THE ULTIMATE ANGLING BUCKET LIST

We met up with our man at Starvin Marvins diner at around six am. The boat hitched to the back of the
truck was a bit of a give-away. A man who was probably well into his fifties by then, with lots of hair,
a big drooping moustache, and wearing matching bright red budweiser cap and braces.
After the usual preliminary greetings, he stood up and said "we need to get moving before those damned
blacks get in the boat and steal everything".
To be honest, there wasn't another living sole anywhere in sight. But that sort of set the tone, and off
we went in our hire car following the boat to the launching area at the Stick Marsh site, where having
slipped it from its trailer, he set about filling the live wells with 'shiners' which he caught using a cast
net.
Typical of American boats, this one was fast, sleek, and packing plenty of horse power. Not that you
could do much with it due to all the submerged tree stumps. But there none the less, just in case it could
ever be used one day.
It was here that I was first introduced to circle hooks. The rods were short and light paired up to small
Penn fixed spool reels, and typically, by UK standards, the approach was very basic. Lightly blown up
balloons for floats suspending live-baits just off the bottom.
Depending on whether you hooked the shiner in the shoulder or towards the tail determined whether it
tended to swim upwards or downwards. But it was that first sighting of the circle hooks that most sticks
in my mind. They looked to all intents and purposes to have been bent out of shape during some brutal
disgorging session, though as we would eventually find out, nothing could have been further from the
truth.
If I describe our man as 'a good old boy' or 'a red neck', I don't think I would be too far away from the
truth. Racist to the core and willing to point the finger of blame for everything bad at anyone and
everyone who was black. Least-ways, that was the message that filtered out during the early
conversations of the day.
As for the fishing, I'm not sure whether to describe it as good
or disappointing. We had lots of bass, though by that stage,
the Stick Marsh had yet to earn its reputation as a producer
of double figure fish.
It was still way too early in its evolution. So the best we could
hope for was the possibility of fish to maybe five pounds,
some of which we got, plus the seemingly obligatory praise,
back slapping, and hand shaking that goes with guided boat
fishing in the US.
Phrases like "good fish" and "well done" were also liberally
used. But it truth, other than a bit of head shaking and opening
up of their cavernous mouths to create some extra drag,
winding in bass is like catching bronze bream back home.
Typical Stick Marsh Bass
All of that said, it was none the less enjoyable. We tried every
conceivable area of the lake, and put in a lot of time casting
right up to the edges of the lilly pads trying to tempt fish out
of the shade in what was two days of relentless blistering
sunshine. But actual stand-out moments were probably down
to encounters with things other than bass.
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