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   Everything is competitive. Even things that are meant to be relaxing, such as fishing, can be made a competitive sport. On Friday night, our grandson, Zane, decided we needed to have a fishing tournament. He and our friend, Pat, would be on one team and his dad and I would be on the other. There were to be two categories; most fish caught and smallest fish. I felt fairly confident as both Damon and I are very proficient fishermen. I have the added advantage of usually catching a fish or two that is too small to eat unless a person is going for sardines.

   Damon and I discussed our starting time, deciding on fishing early before it got hot. Saturday was supposed to be clear, sunny, hot and humid. When Damon showed up at my place on Saturday morning, Zane was still in bed asleep, and nobody had heard from Pat. We had a quick cup of coffee and headed for the lake. Damon tried a few casts from shore but cleaning off his hook after dragging it through the six-foot-wide weed bed that ringed the lake took more time than casting and retrieving. We jumped in the boat and headed out. Casting back toward shore worked much better. Fish were hiding in the weed bed and would come out into clear water to strike. Every few minutes, Damon would pull in a bass this way on his spinner bait. I was working with Mister Twister type plastic grubs. Working them near the surface was not getting any bites. I tried diving them deeper and was only able to snag onto the weeds that were growing from the bottom in the deeper water. I could see all the way to the bottom and could watch fish chase my lure, they just would not bite it. Every few minutes, I changed lures hoping to eventually run across something that would make them strike. I tried everything in the tackle box, even my wife’s favorite gray floating mouse. I ended up with one bluegill for the day when we finally came back to shore. Damon caught ten bass and one crappie. One little bass was about the same size as the lure he was using. It must have been very hungry to try to eat something as big as it was. I felt fairly confident in our results, though I did not contribute much to the team effort. Eleven fish was not a bad haul, and it would be difficult to catch a smaller fish than the little bass.

   We had about as much fun as we could stand and were back on the porch when the other team finally showed up. It turned out that Pat had to work until about four a.m., about the same time Zane had gotten in from training a coon hunting dog. They were slow to motivate but finally headed out for their competitive round. Damon and I sat on the porch drinking coffee in the shade while Zane and Pat were out in the direct sunlight in the boat as the day grew warmer. They worked at it for longer than I would have but did have some luck. Between the two of them, they caught forty fish, mostly bass. When they got back to the house, they were still not too energetic but did have the satisfaction of claiming the prize for most fish which consisted of a “congratulations”. We are not big on trophies. Even though Damon’s fish won the smallest award, I do not think he is going to have it mounted. Damon and I were ready to get on with doing something constructive for the rest of the day. I think the other team was going home and going back to bed.

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