An Elite Series Pro Takes On Millers Ferry’s Steamy, Still Waters

Check out the feature I did for Alabama Outdoors News on NetBait pro Greg Vinson. Just Click the link below!

http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2382

A Pro Takes On Mitchell’s Summer Jig Bite

Check out the feature I wrote for Alabama Outdoor News on Straight Talk pro Scott Canterbury. Just click the link below!

http://www.aonmag.com/article.php?id=2357&cid=82

Lake Lanier Spotted Bass with Tom Mann Jr

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 http://www.flwoutdoors.com/magazine/.



Jt Kenney is the Professor of Flippin' School

Check 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 http://www.flwoutdoors.com/magazine/.

A Season to Remember

Hard 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Honk if you love Lake Martin

Running 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.

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.  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 10 miles further south and would have ripped through my home. But it wasn’t. And it didn’t.

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.   

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.’

Consumed

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.