The Date on the Milk

I am now on the verge of departure. The truck and boat both loaded to the brim with clothes, tackle, and other supplies. Christmas goodies, freshly peeled of their wrapping papers. A Sam's run filled the cooler with turkey, cheese, and week's worth of soda and ramen noodles. Ready to ride.

I open the fridge at my parents house to take one last look around, hopeful that a few sausage balls or a slice of red velvet might have survived the onslaught of the holidays. Nothing left. Just deviled eggs and pear salad. Wasted space in my opinion.

Then I notice something. There in the corner. Bathed in frigid light. January 7th stamped on a white jug. The date on the milk. This one carrying a little more weight than most. Not that I'm overly concerned it will spoil before we can drink it all. No, I'll be well over 500 miles away when that time comes and old milk will be the least of my worries.

I'm headed south to fish my first event of the new year, the new career. The aspiring angler in his first quote unquote "pro" tournament. Making the move from pampered collegiate angler to just another fisherman on the run. Going up against some of the same guys that loaned me their boat for a day when competing in the college ranks.

I'll soon move in to my hotel home for the next few days. Eat my dinner on Dixie plates. Practice. Pre-tournament meeting. Then prayer. Not for a win but rather for my acceptance of the outcome be it good or bad. I know I'll compete for two days. Then comes January 7th. Cut day.

I wonder where I'll be when the milk expires. Hopefully gearing up for a top 10 finish against my predecessors. If not, I'll be cleaning the boat out. Getting ready to pay it forward and take a couple new college anglers out for their chance.

Either way I have my family, a warm bed, and more blessings than I can count. Others aren't so fortunate. I thank God for what I have and I pray for those without. I hope everyone remembers the reason, not just for the season, but the reason we're here at all. If I can stay focused on Him, I have faith that everything else will work itself out.

Life and Times of an Aspiring Angler

I walk out of the shop at 2 in the morning, look out at the frozen earth bathed in moonlight and realize I'm this close to living the dream. I hear the crunch of the stiff grass under my feet as I leave the office for the day. It's hard to sleep lately so I find myself immersed in tackle at all hours of the night. Sunny skies and Okeechobee on my mind. My first big event just days out. Days.

Days filled with hard labor at part time jobs and phone calls during lunch to lawyers, accountants, and potential sponsors. Setting up an LLC and making sure that I prevent Uncle Sam from getting more than his fair share. Negotiating deals to say this or do that for a little tackle and a foot in the door. Drained of energy. Money. Though oddly enough happy as a lark.

This is the life and times of an aspiring angler. I knew that coming in. I'm not surprised that I can't even get a hold of both ends let alone make them meet. To expect to this early on would be naive. It takes a little hardship along the way to make a person grateful for ground gained. What does the finish line represent without the race?

Instead I'm happy just to be allowed to dream. And to have the chance to chase a dream, that's life at its best. Sure cliches will come. They will show me how they gained their notoriety. Blood, sweat, and tears will be shed. I will lose the one that got away. I will eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches til I'm sick. I will be down to my last dime. At some point I'm sure I'll sleep in my truck... again. 

But this is my dream. And I dream because I know others are guilty of dreaming too. Important others. Others that are capable of helping another young dreamer's dream along. And I'd hate to know the only reason my dream didn't come true is because I didn't take the time to believe in it. Make the hurried phone calls, toy with tackle at 2 in the morning, fight off the cliches. To think that someone even might be there waiting for a dreamer to come along, well isn't that reason enough?

A Man on a Mission

In 2001 Tom Frink was not unlike most recent high school graduates. He had enrolled at the local junior college and was holding down a part time job working at a tackle shop in southern California. However, Tom was disenchanted with school and really unsure of where his future was headed.

His dream was simple enough. Purchase a nice bass boat and become a professional bass fisherman. Early on Tom realized he had a knack for fishing, winning several tournaments in high school and sharing ideas both on and off the water with up and coming pros such as Aaron Martens and Luke Clausen.

But how is a guy with no set career direction and a part time job supposed to make ends meet, let alone purchase a bass boat capable of running with the big boys? And if he did get the boat how in the world would he find his niche in this competitive and rising sport?

