Day With Howell Was Enlightening If Not Exciting

Saturday, Feb. 20, 4:05 a.m.

Riiiiiiing......Riiiiiing......Riii–

"Uhhh, hello? Yeah, I’m on my way down right now," I fibbed.

The night before I had gone to the Early Times party at the Redmont Hotel in downtown Birmingham, Ala., and I'd gotten back to my hotel room around 2:30 a.m., at which time I devoured some old Buffalo wings (delish!), took my contacts out and went to bed by 2:45. The person calling was a nice lady who just happened to be the press observer coordinator for the Bassmaster Classic, and she wanted to make sure I didn’t arrive late for the bus that would transport me to Lay Lake for my day on the water.

Being the responsible person I am, I had set my alarm on my new cell phone. Unfortunately I'd overlooked the a.m. vs. p.m. option and it hadn’t gone off.

After I hung up, I jumped out of bed and into my jeans, my shirt, two more shirts, a sweatshirt and a jacket. I ran to the bathroom, picked up my contact-lens container, opened the side containing my left contact, extracted it and held it up to my eye.

“Aaaahhhhhh……it burns!”

I guess an hour and 20 minutes isn’t enough time for the contacts to be in the solution, because it felt like I had put them in straight battery acid. It occurred to me later that the hot Buffalo wings might have had something to do with it.

Being short on time, I shoved the right contact in, grabbed my stuff and headed for the lobby, my eyes full of tears. I caught up with everyone and immediately people were asking each other what that Sonar guy was crying about.

The press observer bus was a little late getting out of the boat yard. Apparently it was supposed to depart before the police-escorted convoy of Classic competitors. We just missed getting in front of them by a red light, but it was cool watching all the trucks – boats in tow – speeding through downtown Birmingham while escorted by cops.

After all the boats passed, the bus was under way and I went back to sleep.

I woke up at the launch ramp at Lay. There were hundreds of fans crowding the shoreline, looking to wish good luck to their favorite pros.

After wandering around for awhile I finally met up with Randy Howell in his Toyota Tundra and Triton rig. I had met him my first day there in the lobby of the Sheraton hotel, so he recognized me right away. Things were hectic, so I jumped in the truck and he jumped in the boat.

I quickly launched him and his boat, parked his truck and met him down at the water’s edge, where he had begun organizing his tackle while talking with fellow competitor Brent Chapman. I hopped into the seat and just watched – it was pretty surreal to be sitting in Randy Howell’s boat before the second day of the Bassmaster Classic. I had been a big fan for a long time and now I was within 3 feet of him, watching him prepare his tackle as meticulously as I do before an event.

A Bumpy Ride

Randy was in 20th place to start day 2 and we arrived at his first spot a little later than expected due to some unplanned excitement. We took what he'd earlier described as a “shortcut” that he'd recently just learned to run. It was basically a narrow channel wedged between a dock-laden shoreline and a stump-strewn flat. Randy told me that he'd hit a stump pretty hard the day before, but the channel was basically clear for as far as it was necessary to stay in it.

Well, apparently there was a stump that didn’t get the memo because we hit the hull directly under my seat so hard on it that I found myself debating which dock I would swim to when we were forced to abandon the boat. Luckily, it apparently didn’t cause any severe damage.

Once we got to his main area, two other boats were already in there. One was owned by a crappie fisherman whom Randy had said was a nice guy and was there the day before, and the other was captained by 2008 Classic champion Alton Jones.

The area was basically a backwater pond that was connected to the main lake by a small bridge. It looked like the pond was pretty much rectangular in shape. The bridge side was a steep wall composed of riprap, while the opposite side had a small creek running into it. The other sides were pretty bare, with nothing more than a single floating dock and a couple of small laydowns extending into the shallow water.

Jones had arrived about a minute before us, and after Randy explained that the pond was his main area, Alton ceded it to him.

Watching two grown men, fishing in the most important angling competition in the world, work out an issue with such a high level of sportsmanship and consideration was very refreshing. I can only hope that that level of professionalism is common at the top rung of this sport.

