LawVegas
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All right boys and girls, huddle around the fireplace and listen to a tale of piscatorial carnage on
the oceanic waves of the dreaded Saguaro Lake. At 3:30 a.m., I snapped out of bed, packed my
rods and reels, made sure I had enough food and water for a day at the lake and enough tackle to
slay every fish with whom we would come in contact. As I meandered my way out to the
forbidding shoals of Saguaro, I realized, despite my naturally dark tinge, I lacked suntan lotion.
Not wanting to resemble a lobster at the conclusion of our adventure, I stopped at the Baja gas
station where I was given the privilege of spending $12 for a bottle roughly resembling a tube of
Chapstick.
The beautiful calm of the morning was shattered as I realized I lacked knowledge in more areas
than simply fishing. For example, I had no idea there was more than one ramp and, consequently,
which one my guide would be using; I had no idea what Got fish? (aka Darren) or Ken looked
like; I could not even describe Ken’s boat. I immediately envisioned myself standing by a ramp,
any ramp, with a cardboard sign reading “Got Ken?” and weeping pathetically. Miraculously, a
tiny subcompact car whipped by at about 75 mph. I caught a brief glimpse of an abnormally tall
human stuffed into the front seat. When the car finally came screeching to a halt, I boldly
approached the driver, assured him I was not looking for a date (I’m not that kind of “hooker”)
and confirmed this was the beloved Got fish? A few minutes later, Ken arrived and dropped his
boat into the water.
Got fish? contacted Ken first and placed his rod/reel, tackle box and purse (it turned out to be his
lunch) on board sans problem or comment. When the short, but incredibly heavy Hispanic brother
approached, however, Ken became concerned. He commented on the AMOUNT of food I had
brought, the WEIGHT of my tackle bag and whether I really needed that many clothes. He
looked at me and at his boat’s weight rating (again) and finally agreed I would be allowed to go
fishing if I took back my bag, grocery sack, wore only shorts and a T-shirt, and agreed to spit as
often as possible. Done!
After grabbing a few Threadfin Shad that were lollygagging around the dock, we careened across
the glass-like lake, ending up . . . someplace. Ken and I tried for the topwater bite using 3.5"
unweighted Bass Assassins. Gf? wanted to try out some of his fancy tackle and threw out a
jerkbait. Tick, tick, tap, tap . . . Whammo! This monster hawg blew up on that jerkbait; sadly,
Ken hadn’t told our intrepid young friend to SET THE HOOK and it vanished without so much
as a by-your-leave. Knowing how gf? had single-handedly stopped JohnSWA from catching any
fish at all, it was an ominous portent. Shortly thereafter, our luck began to change. I was
dragging a c-rigged abortion brown handpour when a suicidal Walleye inhaled it. Ken nailed a
good-sized LMB and a couple of Yellow Bass. I hit a few Yellow Bass on a Norman crank.
Suddenly, gf? went “en fuego.” He started filling the boat with Yellows and decent LMBs. (We
threw back the LMBs because catching bedded LMBs is muy malo.) We cruised the Snags
without much success and the dragged the coves on the other side.
By now the wind was picking up. Using my superior knowledge, I switched to my confidence
bait (Duh! Spinnerbait, 3/8 oz.) and was appropriately skunked. I also threw out a Yozuri crank
with suprisingly similar results. We saw a coyote and Ken drew down on it, but it crested a ridge
and got away unharmed. We drifted Bagley Flats, seining the water with our c-rigs and cranks,
but no one wanted to play. Ken trolled some Threadfin to make it look like we were still catching
fish and nailed a few more nice Yellows.
By now I was starving (it was almost 10:00 a.m.) so we broke for lunch. Between the wind and
the wake, we were rocking pretty good. Ken taught me how to flip and pitch–and how not to do
so. We learned about the habits of bass, how to tune a crank, the advantages of fiberglass over
aluminum and when to change the lure with which we were fishing. Some of us learned a little
better than others. For example, Got fish? had been steadily using a crank without success. He
switched to a c-rig (altering my reel in the process), while I picked up the crank. He lamented
that I would probably catch something on his crank when he was proven to be a prophet in his
own mind. Our second large Walleye was impaled on the crank. Got fish? also developed a
fishing style we will call GFSW. I’ll let him explain it, but suffice it to say he no sooner employed
it than a monster LMB grabbed hold. He would have boated it, too, if he could just have SET
THE HOOK! “Cross their eyes” is the euphemism which Ken employed.
We also learned that Ken was not kidding when he said we needed a rod’s worth of line as a
shock absorber. If you don’t, you can get hooks stuck in your socks or, even worse, in Ken’s
hand. FYI, this does not put him in a good mood.
It was now early afternoon and we spied the Sheriff’s boat cruising past at 1 p.m. sharp. Ken said
he’d be back by 2:00 and he was dead on. We finished patrolling the reef by the Snags (or is it
the Snags?) and went into the cove itself. We saw a whale swim underneath the boat (Ken
thought it was a good 10 lbs.) but we could not get its attention. Nevertheless, we c-rigged in
about another 4 or 5 LMB before we called it a day. All told, we boated 11 LMB (unbuttoned
maybe 3 or 4 more), 6 Walleye, and 10-12 Yellows. What a great day!