While pondering how he would pursue his dreams he suddenly found himself being called on a mission. Tom, along with the nation, was shocked by September 11th. The military was a viable option he'd been considering all along. Suddenly it took precedence. There was no more time for worrying about school, fishing, or how he would afford either. His country was under attack and he responded.

Tom Frink strapped on his boots and became Senior Airman Thomas Frink of the 823rd Security Forces Squadron. Stationed in Valdosta Georgia Tom prepared for war. Three times he ventured overseas with the Airforce to protect this great nation. His nation. His dreams.

He completed both Army Airborne School and Airforce Sniper School during his time with the Airforce. While deployed he not only worked on base but also off base discovering weapon caches, networking with the locals, and working security detail at the airport.

When Tom returned home he had a better grasp on which step he wanted to take next. And the nation he had admirably defended was ready to help. Through the GI Bill Tom found a way to afford college and through his time at war he found a desired career path. Tom enrolled in the Pre-Nursing program at Kennesaw State.

And with the extra income that he earned serving his country. You guessed it. Tom purchased a top of the line bass boat.

Undoubtebly the perks and pay offered by the military played a part in Tom's decision to join. However, one thing he had no way of predicting was the military's soon to be interest in the sport that he so loved. In 2009 National Gaurd stepped up as the title sponsor of FLW's College Fishing.

Now enrolled as a fulltime student, Tom Frink, along with partner Jake Akin, has qualified for the 2011 College Fishing National Championship. As one of only 25 teams qualified for the championship the duo stand a pretty good chance of winning it all. "It all" also includes a bid into the Forrest Wood Cup, only the biggest event in all of competitive bass fishing. Tom was a man on a mission and it looks as though he may have found his niche after all.

Unstoppable

Born in San Jose California.

Born in Montgomery Alabama.

2400 miles apart.

One intriguing.

One intrigued.

Brought together by a shared passion and a story.

I met David Cosner at the 2010 National Guard FLW College Fishing National Championship. Seems the longer the name the more important the tournament. My teammate and I finished 3rd. He and his finished 2nd. Both falling short while at the same time making immeasurable gains competing in the sport we both love.

I say I "met" David at the tournament. It was in passing. At the ramp. Or at a banquet. A pre-tournament meeting perhaps. Irrelevant really. Nice guy but its hard to get to know somebody in a crowd. In a hurry.

But I remember exactly where I was when I heard his story. When I read the first article about him. When I watched the National Championship playback on T.V. Watched him collapse on the back deck of the boat. Fighting just to breathe.

I'm going to tell you what he fights everyday. For those of you who don't know him. Not to pretend that I have a clue what he's been through. Nor to sum him up as a special interest topic. Something to read about, say that's impressive, then forget. I'm going to tell you what he's been through because not to would be an injustice. To him. More importantly to you. So here it is.

Wagner granulomatosis. An odd gift on your 16th birthday. Undiagnosed, a deadly disease. Doctors caught it in time. If there is a time to find out such a thing. He spent months in a hospital, took countless pills, was punctured by a thousand needles, lost two thirds of a lung and had 58 surgeries. In my 23 years I can remember only 3. Fifty-eight surgeries... so far.

Life, for most of us, is defined by the adversities we face. Adversities, for few, are defined by those who live through them.

David Cosner has done what few do. He has conquered his adversity. Made it his disease. So many of us sit around and complain about such little things. So minute. Let them run and ruin our lives. Five days from 21 David feels better now than he has in five years. He's not cured. But Wagner's does not run his life and never has. David does.

David, disease in tow, fished his heart out the last couple years. Finished Second with his partner, Jay McCollum, in the Texas Regional Championship. After leading the tournament on the second day the duo topped out at 2nd  in the national event as well. And he made the inaugural College Fishing All-American Team. Only 20 college fisherman nationwide were bestowed such an honor.

While all this was going on hundreds of thousands of Americans were lying in hospital beds, slowly giving up. David was getting IV's in a hotel room between tournament days. Everyday people across this country are fighting battles they can't win.

