How I caught my very first largemouth bass all by myself

I have been fishing obsessively for as long as I can remember. My father always took me fishing no matter where we lived. As long as there was no ice on the water, we had his boat out.

When I was about 9 years old, I wanted to start catching fish on my own. I knew that I could do it and I was absolutely determined to prove to my dad that I was a good fisherman and he had taught me well.

I got my chance one weekend while we were living in West Virginia. Dad took the family camping for the weekend in a place called North Bend State Park. We were camped right next to a small lake, which was situated right next to a river.

We arrived on Friday evening and dad took me fishing right after we got the camp set up. We walked down to the river and caught a few smallmouth bass using inline spinners. Nothing was very big, but I enjoyed myself immensely mostly because my father talked nonstop about how he used to catch smallmouths when he was a boy by walking the riverbanks of Southern Wisconsin with his father. What an honor it was to have this same tradition handed down to me.

The next morning dad and I woke up early and left to fish for some largemouth bass in the pond before the girls woke up. He had us casting ribbon tail plastic worms rigged Texas style. We caught a few. I was so proud every time I felt the thump of a bass gobbling my worm up with its enormous mouth, I could not believe that I caught more than him. This was the first time this had ever happened.

Dad placed his hand on my shoulder as we were walking back to our campsite and told me, "You are turning into quite a fisherman!" I was so proud that I felt tear welling up in my eyes. It was all I could do to acknowledge him with a quick, "Thank you." Of course, it was not cool to show emotion in the world of a 9-year-old boy who lived in rural West Virginia.

I spent the rest of the day walking up and down the riverbank and in the woods. I found several small streams that I explored. There are always things to look for and things to find. One of the cooler things I found were lots of salamanders. I brought a few of them to show dad. He was impressed with them. Dad went to his tackle box and brought out a bag of plastic salamanders to show me. I was amazed. I sat there and stared at it. I had actually seen a few that were almost 6 inches long. I devised a plan to go and find a few to use as bait early in the next morning.

Dad spent the evening with me sitting on the bank of the pond drowning worms and chicken livers to catch catfish. I can remember the smell of the livers mixing with the smells coming off the pond. I watched the tips of both of my rods like a hawk. Every time it moved a fraction of an inch, I had the rod in my hand and waited for the fish to take the hook in it's mouth. One time I picked up my rod and felt a tug that bent the rod over double. I set the hook and the drag immediately began slipping. I screamed for dad as I began fighting the fish. "Keep your rod tip up!" he exclaimed. I kept the tip up and reeled and reeled. The fish finally came in, it was a catfish, and it was a big one. This catfish was a whopping 24 inches long. It was by far the biggest fish I have ever caught. Dad was very proud of me. He pulled the hook out of its mouth, and we put the fish back in the water.

The next morning, I was up before dawn. I grabbed my fishing pole and ran to the small creeks. I was down on my knees searching for salamanders under rocks in the shallow creek. My feet and knees were soaked and cold but that didn't matter because there were bass to be caught. I turned over a second rock and found a nice 5-inch-long salamander. I grabbed it and then it occurred to me that I had no place to keep it. I stuck it in my pocket. I could feel it squirming around as I pushed it deeper. I them caught two more that were as least as big and also slid them into the same place.

I then ran up to the bank where I had thrown my rod. I grabbed it and ran full speed to the pond. I jumped onto a limb that hung out over the water. I slid on my butt out over the water. This was not easy because I had a rod in one hand and a tackle box in the other. Then somehow, I reached my hand into my pocket and pulled out the salamander and hooked it between the legs. I loved the way it wiggled crazily because I had just hooked it. As the bobber entered the water it immediately took a dive towards the bottom. My immediate reaction was that the bobber must be broken. Of course, once I felt the tug, I knew the bobber was fine. Then I set the hook and my rod bent over double. I set the hook so hard that I almost fell backwards off of the limb. I fought the fish for a few minutes before it came to the surface and I pulled it out of the water. I just sat there admiring it for a moment, then I realized that my dad was watching me the whole time. "That is a nice one," he told me. I was so proud. I swung the fish over to him and he unhooked it and released it back to the lake. "That was a solid 3-pounder."

I could not have been prouder. Then dad and I walked back to the campsite to cook breakfast and take down the camp. I could not think about anything else but the fish as we broke camp. Looking back on this experience, I can truly say that this was one of the best times I ever had with my father. Memories like this one are what gets me through the hard times.