tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33199835759762689432024-03-13T15:49:31.917-07:00Wishin' I was Fishin'with Shaye BakerUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-76549463238766667402012-02-24T11:31:00.002-08:002012-02-24T11:31:17.997-08:00Check out my new site!For more from Shaye Baker please visit his new website, <a href="http://www.shayebaker.com/">http://www.shayebaker.com/</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-2162106855860347172011-10-06T17:00:00.000-07:002011-10-06T17:00:06.859-07:00Fishing for Schooling Bass in the FallCheck out this piece on how Scott Canterbury breaks down schooling bass. <br />
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<a href="http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/64652/Fishing-for-Schooling-Bass-in-the-Fall">http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/64652/Fishing-for-Schooling-Bass-in-the-Fall</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hHBohF585EI/To5A7_88fVI/AAAAAAAAAF4/piOeVgtuMA0/s1600/scott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hHBohF585EI/To5A7_88fVI/AAAAAAAAAF4/piOeVgtuMA0/s400/scott.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-35700377519508784692011-09-27T11:37:00.000-07:002011-09-27T11:37:43.630-07:00Schooling Spots and Flipping Docks As Summer Begins To Ease on MartinCheck out this piece I wrote on good friend Ben Weldon. Some great insight for fishing in September and October on Lake Martin. <br />
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<a href="http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2403&cid=175">http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2403&cid=175</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X4SM4JHj280/ToIX20Ua0XI/AAAAAAAAAF0/RZcHqQTZQpc/s1600/IMG_6252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" kca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X4SM4JHj280/ToIX20Ua0XI/AAAAAAAAAF0/RZcHqQTZQpc/s400/IMG_6252.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-88779460736479059802011-09-27T11:27:00.000-07:002011-09-27T11:27:38.747-07:00October Ushers Out The Hard Times on Lake HardingCheck out this article I wrote on Lake Harding for Alabama Outdoor News and Georgia Outdoor News. Just click the link below. <br />
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<a href="http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2429&cid=82">http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2429&cid=82</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lg3HCulcpJo/ToIVbNz-8FI/AAAAAAAAAFw/gzVeTfDRAU8/s1600/AU7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" kca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Lg3HCulcpJo/ToIVbNz-8FI/AAAAAAAAAFw/gzVeTfDRAU8/s400/AU7.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-11031309011115309262011-09-27T11:11:00.000-07:002011-09-27T11:28:42.943-07:00Summer Turns To Fall: The Science behind These Bass Fishing SeasonsNew article up on Wired2Fish. Just click the link below to get Greg Vinson's expert opinion as an Elite Series Pro and Biologist. This is my kind of science!<br />
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<a href="http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/64041/Summer-Turns-To-Fall-The-Science-behind-These-Bass-Fishing-Seasons">http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/64041/Summer-Turns-To-Fall-The-Science-behind-These-Bass-Fishing-Seasons</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ABlxbxWBCgs/ToIQ_vjDpbI/AAAAAAAAAFs/nusD9ke5a4w/s1600/IMG_2789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" kca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ABlxbxWBCgs/ToIQ_vjDpbI/AAAAAAAAAFs/nusD9ke5a4w/s400/IMG_2789.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-33347499280376867112011-09-20T11:20:00.000-07:002011-09-20T11:20:18.002-07:00Shallow Water Bass Fishing, Ott Defoe StyleCheck out this piece I wrote on how Ott Defoe sets up and breaks down a shallow water bite year round. Just click the link below. <br />
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<a href="http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/63473/Be-a-Shallow-Bass-Fishing-Angler">http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/63473/Be-a-Shallow-Bass-Fishing-Angler</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VaZSpKVsnvQ/TnjZOtMHl3I/AAAAAAAAAFo/sWR8fl1Fi_4/s1600/ott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" rba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VaZSpKVsnvQ/TnjZOtMHl3I/AAAAAAAAAFo/sWR8fl1Fi_4/s400/ott.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-41584575164546355242011-09-12T08:51:00.000-07:002011-09-12T08:51:51.677-07:00Tom Mann on deep drop shotting.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SxRGszZeI6o/Tm4qWYbShHI/AAAAAAAAAFk/dnriC6eXL_I/s1600/tom_fish_dropshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nba="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SxRGszZeI6o/Tm4qWYbShHI/AAAAAAAAAFk/dnriC6eXL_I/s400/tom_fish_dropshot.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Tom Mann breaks down how to fish deep timber with a drop shot. Check out the article by clicking the link below. <br />
