Challenges come in different sizes and flavors. Some folks seek them out and others avoid them out of fear of failure or for the want of determination. There is a special breed of individual who puts country and team member first and maintains focus for the success of the mission. 
The Wounded Warriors of the Afghanistan and Iraq conflicts are shining examples of the character and honor of our nation’s military in uniform around the globe. To these Soldiers we offer our appreciation and gratitude for giving that extra measure and sacrifice on our behalf and attempt to make their life more enjoyable every chance we get.
And so it was when I, ole’ bassmaster Don Gowen of Decatur, AL, received a request to participate on March 30, 2013 in the “Hooked on Decatur” bass benefit tournament. The benefit was sponsored by the Grand Lodge of F. & A. of Alabama (Rising Sun Lodge #29 of Decatur, AL) in association with DRS, Pepsi, Lynn Layton Chevrolet and Nucor Steel. The ol’ bass chaser, with 14 other volunteers, was asked to furnish his bass boat, fishing equipment and tackle and serve as a guide and partner with a Wounded Warrior in the tournament. The site was Wheeler Lake out of the world renowned Ingalls Harbor in Decatur, AL.
Being a military vet myself, I have that bond with members of our military and had supported other veterans events. One such opportunity was the Operation HOOAH event on Pickwick and Wilson Lakes conducted by Southern Fishing News publisher and editor Ronnie McDonald, and the Paralyzed Veterans of America (PVA) Tournament Trail out of Scottsboro a couple of years ago. My immediate response was a resounding yes!. I would be honored.
In the early morning hours, I, the ol’ pro, rolled, hobbled and limped out of bed and
Ms. Steele and Gowen get aquainted in the early, pre-tournament hours of the morning.
headed to the location of the storage of my boat. The batteries had been charged, the ice chest filled with refreshments and a dozen rods and reels with enough tackle to start my own tackle shop loaded on board. Then it was a quick run by the filling station for a tank of gas (took most of my Social Security check to top the Triton off) and a cup of coffee before heading out to the harbor still in the dark of “zero dark-thirty”. There is something about getting up early and going fishing. I was really anticipating showing my Wounded Warrior partner to a loaded honey hole and a good day on the water.
Arriving at Ingalls about 4:30 am I checked in with the tournament officials, received our boat number 12 for the first flight, and was introduced to my Wounded Warrior fishing partner for the day. My fishing partner was a young Ms. Miranda Steele of Sommerville, AL. Having a wife of almost fifty years, a daughter, and having associated with ladies in the financial services business for fortyfive years, I felt qualified for this assignment (the tournament officials may have decided that I was harmless and my age made me so by default).
After introductions and some small talk the ol’ pro inquired of his new partner if she had any fishing equipment and she responded in the affirmative. Instructed to secure her equipment and meet me at the boat, D. J. (Maranda’s nickname and preferred reference) did so and returned with her new Zebco 33 reel and matching rod from WallyWorld which included a plastic tackle tray and three bobbers all procured the night before. The ol’ bassmaster then decided he probably needed some more information. I inquired as to D.J.’s fishing background and experience since he had just donated $20.00 to the Big Bass pot. Ms. “D.J.” Maranda related she previously fished some with her grandfather a couple of years ago with a “pole” down at the “pond.” Now I knew why she brought the bobbers.
But, the young lady was excited and enthusiastic about the prospects for the day’s event and requested that the ol’ pro (she obviously recognized my superior skill and experience right away just by the number of rod and reels in the boat) tie her a “plug” on her “pole”. Well, someone at the factory had jammed the faceplate on her Zebco in such a manner it could not be removed to access the line. Still in the harbor, I tried with my knife and a screw driver but that piece of tin would not budge. I even let the lady warrior give it a try. She also failed.
By this time, daylight had arrived, a prayer had be given (with the ol’ pro adding an extra word or two but nothing about the Zebco face cover), the National Anthem was played, and the tournament director started calling boat numbers from the rescue boat at the mouth of Ingalls Harbor. Oh well boys and girls – it’s time to go fishing!
Now like all good bass chasers, and being in the first flight, I wanted to get to “my” honey hole first! Clearing the harbor and rescue boat, I pointed the Triton down river, trimmed the motor for flight and punched the 225 Mercury. About Denbo’s Landing Ms. D.J. grabbed my left arm, squeezed and uttered out from under her hat that she could not breathe. Embarrassed, I throttled back to 5500 RPM and about 50 MPH and explained to the first time basser I was just trying to get to the fishing hole first. Ms. Miranda did not seem impressed and appeared to delight in the bass boats passing us on the right and left.
