The One that Didn’t Get Away
By Cam Holicki
Fishing has always been a passion of mine. I enjoy the fun of the fight, the challenge and intellect involved, and the ever-present hope of catching a trophy bass. Above all, however, I appreciate how fishing provides the opportunity to create memories and spend quality time with the people I love.
Countless shared memories have been birthed from fish at the end of the line. I remember taking the boat all the way up to Coldwater Dam with Dennis Babjack when his son Brad and I were just young kids, and I can still recall catching 40 largemouth keepers fishing under the stars one night with my long-time friend Brandon Buckley. The joy I receive from seeing others’ excitement at fishing is second to none.
One memory that stands above them all occurred last summer. Between my schoolwork and my dad’s busy work schedule, finding a time that we were both free for a father-son fishing outing was a challenge. Additionally, I have found that in recent years, it has been more difficult to catch quality fish from the lakes in Coldwater. These factors served to weaken our effort to take out the bass boat. Nevertheless, my dad and I found ourselves at the cottage with free time during a beautiful, calm, and sunny July evening. My dad, who rarely fishes, suggested we have a quick trip before the sun dipped behind the trees. I agreed and decided to try a couple of my “old faithful” spots, which have consistently held quality fish. After an hour and a half of pulling in nothing but water and a handful of small bass, I decided to try one more spot on the north end of the lake.
It was almost completely dark. The soothing sound of crickets and frogs filled the air. The warm breeze and the scent of a distant campfire filled my mind with a euphoric sense of nostalgia. There is nothing in the world like summer nights on the lake.
I was skipping a jig under pontoons, and my dad was casting a wacky-rigged stick worm around the docks. I turned and watched as my dad made a perfect cast: The silhouette of the lure against the red-orange sky landed perfectly between a dock and a weed bed. He twitched his lure a couple of times before I noticed slack growing in his line, which was now racing toward deeper water. He set the hook, and the drag immediately screamed from the reel.
“I think I got one!” my dad said.
“Ya think?!” I responded sarcastically.
Just then, a bucket-mouth broke the surface of the water. The entirety of an enormous bass floated out of the water, seemingly in slow motion, as its head thrashed side to side and its tail danced on the water’s surface. “HOLY SHNIKEES!” I screamed as I grabbed the net, which was tangled around the handle of a reel on the deck of my boat. I freed the net just in time to scoop up the fish of a lifetime. My dad and I hollered with excitement. The bass tipped the scale at 5.4 pounds and was nearly 22 inches in length.
We snapped a couple of quick photos and released the bass back into Coldwater Lake to create more memories for another angler in the future.
Witnessing such a beautiful Michigan fish being caught was a treat, but to witness the joy, excitement, and fun my dad had fighting the largest fish of his life meant more to me than any fishing experience I have ever personally had.
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