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<a href="http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/62740/Deep-Cover-Shot-Bass-Fishing-Feature">http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/62740/Deep-Cover-Shot-Bass-Fishing-Feature</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-24806198754274058562011-08-29T14:26:00.000-07:002011-08-29T14:26:51.790-07:00How Docktor G OperatesCheck out the latest article I wrote for Wired2Fish on Gerald Swindle. Just click the link below. <br />
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<a href="http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/61566/Docktor-G-Operates-How-to-Fish-Docks-for-Bass">http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/61566/Docktor-G-Operates-How-to-Fish-Docks-for-Bass</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bnpTR0Et_SY/TlwD4D6fQII/AAAAAAAAAFg/e-TDF08Y4WI/s1600/Swindle6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" qaa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bnpTR0Et_SY/TlwD4D6fQII/AAAAAAAAAFg/e-TDF08Y4WI/s400/Swindle6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-12432374579707590922011-08-23T07:21:00.000-07:002011-08-23T13:33:47.693-07:00How to Tame a Wolf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QuXvj8pa6oQ/TlO1wzChYGI/AAAAAAAAAFc/d35RU5fBvmo/s1600/IMG_7036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" qaa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QuXvj8pa6oQ/TlO1wzChYGI/AAAAAAAAAFc/d35RU5fBvmo/s400/IMG_7036.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Check out the latest article I wrote for Wired2Fish on EverStart Pro Randall Tharp. Just click the link below. <br />
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<a href="http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/61351/How-to-Tame-a-Wolf-Fishing-for-Roaming-Bass">http://blog.wired2fish.com/blog/bid/61351/How-to-Tame-a-Wolf-Fishing-for-Roaming-Bass</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-47353250836420249642011-08-10T10:44:00.002-07:002011-08-10T10:44:29.981-07:00An Elite Series Pro Takes On Millers Ferry’s Steamy, Still WatersCheck out the feature I did for Alabama Outdoors News on NetBait pro Greg Vinson. Just Click the link below!<br />
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<a href="http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2382">http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2382</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-77691255274074553162011-08-10T10:44:00.001-07:002011-08-10T10:44:19.006-07:00A Pro Takes On Mitchell’s Summer Jig BiteCheck out the feature I wrote for Alabama Outdoor News on Straight Talk pro Scott Canterbury. Just click the link below!<br />
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<a href="http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2357&cid=82">http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2357&cid=82</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-83557255047620599132011-08-10T10:44:00.000-07:002011-08-10T10:44:08.191-07:00Lake Lanier Spotted Bass with Tom Mann Jr<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Check out the feature I wrote for FLW Outdoors Magazine on Tom Mann Jr. Just flip to page 82 of the 2011 August/September issue. If you are not a subscriber then become one today by visiting <a href="http://www.flwoutdoors.com/magazine/">http://www.flwoutdoors.com/magazine/</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9BB45P8U8M/TkK_uhbbNrI/AAAAAAAAAFU/DblCvEH4dsE/s1600/tom+mann.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" naa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9BB45P8U8M/TkK_uhbbNrI/AAAAAAAAAFU/DblCvEH4dsE/s640/tom+mann.bmp" width="484" /></a></div><div align="left"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-86901111647130477612011-08-10T10:43:00.000-07:002011-08-10T10:43:54.733-07:00Jt Kenney is the Professor of Flippin' SchoolCheck out the feature I wrote for FLW Outdoors Magazine on Jt Kenney. Just flip to page 96 of the May/June 2011 issue. If you are not already a subscriber then become one today by clicking <a href="http://www.flwoutdoors.com/magazine/">http://www.flwoutdoors.com/magazine/</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A0vK3az9xTg/TkLCxtQBXaI/AAAAAAAAAFY/KWsCB51FCIM/s1600/jt.