We started a small bass club out of the Sauk Valley area and held tournaments on Pools 12, 13, and 14, plus a few lakes like Shabana, Carlton, and a lake near Milan. We helped each other learn the basics, but most of the guys kept fishing the same spots year after year. No exploring, no new water, no new ideas.
I was different. I was out there pushing into shallow backwaters, stump fields, and places everyone else avoided. I worked hard, push‑poling into areas most guys wouldn’t bother with. And it paid off.
At the end of the year, when I fished with them again, trouble started. I began winning, and suddenly everyone wanted to know where I caught my fish. But they weren’t pulling their own weight. I helped for a while, but it got old fast when they contributed nothing and just fished the new spots I found. I wasn’t their hunting dog. So I decided I’d start fishing bigger circuits.
That led to the last tournament of the year – the Classic.
I had fish in two areas: one spot everyone knew, and another tough area I’d been picking apart. One club boat had already followed me there once. The day before the tournament, I checked my second spot. Most of the fish were gone, but I found where they moved – and they were stacked. I caught one, had another hit, and left them alone.
I told my long‑time fishing partner, Kevin, I think I found some big fish. I agreed to tell him exactly where if he agreed to come get me as soon as he had a limit. That was the deal.
Blast‑off went exactly how I predicted: boats followed me wherever I went. Fishing was slow, just small keepers in the first spot. Around noon, with three hours left, Kevin idled in and signaled he had his six fish.
I headed to the spot and saw one boat already back in there trying to find fish. I went past him and headed to the new spot I’d found. It was a point with high, muddy river water pushing current across it, baitfish everywhere.
First cast: a three‑pounder. Second cast: another big fish. I ended up with four three‑pounders!
Kevin showed up. I was relieved he kept our agreement. If he had broken it, he could’ve won, and that would’ve ended our friendship and end of me showing him new spots I kept finding.
He wanted to fish the spot to upgrade his small fish, so I let him have it. I moved out to the main lake, hit another point, and caught another bass over three pounds! I yelled, “Kevin! Over here – I found more!” and let him have that one too. I already had my limit of 3½‑pounders, which is huge for the Mississippi River.
That other boat was still lurking around and heard me yell. When we left for weigh‑in, he moved right in. He never showed up at weigh‑in because he never caught a fish all day.
Everyone was waiting for us. Kevin weighed his six fish – 12 pounds. Then I pulled mine out. I had so many big fish they barely fit in one net, so I used two nets stacked together in case one broke. My six fish weighed 22 pounds!
They hated me for it.
One guy jokingly grabbed a shotgun from his trunk and pointed it at me while saying something about how he knew one way to beat me. I didn’t find it funny.
They asked where Andy went. I said he moved in on my spot when I left. One guy got so mad he wanted to fight me for saying that. He jumped in his boat, raced out there, and came back with his head down – because Andy was exactly where I said he’d be.
At the Classic party with the wives attending, they paid me my winnings and gave me a “trophy” the shotgun guy’s mom made: a gold statue of a hand giving the bird.
That was my trophy.
I didn’t have much to do with those guys after that. I moved on and fished the Great Plains Bass Red Man circuit with my partner, little Kevin.