By the time we reached the fishing area ten miles downstream Ms. D.J. was smiling (from way under her hat) and looking forward to the time the temperature would get above freezing. When we did manage to reach the honey hole, the ol’ pro and Ms. D.J. found another boat claiming “squatter rights” over much of the intended targeted area. I eased the Triton off plane and dropped the trolling motor. Now was time to begin school (and I am not talking about fish or bait schools)!
For most of you bass chasers who have been doing this for some time you are generally thrilled to introduce a new angler to the art of casting a baitcaster reel and rod, right? Wrong. But, you see the ol’ pro teaches elementary students a fishing class at Decatur Heritage Christian Academy (DHCA). Anyone that can have sixteen 4th and 5th graders casting lures for an hour or so a female Wounded Warrior should be a piece of cake. To assume so was a classical error because Ms. D.J. informed the ol’ pro she was “strong”. Her last duty station was Afghanistan. She had been there, done that and she required no special treatment.
Well now, let’s start with the basics. This is a “rod”. This is a “baitcasting reel”. There is fishin’ line on the “spool” of the “reel” that is tested for a “load weight” of 15 pounds. This is a “lure”, a bait we want to convince Mr./Ms. bass to eat because he/she is hungry or mad. We bring the fish to the boat with the “reel” to put in the
“D.J.” and her first bass…EVER.
“live well” to carry to the tournament “weigh-in.” Got that? Good! Now push this little button here while holding your thumb tight on the line on the spool, raise the rod over your head to 3:00 o’clock, begin the “cast”, no flinging or pushing now, toward the location you want the lure to land. Then, release the thumb from the spool at 12:00 o’clock arching the lure forward (hopefully) and just before the lure strikes the water, stop the line spool from spinning. Look at the spool to make sure there is no slack line or “bird’s nest” (that means it is all messed up or FUBAR’ed in military jargon). If not, immediately begin “retrieving” the lure toward the boat with the rod tip at about 9:00 o’clock. Got that? O.K. good! Let’s see you cast. Ms. D.J. never blinked an eye, asked for clarification or uttered a word.
Click, thumb on line spool, lure extending from the rod about 10 inches, rod rose to 3:00 o’clock, cast forward, and thumb released spool. Her lure went about 10 feet with a bird’s nest. “Now what?” she asks? Well, you have to pick the line out of the reel and then string it back on tight. That is the reason you need to put that thumb on the line spool just before the lure hits the water at the end of the cast. Not another word was said.
About 10 minutes later the ol’ pro glanced over his shoulder and Ms. D.J. had the bird’s nest outof the reel, line tightly back on the reel, lure hanging out of the tip about a foot, rod back and cast. The lure went about 25 feet and no backlash. Well now, things are improving. “By the way D.J., if you are as strong as you say you are, you would use your elbow and wrist and put some power behind that cast and it will reach a greater distance,” I suggested. No acknowledgment or sound from her…………
With her rod back, Ms. D.J. cast forward with a boat rocking launch of the bait. The lure hit the water about 150 feet from the boat this time. The lady Wounded Warrior turned toward the ol’ pro, grinned and kept cranking.
Now you know ladies have a lot of patience, but having conquered the Rat-L-Trap, we moved on to crankbaits, buzzbaits, spinnerbaits, jerkbaits, spinners, and plastic worms. Since D.J. had the baitcaster down pat, the ol’ pro changed her over to the spinning reel. Fishing was just like old times week after she determined she had to hold the line against the rod with a finger to cast. The ol’ pro also taught D.J. the art of how to “talk” to the fish and entice them to hit her lure. This included spitting on her worm. One hour on the water and this lady could fish with anyone.
Glad I did not guide for a living – I would weigh a lot less. After wearing the water out in honey hole #1, the ol’ pro moved out on the back channel where I had some cedar trees planted. Switching to a Texas rig with a finesse worm, I pointed the boat into the current and had D.J. move to the front deck to make her cast. A couple of casts later, while I was picking up another rod, D.J. said she thought she had a bite. Looking at the rod tip, the ol’ pro confirmed a bass bite in progress. The line was running left across the bow. A couple of times I instructed D.J. “to set the hook” and she looked at me in bewilderment. Oops! I had left out a vital part of my instructions.