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" naa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-A0vK3az9xTg/TkLCxtQBXaI/AAAAAAAAAFY/KWsCB51FCIM/s640/jt.bmp" width="484" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-69826585625235502072011-06-12T20:17:00.000-07:002011-06-12T20:17:47.235-07:00A Season to RememberHard knocks. Tough breaks. No fun. This year has been slap full of learning experiences. I learned that you can't jump my engine off with jumper cables. Takes too many cold cranking amps. Got to have a jumper box. Had to throw back 15 pounds. That cost me a couple thousand bucks and about 60 angler of the year points. <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I learned that Shimano changed how Power Pro is made when they bought it out and now 50 # braid will break at the boat on a five pounder. A few more points. A few more bucks. I learned that a tie for the last check results in no money. There goes another $1073. I learned that a 22 pound hole on Okeechobee can become a 4 pound hole over night. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But that's just the way the ball bounces. That's just fishing. I knew that when I picked this game to play. Luck is all part of it. Good and bad. I already knew that no matter what you do sometimes things just don't go right. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">However their will be times when nothing can go wrong. When you boat flip that five pounder. When you hit the start button and the engine fires off. When the last check is the least of your worries. And the hard knocks will make victory so much sweeter. </div><br />
The seasons to remember aren't filled with top 10's. Those are the ones to celebrate but the ones to remember have you buried 52nd in points. The ones to remember taste really bitter. They make you question why you spend thousands chasing little green fish around. They make you appreciate the good times. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My first season as a "pro" is done. It did not go how I'd hope and I'm sure it won't at times in the future. But I'm living my dream. I have the opportunity to give it a shot and for that I am eternally thankful. Some valuable lessons learned and hopefully out of the way. I am already ready for January and my next shot. Until then I'll be wishin I was fishin. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Wl6Vvo9Pr4/TfWAUMKuGOI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Jn8_lHF3e_0/s1600/260490_10100246458517021_7025045_50305694_5720474_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Wl6Vvo9Pr4/TfWAUMKuGOI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Jn8_lHF3e_0/s400/260490_10100246458517021_7025045_50305694_5720474_n.jpg" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-48684184051898777092011-05-25T15:37:00.000-07:002011-05-30T13:37:52.426-07:00Honk if you love Lake MartinRunning and gunning with dad on Lake Martin. I was a young boy in central Alabama learning the ropes. I’m not really old enough to have a 'remember when' story but back then a GPS was an even pricier investment than it is now, with less capability and usually handheld. Therefore we didn't have one. But my dad knew Lake Martin pretty well, a little better than the back of his hand, so it didn't really matter. <br />
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I would lie in the bottom of the boat as it skimmed across the clear deep waters. We'd run from one end of the lake to the other, then hopscotch back from island to pocket to creek to island. I was completely lost but he knew where we were and where we were headed. As I grew up I got up from the bottom of the boat and became co-captain in the seat beside him. Learning each turn, island and creek by look instead of name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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He’d let me drive every now and then. I’d run along about half throttle until I was just shy of an unmarked underwater island or about to miss a turn and he'd lean over and point the right path out to me. I'd adjust. He'd say head towards that opening or those islands. Aim for those houses up on that ridge and then go behind the island just before you get to the bank. <br />
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I would have had a hard time in my younger days finding that last turn the other day. I almost missed it anyway. But I'll not likely mistake it again. The pristine houses that were perched with such precision on the edge of the river are no more. Just scattered debris and bare ground. <br />
