Stalking childhood memories

One of my earliest fishing memories dates back to when I was about 5 or 6 years old. There was a freshwater pond not far from my house where my dad introduced me to fishing, and it was there that my life as a fisherman was sealed.

One weekend, I decided to explore the pond, looking for frogs and other creatures. About halfway around, I spotted it. Lying in a shallow, sandy circle was the biggest largemouth bass I had ever seen. I hid behind a tree and watched that fish for a long time, and it never left that spot. At the time, I had no idea the bass was a female guarding her nest, but nest or no nest, I was determined to catch her. All I could think about was how excited my dad would be if I came home carrying that big bass, and with that, I hatched my plan.

I ran home as fast as I could, went into the garage and grabbed my inexpensive fishing rod. Back then, lures were pretty primitive, and like most people, all I had was a red rubber worm rigged with two gold hooks and a small silver propeller on the front. I raced back to the pond, hoping the fish would still be there. Sure enough, she hadn’t moved an inch from that sandy circle.

I had a problem, though. She was only about 5 feet from the bank, and if I cast directly at her, she would surely see me and swim away. My heart was pounding as I leaned around the tree and flipped the worm past her. Slowly, I reeled it back. As soon as it entered the sandy circle, she opened that huge mouth and inhaled the worm, only to spit it out before I could react. Over and over, she grabbed it, and every time she spit it out before I could hook her. This went on for nearly the entire afternoon until she finally ignored the worm altogether. I went home devastated, like a fallen warrior.

I barely slept that night, replaying the scene in my head and wondering what I could do differently. At first light, I was already heading back to the pond. When I arrived, I crept toward the spot, and there she was, just as I had left her. On my first cast, I snagged a branch. Pulling hard, the back hook snapped off and the worm flew back toward me. I thought I had ruined my only lure.

With no other option, I cast the damaged worm past the fish. As I twitched it back, I noticed it had more action. This time, the bass grabbed it and held on. I set the hook, and she exploded out of the water, her mouth wide open. It was a tug of war between a little kid and his very own Moby Dick. She tried everything to break free, heading for branches and anything else that might snap my line. In the end, I landed her. She weighed right at 7 pounds, and my dad was so proud. I’ve always believed that moment turned fishing into my lifelong passion.

So why recount that childhood story? Because about 60 years later, I had a remarkably similar experience.

Last week, I fished in one of the local plantations with a friend who lives there. I had told him about the great fishing in his backyard, and he asked me to show him how to fish the area so he could later take his kids. We went to a spot I hadn’t fished in years, but where I had once caught some decent redfish.
In short, we hooked six massive redfish that shrugged off our light tackle with ease. Even with braided line and a tight drag, it was like hooking a Volkswagen bus. Time after time, they ran us into pilings. Just like when I was a kid, I became obsessed. These were no average redfish, and it was clear they had done some serious growing over the years.

This past week, I returned with one goal: to land one of those fish. If I had been wearing old-school Converse sneakers and had a little more hair on my head, I might have felt like a kid again. After about 30 minutes, my line jumped. It jumped again, then started peeling off the reel in a blur. I set the hook, knowing exactly what I had — one of those monster redfish.

He ran back and forth, heading for anything that could chafe my line. After about 15 minutes, I finally had him in my hands. I couldn’t help but wish my dad were still alive to see that fish. For a brief moment, life felt like it had come full circle. I gently eased the redfish back into the water and watched it swim away.
It was a good day in a very good life.

Collins Doughtie is a 60-year resident of the Lowcountry, is a sportsman, graphic artist, and lover of nature. collinsdoughtie@icloud.com