Gollywompers: A Secret Previous Bait for Big Bass

This story was initially printed within the July 1960 subject of Out of doors Life.

The rim of night time was barely cracking free when Andy killed the motor. “Tie to that scalybark snag straight forward,” he instructed me, as he maneu­vered the boat along with his paddle on this drowned forest off the southern shore of Grenada Lake. Whereas I used to be tying the craft, I heard the swish of a rod and splash of a lure. Andy tapped me on the shoulder. 

“Right here, Bob, do that,” he mentioned, plopping a tender, moist object into my hand. It felt like a fistful of snails, and I recoiled barely. “What’s it?” 

“A gollywomper. It’s dog-day dynamite,” he mentioned, thumbing the push button on his reel into freewheeling. “Inform you extra about it later. A bass has picked up my gollywomper.” 

I turned to look at as one thing moved away slowly, peeling free coils of monofilament from the reel. About six toes scratched by way of the guides, and Andy locked the reel. He waited till the road tightened, then swept the rod again over his shoulder. It arched like a brand new moon. 

“He’s a very good one,” Andy mentioned. “Watch him soar past that cypress log.” 

The largemouth got here out broadside in a burst of spray, enormous and dark-silver within the early mild. He crashed again into the lake and placed on a terrific surge of energy as he tried to tear free. Andy let the rod dip till the tip touched the water. Then he pressured the fish again to the floor, skidded him throughout the log, and fought him to the aspect of the boat. I lowered the online into the low, tepid waters of late summer season and dipped him up —— a tricky, streamlined six-pounder. 

I strongly suspect that Andrew Whitaker, who’s in his late 30’s, catches extra massive bass than every other fish­erman of any age in Mississippi. I do know that’s saying a mouthful as a result of the Magnolia State is legendary for her prolific king-size largemouths, and for the ability of her anglers. Through the previous two years Andy has taken 627 bass weighing 4 kilos or higher. Some 265 had been within the five-pound class, and 72 topped the six­pound mark. All of those whoppers had been taken from Grenada Lake, a 65,000-acre flood-control reservoir close to the city of Grenada, the place Andy lives and edits his weekly newspaper. 

I used to reside in Grenada earlier than I used to be transferred to Tennessee, and I obtained to know the editor in these days. I additionally relished his tart editorials on conservation mal­practices and poor sportsmanship. Regardless that I wish to pattern promising waters over the whole Southland, I’ve discovered north Mississippi’s bassing alternatives second to none, and I return to Grenada to fish at the very least each different weekend. I’m a confirmed largemouth an­gler. That fish is crafty sufficient, highly effective and agile sufficient, and unpredictable sufficient to price my undivided angling consideration. On the similar time, nonetheless, I view with admiration and envy any fisherman whose ways get higher outcomes than mine. 

For greater than a 12 months I appeared on in agony whereas Andy, a lone wolf, staggered in along with his heavy strings of jumbo bass. I stored hankering for an invite to go fishing with him so I might study one thing of his lifeless­ly approach. Lastly, late one after­midday after an extended siege of my daring, blunt hinting, he telephoned my dwelling in Memphis. 

“I used to be questioning for those who’d wish to go fishing with me tomorrow?” he requested. 

“Would I?” I mentioned in as calm a tone as I might handle. 

“Would possibly’s properly come on down tonight,” he mentioned. “Then we will get an early begin within the morning.” 

“I’ll begin packing as quickly as I grasp up,” I promised, anxious to start out the 100-mile drive south on U. S. Freeway 51.

As I walked away from the cellphone, I abruptly wished he hadn’t waited till mid-August to name me. All sane bass and good bass fishermen had agreed to name it quits till the primary cool nights of September. I included an ultralight spinning rod and reel with heavier tools, decided to benefit from any bass that is perhaps silly sufficient to seize my bait within the torrid warmth. If we caught any fish tomorrow, I’d contemplate Andy’s stratagems invincible. 

At 3:45 on the morning after the decision, the jeep lights got here to relaxation on a bit inexperienced boat tied within the shelter of a wooded cove. Andy, grabbing the motor, a bristling fistful of rods, paddles, and a sort out field, strode keen­ly towards the boat. 