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Last Saturday was the first time I was on the lake since the bout of deadly tornadoes struck the state in late April. I had been to Tuscaloosa and seen the devastation first hand offering my assistance and a few supplies for what it was worth. But I know just a handful of people in Tuscaloosa and had only been through it once before. Not to down play the unbelievable tragedy there but what I saw on Lake Martin just hit a little closer to home so to speak. <br />
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Houses that used to be land marks, used get from the ramp to my chosen fishing hole of the day. Houses I’d pass on the way to fond memories. I started thinking about the heartbreak that must be felt by the victims on Lake Martin and those who had lost everything in Tuscaloosa and across the southeast. <br />
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I saw a sign coarsely painted in orange spray paint on a set of green doors half on the hinges. Practically all that was left of this house used as a graffiti canvas. A simple statement and a call to action. “Our Sunset will not change. Honk if you love Lake Martin.” It reminded me of the resolve I saw in the faces of survivors in Tuscaloosa who were doing all they could to help their neighbors, friends, and complete strangers. <br />
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It reminded me of America. Of the towers falling. Of Katrina. Of trials and tribulation talked about in the book of James. All the things that have passed and are still to come, good and bad. Of a country with faith, hope and love at its foundation. Mortared together with prayer. <br />
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It reminded me of the good times when I used to run around on Lake Martin with my dad and of those fathers and sons that lost their fishing companion in the storms. Of the mothers without babies and babies without mothers. Families without homes. All the turmoil that is going on in the lives of so many right now. And how divine the line is between the people inside tragedy and the people outside looking in. The storm could have been <metricconverter productid="10 miles" w:st="on">10 miles</metricconverter> further south and would have ripped through my home. But it wasn’t. And it didn’t. <br />
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Now the storm is in Missouri, and the storm still rages in Tuscaloosa. And on Lake Martin. In Louisiana with the flood victims. And in the heart of millions facing storms of all types right now. These storms show us how quickly life can change completely. Treasure every fishing trip. Help those that have lost. Help those that are lost. Don’t try to understand why you’re on either side of the divine line. Just cross it and lend a hand if you can. Honk if you love Lake Martin. And whatever happens never let the sunset change. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #001320;">Matthew 25:40 “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yxNHrHJtWt4/Td2ESD103kI/AAAAAAAAAFI/OHK7mYVST_c/s1600/DSCF5386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yxNHrHJtWt4/Td2ESD103kI/AAAAAAAAAFI/OHK7mYVST_c/s400/DSCF5386.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-34337401678075771952011-05-02T21:12:00.000-07:002011-05-02T21:12:49.115-07:00ConsumedI was fishing when the tornadoes hit. Didn't hit where I was. But they hit. And hit hard. Miles away. But I was fishing. And never really checked up. Consumed by my own interest. Looking back its disgusting. <br />
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I saw some pictures and read some articles. But I was just too consumed with my tournament. I called my family and friends to make sure they were fine. Then I went back to what I was doing. Consumed with my performance there. <br />
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Now I'm home. Watching video after video. Still impossible to grasp. Thinking. About all those who were consumed. By a storm. Now consumed by rubble. Consumed by grief. Consumed by broken futures, broken families, and broken hearts.<br />
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And I'm sitting here tonight with my family. Eating a steak and drinking a Coke. Neither with any taste. They don't have water. They don't have food. They don't have anything to consume. The storm took it all. Mixed it together and threw it back down. <br />
