The Day I Drew Out Leviathan

As a boy, I was either thinking about fishing, reading about fishing, dreaming about fishing, or fishing, and my faith in outdoor writer Jason Lucas’ angling advice wasn’t shaken by Mark Twain’s opinion: “Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” Guaranteeing that even country boys like me could become accomplished anglers, Lucas explained where, when, and how to fish. Most importantly, he recommended the best lures.

One of his stories described a bass lure called the Elongated Ebony Eel. With weed-less hooks hanging from its belly, dragon-tail notches on its back, and whiskers adorning its jaws, Lucas swore it was irresistible bass haute cuisine. Designed for slow, patient bottom fishing, it was heresy to top-water anglers, their tackle boxes filled with expensive plugs and spinners, who believe that only carp and other trash fish reside 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 tackle box Dad gave me, I put the eel to the test. As Lucas recommended, I attached a lead weight to make it hover near the bottom. After casting as far as I could, I counted — one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, turned the reel once, and raised the rod tip slightly, a technique that made the eel undulate at regular intervals, a flirtatious maneuver bass cannot resist. Properly executed, Lucas calculated that reeling in a cast should take twenty minutes — boring, compared to conventional bass fishing’s fast pace. He noted that detecting nibbles is difficult because bass are wary about chomping down on anything that might chomp back. Adroit anglers, he assured, notice the slight rod-tip twitch indicating a nibble. Twitch detected, I must lower the rod, reel in the slack, and jerk upward. That day was sunny, warm, and windless — spring at its best. I had cast dozens of times from the bank, in sight of my parents who were barbecuing on our cabin porch. Dad laughed as he described my lure to his pals. He had no doubt it would terrify­ — not attract — bass. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, reel, repeat. The tip twitched! I lowered the rod, reeled in the slack and jerked with all my might. Nothing. The adults guffawed. Suddenly 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 my hands and the rod, ran up the bank, and then ran back and pounced on the flouncing fish. The adults went from guffawing to gawking as I held up a big, beautiful largemouth bass. In the Old Testament, Job asks, “Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?” Yes! Faith is believing what you know IS so. My unfaltering faith in Jason Lucas led to an unforgettable memory: the day I drew out leviathan.