What's gut wrenchingly tragic are the millions of people with no physical or mental ailments. The woe-is-me types. Cursing their blessed lives when they don't get their way. I've been that guy before. I'm ashamed to admit it.

Meeting David Cosner didn't change my life. Knowing David Cosner does.

In the words of my good friend and role model, "Life's to short not to chase your dreams!"

Thank you David for what you've done for me. You have an indebted friend here whether you realize it or not. Happy early birthday.

Thank you God for the last five years of David's life and may he live to fish a hundred more.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1: 2-4)

Toes in the Sand and a Shark on the Line

What's a good summer job for a college student? Cutting grass? Waitor? Perhaps a little construction work  here and there?

How about hooking up with 8 foot sharks from the beaches of Deleware? Now that's more like it. And that's exactly what NC State Bass Pack member Ben Dziwulski does with his summer. He's proven himself in the college bassfishing world competing in multiple national championships and making the first ever College Fishing All-American Team. But what most people don't know is that he's an avid and accomplished salt water fisherman as well.

It all started when Ben was about 5 or 6 years old. "My family used to go to the beach for a week every summer. I saw people fishing from the sand so I started asking them questions and annoying them." And it all escalated from there. A curious kid picked up a rod and one week at a time over the course of 15 years learned. "I started out small. Just catching whatever would bite. But then the baits got bigger and bigger. I got spooled several times and broken off. I heard of someone catching a shark and I freaked. That's what I wanted!"

So Ben researched. His tactics became more sophisticated. His equipment evolved. "I started out casting into the breakers. My biggest shark ever came on a cast into knee deep water." How big a shark can you really catch on a 30 foot cast? Try a 12 foot 1 inch tiger shark! That's insane. But it wasn't enough. "I read online that some guys used kayaks to take their bait out. So I got a kayak and tried it. My numbers increased dramatically."

Paddling 300 yards out with bloody chunks of tuna hooked to a 10 foot kayak over 12 foot sharks may seem a bit crazy. But its just another day at the office for Ben and his two partners, Jon Selfridge and Adam Majchrzak. "I took Jon out with me once and he was hooked. Two summers ago we caught 19 sharks in one week. And 16 of those were over 6 feet! He invited me up to stay with him in Deleware and start a guide service.Then I met Adam at the filet station where I got my bait. He wanted to know what we were doing with all the tuna and mahi mahi carcasuses." Once Adam got the scoop he was all in. So this past summer it culminated into Surf Sharkin Adventures.

At the beginning of the summer it started out slow. Word finally got out and they booked their first guided trip. "On our first night out we caught a pregnant 9 foot bull shark." Biologist estimated her weight at 550lbs. What hapenned next is a testimate to word of mouth advertising. "I woke up the next morning with five missed calls. By the end of the day we were booked solid for like 15 nights straight."

And it was non-stop all summer. It's still fishing though. There's no gaurantee that you'll catch a shark everytime. Although this first summer there might as well have been. The Surf Sharkin trio produced a shark from the beach on every trip they guided. Unfortunately the Shark Surfin has been put on hold until next May. Though the sharks are still biting, school's back in session. Ben's back on campus. Sneaking off as often as possible to wet a line. Settling for freshwater for now.

How They Do It

Heavy duty rods and reels, 80 to 100 pound test monofilament, and huge chunks of bait. They paddle out 75 to 250 yards, drop their baits, then paddle back in. Sit and wait. When the bite comes, war rages. All sharks are caught, measured, tagged, and released as an effort to preserve the sport. On one of their last trips this summer for the first time ever they recaptured one of their previously tagged sharks. If you think you would be interested in some Surf Sharkin action checkout their website below.

Surf Sharkin Pics

Surf Sharkin Website

Fisherman On the Run

This is a tribute. Meant for the self sponsored. Plagued by a burning desire. Chasing a dream. Trading home cooked meals for peanut butter sandwiches and ceiling fans for camper shells. Broke. Exhausted. Determined. It's a tribute, to the fisherman on the run.

