Bass Are From Mars My ex-husband was a beautiful fly angler. His 6-foot Fenwick looked even smaller in his massive hand, and his brawny wrist would go flick-flick-flick-flick, casting the tiny rod like a metronome. The Light Cahill he'd somehow tied with his huge, callused fingers, would rocket across the stream, to settle delicately a precise inch from the opposite bank. Trout love a performance like that; On the miniature rod, they'd give even that bear of a man a good fight. Then he'd release them with amazing gentleness, a smile lifting the corners of his bushy mustache. But he had a secret ambition: He wanted to catch a bass. He finally resorted to spinning gear, but even then, it took lots of coaching and effort before he finally hooked a single yearling largemouth. To my knowledge, he never did catch one on a fly. In the meantime, I inflamed his jealousy in two distinct ways: I discovered the true love of my life was smallmouth bass on a fly rod; And the feeling seemed to be mutual. Trout swarmed for his flies and were neutral towards mine; And I couldn't keep bass away from my streamers and hairbugs, but they avoided his. I've come to the conclusion that it's one of these things like the Mars/Venus books: Trout are essentially feminine, bass are like men. It took me years to learn how to seduce a trout. Chocolate, flowers, and wine work on me, I don't understand or question it, it's just instinctive. I had to learn what trout consider alluring, and how to present it suavely. But attracting bass merely takes the technique my mother taught me, all unconsciously: Just flirt with them until they can't take it anymore and go nuts. How many times have I seen a largemouth hovering by a worn stump, with the comatose stare of a man slumped in front of the TV on a weekday? I almost expect to see a tiny remote control clutched in one fin. How to get his attention? "Honey, look at this lovely Quill Gordon I bought at the fly shop today!" If this was a man, the proper technique would be to go put on one of those items of clothing no woman would buy for herself: Unsuited for sleeping or sex, totally impractical for outdoor wear; Then walk in front of the TV screen, using a stride obviously not meant for locomotion. For best effect, carry a cold beer in one hand and hold it out temptingly. With a bass, do essentially the same thing. Take a fly that imitates nothing found outside of an acid trip, and remember: To bass and men, size matters. Think of that old folk saying about how to get a mule's attention, and drop that fly right over the bass's head with the delicacy of a bowling ball at terminal velocity. A reflex strike should immediately follow. If not, the technique is completely different whether you're using a floating bug or a streamer. In the former case, let it sit, gently bobbing up and down, like a hula dancer on Prozac. The seductive undulations should eventually push Mr. Bass over the edge. For streamers, I find a fast stripping retrieve triggers a Hey! It's getting away! message in the bass's brain. Or possibly it's just the idea of "stripping". Another similarity between bass and men becomes evident after a bass is hooked: I often find myself wondering how a creature that sedentary developed all those muscles. This is especially true of largemouth. When I think of them, I get a mental picture of Junior from "Hee-Haw". They're the rednecks of the fish world, hanging out in the woods, yawning, belching, and bragging about the size of their bellies. A painted hussy in the form of a bright-colored popper will usually get them moving. If not, think "pickup truck". Four-wheel-drive, fluorescent flames painted on the hood around the turbo-scoop, highjackers, roll bar with six halogen searchlights mounted on it, and more chrome than any twelve Cadillacs. Big, flashy, and capable of tackling any terrain. Say, a weed-guarded chartreuse-and-black floater/diver with a trailer of flash strips. Once hooked, Bubba Bigmouth will somehow lever his potbellied mass into the air, reminding me of the miracles that will occur when pigs fly. He'll use his weight against you, fighting dirty, body-slamming your tippet against obstacles like a "bad-guy" pro wrestler. When I land a largemouth, I always talk to him in a Southern accent. They seem to appreciate that. Smallmouth are more the suburban type. They keep in shape, working out regularly against the current. Not that they have much choice, it's their habitat, and no amount of male laziness can totally escape that. But they will minimize it, finding big holes in the streambed, rocks, and bankside fallen trees to hang out in with as little effort as possible. They won't stray far from this comfy bass equivalent of a recliner chair. Like any single guy, they prowl by night and rest by day, so look for them in low-light conditions. Think of the ambiance of a singles bar. In fact, a singles bar is a good setting for Looking for Mr. Goodbass. A little more subtlety is called for here, without losing the quality of being totally obvious. "What's your sign?" "Can I buy you a drink?" "You look like someone I'd like to know better." Thus they are usually more responsive to semi-imitative flies than largemouth. Keep your crayfish, minnow, and nymph imitations on the bottom, and make them big mouthfuls. Saying super-size it is a reflex, whether it's a bass or a man ordering the meal. And serve it within reach, neither bass nor man will exert himself for mere food. However, when a smallmouth is "in the mood", no surface bug is safe. He'll fall for the fly-fishing equivalent of a negligee and a sexy wiggle as fast as his country cousins. And, once he's hooked, clear the floor! It's Saturday Night Fever! Bass are frustrating, incomprehensible, yet lovable. Sluggish, unresponsive, then capable of sudden
feats of strength and agility that leave me amazed. They don't take hints, you have to tell them right out,
Bite Me! Logic and science have no place in fishing for them; You must appeal to their emotions, their
deepest-seated instincts. They are completely like men. Bass are from Mars. Millions of words have been
written in outdoor magazines over the last century about fishing for bass, but they've been primarily written
by men. Men are supremely good at being themselves, with no knowledge of their own motivations and no
need to know; Therefore they find it easy to understand the fish that are so like them, but find it a challenge
to catch them. But, honeychile, I shore knows how to catch them bass!
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