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Now I'm consumed by guilt. Consumed by compassion. Consumed by purpose. As we all should be. Its time to help. I'm headed to Tuscaloosa. Go there. Go somewhere. Go help.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-24419606471859918292011-04-28T20:49:00.000-07:002011-04-28T20:49:55.072-07:00Runnin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eF4yrPIWlF8/Tbo1GqDpYOI/AAAAAAAAAFA/2XLWqGdtmNE/s1600/shaye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eF4yrPIWlF8/Tbo1GqDpYOI/AAAAAAAAAFA/2XLWqGdtmNE/s320/shaye.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Well it's the night before day 2 of the Everstart Series on Lake Eufaula. I was very fortunate on a tough lake today. Had 10 pounds 9 ounces including a 4 and a half pound bite. That's more than I've had any of the 6 days of practice here. Sitting in 24th of 148. This is the worst I have ever seen it. A traditionally great fishery plagued by low water and postspawn funk. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I have no confidence that I can catch 10 pounds here again. And that would likely just get me a check if I did. I'm tired of fishing for a check. The big boys don't fish for checks. Hero or zero. They fish for the win. And you know them. Because they win. Sure they finish in a hundredth place or so more times than not. But who remembers those finishes. No one except the angler himself. <br />
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So it's time to gamble. Make a long run. About 100 miles. One way. To Florida. Lake Seminole. The promise land. At least that's the hope. A pipe dream really. It's full on at 70 mph. Two locks. Looming threat of possible boat trouble. And a ton of other variables. But its time to swing. This is what great stories are made of. Gamblers. Fence hunters. That's where I got to start looking. That's where winners look. To the fences. It's time to swing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-15039598744339277652011-04-10T10:06:00.000-07:002011-04-10T20:18:44.132-07:00Now I sit alone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-alCyt4t0Tlk/TaHjwW4s_KI/AAAAAAAAAEY/H-zcFgjvs5k/s1600/cfd2weigh11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-alCyt4t0Tlk/TaHjwW4s_KI/AAAAAAAAAEY/H-zcFgjvs5k/s320/cfd2weigh11.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Hustle and bustle. Hurry up and wait. Up at 4:45 am to rush to the boat yard, then off to the ramp to sit for an hour while the sun sneaks up over the horizon and burns away the morning bite. National anthem and chills followed by the sound of 250 horses firing off. Cameras flash and film is etched with memories that won't soon fade. The last thing I hear, "Shaye Baker and Jordan Lee your Auburn University Tigers" as we shower down.<br />
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Sprint 5 miles in 4 minutes and then the slowest fishing I have ever done in my life. Grinding it out with the best of them. Fishing has never been so much work. Five keeper bites on day 1, three on day 2, five including one on Joe's last cast on day 3. A grind. Then rush back to the ramp with seconds to spare... an hour before weigh in. Hurry up and wait.<br />
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Put the truck on cruise control and coast back to the arena, wishing it were that simple with my nerves. Bag our fish. Slip back stage and wait it out in the tanks. We're announced. Stage lights sift through artificial fog as the chills return. An arena packed with screaming fans. Once in a lifetime kind of thing. My family there to cheer us on. They erupt as we pull out the biggest bag of the final day. <br />
<br />
The hot seats. The most comfortable seats in the house. For a moment. As soon as the scales tipped in another school's favor they became hard and unwelcoming. Perched back in our boat off to the side I watched as Florida won their second. And I cheered for them. Two friends who love this thing as much as I do.<br />
<br />
Now I sit alone. Friends, family, partner all on the road. No hustle. No bustle. No hurry up and wait. Just sit and think. Process what has happened. Third in the nation. Again. Came real close. Twice. Enjoyed every minute of it. Fished every single day that I was eligible to fish with College Fishing these last two years. Never missed a cut. What a blessing. <br />
<br />
But now it's over. I'd like to thank all that were involved with two of the best years of my life. I won't name all that I can think of right now for fear I'll miss one. But know that if you are reading this then you are one of those I'd like to thank. Whether it's mom and dad or someone I've never met. Because you took the time. And you're a part of this game we all love. <br />
<br />
Thank youUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-6625786642861627462011-03-31T22:01:00.000-07:002011-03-31T22:01:33.601-07:00My Last Hurrah<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wMlHSMMwOZ0/TZVbGZq-v6I/AAAAAAAAAEU/tc0zVxC-Bnc/s1600/IMG_0807a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wMlHSMMwOZ0/TZVbGZq-v6I/AAAAAAAAAEU/tc0zVxC-Bnc/s320/IMG_0807a.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>This is my last hurrah. The final time I'll wear these colors and compete for my university. My last shot to represent College Fishing at the Cup. I embody every worn out cliche right now and I want it so bad I can taste it.<br />
