No fish finder, no bass boat, no baitcasting reel, no fluorocarbon line- no problem

Bass season opened about a week ago in Ontario, and last weekend I finally had the opportunity to do a little bass fishing for the first time this year.  My friend Marco and I went up to my cottage to try and smack some bronzebacks.  The weather was good all weekend- sunny and hot, though the wind kept us cool enough.  The wind usually died down quite a bit as the evenings wore on, and this is when we did most of our fishing.  Crayfish, one of the smallmouth's favourite foods, are nocturnal (or so I have read), and so apparently bronzebacks are quite active at night.  Also, the spawn ended not too long ago, so I was hoping that the bass would be on a feeding frenzy.

At first, this didn't seem to be the case- Marco was throwing a plastic grub, while I was working various crankbaits to cover water.  We moved between a shallow bay and a large dock that seemed to be holding bait fish.  After about an hour, we had only managed to catch a few small perch- though I did see a large bass swimming around in the shallow bay.  As the sun dipped below the horizon, we returned to the bay as I wanted to try a little top water action- I have never caught any smallmouth using topwater lures, but it seemed to me that the fish were patrolling the waters looking for an easy meal- and I wanted to throw something that would make noise and make it easier for the fish to find my lure.  To be honest, I wasn't expecting to catch anything at this point.  But it's always fun throwing a jointed Jitterbug, so I thought, what the hell- I have nothing to lose.  And it wasn't as if I was in any rush to get back to the cottage- sitting on the water under the moonlight isn't exactly the worst thing in the world to be doing.

Black is my favourite colour in low-light conditions

On about my second cast, I was in for a big surprise.  Something hit my lure- and my first thought was- I better set the hook after the advice I gave in my previous post.  Fortunately, the fish was on.  At first it didn't feel particularly big, but as it neared the canoe, it started feeling heavier and heavier.  I was beginning to curse myself for not preparing properly- I didn't check to see if my line was frayed, and I very nearly decided to leave the net on shore.  After a good fight, however, I managed to swing the fish into the net. And boy, was she ever a beauty.

I didn't weigh the fish, but I'm quite certain that it was the biggest smallmouth I have ever caught.  Not having used the best equipment, the catch was particularly satisfying.  Sitting on the canoe, I thought to myself: I can succeed even without the proper tools; I can disadvantage myself and still outperform others; I have bested other anglers and, more importantly, a supreme predator.  I wanted to make a nice dinner for my buddies, and boy did this fish have a lot of meat on her.  But sitting on my $200 canoe, I remembered my moments of weakness.  I looked at the bronzeback, and admitted that I too have made errors; I too have been humbled.  I have been deceived, and I have been greedy; I have experienced the exhilaration of hubris, the intoxication of arrogance.  

A smaller fish I would clean and cook without any qualms- but I couldn't bring myself to punish this magnificent beast for making one mistake.  Such trophy fish have fought their way to the top of the food chain, and so they've earned their freedom.  No, I could not punish a beast that possesses the traits I admire so much: strength, cunning, aggression, and beauty.  And so I put the fish back in the water, letting it swim away into the darkness below, hoping that because its gluttony has been forgiven, mine too will be excused.  

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