OL' SOW HAWG

In Missouri, by mid-March Crappie are biting, then by April, I’ll toss out a line for bass. I would bass fish all year if the weather’d let me, if I could tolerate ice fishing. In spring, starting with worm, then minnows, graduating to plastic lures to tempt the elusive hawg out of the depths.


Bass are wary and comfy in its deep hidey hole. In springtime, by the time the crappie slow down their spawn, they’ll move into deeper water, thus more of a challenge to catch, and then it’s the bass’s turn.


Spawning bass very aggressively defend their breeding territory, but not so much biting on a tempting lure... Typical bass in spawn mode don’t even pick up the most enticing lure. If I do snag a mamma bass full of eggs, she gets promptly let go and the next cast is away from her nest. Sort of the unwritten rule of fishing, words of my beloved Grandma Shore that I abide by… After they spawn they’re ravenous and I’ve had such fun and luck to catch all sizes.


Only once did I haul in the big’un, the wall hanger. That was in the dog-days of summer, upon us with unbearable heat. I’d rather go swimming on a 100 degree dog-day afternoon, but most farm ponds that I fished back in the day were not so suitable to dunk into, mossy and lilies and Hydrilla, great for fish, humans not-so-much. Yeah and so many Missouri lakes are too popular to go skinny-dipping without risk of getting caught!


As I’ve stated before I prefer fishing ponds to lakes. There’s just somethin’ about treading lightly in the tall grass, careful not to alert submerged hiding bass. Doesn’t matter if it’s in Iowa or Ohio, ponds holding this species must have deep holes for bass to lay in winter and summer and sufficient cover for shade and exercising their predatorial habit. They gobble up any small baitfish, crawdads, frogs and birds that unsuspectingly land within a bass’s thrusting distance. Say it aint true, but I even witnessed a Largemouth bass attack another bass by slapping its massive tail on the smaller bass’s head, then like a gator swallowing a whole chicken, the bigger bass ate it headfirst. That smaller bass was at least a four pound fish but wound up as dinner for the attacker, obviously a lunker more than ten pounds of brute mass and wide jaws. That was a helluva sight.

Largemouth bass are indeed a cannibalistic predator. That is why pond bass are so darned fun to catch. And Missouri’s got some hawgs in them farm ponds…

I’ve heard it said that fish don’t bite on a full moon nor after the moon rises.  Well, I beg to differ on both counts -- here's why ...

August 2001:  

Full moon rising at 2 in the afternoon, a scorching 100 degrees. An older friend of mine gave me the okay to fish the pond on her farm. Being die-hard fishermen, even in the heat that would cripple a grasshopper, Doc and I decided to fill the cooler with a few brewskies and just to try our luck, ventured out into the blistering sun.


Doc drove his truck as close as it could go to the pond dam. Grabbing his pole, he walked the bank to the dam side. I circled the grassy bank next to a few spindly trees, for shade, really too short to be called trees. The sun bore down with a vengeance, but that spot had just enough shade for me to squat downright at the waters edge. I had to step very cautiously, not to slip into the warm water.


The water was a deeper blue there on my side, couldn’t see the bottom, no idea how deep. The bank jutted out and the water cut a big hole under the biggest sapling tree roots. It’d be a fun swing for kids to jump in the pond. This was an old pond, not been fished for a long while nor was the grass mowed around it. I could see that if I wasn’t careful casting, my lure would either get tangled in the blackberry bushes across the pool or get hung in the branches overhead.


I braced my feet apart in the grass and lightly gave the little blue/white silver-lipped diver a toss. Success! It landed about fifteen feet out from the other bank. Flipping the steel bail, I started cranking slowly, wanting it to dive deep under the bank edge, in light shade. Sweat poured down my face from under my ball cap. Cursing I wiped it off, unsure how long I could tolerate the heat that day.


My lure stopped deep under the bank. I cranked the handle one rotation. Damn – it’s stuck on a root or loose branch or whatever the hell… I pulled the pole and cranked again. Once more and I could lift it up to detangle the darn thing. The branch felt like it was lodged deep in mud. I stepped closer to peer into the muddying water, mere inches from the bank. I could not see the branch so I firmly pulled the whole rod outward with the 10 # test line that was dangerously taut, determined to untangle the line.  I tugged hard. That did it.  The line shot across the pool!  This was no branch I gasped “ooooh my God”!  I had a big bass, my Berkeley pole bent harder than it ever had in my hands.  I yanked to make sure I set the hook.  Instantly the bass plunged deeper, going for that hole under the roots again.   That was not going to happen again.  I reeled hard and maneuvered the bass clear of the tree roots, that time hauling the massive fish up towards the surface.  Both my arms trembled – weary from fight and adrenaline.  But I’ve lost bass before in that last second to escape from the hook — I struggled to get down to the water to grab it churning in the water.  No way – it was four feet off the slippery bank, too steep to get a foothold. 

  

With its mouth gaping only inches under the foamy hot water, there was only four feet of line between pole tip to fish. Big fish! But I could not reach it! Okay.. this line has got to hold.. I fumbled to set the drag on tight, cranked the reel half turn. I squatted down, gripping both hands on the rod cork, gritted my teeth and held my breath, “please come on!“ I yanked the pole up over my head backwards as hard and fast as I could. That big largemouth bass landed IN my lap! I fell over with the inertia force of yanking my pole and that bass’s bulk suddenly on my thighs. In a millisecond, I dropped the pole as I grabbed the jaw of the ol’ sow’s gaping mouth, immediately aware the blue lure’s treble hook dangled dangerously a bit too close to my skin for my sake, scooting away from the bank on my butt.


Removing the treacherous lure, I grabbed that hawg with both hands. Sighing a quick “thank you Lord!” I scrambled to my feet, hollered to Doc, my fishing mate still working the pond dam, drenched with sweat in the glaring sun and held up my catch. “That t’aint no stick!” he hollered back –he was as proud and excited as me.


I yelled! I laughed! I’m a northern gal but I screamed “yeeeehaaaw!!” anyway — could hardly contain my excitement all the rest of the day. We took my ‘wall hanger’ to a bait shop to weigh it wet before I froze it.

    They can lose up to two pounds after frozen, till it can be processed by the taxidermist for display.  Whatever’s dubbed a lunker or hawg in fishermen’s lingo, that Largemouth certainly was a big ol’ sow hawg and a sonofagun to land it.  She weighed in at exactly 9.12 pounds, wet off the line.  And I proudly hang her on my wall.   

note: this bass was caught before such pursuant of society to the rule and /or being publically “politically correct” toward Catch and Release, in the event of catching a lunker it’s now released unharmed.  I would release a fish according to law, but I am not such an advocate.