<br />
I was on the verge last year. One pound away. Led. Stumbled. Finished 3rd in the nation with my partner after a 14 month journey. But now I'm back. And there's one last chance to sit atop the college fishing world. To be the best out there.<br />
<br />
The playing field, Kentucky Lake. It's going to take some giant bags. The competition is fierce. I'm not afraid of them. But I do respect them. I'm going up to bat against some future big names in the professional fishing world. But I have a strong partner in Jordan Lee and a burning desire to finish this thing off right.<br />
<br />
I've somehow kept the bad taste out of my mouth. I've been able to see the immense blessing I've been bestowed in spite of the close finishes. We've won one but finished 2nd, 2nd, 3rd, and 3rd. Its a great record that I'm proud of. But if it were enough then I wouldn't be doing this in the first place. No more runner-ups. No more bridesmaids. I'm ready to win the big one.<br />
<br />
Its all going to come down to timing. I'm a firm believer that no matter how good you are, no matter how prepared and no matter the competition, when it's your time it's your time. And when it's not it's not. It wasn't my time last year. Here's to hoping its my time this year.<br />
<br />
I'm not praying for the win. I'm not selfish enough to ask that in light of all the problems in the world today. I'm just preparing, working, hoping. I heard it said once that if you need something, God will provide it. But if you want it you have to go get it yourself. Well I want this. Now its time to go get it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-33409282382480286822011-02-05T23:34:00.000-08:002011-02-05T23:34:44.277-08:00The Legend and the Lure<em>A story is best written the way it is remembered.</em><br />
<br />
Attempting to match his step with my stride, I bounded from one peaked rock to the next. All the while dodging the green ones. He had told me that they were dangerous, though I didn't believe it at the time. Nevertheless I refrained from trespassing as long as my grandfather was watching, venturing out of line only every now and then to test my own waters. <br />
<br />
In one hand he carried a rod and reel. His other a mixture of worms, Vienna sausages, and Cokes all bundled together in a grocery bag. Mine were left vacant for now, needed more for balance than burden till I had gained the experience he had. The water was clear. Like cold air. I was looking down when I hopped to his occupied rock and nearly sent us both into the creek.<br />
<br />
He had stopped suddenly though we were still one straight away from his favorite spot. I peered around him and saw what he saw. Gus Brown perched on the earthen seat just above my grandfather's eddy. Down where the cool water rolled over the big rock and dug out a nice little bed for the good ones to rest. It was the perfect spot. <br />
<br />
Granddad wasn't happy with ole Gus. I could tell not only from his demeanor but also the colorful language he used to describe him. Gus had pestered granddaddy for years wanting to know where he caught all those big catfish. Granddaddy had held out for years too. But Gus promised not to go back, he just had to know, and granddaddy was a trusting sole. <br />
<br />
You can't really hold it against Gus. He meant it when he said he wouldn't go back. He just couldn't help it. He was a fisherman after all. And that desire burnt straight through his fear and respect of my grandfather. But granddaddy looked at me and winked. Said, "Don't you worry sugar boy. Gus's ole lady will be expectin him home soon. When he's gone, we're gonna ease down there and catch that one he's been after all day." <br />
<br />
I had no reason to doubt him. He was my hero and Gus the villain. Why would good not prevail. We eased down the creek bank a little further to a second string hole. I watched as he readied his rod. Plucked the line to be sure it was up to the task ahead, carefully selected just the right weight, tested ten hooks on his fingernail till he found one sharp enough to suit him, then tied an exquisite knot that he could tell I had a hard time following. <br />
<br />
With the patience only a grandfather poses he let his line unravel back through the eye. Then slowly tied it again. Each bend, loop, and twist a masterpiece created from memory. It was second nature to him and an inheritance that I cherish to this day. It still amazes me how he could transfer a wealth of knowledge without a single word.<br />
<br />
Gus had spotted us and was getting kind of nervous. My grandfather was the nicest man alive and all the while a terribly intimidating individual. Old school is what they call it. He'd give you the shirt off his back unless you tried to cheat him out of it. A man worthy of a boy's admiration. And a man commanding the respect of his peers. <br />
