Lake Albemarle provides drag-screaming fishing action
Wham! Something whacked the lipless crankbait, mid-pump, as I worked it on a submerged roadbed on Lake Albemarle, the old Mississippi River oxbow.
Zzzzzzzz! Drag gears inside the baitcasting reel were racing to keep up with the fish, which was taking line and exhibiting the kind of strength that excites bass fishermen.
“Wowwww! This one is big, real big,” I told my fishing partner, Dan Smith of Ridgeland. “He stripped three yards of drag, just on the hookset!”
But, something didn’t feel right, and it was steadily getting worse.
The fish was not fighting like a normal bass. You know, rising to break the water and using acrobatics to toss the lure.
No, this one was staying deep, content to use brute strength to gain its liberation. And it was sure strong, whatever it was.
“I don’t know what I got, Dan, but it’s huge,” I said. “I’m afraid it’s bigger than my line.”
I was using 10-pound test, and this fish was bigger than that.
Smith quit reeling, set down his rod and was waiting to help boat whatever it was. I tried to tell him to keep fishing, because the fish wasn’t tiring a bit. It was going to take a while.
Minutes passed before I got it to the boat, or at least under it. In 10 feet of water, it was still hugging the bottom. Twice it tried to race under the boat to the other side, but both times I stopped it by kneeling to let the rod go under the keel, and thumbing the spool to keep it from giving line. I used the rod’s limberness to protect the line.
Finally, the fish came up and busted the surface. Smith took one look and immediately picked up his rod and went back to fishing.
“Boy,” he said, “you are on your own.”
The sight that turned him: A 16-pound, over-3-foot-long bowfin — or grennel — was now swimming along the boat, with my crankbait completely within its tooth-filled mouth.
“Biggest freaking grennel I’ve ever seen,” Smith said. “Good luck with that.”
It was not a problem. A careful survey of the situation, including a close-up look at the powerful jaws and teeth, left but one option.
I thumbed the spool, spooked the fish by poking him with my rod tip, and let him break the line.
Free, and suddenly acting very sassy and bassy, he stuck his head out of the water, tossed it side to side and spit the lure, which landed about 2 feet from the boat, disappearing deep in the dark brown water.
“Dang, a couple of more feet and I would have saved the $5 lure,” I said.
Two casts later, with the same kind of lure only in a different color pattern, the scene was repeated.
Wham!
Zzzzzz!
Another bowfin, this one about 8 pounds, but this time the fish did not consume the lure, and the daring — and very kind — Smith retrieved it from the jaws.
(It should be noted that Smith received payment with a bloody Mary, a darned fine one at that, with tomato juice I fresh-squeezed and fresh-ground horseradish.)
His question was, since this was supposed to be a bass trip, “How you gonna write this up.”
My simple answer: “The Grand Slam of Mississippi, in the key of G.”
I had caught a dozen gar on the crankbait.
I caught about that many drum, including one sure enough monster 6-pounder. What’s the nickname for a drum, a.k.a. gaspergoo?
Yep, a goo.
Grennel, goo and gar.
We caught enough largemouth and white bass to make a small mess, but the most enjoyable part of the day was the long battles with the giant grennel.
I learned a long time ago that it is better to have a big trash fish tugging on your line than no fish at all.
It’s a lot more fun when they are that big.
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