Not too long ago, I decided to get at least one more fishing trip in before it got too cold and my legs cried mutiny. The morning air was cold and damp with fog as I struggled to climb into my manly vehicle; yes it’s the mini van.

After I dropped my wife, Dana, at work I hurried towards the lake where I would be fishing. Along the way, I couldn’t ignore the rumbling in my stomach. So I stopped at one of the local markets along the way. After going over the wall mounted menu, I asked for a tenderloin biscuit and coke. It was quite a task to carry those items and still use my crutches, but I did manage to get back to the van without dropping my breakfast.

I pulled back onto the main road as I unwrapped my biscuit. I had enjoyed the tenderloin biscuit before, but this time was a little disappointed. As I chewed and chewed, I soon understood that the only thing tender about this biscuit was the aluminum foil wrapper. For a moment, I seriously considered chewing on it. I honestly don’t think that it would have been any worse, maybe even a little better.

As I continued to drive, I imagined that the fishing spot would be void of any other fisherman. I thought that I would be the only nut out there willing to fish from the bank in this chilly of weather. But as I pulled into the parking lot near the ramp, I was surprised to see the parking lot full. Not only were there a lot of boat trailers, but passenger cars as well. I pulled the van over to the edge of the parking lot, nearest to the lake. It was a spot that I felt confident that I could get to, bad legs and all. But as I stopped the van, I realized that the best spots were all ready taken. So I moved a little closer to the boat ramp. I hoped that the fishing would be as good there.

After I got set up, setting as comfortable as one can in a canvas chair with every muscle shivering; I started talking to a couple of guys that were putting their boat in. It was then that I learned that there was a Crappie fishing tournament that morning and I had missed the take off by only fifteen minutes. As I looked back at the thick fog on the lake, I was glad that I was not out there trying to navigate to some hidden fishing hole.

Spending most of my life on the river, fishing for trout, I have to admit that I am not the best lake fisherman. And there is a serious disadvantage fishing from the bank. But I was not going to be deterred. I set up for Crappie and cast the line. And was surprised by the immediate strike. I set the hook hard as I watched the water erupt. I was so excited, thinking that I might actually be learning something.

I landed the nice size fish and as it flopped at my feet I said something like, “Oh crap ” and shook my head. I had caught a Shad. So as with life, at times it can be a roller coaster ride. Taking forever to get to the top, then crashing down at super speeds. I removed the hook and tossed the fish back into the water.

I spent the next several hours trying everything that I had in the tackle box without much result; catching a couple brim and a small Shad. By that time the fog had disappeared and so had the other bank fisherman. With some difficulty, I gathered my rod and reel and made my way over to the spot that I had first hope to fish. Only falling once, I considered that a success.

With a silver “Little Cleo” tied to the line, I started casting to where I could see the minnows moving. I probably cast over thirty times and was growing close to the “Its time to call it a day”mode when my rod jerked in my hand. I set the hook again and enjoyed the fight. This fish seemed a lot stronger than any I had caught earlier and was hoping that it would actually be a game fish. But as I landed it, I just shook my head again. It was another Shad. I released this one as well before making a few more casts, finally losing my lure.

It was getting close to the time that I needed to get on the road. After creeping back to my chair, I gathered my equipment and loaded it into the van. As I started the van, I was thankful to be out of the bitter wind, but almost equally regretful that I had to leave. As I do most of the time, I try to reflect on the days events as I drive home. And that is when the thought came to mind as I tried to understand why I hadn’t caught anything but the Bream and Shad.
“It must be Karma.” Was the thought.

To explain the reasoning behind that thought, we have to travel back nearly twenty years. My wife and I had only been married right at two years and I was working for one of the local boat manufacturers. Early one spring, they announced that they were going to have an employee fishing tournament. At first, this was of little interest to me because I knew that almost everyone there had a lifetime of Bass fishing and would be able to out fish my with their eyes closed. After the news had been out for a few days, one of my friends and co-workers approached me after he learned that I had a boat. I told him that I wasn’t interested, and explained why. But without saying a word, he handed me the rules. I took them from him and started reading. Somewhere about two-thirds down the page, the rules stated that it could be any fish. It was then that I remembered a fishing trip with my brother-in-law. I knew a place that we could catch fish by the hundreds.

I talked to my boss and made sure that it was okay to travel through the locks of the dam and fish below it. After talking to his superiors, he told me that we could fish anywhere as long as the boat never leaves the water. At the next break, I talked to my friend and told him of my plan, swearing him to secrecy.

