You have to get over the splash. That’s the first step.
I’d guessed that the thunderous depth-charge created by casting a six-ounce lure would spook a few bass. But maybe not the big ones.
This and a dozen other thoughts cycled through my mind over and over. Some I centered on and quickly put to bed. Slow, steady retrieves are lunker magnets. I’d convinced myself of that years ago.
But what about that splash? I mean, it sounds like an osprey bombing down on a crappie. Huh.
I’ve always been fascinated with the learning aspect of bass fishing. Nowhere is that more apparent than opening the mind to a new lure and attempting to understand the intricacies. Just why bass respond to our offerings will never be truly known. Trying to figure it out is the fun part.
Sometimes, most times, really, this education process takes the form of an obsession. I have to admit that when I get going on something, I usually ride it out for all it’s worth. I’m searching for what I think is the ultimate performance. There was the jig-and-pig period of my youth, a year throwing buzzbaits, an obsession with crankbaits big and small, hand-poured worms, topwaters; the list goes on.
But now I’ve settled into the final chapter of the book.
I always wondered why massive swimbaits and glide baits hadn’t received more press in Florida. Some of the biggest bass in the world live here, and they go nutty for big live baits, so it stands to reason that a big fake would work.
I’d had a run with a hefty paddle-tail labeled the Big Hammer. I picked up on it from trophy hunters in Texas, modified a weedless rig, and charted a few bass in the double-digit range. But it was a pretty specific deal.
For years, I’d tried the rubber-bodied California baits and a few big glides without much luck. I caught a couple bass; saw some impressive followers. But I never dedicated myself to it. And I never felt like I was doing the right thing.
It’s hard. You’re out there, alone, throwing a lure that comes down like a hippopotamus diving off a bridge, catching nothing, day after day. Second-guessing becomes the primary thought process. I tried to stay positive. Put in my time.
Surprisingly, my desire to learn led me to the Internet. This isn’t something I make a habit out of because 90 percent of the junk out there is created by wannabes instead of real fishermen, but I was getting desperate. After sifting through the GoPro heroes, I found what I was looking for.
I’m not here to tell you I know much about Butch Brown. One thing I’m sure of is that he catches gigantic bass. And he catches them on camera, start to finish.
Brown is not a celebrity fisherman by trade. On his own account, Brown’s an average guy with an obvious big bass obsession that has turned his technique into an art form. If you’ve watched any of his material, you’ve undoubtedly seen the cast-to-catch video of what is likely the biggest bass ever caught on film, as well as numerous five-fish limits weighing over 50 pounds.
It’s also noteworthy that Brown has done almost all of his damage – catching over a thousand 10-pound bass – on just a handful of lures. Most recently his pick is often the Deps 250 glide bait.
Anyway, after review of all of Brown’s incredible videos, and listening to the podcasts, and reading the forums; after all of this, I convinced myself that I needed to buy a Deps 250. There were two problems with that thinking. One, the lure cost $180. And two, despite such an outrageous price-point, the Deps 250 is sold out, almost continuously, everywhere but Japan.
Somehow luck shined down on me and I found a single lure – all one-hundred-and-eighty dollars of it – at the Bassmaster Classic Expo earlier this year. Visibly crying as I purchased it, I placed the lure in my computer bag where I would check and recheck on it dozens of times throughout the week, and carry it on the plane with me, neatly tucked beneath the seat in front. A few days later, I was barreling down the road to my favorite test site.
Have you ever cast a gigantic, heavy lure? If so, you probably know what happens to that lure when your reel has a hiccup, and an unforeseen backlash suddenly stops the spool from spinning. Determined not to launch a couple Benjamins into the atmosphere, and fitted with a marker bouy, dive fins and a mask should the unfortunate event occur, I took a deep breath and performed a tentative, lobbing cast.
My gosh, the splash. How in the world does that not spook bass?
In any case, I counted to 10, like I’d seen in the videos, and started back a steady retrieve.
Crank, crank, boom.
No. Way.
At first, I didn’t even reason to set the hook. But instinct took over and soon I was tight. Envisioning a pot-bellied Goliath, instead a 3-pound bass came out of the water, attempting to throw the monstrous phony. I laughed and laughed.
Sometimes as serious anglers, we get so involved, concentrating so hard and attempting to excel that, unknowingly, we remove the fun from bass fishing. But, in that hour, seeing that bass jump out of the water and knowing, unconditionally, that I was now fully committed down the path of the glide bait enigma, the sirens call of the Deps 250 ringing loudly in my ears; at that moment I completely lost it.
I couldn’t reel the fish in. The laughter was too great. That poor little bass jumped and jumped, just 10 feet from the boat. Finally, I hoisted him aboard, unhooked him, gave him a kiss, and sent him on his way.
Setting the rod down, I reflected on what just happened, what I had gotten myself into. I’ll never forget that little bass. Two days later, I’d catch a 7-pounder. The next day, I’d jump off a 10.
Still, the questions remained as I again sat alone, in the middle of an oversized pond in central Florida. Lobbing grenades into the water. Occasionally a resident of the lakeside trailer park would come out and watch, call a friend to do the same. They’d sit in the shade, fanning their faces, wondering just what in the heck I was doing. Why it appeared so pointless.
I’d be deep in thought, paying no attention. Checking my knot. Retying, over and over. Trying to feel every turn of the lure. Wondering what leviathan might be following my bait, right now, out of the range of sight.
And what the heck she thought about that splash.
(Joe Balog is the often-outspoken owner of Millennium Promotions, Inc., an agency operating in the fishing and hunting industries. A former Bassmaster Open and EverStart Championship winner, he's best known for his big-water innovations and hardcore fishing style. He's a popular seminar speaker, product designer and author, and is considered one of the most influential smallmouth fishermen of modern times.)
