The Fishing Guides – Bass Tracker Boats
When I first went out to Rockwall, Texas and bought my house, located suitable on the eastern shores of Lake Ray Hubbard, in 1993, I thought that I had died and gone to heaven. Never in my life did I really believe that my goal of living along side a lake would be achieved, but here I was, with living proof that your dreams are attainable.
Lake Ray Hubbard is a reservoir located in Dallas, Kaufman, Collin, and Rockwall County. The lake, constructed by the Army Corps of engineers, was built as a water source for the North Texas region, and covers an area of approximately 25,000 acres. The project was started in 1964, impounded by 1968, and reached maximum perform extent by 1970. Being within twenty-five miles of downtown Dallas, the lake has become a recreational haven for those seeking to sailboat, jet-ski, fish, or simply go for a swim. (The lake serves as a training ground for aspiring sail boaters, and has even spawned an America’s Cup winner.)
I myself, being an avid fisherman, was more concerned with exploring the nooks and crannies of the lake in search of fish. I soon found out that the spacious reservoir offered an ample population of striper, hybrid striper, white bass, largemouth bass, channel catfish, blue catfish, and crappie. My favorite pursuit soon became chasing the colossal schools of hybrids, and white bass (sandies) that roamed the waters. Once I located the circling gulls with my binoculars, I would spin it upwind of the birds, and start flinging my favorite slabs down to the bottom. The result was usually non-stop action, with fish hitting on every throw. No matter how many times I did this, I would become excited like it was my first time. The only problem that I had was navigating my aluminum Bass Tracker when the winds were high. The thirty horse hand-guided Mercury motor, with a pull cord, was ill-equipped to deal with the white caps generated by thirty mile an hour plus wind gust. I would often find myself locating the birds off in the distance, and by the time I battled the winds and waves to get there, the fish were done feeding. In the meantime, I would watch as the fishing guides in their fancy bass boats, blew past me and reaped the benefits for their clients. Since I had spent all my money on my house, I could not upgrade my boat, without the threat of death from my wife; so I sucked it up.
I had read a fishing describe in the Thursday Dallas Morning News that the fish were schooling on the south end of the lake advance the power plant. I immediately called up my Uncle Don, who often had the fish-itch much like myself, “Hey, the fishing are hitting on Hubbard; are you ready to drown a few worms? ” I questioned.
“You bet─tell me when and where, and I’ll be there,” he said.
“Meet me tomorrow morning at six o’clock at the Harbor Bay Marina, and we’ll go fish the lake out.”
“What about work? “
“Screw work!”
“I’ll be there.”
When I arrived the next morning my Uncle was rarin’ to go. We loaded the boat with our poles, tackle boxes, landing net, and last but not least, our coffee thermos. Plunking the tin can into the grey-green waters of the lake, I pulled the rip cord and the nautical lawn mower motor responded with a purr. “We’re out of here,” I said.
Guiding the boat under the I-30 pylons, we made our way to the south end of the lake were the power plant was located. As soon as we passed through the bridge we were bombarded by three foot white caps being generated by thirty mile an hour wind gust. Water shot over the side of the hull, and we were instantly drenched. “This could get hairy,” I said. “Are you ready to risk your life in order to catch some sand bass? “
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Then get ready.”
I grabbed my binoculars and tried to stand up, in an effort to spot the birds, but was nearly thrown into the water by a violent wave. Sitting down, I peered towards the power plant and spotted the birds, with several boats juxtaposed close to the action. “There they are!” I yelled, “the fish are schooling by the plant.”
“That’s about a mile away,” my uncle said.
“Say your prayers; we’re going for it.”
I turned the throttle full thrust. “Hang on,” I said. The boat bobbed up and down as we slowly chugged along, fighting the south winds. Fishing guides had also noticed the action and started zipping by us with their fancy two hundred horse bass boat rigs.
“Those sons of bitches just dusted us,” my uncle said.
“That’s alright, there’s plenty of fish for all of us,” I answered.
By the time we arrived the fishing frenzy had stopped and the boats had begun to disperse. I watched as a jovial group of fisherman high-fived each other while taking pictures of the fish they had honest caught. As we passed the boat I saw the name “Johnny Pro” stenciled on the side.
“Can you own that guy will charge those chumps two hundred dollars for a half day of sand bass fishing? ” my uncle said to me.
The light bulb lit up!
“Hell, we can do that,” I said, “all we need to do is come out here during the middle of the week when the lake is empty. We can fill this boat with fish, and get paid for it. Let’s go obtain some cards printed up and start our possess guide service!”
The cards were printed and tacked to the bulletin boards of all the local tackle shops. Within a week, we had our first call. An elderly man wanted to go out for a half day of fishing. “What kind of fish do you want to catch? ” I questioned.
“Don’t matter─just want to catch some fish.”
“Meet us at the Harbor Bay tomorrow morning at six sharp.”
“We hand landed our first client and excitement filled the air as we prepared the boat for our first guided fishing excursion. “Can you believe that we’re going to go fishing and accept paid for it? ” I questioned my uncle.
“It’s like I died and went to heaven,” he answered.
We gerry-rigged an extended bass boat seat and mounted it to the front of the Bass Tracker. “When that ancient boy gets up here and we get on those fish, he is going to have the time of his life,” I told my uncle.
The next morning we picked our client up at the pier and headed out into the dusky, misty air. I had come equipped with my binoculars so that I could scan the horizon for seagulls, but couldn’t for a single bird. We puttered around the lake for nearly four hours without locating a single school of fish. “Don’t concern, we’ll be on fish soon,” I said, as I started to break into an anxiety sweat. “Let’s go grab some of those huge, stout, grease-burgers from Doc’s, and then we’ll continue to fish─We’ll get the burgers to go, so that we don’t ruin any time.”
“Sounds excellent to me,” our client agreed.
My uncle and I entered the lakeside establishment and placed our order. “What are we going to do if we don’t if we don’t get this guy on any fish? ” I questioned my uncle.
“I suppose we could throw him in the lake, so that he can sleep with the fishes like they do on the Sopranos─we can’t afford any negative publicity.”
The clerk came out of the grill and handed us a paper bag with the burgers inside (the grease from the meat was already dripping from the oil-stained sack). “That will be ten dollars gentlemen,” she said.
We quickly made our blueprint back to the dock, got into the boat, and continued our hunt. After my second bite from the burger, I looked up and saw hundreds of gulls attacking the water. “Thar she blows! Full speed ahead,” I shouted to my uncle, who now manned the engine. The client, still seated in the extended bass seat in the front of the boat, grabbed his rod with one hand, and continued his assault on the burger with the other. My uncle, with grease dripping from his chin and oozing from his fingers, turned to full throttle and headed towards the schooling fish. The engine was maxed out at twenty-five miles an hour, when disaster struck. My uncle’s grease coated hand slid off the steering guide, and the boat took a severe right angle. I looked up and saw our client flying horizontally through the air like Superman without his cape. “What the F……..!” he screamed, with a contorted stare of horror frozen on his face, while still grasping the burger, before doing a head plant in the lake. I turned and looked at my uncle, “What the hell was that? “
“Oops,” he said, “I guess we don’t have to distress about throwin’ him in the lake anymore.”
