(Editor's note: Rob Newell is a longtime freelance outdoor writer who covers freshwater and saltwater fishing. BassFans likely recognize him best for his massive, excellent body of work on FLWOutdoors.com.)
Worried about the future of tournament bass fishing? Yeah, welcome to a sentiment that seems to be running rampant.
Without a doubt, the last 18 months in our beloved sport have been harrowing. Stagnant boat sales, endemic bankruptcies, deep cutbacks by sponsors, contractions by major tournament organizations, longtime pros leaving the sport – the depressing list of impacts to tournament fishing seems to grow daily.
Each week I speak with professional bass anglers who are at wit's end as to what to do – either hang on and hope things improve in the industry, or go find something else to do for a living.
As a freelancer covering tournament fishing I'm very familiar with these internal struggles. Much like a professional angler, my living is tied directly to the overall health of our sport and consequently I haven't been immune to the economic bursting of the bubble either.
Indeed, for those of us who cherish this sport, the uncertainty of the sport's future has eaten us alive. Personally, this past fall was filled with many sleepless nights too. I haven't had any fingernails since September – I've chewed them to nubs.
Back in November, as I grappled with the reality of having more free time in 2010, I decided to do something I haven't done in a long time: I entered a few tournaments – specifically, the co-angler division of the Bassmaster Southern Opens.
I used to fish a lot more tournaments back in the day, especially as a co-angler, and I relished every minute of it. In fact, I arrived at the doorstep of outdoor communications through the love of tournament fishing. But when professional fishing reached a fevered pitch in 2007, I bowed out of the back of the boat to cover more FLW Outdoors tournaments and handle more freelance writing gigs. My rods and reels gathered dust as I invested my resources into new digital cameras, computers, software and video equipment to cover the sport I love.
So last week I blew the dust off the old sticks, spooled up some fresh line on my reels and headed south to Lake Okeechobee for the first Southern Open to get back out on the water with my fishing heroes and friends.
I promised myself to set aside my obsessions about competitive fishing's future and just enjoy it like I used to. In short, what I found at the Big "O" was Big Medicine for what has been ailing me for the last few months.
Thanks to one lucky pitch in the reeds and an ensuing 5-pound bass that thrashed its way out of the matted reed clump and into the boat on day 1, combined with a few keepers on day 2, I earned a ticket into the Top-30 cut on day 3.
My pro partner on day 3 was none other than Davy Hite, as in two-time BASS Angler of the Year, past Bassmaster Classic champion and past Forrest Wood Cup winner Davy Hite. Yep, for the first time in a long, long time, I was totally amped out of my mind to go fishing again.
As Hite and I headed out across Okeechobee on that final morning, a sunrise that easily classified as one of the top three sunrises that I've seen in my lifetime painted the sky with hues of red and pink and every shade in between.
Once out into the main lake, the water became mirror flat with a thin fog that only rose about head high off the water. The slick water and mist blended into a unified horizon with God's daily painting igniting the sky above. And though we were running at some 70 mph, without a ripple on the water, it felt more like we were floating on a surreal landscape.
And in that moment a shiver went down my spine as I suddenly recalled every reason I love the sport of tournament bass fishing. It's undoubtedly the same feeling a surfer gets when catching the perfect wave. Or the sensation a pilot gets in that magical moment when the plane's wheels actually leave the ground.
I was completely transfixed in that exceptional time and space when Hite tapped me on the shoulder and exclaimed into the rushing wind, "Is that the most incredible sunrise you've ever seen or what?"
In that second I realized that our sport of tournament bass fishing is going to be just fine.
Why would I make such a claim without some kind of proof, especially when things have seemed so grim?
Because here's what I do know: Many of you reading this website know exactly what it feels like to run into a beautiful sunrise on tournament morning, filled with the anticipation and excitement of a brand new fishing day.
And that feeling never washes away or wanes – not against economic downturns, not against sponsor cutbacks, not against temporary leaves of absence from the sport.
Better yet, what about that tingly feeling you get in your chest when that first bass of the day "tongs" your line? There's no substitute for that one.
Okay, how about hooking your final keeper on the last cast of the day, frantically scrambling to get it into the livewell – all while strapping down rods, pulling up the trolling motor and zipping up lifejackets – and making it back to weigh-in with seconds to spare? Yeah, as far as I know, that kind of rush doesn't exactly come in pill form, either.
No matter what level fisherman you are – full-time pro, co-angler, club angler, or fishing the Tuesday-night fruit jar derby – the adrenaline rush that occurs in those rare moments while "chasing little green fish" and the camaraderie that comes with it are the common threads that bind us all. There simply is no substitute.
Many years ago I asked Takahiro Omori why he gave up his home in Japan to pursue a fishing career in America. I'll never forget his response. A huge smile crossed his face as he exclaimed with certainty: "Once you're born a bass fisherman, there's nothing you can do about it – except go bass fishing."
Amen, Tak.
Perhaps some big changes are inevitable. But I'm pretty sure that tournament bass fishing isn't going to disappear into some economic black hole, never to be heard from again.
There are simply too many good people out here who long to run into the promising sunrise of a new tournament day – it's the Big Medicine for all that ails us.
