It was Friday, August 27, 2004. The weather was cool and overcast with a very light drizzle. Bass fisherman, Bruce M. had called me the night before and wanted to do a little bass fishing. I had been fishing all day at Wye Lake and my old nemesis, Mr. Tired and Achy had come to visit. (one of the joys of the "Golden Years") I told Bruce I was just too tired to make a firm commitment but let me know where he was going and just maybe I could catch up with him later.

Well, after a good nights sleep, Mr. Tired and Achy had left so I hitched up the Bass Tracker and headed off for Pierce County’s Crescent Lake. I found Bruce at the far end of the lake checking out the "three pounder hole." It was a place where a nice little stream enters the lake and where a three pounder had pounded my Rapala on a previous trip. Bruce reported that he had hooked a couple of "future lunkers" but no keepers. Of course, Bruce meant fish over 12 incher, not fish he actually kept. He is strictly a hook-and-release angler.

Since we had both boats on the lake, it was decided that Bruce would fish down one side of the lake and I would fish down the other side. We fished hard, probing all the nooks and crannies in the pad fields and the sides and ends of the private docks. I started off hooking an eleven incher on a black jig and that was the best of only 4 fish I caught on the entire west side. When we met at the north end, Bruce reported that he had also caught 4 fish with one about 11 inches his best.

We gabbed a spell and had a little snack. Bruce still had a few casts left in him and refused to admit that we couldn’t do better than an eleven inch fish. He wanted to go back to the south end and fish with the breeze toward the north again. He likes casting toward his right side so we took the same sides we had just fished.

I decided that maybe I would fish mostly the same places but with different lures. I had fished over half way back to the north end and hadn’t hit a fish. Fishing was tough.

On one rod I had tied on a little five inch, black curly tail worm. It was rigged Texas style with the 1/8 ounce bullet sinker pegged. I cast the little plastic worm out towards the end of a dock and watched the line as the lure sank to the bottom. I lifted the worm with the rod tip and felt that delightful little "tap-tap." I reared back settling the hook as hard as I could with my light spinning outfit. I knew instantly that this was no eleven incher.

The huge bass plowed for the middle of the lake ripping off about 30 feet of my trusty 8 pound Trilene line. She didn’t jump but just sort of wallowed on the surface before diving and heading back to the dock. "Oh no," I thought. Once she gets under the dock she will break off for sure. Under the floating dock, I could hear her thrashing and splashing on the surface. I applied all the pressure my wimpy little line could withstand and managed to pull her out from under the dock. She plowed back under the boat ripping off some more line but not breaking it. I had carefully set the drag on my new Mitchell 300X before I had started fishing.

She finally tired and surfaced near the boat. I reached down and picked her up by the lower jaw, hoisted her aboard and carefully and gently placed her in the live well for a well deserved rest. I pulled up the electric trolling motor and fired up the outboard and crossed the lake.

Bruce was happy to see cross over. He had a fishing story he wanted to tell. He had caught a nice 14 ½ incher on a jig that had pulled his scale down to 1 ¾ pounds. I told him that I too, had caught a nice fish and to break out his scale. Bruce’s eyes widened as I pulled the big, pot bellied bass from the live well. I put her on the scale and she pulled it down to 5 pounds, 12 ounces. I put her back in the live well and we just sat there in our boats gabbing and swapping fish stories as our boats slowly drifted up next the shoreline and a dock.

We decided that we had enough fun for one day and would head back. Bruce took off for the launch area and I motored back to the dock where I had hooked "Ol Jaws." Near the dock, I gently removed her from the live well and placed her in the water, holding her by the lower jaw with my thumb in her mouth. She hesitated for a few seconds and then, as if she sensed she was free, she bit down hard on my thumb, shook her head, dove for the bottom and waved goodbye with her tail. (Fortunately she didn’t have sharp teeth)

It was another good day of fishing and camaraderie on one of the beautiful little lakes in the great northwest.

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