ONE MORE CAST
by David Masterson

Ranger Dave

When I left for the lake on that chilly Thursday afternoon, I knew that a storm was brewing just west of Nacogdoches, about 35 miles away. It was late November, and was, in my book and maybe yours, a perfect day to go bass fishing in East Texas. Temperatures were in the upper 50's, overcast skies, and water temps had been falling. I had been catching solid bass up to 7 lbs. during the first of the week.

Lake Pinkston was only 15 minutes from my house, and I had seen storms come and go many times over the past years on the lake, so it was not a major concern. A factor yes, but not a concern. As small as Pinkston was I could be off the lake in less than 5 minutes. I hooked up my boat and headed out. On the way, I wondered how much time I would have on the water before Mother Nature had her say. I will fish in any kind of weather, from 30 degrees and drizzling, to 100 degrees and roasting, but lighting had no place in my fishing plans.

When I reached the road that crossed the dam, there was not a soul on the water. On occasion, I would be rewarded with such luxuries. You can actually see the entire lake while driving on the 75' elevated road that runs the length of the dam.

Gin clear waters are the norm for Pinkston, and it was smooth as glass at this end of the lake. I could see schools of shad circling off the points…textbook! Back in 1986 this little jewel had produced a whopper bass weighing 16.40 pounds, a new state record. Without a doubt, true trophies lay in these grass-lined shallows, and deep-water haunts. Every time I crossed the dam, and I saw those huge schools of shad, I knew there were many more giants in her depths.

I rolled my window up as a cold wind swept through the cab of my truck.

I launched my rig, and idled toward the community hole, a deep creek that came off the south bank close to the dam. I decided to stay on this end so I could get back to the safety of my truck if the boomers, or a downpour came in, and it looked like that was inevitable.

I figured I had about an hour. Most of the time, these winter type storms move in kind of slow, and stay over us a few days then move on, but this one looked like it had some bite. "Screamer" clouds, as I called them, raced across the turbulent skies, as it grew ever darker to the west. These were the clouds that told me this was not a storm to second guess. It was now Five o'clock straight up.

I fished around the creek edges that had some nice grass flats near by with a big worm...no bite. It was about 5:15 when I heard the first rumble. I hadn't heard any thunder up to that point because when it's calm and overcast like this, the boomers aren't usually there. I was hoping there wasn't any lighting...I was wrong.

Right across the lake, just 2 minutes away, was the main lake point. It reachs out about 50 yards, it has a classic deep-water sides that falls into 30' of water surrounded by old timber. I pulled up my trolling motor and strapped down my rod, as I went to turn her over, I heard the second boomer, this one lasted about 15 seconds. The one one-thousand, two one-thousand kind of seconds went by before dying off in the distance….bummer, this was going to nail me if I stayed any longer.

I cranked my motor up, and idled over to get closer to the point. Within a few minutes, I cut the motor, and drifted in. These fish were pretty smart, you can't run up on them in this clear water, even in 20'-30' depths...they can be spooky. An old timer by the name of Tony Lovell once told me that he had caught some of his biggest bass in the absolute worst weather mother nature could dish out {2 over 15 lbs. to his credit}. As I picked up my rod, the words from this seasoned old angler rang in my ears... I heard another long boomer.

Now parallel with the point, I made a long cast. As I slowly worked the bait back, I looked towards the dam and felt the wind, and a cold rainy mist blowing on my face. “Come on Dave, let's go, no need for this, come back another day buddy…." a little voice said to me. I was cold, wet and I had not had a bite up to this point. A massive winter storm was fixing to slam Lake Pinkston. I had maybe 10 to 15 minutes before I was going to be hammered.

One more cast...one more cast...the words of the old timer rang in my mind....“Worst weather...biggest bass “. I had just tied on a watermelon "Nacho", or Slugo, as I called them which work great in clear water. I had already made two casts sitting there arguing with myself about the situation. I made one more long cast, my third and last cast in my mind, down this legendary point and engaged the reel. My boat was losing its position because the wind was picking up.