<br />
I was doing my part while we waited, catching Alabama's finest swimbait, brim. While I caught the bait he set the world straight. Told me how things should be and how I had the chance to make them that way. It was too late for him and his era. Yep it was up to us. And he had faith. We both knew where each other stood. He steadfast and I in his shadow. It was simple and perfect. <br />
<br />
Gus eased up the creek bank across from us. The path less trod for sure but the loose footing and snaky habitat loomed much less threatening than the close proximity that the normal path held to my grandfather. Like an old dog he kept his head down, daring not meet my grandfather's glare. Had I not been there the roaring creek would have offered little protection from a stern talking to. <br />
<br />
However right and wrong wasn't the lesson for the day. Instead he would teach me about investment once we reached the honey hole. I watched as granddaddy hooked my brim just below its back fin. I had grown quite fond of that little brim and it pained me to see this. But he said it was a sacrifice we had to make. A little reluctant I allowed it. I had faith in him too. He'd never steered me wrong before. <br />
<br />
He stood there for a second, rod in hand just inches from the water. He solemnly stared out over his old friend. It's hard to say what exactly happened during that short time. Maybe he was determining exactly where he wanted to place that first cast. Maybe he was apologizing for betraying that special bend in the creek by showing her to Gus. Maybe he was just saying hello. But there was a definite transaction made. Only he and the creek know for sure. <br />
<br />
The whip of line running through rod guides broke the silence. His weight had just the right fall. That little brim couldn't have hit bottom before his rod tip bounced like it had so many times before. And with a quick grin directed at me he let in to her. Good thing he had checked the line because it now screamed from his reel. That knot was holding up too. Strong enough to bury the sharp hook into the monster's lip. <br />
<br />
I had seen granddad catch allot of fish. But I could tell this one was different. This one was big. Bigger than big. He would always fight the small fish but believed it to be more of a dance with the big ones. The goal, to lead. Make her react to you. Let her lead and she'll reach the current. No stopping her then. Or perhaps she'll head for a deep hole and use the logs to her advantage. Better to deny her the chance.<br />
<br />
I watched my grandfather turn one ounce brim into a thirty pound cat. As he lifted her from the water I could see my future in his eyes. The shine that fish produced would be my salvation and my end. I would catch that fish alongside him for years to come. I've caught her a thousand times already. At school and at work. On the front pew of church every Sunday and eating potluck dinner the day we buried him. Every time I pick up a rod I catch that same fish. <br />
<br />
I sure cherish those memories. Perhaps it’s because that old creek's finally silted in and that old hole's not quite as deep as it used to be. Maybe because my grandfather and I have made our last fishing trip for a while. Or maybe it’s because they help me appreciate the trips I still get to make with my father. It could be that without them I'd have slipped on allot more green rocks over the years. <br />
<br />
There are countless reasons and they're growing by the day. Some days when this life gets a little hectic I wish I was sitting on that old creek bank again. Most days truth be told. I wish I could ask him a million questions. Wish I could just sit there in silence, watching that cork bobbing in the current.<br />
<br />
He made a fisherman out of me, and therefore a storyteller. And as a storyteller I’m not a fan of facts. I think they take away from the feeling. So I must admit the timeline is a little fuzzy. All of it happened. I'm sure of it. Maybe just not in that order. But the pieces were all there. He was my dad's dad and a man's man. He was my grandfather and he called his shot. <br />
<br />
Maybe it’s just an old story my dad used to tell. Or perhaps it happened to you. Did you see my grandfather’s face or yours just before he set the hook? If you felt this story it’s not because my grandfather meant something to me but because yours meant something to you. <br />
<br />
