Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

For over a decade, I went bass fishing in Mexico – usually at Lake El Salto – at least twice a year. During the COVID nightmare of 2020, we weren’t able to go on our normal May/June trip, so we rescheduled for a week in November. When our family heard that, they didn’t want us descending on their Thanksgiving festivities a few days after being amongst all of those strangers, so Hanna and I made the executive decision to stay at El Salto for two weeks. The turkey was great, and I highly recommend fishing 12 days in a row if you ever get the chance.

This year, due to a variety of scheduling conflicts, booking issues and real-world-grown-up obligations, we skipped our normal January trip South of the Border. That means that when we get to Mazatlán next month, it will have been a full year since I visited, the longest such gap in non-COVID times since 2013-2014. I know, right now you are likely dialing back the tear ducts or playing the world’s smallest violin.

It actually turns out to be a very good thing.

You see, I am mostly packed for the trip a month out, although I’m sure that I’ll fiddle with tackle on the regular between now and then, and cut it close in terms of spooling up reels. And what that means to me is that I’m excited. While there’s no such thing as too much fishing in Mexico, it is possible to become complacent or to take it for granted. That’s where I had gotten. Now I’m back from that emotionally comatose state. I’m anticipating every cast, every bite, every rough spot on my thumb.

That’s really what fishing should be about. I heard Randy Blaukat talk about it in one of his recent videos, “It’s Time To Give Up Bass Fishing When THIS Happens.” His thesis was that when it stops being fun, and feels like more of a chore than a privilege, and when the financial/social/emotional costs of participating outweigh the corresponding benefits, it’s time to give it up – or at least dial it back. No one’s sticking a gun to your head and forcing you to go – it’s a privilege to be out there, whether it’s El Salto or your backyard pond.

I intend to remember that with the first “tick” on my Senko or the first explosion on my Rico, and I hope that I can remind myself to be grateful for the experience even when I break off a fish or don’t get bit as expected. There’s nothing shameful about having to remind yourself to be appreciative, but there is if you don’t know how good you’ve got it.