I wanted the Slugo to fall at an angle down the slope of the point, past the stumps. That's when the bait stopped at about what I thought to be 8-9 foot deep. This was not right, it should be dropping a lot further than that. I always set the hook on mushy feelings, and this time was no exceptions. I crossed her eyes when I felt the 3/0 Mustad hook drive home. That moment is etched in my mind forever. I had just set the hook on what was to be a trophy bass. With all things considered, I did not anticipate the problems which were all about to take place in the next few minutes as all heck broke lose on Lake Pinkston.
 
Problem #1: For starters, as soon as I set the hook on this monster bass she ran shallow, up the slope towards the bank. I don't know if it was the way she was headed when I set the hook or what, usually they run deep if it's near by…this one did not. Another boomer rumbled right over head, and trailed off. The battle raged on. That boomer was a lot closer, the rain was picking up too. The wind is blowing me off the point to the starboard side... I need my trolling motor... things are starting to get crazy!

Problem # 2: My trolling motor is still not down, remember I had drifted in. Motorguides back then were a tad tuff to break away from the mount, and getting it in, and out of the water was going to be tuff with only one hand especially while I was fighting a big bass. Nevertheless, I got it down pretty quick. The wind had pushed me against the stick-ups, but I was hanging with her. My drag was peeling on the 5500 series Ambassador, and we are maybe a mere 10 seconds into the fight. I jerk the hand control in that direction, and hit high bypass...my line stops peeling drag.

Problem # 3: This huge bass still unseen as of yet, had run towards the bank in what looked like less than a foot of water. She then crashed into this lone clump of button brush, then apparently, turned around and headed back deep, leaving my line tangled in the brushs lower branches. My mind is racing. I hit the bottom with my trolling motor as I shot forward. Reaching for the button brush, {this is maybe 3-4 seconds after I lost tension on my reel}, I wind up my slack as fast as I can... the rain is coming down harder.

I reach out, with maybe 3-4 feet of line remaining at the end of my rod, and bend down to my tangled line. I grab the base of this one branch, and break it off.

“No way, she’s history Dave", I thought to myself. Hastily, I grab and break the tangled branches away from around the line. Its was Berkley big game 15lb test, just in case you’re asking yourself what kind of line can take this punishment, and still hang tuff. I reel up the slack, and feel the damaged line spin under my thumb, as I reel in as fast as I can. The line grows tight, the rod bends forward, she's still on…I can’t believe it.

With only 20 foot of line out, and damaged line behind that, it was now or never. Mother nature was still fixing to pound me with a winter storm, but this fight was still on. This was incredible, a total of maybe 30-40 seconds has elapsed since I had hooked this monster, but felt like an eternity for me as I was trying to land a this big bass. I had finally turned her toward the boat, and with one last sloshing of her massive head, she gave up. I lipped one of the largest bass in my life.

The fight had left her exhausted, and she had swallowed the hook as well. I cut the line at the eye, then knelt there on the deck, shaking, holding this monster of the deep. I was wet, cold, and my heart was pounding. I had caught my Trophy. I placed her back in the water and tried to revive her, but she had died. I ran her back and forth, and back and forth, trying to push water through her gills, but to no avail.

I would have gladly let her go after I took pictures, and got a measurement, but it seemed her days of busting shad were over. I looked out over the lake, I was all alone. My breathing was heavy and showing in the colder air. I hadn't even noticed that the temperature had dropped another 10 degrees. I was cold, wet, and the temperature was hovering near 40 degrees, and dropping. I placed the giant bass in the live well, then stored my gear in a hurried silence... I was back at the ramp just as the bottom fell out.

After I loaded up, dried off, and sat in my truck with the heater blasting. I was as warm as I was going to get. I was driving on the dam again, and my watch read 5:45. I glanced back over at the point, where less than ten minutes ago, I was battling with one of the most sought after fish in the world. This would be a trip that would forever be etched in my mind. How big was she? I never weighed her, but she was well over ten, or eleven pounds, I assure you.

She hangs in my garage today, and every time a client looks at her and asks, how big was she? I reply, "I have no idea, but give me a minute or two and let me tell you the story behind that fish. It's a good one!"

Ranger Dave
www.trophyquest.com