Opening day of bass season this year taught me a lot about life and the difference between reality and fantasy. That’s the kind of thing you learn when you dramatically out-fish your best friend.
The big lesson: it was not as magical as I expected it to be.
I expected the kind of fireworks that you feel right after your first kiss – which, if you are a true angler, was probably with a big female bass.
I had good reason to expect this, too. You see, my buddy normally out-fishes me every opening day, mostly because he uses spin fishing gear and I use a fly rod, which, as much as I love them, are definitely not as efficient in terms of casting distance and number of casts per hour.
This opening day, however, I finally discovered for myself that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice. Basically, I caught seven or eight decent bass in the wind and the rain we endured, while my buddy caught a single rock bass.
It should have been like Christmas and every birthday all rolled up into one. I should have been elated. But, you know, I couldn’t even muster enough enthusiasm to have him pose for several photos with that puny rock bass. Instead, I took just two.
Jenn calls that personal growth, but I’m not so sure.
I had dreamed about this for years and, between you and me, I just thought it would feel a whole lot better than it did. Sure, I still feel a warm glow emanating from deep inside. Yes, I smile every time I think of that puny rock bass. And, I’ll be honest, this trip also engendered a newfound feeling of gratitude towards that species.
But all that is tempered with just a little remorse. I could not help but feel bad for my buddy. He truly expected to catch more and bigger smallmouth bass. There was no doubt in his mind that he would put on a fishing clinic for the fly angler. I half-thought it too.
Yet, when all was said and done, it was not to be – and he had to eat crow until next bass opener.
Again, I thought it would feel better. Don’t get me wrong, it feels pretty darn good – but I just thought it would feel even better.
So, I did what I could to remain magnanimous. I did not dance when we were finished and trailering the boat – much. I did not mention the rock bass too often, except to strangers in passing boats and to anyone at the launch who asked how the fishing was. And when I raised the stringer that held the two fish I was taking home for dinner, I did not tell people I caught them. Instead, when they asked who caught those beauties, I humbly said, “Not him.”
That’s because I strive to be inclusive.
I will probably fish with him on opening day again, even though I am seriously considering quitting on a high note.
But what surprised me even more than that thought was how grateful I am – to have him as my fishing buddy, for credible witnesses and for rock bass in general.
Still, I can’t help but feel remorse.
I should have taken more photos.
