Bass fishin’ is THE summer sport for many people in Southern Missouri We spend hours each summer and winter fishing for the elusive bass. We fish the lakes, streams and rivers of the hills, hoping to catch just one nice one. But, what is a “nice” one is pretty much an individuals decision. When I lived in Alaska I caught King Salmon that weighed more than 50 pounds and Halibut that were more than 100, but they lacked the excitement of a bass. Pound for pound I think a bass is about the most exciting fun you can have fishing! So, in my opinion, they are all nice ones!
A few years back my buddy (and cousin) Bubba and I decided one hot summer evening to go bass fishin’ the next day. Early the next day Bubba was at my door in his old Pick-em-up truck and off we went. A false dawn filled the morning air and I looked forward to a day of fishing. Bubba even had his modified John boat on a trailer behind us. Earlier that year he had constructed the boat from plywood, added elevated seats, a fish well, and an old 65 horse power motor.
Additionally he had scraps of carpet, in various colors, on the floor to sound proof his rig. All total, not counting his motor cost, he had about twenty-eight dollars in his boat. See, the chairs were bar stools he purchased when a local pub went out of business. The boat motor he had bought from an uncle that found it in a barn he was tearing down, and the fish well was an ice chest he had hot glued to the floor, after he cut the bottom out of the boat.
Once at the lake, we launched the boat. But, I must admit Bubba did have more than a small bit of trouble backing the trailer up. It took him about two hours to finally get the boat into the water.
He reached into the ice chest and removed a soda pop. As he opened the pop, he looked at me and explained, “The trailer hook would stick and the rig would not line up properly. I need to oil that thing one of these days.”
“Yea, sure.” I thought and suspected it was just Bubba, but I didn't say anything.
Well, at any rate, we were soon in the deep water and that meant things were looking up, at least in my opinion. While in the boat bubba demanded that the captain and crew wear life preservers at all times. He handed me a blow up life preserver of a cartoon character. I hated to have a large mouse under my arms, but I do like to fish, so I put it on. His preserver was of a popular duck and at times he would look at me and go, “quack, quack.” The things I put up with to fish.
As we drifted around the boat launch area Bubba attempted to get his big motor started. He pulled and pulled on the starting cord, but it would not start or even give a sputter.
“Bubba, did you start the motor at home?” I asked. I was getting a bit upset over his laziness most of time when it came to preparing for a trip of any kind.
“Well, not exactly, but, kind of.” He responded as he took another pull on the starting rope.
“What do you mean by that. You either did or you didn’t.”
“Well, I checked the spark plug and gas level.”
“Bubba, DID you start it?”
“Of course not. I didn’t have any water to do it in. Ya got to have water to run a boat motor and you know that.”
I was a bit upset. Bubba had about ten 55 gallon drums, empty ones, on his farm and most of them were in his front yard, near the rusting car bodies. All he had to do was fill one with water, attach his motor to the side of the drum and check it. Oh, well, not much I could do about it now.
Suddenly the motor caught and we were off…for about fifteen feet, then it died. It took five more minutes of pulling on the rope before it started once more.
“It just needs to be ran some.” Bubba said with a big crooked smile. He then opened the throttle full speed.
As the old motor sputtered and spit we crossed the large lake. The wind was light and the surface of the water was as smooth as glass. When we reached our fishing spot, Bubba threw out a coffee can filled with cement that was tied to his bow. This was his anchor as he would say. Unlike the last trip, this time he had the can tied to the boat so it was an anchor of sorts, I guess.
I loved the peace and quiet. The water was calm and the wind was light. I could hear the birds chirping in the trees on shore and I could have spent hours day dreaming just looking up into the snow white clouds. The only sound was a “snap” as Bubba opened a occassional can of pop.
I spent most of the morning working my lure near a group of lilly pads. I had been using a floating lure with no luck at all and I was just about to suggest we move to another spot when my pole started dancing.
“Fish on!” I yelled, just like everyone did in Alaska. I kept the rod tip up and slowly worked the fish.
“Of course it’s a fish. What else would it be.” Bubba responded, not realizing that when you were combat fishing in Alaska “fish on” was a warning to other fishermen. When you had a fish on there everyone moved out of your way so lines would not get entangled.
I soon landed a nice big bass in the five pound range, and of course I was excited and happy. So far the trip was going as well as it could, with Bubba along. Only, since I had caught a fish and Bubba hadn't he decided we needed to move to another location, immediately.
Once again he had trouble getting the motor started. Then, all of a sudden, it zoomed to life....and came right through the floor of the boat. From stern to bow we were opened up faster than the wrapper on a Moon Pie. As water began to fill the now cut-in-half boat, I abandoned the ship and floated next to the sinkin' "Titanic." I was soon joined by Bubba.
"I got the ice chest. I thank I fergot to pull the ank’er up." He said with a big dumb smile.
We made our way to the shore and were soon sitting on a big log. Bubba opened a pop and took a long drink. I could see he was deep in thought. All I could think of, was if I had my pole I could at least still fish. But, my pole, along with my fish, and all of our fishing gear was at the bottom of the lake. Nothing else to do, so I opened a pop and looked over at Bubba.
"Bubba," I asked as soon as I had taken a drink, "Now what do we do?
"Well, we can walk back or we can wait for a ride. Since we got a cooler of food and a lot of drinks, I suggest we wait." He then reached over and pulled out another can of pop.
About four hours later we were picked up by a fish and game warden and taken back to the boat ramp. I was mad and frustrated as all get out. A fishing day, completely wasted due to Bubba's ideas. It was not the first, nor was it the last time it would happen. As I made my way up the ramp I heard Bubba ask me, "Wonder how a feller makes himself one of them houseboats?"
