My faith in outdoor writer Jason Lucas wasn’t shaken by Mark Twain’s opinion that faith is believing what you know ain’t so.
During my boyhood years, I was either thinking about fishing, reading about fishing, or fishing.
I didn’t just read Lucas — I memorized him. His articles promised that even a country boy like me could become an expert angler. He explained where to fish, when to fish, how to cast, and which lures to use.
One Lucas story described a new bass lure called the Black Eel. Eight inches long, with two weed-less hooks protruding from its belly and dragon-tail notches on its back, it looked like a sliver from an old worn-out automobile tire. Its inventor designed it for bottom fishing — heresy to elite anglers who defeated bass with top-water lures and spinners. Catfish and carp resided on the bottom.
The man with a new idea is a crank, until the idea succeeds. I had faith that the eel would succeed, and when I finally had one in the old tackle box Dad passed down to me, I ached to try it.
Lucas recommended tying a lead weight six inches from the eel’s nose, which would cause it to hover along the bottom. Count … one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three … turn the reel once, raise the rod tip slightly, repeat, thereby causing the eel to undulate enticingly at regular intervals, a flirtatious maneuver bass cannot resist.
Properly executed, Lucas calculated a well-tossed cast should take twenty minutes to reel in … boring, compared to conventional bass fishing’s fast pace.
Lucas said detecting nibbles would be difficult because bass feel everything with their mouths, having no hands, and thus would be extra cautious about chomping down on the eel without first ascertaining it was a critter that wouldn’t bite back.
Adroit anglers, he assured, would notice the slight rod-tip twitch. Twitch detected, I was to lower the rod, reel in the slack, and jerk as hard as I could.
It was a sunny April day, and I had cast a dozen times from the bank, not far from where my parents were barbecuing on a cabin porch. I overheard Dad laughing while describing my “bass-terrifying” lure to his pals.
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, reel, repeat. Suddenly — tap, tap, tap! I lowered the rod, reeled in the slack and jerked with all my might. Nothing. I was hung. The adults snickered.
Then the line began sawing through the water, and, like a picture on a barbershop calendar, ole mossy back was tail walking across the surface.
Panicking, I forgot all about reeling, clamped the line between hands and rod, ran up the bank with the rod over my shoulder, then ran back and pounced on the huge, flouncing fish.
Old Testament Job asks, “Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?” Yes! Faith is believing what you know IS so. My faith in Jason Lucas led to drawing out leviathan.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