Reaching around her, I grabbed her arm and jerked. Not a good move. D.J. was whirled around off the front deck but still standing. Looking up at the ol’ pro, she inquired if that was a demonstration of “setting the hook”. When I told her it was she said it appeared to be a little too violent. But, she still had the rod in her hand and landed her first bass weighing about one pound but less than 12 inches. Without skipping a beat, she had the bass unhooked and holding it for a photo opportunity. This day is not going to be bad at all.
No other bass was to be found on the cedar trees at that location and for the next couple of hours Ms. D.J. and I burnt up trolling motor amps without any bass. Somewhere around a point, I introduced D.J. to football jig head fishing with a “creature bait” as a “trailer.” To get the right feel of the lure, I instructed her to shut her eyes and “feel” the lure as it crossed the structure on the bottom in the shallow water. She soon had the tactic down pat and as they cleared the point the ol’ pro heard his partner scream from the back of the boat. He just knew she had fallen overboard. But that was not the case.
The rod was almost bent double and D.J. was bracing her feet on the Mercury motor and reeling in a panic. However, the 6 lb. plus smallmouth on the other end of the line was intent on going somewhere else instead of our live well. The big smallie tight-walked to the left in three or four jumps and then went right for about the same number of airborne antics. I was instructing D.J. to get the rod tip down, down, down in the water to keep the bass from jumping. But it was too late as the jig went flying through the air. D. J. was catching her breath while saying over and over, “He threw it, he threw it! Let’s go back and get him!” No good D.J., that old boy is heading to the dam because he does not want to deal with you.
Rounding the point we came to a sand bar. This is where D.J. stuck a 5.5 lb. bass on
The lady Wounded Warrior and her big bass of the day.
a Rat-L-Trap. Continuing to work around the slough she picked up four more bass with a total of three keeper bass for the tournament. The ol’ pro hung five bass to her six but could not get a keeper to fill out the five bass stringer.
About one forty-five p.m. I noted rain moving in from across the lower portion of the lake. I advised D.J. we needed to start the 15 mile run back to the harbor to keep from getting wet and to make the tournament 2:20 p.m. check-in. D.J. wanted those two other bass but the ol’ pro prevailed.
D.J. was a Wounded Warrior who was bass fishing for the first time, fishing her first tournament, caught her first bass, caught her first 5 lb. bass, fished for the first time with baitcaster and spinning reel, hung a trophy smallmouth on a jig, and fished an assortment of bass lures for the first time. What more can you ask. But she had not operated a bass boat before and her initial experience riding with the ol’ pro had not been that comforting.
With her cap turned backward, black mask covering the face, and kill switch on, trim down, clear around boat, turn key, rev motor, determine direction, and slap the hotfoot to the floor! The bow rose, boat planed, and she trimmed it up on pad. Rain drops are hitting like bullets, seat and pants are wet, but the lady has it on cruise and headed upriver. With a finger to the left and a finger to the right from the ol’ pro to keep it between the ditches, the Triton flew home.
Arriving at the mouth to the harbor, D.J. brought the Triton off pad with forward motion to keep the water from coming over the transom. When I questioned her about where she learned to do that (not having operated a bass boat before) she responded that she had watched the angler that entered the harbor just ahead of us. That’s what Wounded Warriors are all about. They are conscious of their surroundings, sensitive to any change in their environment, fiercely independent, but a team player and sharp as a tack.
The ol’ pro docked the Triton and “D.J.” Miranda retrieved the weigh-in bag. They headed to the weigh-in tent soaking wet after loading her sack full of bass. When her turn came she was hesitant but presented the weighmaster her bass like a pro. The ol’ pro advised the spectators Ms. Miranda was a Wounded Warrior fishing her first bass tournament and all her other “firsts” for the day. Her three bass weighed 8.13 lbs.
D.J. turned to the crowd and they went wild with applause.
Holding her two largest bass, D.J. turned to the crowd and they went wild with applause. The lady warrior was in her realm and was beaming with pride from ear to ear. Her eyes sparkled, cheeks flushed and she could hardly breathe.
The ol’ pro recovered his boat and said good-bye to the lady warrior and left her with her fellow Wounded Warriors in the weigh-in tent where she could tell the story about her bass just one more time.
I thanked her for her service to our nation and extended my appreciation for her letting me share a day of her life on the water chasing the elusive bass. As I drove down the road I thanked the man above for providing me with the opportunity this a day to give back to the sport I loved, to the youth of our nation and especially to our military members. Hope to see you on the water someday Miranda……… a lifetime of fishing starts with one bass.
PHOTOS AND STORY BY DON GOWEN for SOUTHERN FISHING NEWS
