Editor’s Note: After compiling some of the best fish stories from our female fishing fans over the last month or so, FLWOutdoors.com is finally ready to share them with the public. For the next several weeks, we’ll feature a different submission every week, with articles being posted on Mondays. To be sure, the stories submitted by our readers have been most impressive as well – ranging from the truly humorous to the utterly heartbreaking. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we did. And hopefully, as more and more women get involved in the wonderful sport of fishing, we’ll get to read and hear about many more stories from our female fans in the future. Enjoy.
Katherine Broughton
Los Angeles
Fishing with mom and dad
It began as a gray and cloudy day. The sun had peeked out earlier, but now the clouds just got in the way – not rain clouds, just clouds.
Perfect, a perfect day beginning, I knew it. I could just feel it. The birds squabbling about told me so. The water barely stirred. The wind was out of the north. I took a deep breath, and peacefulness descended upon my soul.
Today was the day mom, dad and I were goin’ fishin’ – fishin’ for the bass. I had dreamed of this moment since purchasing my plane ticket three months earlier.
Dad, an avid fisherman then as now, began sharing his love for the sport when we were young children. I remember many of those three-day weekends we’d take every summer. The family would pile into the station wagon with tent and boat on top, camping supplies in back. We’d drive three long hours to Lake Yellowstone, that wonderful place at the southern tip of Wisconsin. The endless hours communing with nature has given each of us an experience that has lasted a lifetime.
As we piled into the Stratos that fine and early morning, we decided to run over to the latest “hot” spot, Bay Bottom. With our poles out, we began our first attempt at rousing whatever we could.
In this particular area, eelgrass and peppergrass mix with lily pads. They reach up to brush the surface of the water and run rampant everywhere. In the midst of this endless sea of grasses appear openings. If I looked down fast enough, as we drifted over the top of the water, I could see “beds,” flat sandy places where fish lay their eggs. I was told fish hang out in those holes. With my polarized sunglasses, I spied my first one. A smile overtook my face. Up ahead, dad was quick to point out a few more.
My parents, Bob and Lucy Broughton, are tournament anglers, and have been since retiring to Florida more than 10 years ago, as are my two brothers, Steve and Larry. They fish one of the largest lakes, the one we are fishing today, Lake Okeechobee.
Dad gave me some time to get adjusted to the rod and reel, since I hadn’t had one in my hands for over two years. Interesting, though, how something like that comes back so easily.
My first casts were okay, and then dad offered some suggestions to remind me of what I was attempting to do.
“Remember to keep your wrist straight, let the flow come from the elbow. Put your attention where you want it to go. Take into account the direction and strength of the wind and give it some oomph.”
We were drifting at a good pace.
“Throw the drift bag out. We got to slow down,” he bellowed.
Mom was quick and expert. Boom, the bag was in the water and filling rapidly. Dad directed the boat with the electric motor, and we gained more control.
“Now, hit the hole up ahead,” he advised me.
I cast and missed, reeled in, and cast again. My lure did not land anywhere near the hole. Mom had the next chance and wasted no time hitting dead center.
“Woo hooh,” dad yells. “I got one. Here, Kathy, come reel it in. Give me your pole. Hurry now. Keep the tip up, reel it.”
Yeah, it was a fighter. The pole bent and I kept reeling. Oh, it’s a good size. It’s up to the boat. He bends over and grabs the largemouth bass. We take a look at it. It must be 4 pounds. Dad reaches into the mouth with his long-nose pliers and extracts the plug, chuckling to himself how the “little devil” went for the “tiny torpedo.” Handing me the fish, he picks up the camera and snaps a shot. Mom smiles.
Woo hooh, the bass are here. We grab our poles and begin again. Mom is next. Dead center in that last hole and she’s got one.
It’s interesting out on the water. There is such a quietness, yes, peacefulness. Mullets jump unexpectedly a few feet into the air and gracefully dive back in. Birds of all kinds chirp, squawk, tweet, twitter and squeak as they effectively go about their business. Then there’s the continual “plop” of the lure hitting the water and the churning of the reel. Sometimes the pace is quick, sometimes slow, but constant nonetheless. Cast out, reel in. Cast out, reel in.
Subsequently, that glorious moment, the one every fisherman works for all day: The lure hits the water and “splash,” something comes up for it. A moment, and set the hook. Yes, something is tugging on the other end, and reel. Woo hooh, what a feeling, what a thrill …
And mom gets another. She’s on fish today. Gets the bass up to the boat and pulls it in. Nice 5-pounder. Mom stands with pride as I shoot a Kodak moment. In goes the fish, exchange of smiles pass between us and we are hitting the water again with renewed determination.
