Turnout was low at the tackle shop, but I never pass up an opportunity to talk to kids. I had been persuaded to present my history in fishing to a B.A.S.S. Nation high school group, but the best part was just hanging out. The undeniable enthusiasm in a 17-year-old's approach to fishing never gets old. At that age, it’s still all about secret lures and hot spots. My favorites.
I remembered my time hanging at the tackle shop. Looking back nearly 40 years now, it was Atlantic Gun and Tackle in Brecksville, Ohio that started it all. There, Steve would give me the time of day I didn’t think I deserved.
From what I remember, the store was in the basement of a shopping center, so it had a feel of entering into a different realm. I could spend days there. Just being in the presence of all the lures somehow transported me.
Steve treated me just like a regular customer and was willing to talk when everyone else discounted me as a kid who didn't know much. Ego ruins fishing more than anything. I’m not sure how that ever entered the equation, but it’s hard for a teenager to rub shoulders with the grown-ups.
Steve would answer my endless questions as I tried to solve the riddles of bass fishing. Mostly, I wanted to know why lures that looked like fish often caught nothing, while those that looked like nothing caught fish. He never pushed to sell me anything, instead helping me to unfold all the confusion on my own.
The shop carried VHS tapes that could be rented for $5 a day. I quickly discovered that, if I rented the tapes on Saturday, I didn’t have to return them until Monday. That gave me a whole extra day to nerd out on Ricky Clunn and Roland Martin. Many of the tapes I memorized. I still don’t truly understand my obsession, but I suppose I was again transported to a different world. A world that looked nothing like where I fished.
As I approached legal driving age, I upgraded my local shop to one across town. The Rodmaker’s Shoppe was where the big guns hung out. I never understood the extra letters in the name, but it somehow made the place seem high-end.
Rodmaker’s was the place I could buy the gear I read about. When Denny Brauer won a big tournament, I bought my first Rattle Back Jig there. When David Wharton “invented” braided line, it was in stock the next day. They had it all. I swear, there were a hundred colors of Rat-L-Traps hanging on the wall. Pork rinds came in dozens of shapes, even the eel.
There was a certain night of the week that the local tournament anglers would show up to chew the fat – maybe Tuesday or Wednesday – and I’d go stand a few aisles over and eavesdrop. The whole place smelled like burnt coffee and these guys would come in with heavy sun tans and the look of being exhausted all the time. Lots of them smoked.
Most of them were accomplished local tournament fisherman; club-level guys. Occasionally a real name would stroll in for the session. George Polosky, even Joe Thomas could show at any time.
When Ron Yurko walked through the door I about fell on the floor. He was my earliest bass fishing hero, behind, of course, Rick Clunn and the other greats. But they weren’t real people.
This was a guy who seemed to win every tournament he entered. Believe me, there was a period of time in Ohio and West Virginia when, if Ron Yurko showed up at your tournament, you were fishing for second. At least that’s what I remembered. I heard dozens of guys claim he cheated.
I was fascinated by Yurko and his methods. The old phrase “he could catch a fish in a mud puddle”; that started with Ron Yurko. He had perfected a method of fishing small jigs in ultra-shallow water, a proven recipe on the area’s heavily-pressured lakes and rivers.
Somehow Yurko also applied his technique to Lake Erie, corralling big smallmouth from places where they weren’t supposed to live. He went to a bunch of All-Americans; back when they were Red Mans. It was said that Ron Yurko won over a million dollars without ever fishing pro events.
By my early 20s, I had gained a bit of notoriety myself, winning a few B.A.S.S. Federation events and qualifying for a Divisional team. Somehow, Yurko agreed to go fishing with me on a private lake that was loaded with bass. Only landowners were permitted in, so it was one of my family’s private honey holes. I set out to show the old master a few new tricks.
Once we each caught a half-dozen fish, Yurko suggested we try a new spot across the creek. Knowing the bank to be too shallow to get into, I turned to head out. Yurko moved in on the trolling motor, insisting we push on.
“It gets deeper right against the shoreline.”
But how could he know? This was my turf; I knew everyone who fished here. I was finally the expert, the local hero.
An obscure, old channel bank still held 18 inches of water against an otherwise dry shoreline. There, my idol caught the biggest bass of the day, after letting me make the first cast. I can still see its gills moving as Yurko released it. It seemed to be looking at me.
I never told that story at the tackle store.
(Joe Balog is the often-outspoken owner of Millennium Promotions, Inc., an agency operating in the fishing and hunting industries. A former Bassmaster Open and EverStart Championship winner, he's best known for his big-water innovations and hardcore fishing style. He's a popular seminar speaker, product designer and author, and is considered one of the most influential smallmouth fishermen of modern times.)