“Lower the lights off,” he known as over his shoulder. “Are you able to deliver the remainder of the stuff?” Solely a handful re­mained. 

We putted out of the cove and turned west down the primary physique of the reser­voir. The moonless however starry night time left solely smudgy panorama silhouettes for Andy to steer by, however they had been all he wanted. He opened the throttle, and we ran carefree underneath the cover of crisp stars. 

About three miles down the lake, Andy plunged the boat right into a lifeless forest that had been drowned after the dam was closed. Beneath his professional dealing with, the sled-nosed picket craft twisted and turned and tore its means by way of the maze of rotting tim­ber and underbrush till we got here to that scalybark’ snag. 

Whereas Andy was stringing his first bass of the day, I examined the golly­womper. “This assume appears to be like like a sports-model eel,” I mentioned. “It’s a crimson one, absolutely outfitted,” he laughed. “I pickle and dye the hog cover, and rig them myself.” The pork­rind strip was about six inches lengthy, and it had a crimson and white skirt concerning the neck. The pinnacle was pierced with a 5/0 weedless hook hooked up to a No. 3 willow-leaf spinner. I puzzled if any bass might resist the delectable morsel, and I began establishing my ultralight instruments to seek out out. 

“Might, my spouse, got here into the kitchen one night time and noticed me dyeing pig pores and skin,” Andy continued, tearing the seal off a contemporary sack of North State roll-your-own smoking tobacco. ‘”What sort of golly­womper is that you simply’re making?’ she requested. ‘This can be a inexperienced gollywomper,’ I instructed her, fishing one out of the pot. The title caught. It’s one of the best bait I’ve ever used in the course of the doldrums of July and August when bass are deep and dormant.” 

The lure is completely weedless and, correctly weighted, hugs the underside like a leech, Andy instructed me. You twitch the rod tip, and a flick and flash of the spinner rouses the largemouth from his siesta simply in time to see the fats, fuzzy gollywomper squirming tantaliz­ingly previous his nostril. He thinks it’s the simplest meal he’ll ever get and gobbles it down. 

“You need to give him a bit time earlier than you strike, so he can swallow it, leisurely,” Andy added with a lethal chuckle. 

Andy hadn’t been paying any atten­tion to what I used to be doing, however now he abruptly observed. 

“Wait, Bob,” he mentioned in alarm. “Don’t use that toy rod in right here. It could be like making an attempt to whip a grizzly bear with a swap. These bass are massive and power-packed, and the water is satu­rated with logs and limbs. When one hits, you’ve obtained to wrestle him out of the stuff in brief order.” 

“Oh, I’ll give this a attempt,” I replied casually, however confidently. I’d whittled down some fairly hefty largemouths with that rig. 

“Go well with your self,” he mentioned, sprinkling some North State on a cigarette paper. 

I made my first forged and he mentioned, “Goodbye gollywomper.” 

Virtually instantly one thing moved off with that lure. After I stung him with the hook, which was the extent of the harm, I noticed the bass climb into the branches of a fallen hackberry tree, thrashing just like the nozzle of a free hearth hose. The six-pound-test line popped like a cap pistol and snapped again about my shoulders. Andy’s riotous laughter did nothing to salve my injured emotions. 

Meekly I mentioned, “I’m wondering for those who might spare one other a type of gollywomp­ers to be used on heavier tools?” 

“Check out my outfit, Bob,” Andy mentioned, and this time I took his advert­vice. His six-foot spin-casting rod had a thick, stiff again, tapering to a slim, fast-action tip. “This can be a heavy-duty reel full of a 20-pound-test line,” he defined. “Something smaller can be sawed in two when wrapped round a stump or log with a five-pound bass doing the sawing. I exploit a 4/0 or 5/0 hook, as a result of I’ve had smaller ones straighten or break after a giant bass fouled the road near the hook. Fish­ermen who don’t have the correct sort out don’t take dwelling many of those whop­per bass. I discovered how the onerous means.” 