And if you did then you know what I'm talking about. You've been pulled into this same game that so eloquently illustrates life. Right and wrong. Lessons and their benefit. When to dance, when to fight. Faith, patience, investment and sacrifice. A grandfather. His pride in you. The legend and the lure.<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-74817736526327139072010-12-26T18:40:00.000-08:002010-12-27T09:44:54.797-08:00The Date on the Milk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TRjPV7PSuZI/AAAAAAAAACg/omuHmDaQ5sE/s1600/fridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TRjPV7PSuZI/AAAAAAAAACg/omuHmDaQ5sE/s1600/fridge.jpg" /></a></div>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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-10843327739090261312010-12-19T11:11:00.000-08:002010-12-19T11:11:35.603-08:00Life and Times of an Aspiring Angler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TQ5T7rCZuKI/AAAAAAAAACI/7O1HLK8dpbI/s1600/39526_898704985911_7025045_47793899_2017582_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TQ5T7rCZuKI/AAAAAAAAACI/7O1HLK8dpbI/s320/39526_898704985911_7025045_47793899_2017582_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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 <em>office</em> 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.<br />
<br />
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 <em>fair</em> 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. <br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-19521340576097541552010-12-17T12:20:00.000-08:002010-12-17T12:25:12.257-08:00A Man on a Mission<div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TQvFthJir8I/AAAAAAAAACA/aeS_qaCc_DA/s320/Tom+Frink+1.jpg" width="240" /></div><br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">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.</div><br />
And with the extra income that he earned serving his country. You guessed it. Tom purchased a top of the line bass boat. <br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">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.</div><br />
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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-32535192608755548192010-09-14T23:53:00.000-07:002010-11-02T11:40:09.319-07:00Unstoppable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TJBtOV3rFVI/AAAAAAAAABg/cTZHQ9n1zZw/s1600/26376_397469248880_610243880_4039344_2817716_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TJBtOV3rFVI/AAAAAAAAABg/cTZHQ9n1zZw/s320/26376_397469248880_610243880_4039344_2817716_n.jpg" /></a></div>Born in San Jose California. <br />
<br />
Born in Montgomery Alabama. <br />
<br />
2400 miles apart. <br />
<br />
One intriguing.<br />
<br />
One intrigued.<br />
<br />
Brought together by a shared passion and a story.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Life, for most of us, is defined by the adversities we face. Adversities, for few, are defined by those who live through them. <br />
<br />
David Cosner has done what few do. He has conquered his adversity. Made it <em>his</em> 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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Meeting David Cosner didn't change my life. Knowing David Cosner does. <br />
<br />
In the words of my good friend and role model, "Life's to short not to chase your dreams!"<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Thank you God for the last five years of David's life and may he live to fish a hundred more. <br />
<br />
<em>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)</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3319983575976268943.post-11250991244019426762010-09-10T12:24:00.000-07:002010-09-10T15:54:17.627-07:00Toes in the Sand and a Shark on the Line<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TIqDKwgNgUI/AAAAAAAAABY/G-hEvCY6uhs/s1600/34193_1404702637346_1225770203_31238207_7678186_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KdC8gqZfVQU/TIqDKwgNgUI/AAAAAAAAABY/G-hEvCY6uhs/s320/34193_1404702637346_1225770203_31238207_7678186_n.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
What's a good summer job for a college student? Cutting grass? Waitor? Perhaps a little construction work here and there? <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!"<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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."<br />
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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.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>How They Do It</u></span><br />
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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. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?oid=287012570432&view=all">Surf Sharkin Pics</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://surfsharkin.com/">Surf Sharkin Website</a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com