It’s called a Pop-R Rebel. Not counting the treble hook on its rear, it’s about three inches long - at least the one I have is. With the hook and the red and white “feather-looking thing” covering the rear hook, about exactly four inches. It’s larger at the concaved red head and mouth, and its black and white body (looks like the scales on a fish) tapers back to the rear. There is another vicious treble hook under the white underbelly of the ‘Rebel.
The object is to fool the fish. Make ‘em think it’s something good to eat - or perhaps it’s the chase and catch that entice the bass toward the dinner table. Which, who knows? Only God and the cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates of the super class Pisces.
Perhaps this explains it. Now I possibly understand it - for the first time in my life. I never thought of it before, but I am a Pisces. That’s my Zodiac sign. Is that why I love to fish? Is that why I have caught so many, and yet, increasingly, kept so few?
But, back to the Pop-R Rebel and this past Memorial Day weekend. It was Saturday, and rather late. Janice said, “If you’ll catch us a couple of bass, I’ll filet them for supper.” It was a command performance, or, at least, this Pisces took it for one.
Down to the pond with tackle box, an inexpensive (but good) Zebco 20/30 reel and Zebco rod (probably $30 for the outfit) and my Pop-R Rebel ($5, or so). Cast it out. Let it sit. Pop it (that’s what the concaved mouth and head are for). Let it sit until the wake dissipates. Pop it, again. Let the wake disappear. Pop it, again.
It’s hard to fish it too slow. Too fast, yes. Too slow, no. Pop and wait, pop and wait. Reel it in. Cast again. Pop and wait. Pop and wait. Then, I see it. A bass rolls the water about 100 feet down the pond. I literally run down the bank and cast. Pop and wait. Pop and wait. Nothing. Reel it in and cast again. This time, she hits. I set the hooks and she’s on. I start reeling her in.
“It’s a good one,” I think. Then, she’s off. I’m disappointed, but not discouraged. If I hung one, there has to be other interests out there. So, I cast again. Pop and wait. Nothing. Pop and wait. Nothing. “Give her a little time and maybe she’ll hit again.” And then it happens. She’s on, and the struggle begins. She’s fighting for her life, and I’m trying, in the ancient ways, to bring home supper.
Yeah, it’s a good one, all right. How big, I can’t tell, but I know it’s a keeper. Not too fast. Keep the rod tip up. Steady. Steady. Not too fast. Then, she’s on the bank. It is a good one. Wish I had my scales. Then again, maybe not. I’d say: three and a half to four pounds. They always weigh a little more when you don’t have your scales!
Success. Supper. But she said “a couple.” Let’s see if I can catch another one. Then it happens. Another bass rolls the water, and my cast is close and accurate. He takes it, and the fight is one.
I win, again, and it’s another big bass, about the same size. This one’s longer but not as fat. I think this bass is a male.
With some difficulty and the help of my needle-nosed pliers, I remove the treble hooks and head with my two trophies to the house. It’s been a while since I’ve kept fish to eat. The keeping, cleaning, cooking and eating bring back many pleasant memories.
It all seems so ancient and so right. I’ll bet the Indians did the same things right here thousands of years ago.
My fishing buddy, Billy Bledsoe, used to say to me, every time we fished together and I caught a fish: “Larry, if you caught that one, there must be a million of ‘em out there.” Well, Billy, there are not a million, but there are two less big bass than there were, and this Pisces with his little Zebco and Pop-R Rebel had a great time. All in the ancient way on Memorial Day weekend, 2008.
