When not dreaming of the Big Strike, bass fishermen are forever trying to hook their friends on Micropterus sal-moides, the wily and voracious largemouth bass. Such was the case when Correspondent Sam Iker, a self-certified "bass nut," lured Associate Editor Ray Kennedy to Dunnellon, Fla.. for a long weekend of fishing on the Withlacoochee River. Kennedy's report:
The shoebox under my arm contained a tangled reel, a 25¢ red-and-white bobber and a dozen rusty hooks —the remnants of a summer of bluegill fishing with the children. Anglin' Sam came armed for an amphibious invasion. As he checked out his gear with John Wilhelm Sr., one of Florida's foremost bass fishermen, Sam unpacked armfuls of monogrammed rods and gleaming reels, a stack of Bassmaster magazines and a tackle box as big as a footlocker. Unfolding like a Chinese puzzle, the box was crammed with all kinds of hardware, first-aid supplies, rod cement, hooks, hook sharpener, pork rinds, floaters, stringer, sinkers and shelf upon shelf of popeyed flies, silver spoons, plastic worms, rubber frogs and fake snakes. "You forgot your harpoon," said John.
What is so special about the largemouth bass? I asked. "They'll battle you all the way into the boat and then bite your leg," said John. "They'll hit anything that moves," said Anglin' Sam. "They'll gulp down crawfish, rice birds, ducklings, water moccasins—anything," said John. "They're the smartest, most unpredictable and most sought-after fish in the world," said Anglin' Sam. "And they taste good," said John.
When I asked for a few tips, John offered to show me the proper way of baiting up on the river. He cupped a lure in his hands and turned his back. I said I couldn't see what he was doing. "Exactly!" he exclaimed. "Neither can the bass. You let one of those Withlacoochee monsters see your bait, and they'll jump up and snap it right put of your hands."
Local Monster. No one in Dunnellon, a lazy, little (pop. 1,146) inland town near Ocala, is above the Chamber of Commerce come-on. The town bills itself as the "Home of the World's Largest Bass," and everywhere from the Dinner Bell Restaurant to Bass Galore Village ("Fishing Headquarters, U.S.A.") are mounted specimens to prove it. Up at Joe L. Cobb Inc., Realtors, Joe has a photograph on the wall memorializing the morning he and a friend boated 18 bass totaling 124 Ibs. in "2½ wild and wonderful hours." Down at Bucky's Sports Center, the natives tell of the local version of the Loch Ness monster, a wicked old mossback called "Ol' Geronimo," who "goes 30 Ibs. if he's an ounce." * Next door at the Belair Resort, Proprietor W.C. Jefferson laments the passing of Charlie, an 8-lb. pet bass that would nose up to the motel's dock for lunch. When one native let it drop that he had recently pulled a 16 pounder out of a "special hole" in the river, Sam's eyes pinwheeled. "Where's the hole?" he demanded. "Where?" The native just smiled.