June 26, 2003
by Chris Feeney
Now while I am not on the professional BASS tour nor have I ever even won a fishing tournament, I have always considered myself a pretty good fisherman. I guess one could argue that a lot of that simply is the company I keep (which I guess would be an insult to all of my family and friends that have ever served as my fishing partners) but whenever I go fishing I always seem to do pretty well compared to those around me.
Well on Sunday evening I got a little wake up call. I headed down to the pond to try my luck. I had a couple friends join me and we went to work on the bass. I was doing pretty well, I caught about a dozen or so decent bass. They were in a little boat and had pulled around the corner out of my sight. I didn't hear much out of them so I assumed I was one or two fish up on them. Finally I wandered around the bend to see how things were going. I was starting to wonder if the boat was stuck because they hadn't moved in over an hour.
After I witnessed them drag in five fish in as many casts I realized why they were anchored back in the cove. I moved a little closer to their honey hole but I was unable to reach the good spots from the shore. I was beginning to get a bit discouraged. That's when all the hooting and hollering started up at the farmhouse. I heard grandma and mom hollering and then the kids joined in. I was wondering who got pushed into the cold water in the swimming pool, and besides I was tired of reeling in moss while the bass kept jumping into the boat for the other guys so I excused myself saying I should probably go see what was wrong at the house.
When I pulled up in the truck the place was quiet as could be. Finally I found grandma and grandpa on the back porch with the digital camera. They switched over to the view screen and startled me with a photo of my eldest daughter, Abi, standing next to a bass nearly as big as she is. It seems like mom took the two youngsters down to the pond next to the house. That's where all the noise came from as everyone was screaming when that big old lunker grabbed hold of Abi's lure and nearly pulled her in. She muscled the bass in to the moss line where momma had to help her get it to shore through the brush.
Of course Abi was no where to be seen now as she had immediately headed back down to the fishing hole after the photo opportunity. She was back at it trying for another fish when I walked down to congratulate her. But before I could utter a word she chimed in asking me "Daddy where's your fish?" and "How come you don't ever catch big fish like mine?" She proceeded to rub my nose in her accomplishment, inadvertently I'm sure, as she told me the whole story about her big catch. So there sat the accomplished fisherman alongside his three-year-old daughter. Humility is taught in strange ways.