As a young boy I was always sneaking into my father's tacklebox to inspect his lures and rifle through the lake maps stuffed in the bottom of the box. I had to dig deep through all of the random things he had in there cluttering what was prime tackle space. At the time, all lures we great enigmas to me and I just wanted to learn how to use them. As I rummaged, I passed through the plethora of bucktail jigs, gaudy spinner-baits, deep running cranks and ziploc bags full of oily curly-tail plastic worms. Finally, after carefully inspecting many other strange contraptions, I found a motor-oil colored rubber worm rigged with a belly-hook. I had perfected the art of catching perch, bullhead and sunfish with a bobber and night-crawlers and it was time for me to broaden my horizons as a young angler. Little did I know how much tying on that ugly rubber worm changed my outlook on fishing. I was the tender age of 10 when I flipped my first floating worm over a mat of lilly pads. I had recently graduated from a yellow snoopy pole to one of my father's old zebco push-button combos. There was an old, rotting, wooden boat half sunk on the bank which I used as a fishing dock. Although the bottom of the boat was decaying from neglect and water damage, the front deck was sturdy and made the perfect fishing platform. It just so happened that it was positioned in front of a sunken beaver dam at the edge of the river-bank. I climbed up onto the deck with my rubber worm tied onto 6 pound test line that had probably not been changed in 4 years. For some reason those lilly pads looked so inviting, so I tossed my worm over the dam and dragged it back through the weeds. The worm would sink slowly if I let it sit too long so I slowly reeled it back and saw a streak swimming from the shore hard at my worm. SHWACK!! When I saw that fish come out of the water to attack my lure I was instantly hooked on fishing. Knowing nothing about setting the hook, I missed that fish and many more but I kept working that worm into those pads. Eventually, a brute pickerel slammed the lure and wouldn't let go as I struggled with the drag on my little zebco 202 reel. The fish made several spirited runs before I hoisted him up onto the deck of that old wooden boat. I quickly noticed the sharp teeth as the fish clamped down on my fingers while I removed the hook from the demon's jaw. A young boy takes a huge step towards manhood when he grapples with his first toothy pickerel. After I released what was in hindsight a rather small fish, I felt as if I had conquered the world. I wiped the blood from my hand and tossed that worm out again, searching for more. After fishing until dark, I would ride my bike 2 miles back home, and then come back in the morning to see what the sunken beaver dam had in store for me. That ugly old worm produced many fish but one determined pickerel slashed my feeble line with his razor-sharp teeth leaving my cherished lure in his lip as he swam down into an abyss of milfoil. I hurried back to my father's tackle box in search of another ugly rubber worm. After much ransacking, there were none to be found so I had to change lures. Everything was so foreign and strange but I stuck with choices in my comfort zone. I selected a green plastic frog with a belly-hook similar to the one my worm featured. This lure looked rather large and bulky but I decided to give it an honest effort. The frog proved to be just as effective as the worm and presented a unique popping action that the worm lacked. This bait would float if I left it to sit among the pads, which allowed me to twitch it from side to side. I had observed small frogs, salamanders and crayfish in the river before and made the connection that my lures were simulating prey. I also realized that the beaver dam I was targeting was holding hoards of bait-fish like perch and sunfish. On sunny days I could see little fish hiding in the submerged branches and aquatic plants. I quickly became quite adept at catching pickerel with these plastic lures. Watching the fish's fin create a wake as it darted towards my lure before it crashed at impact, kept me coming back for more topwater action. Removing the hook from these foul smelling creatures took careful practice and fortitude. I evolved my technique from stepping on the fish's head to stabilize it, to holding the fish behind the head. Pickerel were fun and super aggressive but my next lure trial would yield a new and exciting species that would prove to test my angling ability.
My grandparents purchased an old fiberglass canoe at a yard sale the following spring. This new vessel would allow me to explore the quite coves on the river beyond the familiar banks I could reach from shore. Becoming skilled enough to paddle around successfully took a little tweaking but I learned quickly. By this time, I had scavenged a few good looking lures from my father's stash and put them into an old metal worm tin. I meandered into a shallow weedy cove lined with cattails and tall reeds. I reached into the trusty worm tin and pulled out a red and white jitterbug. As I tied on my untested lure, I witnessed a massive fish leap out of the water and engulf a dragonfly who had flew too close to the water. Amazed, I encroached on the dissipating ripples left behind by the splash and whizzed my jitterbug into the fray. The gurgling noise and swaying action of this lure was unlike anything I had seen before. There was no twitching or jerking needed, just a simple, steady retrieve. After a few casts into this curious cove I began to question my lure choice but continued to work this noisy bait. Then...whack!! From nowhere a giant fish swallowed my jitterbug and an epic battle ensued. I was pleased that the treble hooks seemed to work so well as I was used to missing a few fish before getting a solid hook-set. I could tell that this was not a pickerel, it was bulky and fat with a giant mouth. As the drag peeled off from the zebco, the fish jumped in desperation trying to shake the hook. This was a largemouth bass on the end of my line. I had seen these fish on Saturday mornings being caught in tournaments on the TV. I loved watching bassmasters, Jimmy Houston and Bill Dance with my dad on rainy weekends. I had never caught a bass before and this was my chance. Now I had a canoe, I could go anywhere and I had found a cove where big bass lurked and there was one on my line. The fish bulldogged and battled for awhile but my persistent reeling eventually wore the fish down. Once at the boat, I had to decide how to land this fish. I had watched the pro's lip these fish on TV so I gave it a good ol' college try. The mouth was rough in texture but nothing near as intimidating as the pickerel I had been accustomed to. Once firmly lipped, the fish was hoisted high as I removed both trebles from it's gaping face. I admired my catch for a bit before releasing him back to the weed laden cove from which he came. These early memories of fishing are the foundations, the inquisitive quest of a young angler. I have always had a passion for fishing, but the sight of a fish devouring a topwater lure introduced me to a whole new world of angling. The floating rapala would be the next lure I tinkered with and it proved to be more versatile and effective than others. Becoming an angler takes years of missed hook-sets, poor lure purchases, faulty reels and bad line breaks. 18 years later I still use that old canoe to get to my favorite weed laden coves filled with lurking largemouths and toothy pickerel. Today my enormous tackle bag is loaded with every fish catching creation known to the modern world. I have long ditched the trusty 202 for more efficient open-face models. Now it's enjoyable to use a variety of methods to catch bass, pike, pickerel, crappie and every other predatory fish under the water. There is still nothing like that vicious strike which scares the nerves out of you. To this day, I am still and will always be hooked on topwater fishing as it is the best kind of all.
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