Coming Home

From where I live in southwest Georgia, it’s close enough to the Gulf of Mexico to occasionally catch a whiff of salt in the air. The Gulf is where my friends and I bottomed fished for grouper and snapper, and it’s where chased redfish and trout on the flats. It’s our playground and sanctuary.

In June of 2020, people were still more afraid of COVID-19 than they were exhausted from hearing about the new disease.

News reports showed body bags, and disturbing graphs, while officials and media offered little in the way of encouragement. Stores, businesses and even places of recreation were shut down to the public.

People forget now, but in the early days of COVID, much of our access to the Gulf was also cut off. Florida Sheriffs had shut down several boat ramps.

Without a gateway to our place of peace, with all the stress and bleakness, some of my friends and I were truly going crazy.

My friend Adam Clark offered a solution. We had both grown up pond fishing near our homes like junior Bill Dances. It was only the prospect of bigger, badder fish that brought us out of our bass cocoons and took us to the salt.

Adam suggested it was time again to break out the dusty baitcasters and spinnerbaits. Adam knows everyone in Grady County, and with his connections, and my access to a few humble family farm ponds, we made a mission of hitting as many as we could. Most of these spots were small, 2 acres or less, and shallow. Like most ponds throughout this part of the state, they were the color of coffee mixed with half and half, and many were filled with stumps and grass. They were surrounded by cow pastures, pecan orchards or fields, and home to water turkeys, moccasins and turtles in abundance.

The author (right) and his friend Adam Clark used the COVID restrictions to reconnect with a childhood joy of fishing small lakes and ponds near their south Georgia homes.

We made it a practice of getting together every Saturday or Sunday afternoon and trying a new spot. There was nothing high-tech about it. We fished out of jonboats as we had when we were younger. Occasionally we got fancy and brought a trolling motor. The baits too were usually the same for each pond—Trick Worms, flukes, frogs and worms.

Mostly, we caught small bass, sometimes a 3- or 4-pounder, and once a really nice one. That bass was caught at one of the first ponds we fished. I remember it was overcast that day with a little wind, perfect for fishing. We’d caught several on spinnerbaits, and I had switched to this vibrating worm in green pumpkin.

We’d been pounding the bank most of the afternoon and a section of a grassbed on the west end of the pond. We’d moved back to the east end, and I made a cast toward the middle of the pond where I had noticed a big rock before. The fish nailed it and was so big I thought I was hung for a moment.

The fish moved though, and I knew what I had. I hollered and Adam watched reminding me not to hoss him too much. The bass circled the boat twice, and then I saw him. I thought he was 12 pounds at least.

Carefully, Adam netted him and laid him in the bottom of the boat. As soon as he did the hook fell out of his mouth. We looked at each other and laughed, and I looked at the fish. I then knew immediately that he wouldn’t reach double digits, but still it was a nice fish. He was a little over 8. We released him. That bass reminded me that the big ones are different than the average.

As the year rolled on, things began to open up. Adam and I eventually got back out to the Gulf.

I’ve not forgotten though, that COVID summer, when it seemed the world was coming apart. It was fishing that helped keep me sane. The same type of fishing I’d grown up doing. It was kind of like coming home in a way, and when things get crazy all around, it’s home you come back to.

The bass weren’t always big, but the simple joy of fishing was special.