Every thing that happened from that point on seems to come back to me in slow motion, as if watching a TV rerun. Quietly as possible I laid the paddle down in the bottom of the bateau and picked up my casting rod, quickly checking the spinner for grass. The frog colored Dalton Special sailed through the air, the spinner and hooks reflecting the early morning light. The spool on the fishing reel whirled yielding the line that followed the lure like a jet plane's vapor trail. The lure seemed to float through the air landing in almost the same spot where Ennis' lure had landed just minutes before. The lure settled in the water bobbing up and down looking very much like the frog it was painted to represent.
The lure now quietly rested on the water's surface, I had no intention of moving the lure. Old experienced fisherman have said this is the time to light up a cigarette to calm your nerves and give that bass time to get good and mad. I shifted the fishing rod to my other hand and waited and waited, it seemed like an eternity! With my rod back in my casting hand, I turned the crank on the reel taking up the slack in the line and simultaneously twitched the rod tip, the spinners whirred, sputtering the water's surface. The lure roved forward about a foot and stopped. My muscles went tense in anticipation the big fish's strike.
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I waited, what had gone wrong, had the boat spooked it, was I to be denied? Would I have to wear that same defeated look on my face, the same expression my friend experienced a few minutes earlier!
At that instant a huge mouth engulfed the lure. It was as if a bait bucket had come from under the water, there was no splash, only the sucking gurgling sound of a cavernous mouth inhaling the lure and disappearing beneath the surface. The surrounding water churned for several feet around the strike. The big fish went straight down arching my fishing rod, as I was forced to give up several yards of line from the reel. Ennis without saying a word picked up the paddle, as I was instructing him to keep the boat out of the trees.
The big bass changed his tactics, trying to extract that thing that was now embedded in its jaw. The line was now going slack and from past experience I realized the fish was returning to the surface. I cranked the reel handle like a maniac, taking up the slack line just as the water erupted, splashing and spraying in all directions. The huge bass careened and cleared the water's surface, its mouth wide open and gills rattling, shaking its giant head in an attempt to rid itself of the dreaded lure. For a moment which seemed an eon the huge fish remained suspended in mid air, its bronze body gleaming in the morning sunlight.
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