Slow Morning

Despite having the whole backwater to himself (except for our crappie-fishing buddy), Randy didn’t have much to show for it after the first hour. He'd been casting shad-colored lipless crankbaits and jerkbaits around stands of vegetation (mostly milfoil) and around the few brush piles on the flat.

One thing we both noticed was a lack of current, which seemed to kill the schooling action he'd enjoyed the day before.

He ended up scraping one keeper from the rear of the backwater on a Texas-rigged trick worm that he resorted to after discovering a lack of interest in the crankbaits and jerkbaits, and then missed several other bites. Soon, with the air warming up and the water temperature rising with it, he decided to switch gears and go flip for the rest of the day.

We said goodbye to the backwater and headed out to the main lake.

Lay Lake is riddled with a viney-type weed that's very similar to the Kissimmee grass or maidencain that we have here in Florida, except it seems to create more of a tangled mess that resembles what we call "gator grass." It's basically an emergent type of vegetation that forms a brown, dead-looking tangled mass that's an absolutely beautiful sight for any self-respecting flipper. And the water clarity was just perfect for the technique, too, being moderately stained.

However, despite having my secret seal of approval, Randy had a hard time. He was basically running a lot of main-lake grass that was growing on points and shallow saddles, and he was getting very few bites.

It was at this part of the day that Randy started talking a little more, which was good because it helped me stay awake.

A Nice Conversation

One of the reasons I chose to be Randy’s press observer is because he just seemed like a really great guy. Though I'm not a religious person, I respect his faith and I've always felt like he's been a great ambassador for the sport.

One of the short conversations we had got started by him asking about the kind of tips I get as a waiter at Red Lobster. I bit my tongue a little bit about how I feel about some of them, but I gave him a decent ballpark figure. I must admit he got me fired up on the topic of getting “stiffed” by customers.

We both agreed that though the concept of tipping is odd, it is a part of or culture and it's a necessity for servers since most of our salaries are much less than minimum wage. He then went on to tell me about a ritual that he and his wife employ annually of giving a $100 bill to a server who does a good job for them and seems like they need it. They usually do this around the holidays. I thought that was cool, and it was another gold star for him on my respect chart.

The day quickly began to draw to a close as the clock neared his check-in time. Unfortunately, there weren’t any last minute heroics on this day. Randy had pretty much flipped all day since leaving his first area, and didn’t have much to show for it. I probably would have done the same, considering the conditions.

He ended up finishing with his lonely keeper from the morning, which went on to weigh 1-07. He fell to 33rd place and out of the cut.

I made my back to the media bus and got comfortable in my seat, and as I began to gaze out the window in the general direction of the monstrous, inflatable Mercury Optimax close to Lay’s shoreline, I started to reflect upon the day's experiences.

I must admit that at first I was a little disappointed that Randy didn’t have more success. I mean, it's always nice when fish are being caught, and anyone would like to be there when someone makes some “Classic magic” happen. However, I began to realize that there were many things I experienced that were very valuable to me.

The first thing that occurred to me was that mechanical skills are not what separate the great anglers from the good anglers. It is experience.

All day I had been watching Randy and saying to myself, “I do that just as well. Why is he in the Classic while I'm pushing Endless Shrimp?” I began to realize that though confidence is another important factor in a professional angler’s success, it's really a by-product of experience.

Another thing I realized in talking with Randy is that there are no shortcuts to the top of the game. He, like other top professionals, got to the highest level through hard work and determination, not natural-born talent (though I think KVD must've been born with a little something extra).

I constantly have nights when I wonder if there's some X-factor that a person must be born with to become one of the greats. After my day with Randy I realized that we all have an opportunity to be the best, but it is up to us to put forth the effort. If there is an X-factor, it's determination and perseverance, not some mystery “sixth sense” you emerge into this world with.

So, at the end of a long day on Lay Lake, Randy Howell may have had a pretty disappointing day, and I may not have learned how to catch fish there. On the other hand, I learned a lot about what it really takes to be a professional bass angler.

Miles "Sonar" Burghoff is a student at the University of Central Florida and an aspiring professional angler. He writes a regular column for BassFan.