He handed me one other gollywomper — a white one this time. Andy appeared to have an infinite provide of those masterpieces customary from pork-rind and plastic. This one was mounted on a plain 4/0 hook. The barb of the hook was bent inward to inside 1 / 4 inch of the shank. 

“Received’t this get hung up lots?” I requested. 

“A little bit greater than the weedless hook, possibly,” he granted. “But it surely prices solely about one tenth as a lot and can stick fish that the weedguard knocks off.” 

Andy handed me a half-ounce sliding sinker. “Thread your line by way of this,” he mentioned, “and tie it to a snap swivel. The swivel will maintain the lure from twisting your line. The heavy sinker will drag your bait to the underside quick, proper down by way of branches and brush, and can pull it to the underside once more after it climbs over obstacles. The sinker will provide help to to make lengthy casts with the heavy line, however gained’t in­terfere when a fish picks up the lure. The sinker stays put whereas the road performs out by way of the opening.” 

I knew by now that I used to be within the arms of a grasp, and retooled ex­actly as he really helpful. My medium­weight, closed-face spinning reel was clamped to a springy however highly effective seven-foot rod, my first forged was an extended one into the sting of a log jam. The gollywomper went straight to the underside, pulling 5 or 6 extra toes of line from the reel earlier than I made a clockwise flip of the deal with, partaking the road. I moved the rod tip up and down in little jerks, feeling the bait bounce alongside the underside, then rise and fall over obstacles. When it hung up, I gave slack and tried once more till it got here free. I labored the lure in with out re­sults and forged once more. Out of the nook of my eye, I observed that Andy was watching me intently. 

“I set the drag on my reel in order that line gained’t strip,” he mentioned casually. “I’ve had a reel spill line after I didn’t need it to-just as soon as.” 

With out hesitation I twisted the duvet of my reel so tight that the 20-pound-test line would break quite than escape underneath such stress. Then some­factor bumped my lure. 

“Right here we go,” I mentioned, ​​unlocking the reel and decreasing the rod. The road hissed by way of the guides. I locked the reel, and the rod bent right into a horseshoe. The bass lunged away, and I adopted him with the rod. In the meanwhile that I felt one thing should break, he lastly turned and streaked towards us. I re­coated line like a madman and had the slack on the spool when he veered off to the left. I pumped the rod and he got here out slantwise, sporting the gollywomper like a white goatee. He was virtually as giant as Andy’s fish. I observed that the bass was securely hooked by way of the jaw hinge, and performed him in open water till he was so worn he didn’t even flinch when Andy eased the online underneath him. My companion was clearly happy with me, and I attempted to not act as happy as I felt. 

Within the subsequent half-hour we didn’t increase one other fish, so we moved to a strip of inexperienced cypress timber, swap­ing to bait-casting rods to work the dense undergrowth. After the cypresses we tried an extended, straight row of weathered oaks, after which fished the sting of the lifeless forest, fronting on the open lake. Andy boated one other six­-pounder within the inexperienced timber, and I caught a 5-pounder on the sting of the woods. We launched one bass that weighed three, and one other within the three-pound class. 

“No want to tug that sort of stuff round behind the boat all day,” Andy mentioned. 

As the warmth constructed up, the putting tapered off. The fish took our golly­wompers lackadaisically, in all probability by the tail, and we missed at the very least a dozen strikes. 

We lunched in a patch of cypress shade twice the dimensions of a jeep. It was like stepping out of a furnace right into a freezer.  Between the cheese sandwiches and chilled peaches I mentioned, “Andy, I’ve fished throughout this reservoir and have by no means discovered as many bass as we did this morning. How come? You simply picked locations at random and we raised fish in all places.” 

“What makes you assume I used to be simply choosing locations at random?” he replied, wanting a bit harm. “As a few years as you’ve bass-fished you realize that right now of 12 months the fish are mendacity dormant within the deepest, coolest holes they’ll discover. The topography of this reservoir ought to let you know precisely the place these holes are. Didn’t you discover the perimeter of lifeless willow timber encompass­ing the realm the place we stopped first this morning? The primary time I noticed the round sample of the timber I knew they’d sprouted within the muck of a inventory pond earlier than the reservoir was constructed.” 