This was a great day of fishing, of education, of friendship. It was an experience that reminds me
why fishing is not a passion, it is an obsession. Thanks Ken and Darren.
the oceanic waves of the dreaded Saguaro Lake. At 3:30 a.m., I snapped out of bed, packed my
rods and reels, made sure I had enough food and water for a day at the lake and enough tackle to
slay every fish with whom we would come in contact. As I meandered my way out to the
forbidding shoals of Saguaro, I realized, despite my naturally dark tinge, I lacked suntan lotion.
Not wanting to resemble a lobster at the conclusion of our adventure, I stopped at the Baja gas
station where I was given the privilege of spending $12 for a bottle roughly resembling a tube of
Chapstick.
The beautiful calm of the morning was shattered as I realized I lacked knowledge in more areas
than simply fishing. For example, I had no idea there was more than one ramp and, consequently,
which one my guide would be using; I had no idea what Got fish? (aka Darren) or Ken looked
like; I could not even describe Ken’s boat. I immediately envisioned myself standing by a ramp,
any ramp, with a cardboard sign reading “Got Ken?” and weeping pathetically. Miraculously, a
tiny subcompact car whipped by at about 75 mph. I caught a brief glimpse of an abnormally tall
human stuffed into the front seat. When the car finally came screeching to a halt, I boldly
approached the driver, assured him I was not looking for a date (I’m not that kind of “hooker”)
and confirmed this was the beloved Got fish? A few minutes later, Ken arrived and dropped his
boat into the water.
Got fish? contacted Ken first and placed his rod/reel, tackle box and purse (it turned out to be his
lunch) on board sans problem or comment. When the short, but incredibly heavy Hispanic brother
approached, however, Ken became concerned. He commented on the AMOUNT of food I had
brought, the WEIGHT of my tackle bag and whether I really needed that many clothes. He
looked at me and at his boat’s weight rating (again) and finally agreed I would be allowed to go
fishing if I took back my bag, grocery sack, wore only shorts and a T-shirt, and agreed to spit as
often as possible. Done!
After grabbing a few Threadfin Shad that were lollygagging around the dock, we careened across
the glass-like lake, ending up . . . someplace. Ken and I tried for the topwater bite using 3.5"
unweighted Bass Assassins. Gf? wanted to try out some of his fancy tackle and threw out a
jerkbait. Tick, tick, tap, tap . . . Whammo! This monster hawg blew up on that jerkbait; sadly,
Ken hadn’t told our intrepid young friend to SET THE HOOK and it vanished without so much
as a by-your-leave. Knowing how gf? had single-handedly stopped JohnSWA from catching any
fish at all, it was an ominous portent. Shortly thereafter, our luck began to change. I was
dragging a c-rigged abortion brown handpour when a suicidal Walleye inhaled it. Ken nailed a
good-sized LMB and a couple of Yellow Bass. I hit a few Yellow Bass on a Norman crank.
Suddenly, gf? went “en fuego.” He started filling the boat with Yellows and decent LMBs. (We
threw back the LMBs because catching bedded LMBs is muy malo.) We cruised the Snags
without much success and the dragged the coves on the other side.
By now the wind was picking up. Using my superior knowledge, I switched to my confidence
bait (Duh! Spinnerbait, 3/8 oz.) and was appropriately skunked. I also threw out a Yozuri crank
with suprisingly similar results. We saw a coyote and Ken drew down on it, but it crested a ridge
and got away unharmed. We drifted Bagley Flats, seining the water with our c-rigs and cranks,
but no one wanted to play. Ken trolled some Threadfin to make it look like we were still catching
fish and nailed a few more nice Yellows.
By now I was starving (it was almost 10:00 a.m.) so we broke for lunch. Between the wind and
the wake, we were rocking pretty good. Ken taught me how to flip and pitch–and how not to do
so. We learned about the habits of bass, how to tune a crank, the advantages of fiberglass over
aluminum and when to change the lure with which we were fishing. Some of us learned a little
better than others. For example, Got fish? had been steadily using a crank without success. He
switched to a c-rig (altering my reel in the process), while I picked up the crank. He lamented
that I would probably catch something on his crank when he was proven to be a prophet in his
own mind. Our second large Walleye was impaled on the crank. Got fish? also developed a
fishing style we will call GFSW. I’ll let him explain it, but suffice it to say he no sooner employed
it than a monster LMB grabbed hold. He would have boated it, too, if he could just have SET
THE HOOK! “Cross their eyes” is the euphemism which Ken employed.
We also learned that Ken was not kidding when he said we needed a rod’s worth of line as a
shock absorber. If you don’t, you can get hooks stuck in your socks or, even worse, in Ken’s
hand. FYI, this does not put him in a good mood.
It was now early afternoon and we spied the Sheriff’s boat cruising past at 1 p.m. sharp. Ken said
he’d be back by 2:00 and he was dead on. We finished patrolling the reef by the Snags (or is it
the Snags?) and went into the cove itself. We saw a whale swim underneath the boat (Ken
thought it was a good 10 lbs.) but we could not get its attention. Nevertheless, we c-rigged in
about another 4 or 5 LMB before we called it a day. All told, we boated 11 LMB (unbuttoned
maybe 3 or 4 more), 6 Walleye, and 10-12 Yellows. What a great day!
This was a great day of fishing, of education, of friendship. It was an experience that reminds me
why fishing is not a passion, it is an obsession. Thanks Ken and Darren.
