Wrong Time, Wrong Place
—A Success Story
By Jacob Hester
Simply put, summers in South Carolina are HOT with temperatures sometimes rising to the 100-degree mark. For the fisherman, the sweltering climate creates its own set of unique challenges, and at Lake Murray, the warm-bath waters force the fish to dive down deep, in search of relief and sustenance. On any particular summer weekend, experienced fishermen arrive early to beat the heat in hopes of hooking a few bass. As the sun rises, their boats are seen floating in the middle of the lake with their lines submerged in the water.
Thus, it’s no surprise that the idea of going fishing at two o’clock in the afternoon would never cross my mind, but this would not necessarily be the case for my enthusiastic sons, who are nine and six years old. On a bright Sunday morning, I was awakened unreasonably early by the nine-year-old who was practicing with the new “bait casting” reel he had received as a recent birthday gift. When he hooked the crawfish jig in the comforter on my bed, that was my sign to change course.
“Dad, the sun is up. Let’s go!” he begged.
“Bubs, we have church, and your brother is still asleep,” I reminded him.
When a big sigh heaved from his little lungs, I decided to task him with something doable to keep his spirits up. I took him outside, pitched a paper plate in the yard, and suggested, “Son, while I make breakfast, try to hit the plate with your bait.”
As I pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed the canned cinnamon rolls, the back door burst open. Sure enough, the plate was successfully hooked, and his face radiated the
elation of a child who has just accomplished something for the first time. I was filled with pride, but I also knew my time was running out before we had to get out on that lake.
After eating breakfast, attending church, and grabbing a quick lunch, we were finally ready to gather up our gear and head to the boat.
“Dad,” my oldest exclaimed, his excitement barely contained, “I got our life jackets, the sunscreen, our fishing hats, sunglasses, the boat keys, and the safety switch lanyard. I got all the rods ready to go and a cooler packed.”
As I thanked him for helping, a concern arose within my brain: “All the rods?
Sure enough, he had piled every rod we own into the boat, so we spent the next few minutes sorting through them and narrowing down our choices to the ones that were best suited for our task.
Finally ready to go, I turned the key in the ignition, and before we even pulled away from the dock, my son had begun plotting: “Dad, what lure do you think would work best?”
“Bubs, its two o’clock and 900 degrees,” I reminded him, “so we need to be tossing a herring-looking bait at a point somewhere out in the middle of the lake.”
“But, Dad,” he immediately countered, “I don’t want to go out there. I want to go where we saw that one log in the water a few days ago.”
Now, I usually have a good memory, but his description of “that one log… a few days ago” was a little vague. Having grown up on this lake, I could show you where 1,000 such logs might be located, so on that day, I had no clue which one he was talking about.
As my younger son commenced deejaying the sound system on the boat, my oldest climbed onto my lap and assured me, “Dad, I know where it is.”
Slowly, we idled into the lake, and sure enough, after a 10-minute ride, we pulled into a cove where my son excitedly pointed out the area where he wanted fish. With some concern, I noted that the waters there might only be about eight feet deep at the most. Needless to say, I had to contain my this-isn’tgoing-to-work thoughts and, instead, reverted to the trolling motor.
“Dad, I’m thinking I want to throw a crankbait in here,” my son suggested.
Knowing that probably wasn’t the best option, I mildly advised, “You might want to grab the biggest worm or jig in the tackle box because, if there is a fish in here, he will not want to exert a whole bunch of energy into feeding right now.”
Without missing a beat, he scooted over to the container to select a lure. After setting my younger son’s line with a cricket, I then commenced helping my older son find the right kind of bait. As I sifted through the tackle box, I located an old five-inch grub worm attached to a shaky head weight and hook. I handed it to him, and without hesitation, he tied it to his line and flipped it into the water.
A few minutes later, my younger son was calling for another cricket, and as I made my way to where he was, my oldest started frantically yelling: “Dad! DAD!!” As I turned around, I saw that his brand-new rod was furiously arching over the side of the boat as he battled what appeared to be a fish of improbable proportions. In the struggle, he reeled madly, the fish jumped, and he screamed. I ran to assist and almost fell overboard wrestling the monster onto the boat.
At the end of the day, my son was the happiest child on Lake Murray because his dad had helped him wrangle the biggest largemouth bass that he had ever caught on his own. So, the moral of this story is: The next time your son or daughter wants to fish during the hottest time of the day on a South Carolina lake, just do it. Grab the required equipment and muster up some optimism because you might just end up having the most memorable “wrong place at the wrong time” experience you’ve ever had.