I needed to admit I’d seen the willows, however hadn’t obtained the message then. 

“The inexperienced cypress strip,” Andy went on, “marks the course of an outdated slough. The straight line of lifeless oaks had been left alongside a drainage ditch. On the sting of the woods, we had been fishing alongside the deep drop-off into the primary physique of the lake.” 

It was all clear to me now why he hadn’t appreciated my remark about simply choosing locations at random, and I attempted to make up for it. 

“This afternoon,” I mentioned, “what say we attempt that lengthy open chute I noticed reducing by way of the woods east of right here. It should be the route of an outdated freeway. Bass ought to be mendacity within the ditches be­aspect it and are available into the shallows above it to feed.” 

“Now, you’re catching on,” Andy mentioned, pulling the motor with one hand and rolling a shapely cigarette with the opposite. 

After I flung my gollywomper into the left-hand ditch, I didn’t really feel a factor, however the line began shifting away on a diagonal. I set the hook, and also you’d have thought I’d slapped the massive­mouth throughout the face. The ditch erupted. That bass appeared to leap tail first, kicking as if he had a bellyful of exploding firecrackers. He landed in a holly bush, wrapped the road round a stout limb, and jumped once more past it. 

“Give slack,” Andy yelled. I did, and the bass took it. The road grew taut and scraped across the lifeless limb, twanging like a guitar string. “Play him to the limb, and possibly he’ll soar again over,” Andy instructed. It’s in opposition to his ideas to go get a fish; you both work it out or lose it. 

The bass wouldn’t soar. I gave extra slack, fearing he’d tear the hook out or discover a flaw within the line as he flounced violently within the floor water. I cranked him in once more. He made a low leap, and I helped him scramble over the limb. 

“We’ve amassed about 30 kilos of largemouth again right here,” Andy mentioned. “What number of fish do you need to take dwelling?” 

“Just one,” I replied. “My spouse and daughter like fillets broiled in butter.” 

“Would possibly’s properly make it an financial system­-size bass then,” he mentioned. “I’m going to take you to a spot throughout the lake close to Choctaw Touchdown the place I guar­antee you a strike on the primary forged. I believe it’ll be your take-home bass, for those who can out-tussle him.” 

What Andy did subsequent startled me a bit. He raised an umbrella and handed it to me. “It’s going to be scorching crossing the open water,” he mentioned. “I maintain this stuff readily available for lengthy runs underneath the solar and sudden showers.” He unfold one other umbrella for his personal use and we took off. 

As we approached two inexperienced knolls protruding from the lake, Andy idled the motor. “Some terrible massive bass lie in a deep crevasse between these Indian mounds, however they’re spooky. You hook one, and he flushes the others.” 

I let fly with my gollywomper, and it dropped squarely on the goal. I twitched it simply as soon as and the road went slack, dropping loosely from the rod tip and coiling on the water. 

“He’s obtained it and he’s swimming towards you,” Andy mentioned. “Wind within the slack and pop him.” 

I felt the hook drive dwelling, and the bass swapped ends, pulling three toes of my rod into the lake. I loosened the stress and he took about eight toes of line. 

“You’re making a mistake,” Andy sang out. The bass catapulted into the air — a full seven kilos of him, I judged. 

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He crash-dived and streaked across the boat in a widening circle, stripping extra line. Then he headed for a giant pile of brushwood round a jagged stump. I reached for the reel to tighten the drag, too late. He plowed into particles and thrashed it adrift whereas he sawed my line to shreds on the stump. 

“Had sufficient of this warmth for in the present day, Bob?” Andy requested. I favored the best way he mentioned, “for in the present day.” It meant we’d be coming again. He had taught me his lethal strategies, and I had used them to whip the whoppers —— all besides one. Extra necessary, I’d gained a brand new and pleasant fishing companion. 

“I’m able to go,” I mentioned. 

Andy fired his home made cigarette, we raised our umbrellas, and we took off for the touchdown by way of the recent sunshine.