Memories!

If you earned a living on the water, what would be your most memorable day?

What angler doesn’t have a day that stands out as a benchmark of his fishing life? Whether it’s a daughter’s first fish, a huge bass hooked, fought and landed through remarkable circumstances, or a monster largemouth that got away, forever haunting the psyche of the unfortunate angler, all of us have a day that we will never forget. For those who live on the water – pros, guides or anglers who work in the industry – memorable days are all too common. Some are good, some are bad, but all leave a lasting impression.

Swimmin’ money

Never before has Texas pro Mark Pack been so close to winning a major tournament than when he made the final cut for the Wal-Mart Open on Beaver Lake in Arkansas last May. That final day was etched into his memory not for the fish he caught, but for the ones he didn’t catch. Or specifically, the ones he couldn’t catch.

Pack was doing well throughout the tournament and qualified for the final day of competition, a day that he will never forget. He pulled into a spot that he knew held fish and right away, he saw some big bass cruising through the clear water under him.

“These fish had just moved up and were getting ready to spawn. I was looking at $200,000, but I couldn’t put it in the boat. It was frustrating,” he says. “I hooked one about 5 pounds on my first cast, but I lost it. After that, I couldn’t get another bite.”

Pack stayed on those fish and threw everything he had, but the bass just wouldn’t bite. There were several close calls, he remembers, but none of the fish would commit to taking his bait.

“I’d throw a lure in there and they would swim away and then come back like they were going to eat it, but they just wouldn’t,” he says.

Pack doesn’t have a single regret about that day. He could have spent far less time working those bass and more time chasing others unseen. But as every tournament angler knows, they live by the decisions they make. The successful pros also live with those decisions.

“If I had one more day, those fish would have been locked on their beds, and I could have caught 18 or 20 pounds of fish and won it all,” he says. “It won’t haunt me because I did everything I could to catch those fish. Still, it would have been a huge boost to my career.”

Little ones matter

Who can’t forget a big fish that got away? It’s not always the big ones, however, that leave a lasting impression, and Frank Ippoliti can attest to that. He will always remember a 2-pound bass that cost him a substantial amount of money. The Frederick, Md., pro was competing in a tough Wal-Mart FLW Tour event on Alabama’s Lake Martin last March. The water was cold and muddy, and the spotted bass that many anglers bank on in the lake just weren’t cooperating. That being the case, Ippoliti decided to go after largemouths. He found them and quickly put together a strong pattern and a full livewell.

“I was pitching what I call sawdust mats,” he recalls. “When the water comes up, mats of floating leaves and sticks and debris form in the backs of pockets, and bass really flock to them under the right conditions.”

Ippoliti had a decent limit of largemouths in his livewell, but with 45 minutes left, he was eager to catch one more so he could swap a 12-incher for a larger bass. He pitched a jig into a mat and felt a solid strike.

“I got this fish out of the cover quickly – I was using 25-pound-test line – and my partner offered to net the fish for me. It was only a 2-pounder, so I figured I could swing it into the boat, no problem,” he says.

In one swift, smooth motion, Ippoliti swung the fish out of the water and into the boat. Almost. The bass hit the gunnel, the jig popped out and the fish ended up on the deck of the boat, flopping dangerously close to the edge.

“I threw my rod down and tried to jump on top of the fish, but in the confusion, I knocked my rod over the side of the boat and the fish got away,” he says.

Besides losing that 2-pounder, Ippoliti lost a $300 Team Daiwa baitcasting outfit, a piece of equipment for which he has no sponsor. And by missing the chance to swap a 1-pound bass for a 2-pounder, he missed the cut for the top 10 qualifiers by 7 ounces. It was a single fish that cost Ippoliti at least $4,000 and an honest shot at the $100,000 top prize.

“The next day, it only took 5 1/2 pounds to make the top five, and I was on a solid pattern that I know would have held up. I honestly believe I had a chance at winning if I didn’t lose that one fish,” he says.

A father’s pride

Sometimes a fish caught by somebody else matters more than any tournament victory, any paycheck or any big fish. Florida pro Bernie Schultz was on a trip to the Florida Keys with his wife and children when a single fish, a permit, became a turning point not just in a single life but also in the life of a family.

Schultz, his wife and two sons, ages 5 and 7 at the time, were on a short vacation in the Florida Keys. One afternoon, they were fishing the flats with live bait. The day was almost over, Schultz recalls, but the tide was right.

“I was poling my boat across this flat when I saw a school of tailing permit. You only get one shot at a school of permit and you need to make a long cast, so I threw a live crab in front of them and handed the rod to my oldest son, Daniel,” he says.

A big one took the bait and his son, an eager fisherman, set the hook hard. At first, the big permit didn’t do much and his son figured the fight would be an easy one.

“I told him to get ready,” Schultz remembers. “Then the fish took off, the reel started screaming and my son got scared. He thought he was going to lose the rod.”

Instead of taking over, Schultz coached his terrified son like any proud father would. Despite the tears, caused both by the fear of losing a rod and by the agony of fighting such a powerful fish for nearly 20 minutes, Daniel held on and battled the fish like a pro. Schultz’s wife was reluctant to let their son continue, but Bernie assured her that letting the boy continue the struggle would not only teach him a valuable lesson in self-confidence but also let him claim this fish as his own.

Daniel beat the permit, which measured 24 inches and weighed an estimated 20 pounds or more, a fish that any angler would be proud of.

“We didn’t have a camera, so I thought about running back to the dock, but Daniel insisted on releasing it right there. That was cool. It was definitely a major turning point in his life as well as mine,” Schultz says, “and I’m really glad my wife was there to see it.”

Promise made, promise kept

It’s always fun to spend a day on the water with a good friend, but when the fish are biting, it’s even better. The heat of the moment, however, has a way of making people say things they may later regret.

New Hampshire pro Rick Lillegard and his friend Jim Tutt were having a grand day on Lillegard’s home water, Lake Winnipesaukee, catching and releasing one big smallmouth after another. They even hooked and landed four 4-pound smallmouths at once, a feat that delighted Tutt so much that he made an offer that sounded too good to be true.

“Jim was so excited about catching all those big smallmouths in New Hampshire he said, `Come down to Texas in January, and I’ll put you on a 10-pound largemouth,'” Lillegard recalls. “One day, I was in Texas in January so I called Jim and asked if he was available to fish the following day. It was short notice, but he was able to take a day off. I could tell he was in a panic because he remembered his promise about putting me on a 10-pound bass. I don’t think he had any idea how he was going to live up to that promise.”

Tutt was indeed unsure of how he would live up to such a monumental declaration, but he managed to put together an outing that Lillegard will never forget. The two went to a small power plant reservoir on the outskirts of Tutt’s hometown of Longview, Texas. After a short run across the lake, the two anglers hopped up to the front of the boat and immediately looked down to see a huge bass locked onto a bed directly in front of them. There was little doubt in either angler’s mind that this would be the bass Tutt promised Lillegard.

“Jim starts digging around in one of the boat’s storage boxes for a rod or something and I pick up my rod and cast a tube right into her bed. She turns and picks it up, and I set the hook,” Lillegard recalls. “Before he knew what was going on, I had this fish on.”

When Lillegard hung the bass from a digital scale, Tutt’s promise was realized-exactly.

“When Jim said he’d put me on a 10-pounder, he wasn’t kidding. This fish was 10 pounds exactly. Not an ounce over or under,” Lillegard laughs.