Opening Day MTC

Long and winded!!!

Thursday night - After traveling the "few" minutes (dad's estimated trip
time) to the Wally World to pick more Magical, Incredible, Irresistible Red
Shad Senkos and necessary liquid refreshments, we returned to the lodge
room...er..meeting room..um...parking lot, yeah, that's where we socialized,
and spoke of previous Classic's, previous gut busting boat trips, and taunts
of how many fish we were guaranteed to catch. After having a "couple"
longnecks and brats (Dan will tell you how much he liked our special brats,
all through the next morning ouch!) , lying about fish as much as
possible without automatically going straight to hell, and feeling extremely
bad about it, Drew and I went to bed, separately I might add, so stop the
snickering! Knowing I was on 'em, hitting 'em hard just a few hours ago
made the visions of bass dancing through my head much easier to sleep with.
Until the freight train named Drew decided to start up. Now I forgot to add
that we both bought ear plugs at a sporting goods store the previous day, as
both of us accused the other of a restless night before, along with my
father yelling at both of us for keeping him awake. Well it was happening
again. I obviously did not have enough "pops" to fall asleep fast enough.
I knew I was under my recommended daily allowance, but wanted to be bright
eyed and bushy tailed for Tournament Morning, and now I was paying for it.
I made a somewhat half mental note to not let it happen again the next
night!!

Friday - Sun gently rising, burning the wisps of fog from the mirrored
finish of the lake, loons calling out as the gentle breeze rustled the newly
greened leaves......I know that was probably happening somewhere but it was
definitely not happening at Center Hill!!!!!! It was more like lightening
brightening the skies, white caps burning the finish off the boat, and Drew
crying out as the leaves were pelting our faces. And that was just at the
launch!! Actually it didn't quite start out that bad but it certainly
became that way just hours after blast off, or in our case, putter off. Of
course this was after Drew donned his rectangular Day-Glo yellow life vest,
you know, the ones 5 year olds have to wear!! I hope someone got a picture
of that!!

Drew and I started off to one of the inlets from the first day. Not the one
where I had pulled so many fish from the day before but the one that stopped
producing the previous day. Did I forget to mention we had had a few adult
beverages the night before, which must have clouded our judgment? But
surprise, a fish was back. That's right, A fish. Drew's first cast of the
morning and a nice spot has fallen for what else, the green tube. Well
according to Murphy's Law, this fish must not make it into the boat. First
cast fish never make it into the boat!! And sure as shinola, that nice 2
lb fish came unbuttoned as easy as...as....well you know what I mean. Not
totally upset because it's a good sign, we begin what I call the lost hour.
Not another tap in the whole inlet. About that time we realized we needed
to get to the next spot. So down the shore we go, to our own personal part
of the creek shore, the one we hadn't seen anyone else fish in two days. As
we waited for a stiff tail wind to speed us along, we began to notice
another boat veering slightly off from the main channel, slowly beginning to
put itself on a direct line with where we would be but only in significantly
more time than it was going to take them. Not good. We watched from afar
and afarther and afarther until the boat finally began a turn to take them
away from our Black Bass paradise. Close one! We pulled up about the time
Mother Nature decided she could no longer hold back. The rain came down so
hard it almost stung the skin, but that's what happens to you when your
boater decides you have use the water closet facing the wind. We began our
assault on the shore and just like the beginning of the previous day, shot
blank after blank! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Not again, this can not be happening
to me again. They no longer wanted the automatic fish catching Red Shad
Senko. Every spot that held a fish the previous day was barren, at least as
far as the stupid Red Shad Senko was concerned. We cruised the shoreline
for a few hundred yards, throwing that Senko, praying a straggler was
leftover. Nothing! Well, they have to be here I told Drew, they just want
something else. My next favorite bait, Watermelon Red Trick Worm, was in
the bag behind the Senkos. That's about as far as my ability to pattern a
bass goes, what ever is next in line in the bag. And it just so happens
that those tightlipped little so and so's became hen's in a henhouse once
they saw that worm come fluttering down. They couldn't keep their mouths
shut!! I pulled three keepers into the boat within the next 50 yard
stretch. Pulled being the operative word here as again, in our infinite
wisdom, we decided that along with not bringing a lake map, we really didn't
need a net to bring in the fish. We decided right then and there that Real
Men lip their fish!!! Nothing like trying to stick an already shaky thumb
into a very uncooperative mouth. Not recommended for the elderly or those
three weeks out from knee surgery!!!! Thanks Anheiser Busch and Drew for
that mistake. Speaking of which, my partner, the one I'm counting on to
also put a few in the livewell as this is a "team" event, decides his tube
looked somewhat similar to my Trick Worm, in a distinctively dissimilar way
and rebuffed my repeated and hostile attempts to hold him down and put one
on his hook. We turned the boat and moved back up the same short stretch,
and again I pulled in fish, this time shorts, but fish nonetheless. About
this time, Drew relents and puts on the Trick Worm, but only after I have
taken the rest of his tubes away and threaten to dunk them. Five minutes
later, what do you know, he sets the hook and brings his one and only fish
into the boat. I love the man like a brother but that is one "special" boy
there! Can I get an Amen on that Randy? Back to fishing. Drew's beginning
to worry the many many many lightening strikes will eventually cause us harm
and through his whimpers I hear him ask if we should head back. Well, I
reply, we can either go screaming ( as in vocally scream, you already know
about the 60 horse motor) across the lake, in a metallic object, while also
being the highest object out there or we can stay right here, tucked into
the mountains, and continue to catch fish. Faulty reasoning I know, but it
doesn't take much with him. We turn around once more and again begin to
pull fish off the bank. I put a couple more in the well, and with one
barely over the 12" mark begin to anxiously await the fish that will let me
cull for the first time in my illustrious fishing career. I prepared for
this momentous occasion by putting the culling egg on the smaller fish, but
only after a five minute discussion on how we thought it should be attached.
We continued to fish, could not put anymore in the boat and uneventfully had
to return back to the docks, still a virgin to the cull.