It’s my turn next, right? Wrong! The best I’m doing is reeling in weeds. I laugh quietly to myself thinking how I can go home and tell all my friends what a good – no great – weed catcher I am. I continue working on perfecting this technique of casting dead center into the hole, and think of the odds. How many chances do I really get? Based on wind conditions, the amount of holes I can get to and a wrist that doesn’t always stay straight. My intention is one thing, but where it ends up is another. It’s a gamble.
Ahoy, dad’s got one on.
“Here, Kathy, come reel it in.”
I quickly clamor to the front of the boat. Dad takes my pole. It’s great! This one does not fight, and I bring him in effortlessly, a beauty nonetheless. Three pounds, another picture, throw him back, and resume.
The sun is beating down, the wind refreshing. We have lots of sun block on. We forget about everything else and pursue our goal.
Dad says to me, “Do you want another plug? I got something that gets through the weeds a lot easier.”
I say, “Yeah, okay, let me have something else.”
He gets out his tackle box, finds a “flappin’ shad” and ties it on my line. Again, I notice the quiet, moms lure plopping through the water, and the reel clamoring.
“Here, let me cast it out for you.” He takes my rod. “This is how you reel it in.” And as I watch him, I marvel at his know-how.
He turns the pole over to me. I cast. “Yeah, this is much better,” I think to myself.
“Thanks dad.”
It’s a type of jerkbait, and the weed collection is nil.
Dad smiles. “Now get it in the next hole and keep your wrist straight.” He watches, “Woo hooh! Yeah! Good cast.”
I take a deep breath and reel in. Everything is coming together.
The secret about fishing this kind of water is the lure needs to get in the hole dead center on the first cast. If you can do this and if there is a fish in that hole …
I finally start getting the knack. Wind factor taken into account, wrist straight, action from the elbow, new determination, sight on target, and “oomph,” the lure sails and plops dead center, and, baby, the fish sees my bait coming. Plop, splash, set; too anxious, I pull the lure out of his mouth. Dad chuckles; mom tries the same hole but no bite. He’s gone.
Well, next time I need to be a little more patient. I just got too excited. Resume. Cast out, reel in. Cast out, reel in.
Dad is happy I finally got the opportunity to set the hook by myself.
“There’s plenty more holes coming up. Try again,” he reiterates.
I got the fever now. My real first attempt at all the elements being perfect. And, the fish went for it…Yes! Next time, I’ll get him!
We continue to drift, hitting the holes, but nothing is stirring.
“Perhaps the fish are taking a siesta,” I say out loud.
“Perhaps. What time is it anyway?”
“Time to eat,” I say and mom agrees.
Dad says, “Yeah, I’m ready.”
We open the compartment containing lunch. Mom has always been brilliant at creating a picnic. The food is delicious, the drinks refreshing. Once again I am aware of the quiet and peacefulness, the beauty and magnificence that surrounds us. I feel so blessed to be here. My awe is reflected in my parents’ faces.
Dad suggests we motor back and drift through the same area again. And we’re off. Fortified by lunch, we begin again. Cast out, reel in. Cast out, reel in.
Dad’s got one. This time he reels it in himself. It’s a beauty; camera out, and snap. Fish back and resume. Cast out, reel in. Cast out, reel in.
Ah, yeah, I am getting good at this, if I do say so myself. I look up ahead; boy, that looks like a good hole. Cast, plop and splash. He goes for it. I wait and set the hook. Oh hooh, I got him this time.
“Dad, I got him.”
“Yeah, good girl. Now keep the tip up, hooh hooh,” dad howls as he puts down his rod to help.
“That a girl, Kathy,” mom choruses.
It’s a fighting 3-pounder. I stand proud as dad takes another picture, this time with the bait suspended from its mouth. In the water goes the bass, and boom, we’re at it again. Cast out, reel in.
The sun, the wind, the bugs have been wearing on us. We finish drifting the area and decide to call it a day.
“Yeah, let’s go home, get a shower and a good meal. It’s been a great day. We can come back and try again tomorrow,” dad injects, and both mom and I agree.
I take another mental picture of the beauty that surrounds me, breathe in the smells of the air and take note of the sounds around me. I am tired, peaceful, content and thankful for spending the day in this glorious place with such fine camaraderie. How blessed I feel. How blessed they are, all those who fish.