Two hands torn and weary eyes
Skin like leather from the sun
Worry that smiles can't disguise
For that fisherman on the run

No bluffing here, the sole is seen
Fisherman's lie won't get you far
The oponents' eyes are to keen
As they zero in on a familiar scar

Tough fishing is a common foe
Amongst all from time to time
Deciding whether to stay or go
Earn a paycheck or not a dime

While running his head is reeling
Risking it all on a hunch at best
It's a gamble on a gut feeling
Putting that instinct to the test

Motor muffles a million voices
All screaming inside his head
Too much riding on his choices
Should have a 9 to 5 instead

Then he could be at home tonight
Helping her tuck in the little one
Worrying now wouldn't be right
There's a job that must be done

With rod in hand he makes a cast
Something just doesn't feel right
There's no way its a fish that fast
Then thump! The line goes tight

Swift hook set does soon reveal
That there's a monster at the end
The line is screaming from his reel
As the fish's will he tries to bend

Struggle seems to go on for days
Giving it all he's got to get her in
Already guessing what she weighs
His biggest since who knows when

Eye to eye the two warriors meet
As he fights to bring her aboard
The mic picks up each heartbeat
While he reaches for his reward

Just like that she's in the boat
Slimy green symbol of success
But still there's no time to gloat
He must hurry to catch the rest

In twenty minutes his well is full
How quickly things can change
The storm of worries hits a lull
As his torn emotions rearrange

The boat ride back is not so bad
Tough decisions out of the way
One thing's for certain he is glad
He chose to run and not to stay

Loaded down he walks the pier
Bulging bag causes him to lean
Thinking this might be his year
A tingle runs through his spleen

Deep breath; he takes the stage
The scales will reveal the weight
It's gravity's pull that they gauge
But they'll also measure his fate

Numbers flash, the crowd erupts
He has finally reached the top
The check, trophy, and closeups
But for a moment he has to stop

Through tear filled eyes he sees
That a line has begun to form
A weak feeling hits his knees
Knowing this is out of the norm

There's still a prize he must collect
From each veteran and young gun
Their handshakes and due respect
All await that fisherman on the run

The Next Huge Smallmouth

If you want to see a novice take a look. When it comes to catching smallmouth it's a shot in the dark for me. I love when I hook up with a big brown back but I just don't run into them that often. So I interviewed my polar opposite on the subject, Stephen Headrick The Smallmouth Guru.

The interview began as a 250 word piece on the Float and Fly for the Livewell section of FLW Outdoors. But five minutes into an hour long talk with "The Guru" I realized I was going to need more paper. We covered everything from the importance of a top heavy bobber, so it will lay over when a big lethargic smallmouth sucks in the fly and doesn't dart off, to the crucial necessity of simply slowing down, allowing the bobber to sit stagnant for 15 to 20 seconds at the time.

However the most interesting part of our conversation concerned Stephen's stomping grounds. He set up shop near and frequents Dale Hollow Lake in northern Tennessee. When I think smallmouth, like most, I've been conditioned for the great lakes to come to mind. But when it comes to giant smallmouth, I found out Dale Hollow is the place to be. I listened in awe as Stephen read from 'The Big Ones', a book dedicated to the record breakers of Dale Hollow.

Most people know that the world record smallmouth, an 11 pound 15 ounce giant caught by David Hayes, came from the cool waters of Dale Hollow long ago. What most don't know is that 4 more of the top 7 all time heavy weights shared the water with her. That's 5 of the 7 biggest smallmouth ever caught. As close to a monopoly as a lake can get.

Location, location, location makes Dale Hollow prime real estate for the next world record smallmouth. History speaks for itself as to whether they live there. The reason? A climate that supports a healthy supply of baitfish and a long growing season for the big ones to bulk up nearly year round. To encourage growth a slot limit is enforced allowing only one fish below 16" and one over 21" per day to be kept. This bold move has made quality smallmouth much more abudant.

Needless to say finding a 12 pounder will be much more than difficult. But if you want to catch 3-5lb smallmouth Dale Hollow is your destination. Make your way by 1 Stop Tackle, gear up and get a couple tips from The Guru, and get on the lake. Just keep it in the back of your mind that any cast could be one for the record books.

Learn more about The Guru at punisherlures.com.