

Our last hole was near the Ritz Carlton Resort. The sun was setting; the air cooled as we fished around the docks of homes valued well over a million. The resort’s golf course was at my right as I fished. I viewed some of the last groups of the day putting out on the final green less than 100 yards away. From time to time I glanced at them. As they waited their turn, they watched me. I couldn’t help thinking that if my ankles had not deteriorated I, perhaps, would have been out on the course in this day of glorious sunshine. I didn’t want to change places. The golfers’ body language was so familiar. The missed putt, the pivotal drive that sliced out of bounds, the shanked chip. I miss golf but today there were no missed opportunities. Quite the opposite. Today I watched a pro in the sunshine. We conversed without reservation, God’s creation was displayed in full, and he wants me to fish with him again on Monday.

The first picture is Penny on the dock with Pisgah. Picture 2 is leaving the neighborhood. 3 is motoring by some of the neighborhood homes, . 4 Ronnie's first catch - the smallest of the keepers. His largest fish was 2.2 lbs.

JI, I thought of you and John Kj today. Perhaps I contemplate too much on the glory of creation and the experiences that it provides. Perhaps I should watch my line more intently. Nope, not me.