The morning of the fishing tournament was much like my day fishing on the bank. Although it wasn’t as cold, the fog was just as thick. Now you have to imagine the site of me backing my boat down the ramp. Here I was, driving a simple Ford truck as I maneuvered my very old K-Craft back into the water, taking its place amongst the other fishermen’s bright and shiny Bass boats. Who says that Jed Clampet can’t enter a tournament.

As they sounded the horn for the fishing tournament to start, there was no explosion of sound. Instead there was just the sound of motors running at idle speed as their drivers fought through the fog.

As soon as I saw the thick fog that morning, I realized a serious kink in my plans. The dam was nearly five miles away from the ramp, and I had only traveled that route once before. Just the thought of doing it blind, induced some serious doubt.

My friend and I just looked at each other, both of us probably realizing that we didn’t have a chance of winning the tournament if we didn’t get through the dam. And it probably goes a little deeper than that, realizing how embarrassed we would be in at weigh in if we tried to compete with the much better fisherman.

So we putted along, taking our time to be careful. The fog was so thick that the only way that we knew to turn the boat was when we would run the boat onto the muddy shore. Once or twice we waited to late and had to use a paddle to push the boat free from the thick mud. Once free we would putt along until we made it to the next bank; never really knowing if we were getting any closer to the dam. I secretly prayed that when the fog cleared that my co-workers wouldn’t see my boat going in circles, only a few hundred yards from the ramp. But when I heard the warning horn at the locks, I knew we were getting closer.

After waiting nearly an hour, they opened the doors and let our tiny boat into the massive locks. And yes it was a little intimidating. A few minutes later we carefully drove my boat free from the locks and into our fishing position. I then showed my friend how to set up a double jig while at the same time, trying to fight the strong current of the dam’s turbines.

It was fun fishing. Almost ninety percent of our casts brought back two nice size Shad. In no time at all, we were able to fill my live well and then be more selective, saving only the biggest. The tournament was over at three that day. But by one that afternoon, we knew that we had done our best. The live well was full and we weren’t catching any bigger fish.

After waiting again. We were allowed to enter the locks. We had plenty of time to enjoy the great numbers of our catch as the locks filled with water. Finally on the upper side, I pushed the throttle forward. The front of the old boat lifted nicely as it scooted across the water. It was really nice to actually be able to see where we were going.

We were one of the first boats back to the ramp, almost an hour early. As other boats came in, the passengers stared us down, wondering why we were just sitting there eating a sandwich. A few would ask how we had done, and we would just shrug our shoulders and respond, “Oh all right I guess, we got a few.”

As each boat arrived, they would tie there boat off and start bagging their fish. The first fisherman pulled a few nice large mouth Bass from their live well. When I saw that, I started to wonder if we had done the right thing. I wondered how well our catch would be received. But as more and more came in, I noticed a trend. It seemed that almost everyone not only had a few Bass in their live well, but a lunker as well, usually a big fat Carp or Catfish. After seeing that, I no longer felt bad. It seemed that everyone wanted to push things in their favor. The only difference was that my fishing partner and I had done it earlier than the rest.

Finally everyone had weighed in except us. I grabbed two of the very heavy clear plastic bags. As we started pulling the fish from the live well, not only filling one bag, but two, it was obvious that we were the center of attention. Some of the other guys that had a sense of humor were laughing while others that take the sport a little too seriously looked as if they were trying to remember whether they had left their gun in the boat or the cab of the truck.

I stepped away from the scales with two bags of very dead Shad weighing in at forty six pounds. My co-worker and I won the tournament; a nice trophy that I still have today and seventy five dollars that was gone before I knew it.

The rest of my time working for that company was interesting to say the least. The very next work day, someone stamped the word “SHADMASTER” onto my tool box. And anytime that I made eye contact with anyone, they usually just shook their heads in dis-belief. But as time passed, it became something funny. I would over hear some talking and laughing about the whole thing.

Before the next year had passed, I had a better job offer and turned in my notice. And even though it had been a long time since the tournament, I think everyone made sure to tell me that I was responsible for the changes in the rules for next fishing tournament. I think that there were some that were glad that I was leaving and wouldn’t be able to fish in the next tournament; while others wished that I would stay, just so that they could have the opportunity to prove my poor fishing skills.

But for me, from the moment that we won that tournament to this very day, when ever I think about it, I just smile a little. I had never won a fishing tournament and the chances of me winning another are pretty slim. But I had that moment, and no-one can take it away. I know that somewhere deep in the memories of my co-workers memories, that they will remember that day as well. Some good, some bad. But remembered none the less.