If it Starts With “F” It Should Be Fun to Do

When did bass fishing become so damn serious?

Where did the enjoyment go?

Increasingly, I see anglers headed to the boat ramp who appear as if they’ve been sentenced to 20 years of hard labor. I see tournament competitors who have every reason to be thrilled with how often they get to fish and how well they do and instead they’re peeved about something insignificant.

It’s not curing cancer.

It’s not negotiating a nuclear disarmament treaty.

It’s not even the Academy Awards.

It’s important to us — but as a source of pleasure.

From purely a fishing perspective, 2019 was the most fun I’ve had on the water. I traveled. I learned. I had good days and I had bad days, but every time I went I wanted to be there. Part of that is the result of some mental exercises I’ve forced myself to try. Historically, I’d find myself in some glorious place – from Mexico to Brazil to wherever – and upon losing a fish or not catching them nearly as well as I’d expected, I’d get pissy. I’d feel bad for myself. I’m not ashamed to say that occasionally I’d sulk. And you know what? It was pretty fricking ridiculous. I had to learn to remind myself of how fortunate I am, and how much I’ve contributed to growing that fortune of experience – so rather than being mad all the time, I’ve learned to step back at least once a day and be thankful for those opportunities. It extends to local, less exotic waters, too. I’ve learned to add some perspective. After all, I’ve chosen to be there. If it’s not fun, why do it?

It’s not coincidental that I adopted this attitude in the same year that I really started to follow swimbait culture. I’m going to use “swimbait,” “glide bait” and “big bait” interchangeably and perhaps incorrectly here, much to the dismay of the purists, but I’m referring to bait collectors, artists and anglers alike. Note: I didn’t say that I became a great or dedicated swimbait angler. At this point, I’ve only dipped the smallest of toes into their pool, and I’m still resisting a more meaningful plunge, but I’ve followed the garage tinkerers and trophy hunters enough to know some of the lingo, and to see the pleasure that it connotes and the creativity that it breeds.

The bottom line is that if you look at what is going on in big bait culture these days, they’re putting character and passion back into fishing. It’s no longer workmanlike, or drudgery, or sterile, like much of our sport has become. It’s so much more punk rock than that. They have decals, they have witty t-shirts and great bait names and they take pride in their craft and their community. I’m not so naïve to think that the truly dedicated among them don’t suffer through hours of loneliness or occasional heartbreak, but the rewards seem to far outweigh those downsides. If you have the balls and the wallet to spend $500 on a custom-painted Hinkle, or the patience to deadstick a 12” trout bait for hours on end, you get a little bit of my pity and a lot of my respect. Sure, there are posers among the ranks, including size-matters-one-uppers, but the spreading of the culture seems to be a net positive. Whether it’s Southern Trout Eaters, or Swimbait Universe “The Gathering,” it’s a trend that seems to build more bridges than walls.

I may never catch a double digit bass – or any bass at all -- on a monster jointed glide bait, but the fact that someone else will do so gives me a lot to be thankful for.