Well, my performance at the B.A.S.S. Nation Regional Qualifier on Lake Cherokee did not go as planned. I had a good time up there, tent camping all week at the Cherokee Dam Campground—that was an experience in and of itself. But the weather was absolutely perfect, the dogwoods were in full bloom, and there was pollen on the water; Everything looked to be setting up for a shallow water slugfest. As it turns out, it was more of a one-way clobbering between me and the competition. And I had apparently elected to receive.
After a grueling practice where I only boated a dozen or so 15-inch-plus keepers in three and a half days, I set out on Day 1 to fish a stretch of deeper bank where I had half of those bites in practice. I knew some guys would still catch them, but I knew the fishing was tough, too. And, I thought, if I could catch 12 pounds a day, then I’d have a shot at qualifying for the National Championship. A limit of keepers a day on this place would put me close to that. So that was the bar I set for the day.
Unfortunately, that did not happen. Though I had practiced from 6 inches of water out to 35, the only consistent bite I had found was on a Strike King Menace Grub on a shaky head. It was basically a weedless, finesse jig with no skirt—or so I told myself to make myself feel better about it. I didn’t care at that point. My pride had been worked out of me during practice. I’d do whatever I had to do to get 12 pounds in the boat.
After crawling that thing around in 15 to 20 feet of water for a quarter mile, 3 hours had passed and I had yet to have a bite. I scrambled around after that and went back to practice mode, fishing new water to try to unlock the lake on the fly. When that didn’t work, I ran back to my starting spot and half convinced myself it was a timing deal—that they’d surely be biting now. Wrong again.
At about 2:30, I had my first bite of the day, from a gar that came up and nipped my bait at the boat and then sat there looking at me like I was lost or something—a very perceptive gar. That was the only bite I had to show for a whole day of tournament fishing, the worst day of competition I’d ever had on the water.
You may be asking yourself, what do I really have to learn from a guy who finished dead last? Why is this dude even taking the time to do a tournament recap? Fair questions. I’ve learned, though, that fishing isn’t all about catching them. It’s about pride and ego and humility and life lessons. Most of life is wrapped up in fishing in some way or another. And, when all of life gets wrapped up in fishing, the train can leave the tracks pretty easily. Gleaning any of this from my experiences on the water could shorten your learning curve and spare you some heartache.
Cherokee taught me a lot. A lot about patience, humility, and priorities. My time there helped me see the bigger picture and refocus. I want to catch them. Oh, how I want to catch them every time I back the boat in the water. But having my worst tournament day ever reminded me that life is about so much more.
With about 30 minutes left in the day, still fully committed to catching something but not feeling all that hopeful after having exhausted everything, my mind started to wander. Is it better to catch one so I can cross the stage, or would I rather just zero so I can get the heck out of dodge and skirt the embarrassment a little?
Then I remembered what I was really there for—or what I said I was there for at least—to share the Gospel and hopefully shine a light into someone’s dark world with the story of how God saved me from a slimy pit. That’s a lot easier to do from stage with big fish in your hands, standing on the mountaintop. But nothing grows on the mountain top; growth happens in the valley. So, I committed then and there to cross the stage no matter what.
It felt awkward, no doubt, walking up with no fish to the tanks. I got some curious looks from the other anglers in line and an awkward but empathetic nod from the staff when I asked to go up on stage anyway. But when I stepped on stage and shared my story, all was right with the world. I knew I was smack dab in the middle of God’s will for my life; I was right where He wanted me to be.
I’d love for each and every one of you to know what it feels like to hoist 29 pounds on the Bassmaster stage. I’ve done it, and it’s awesome. But I can confidently say that it pales in comparison to what went on at Cherokee, looking out at the faces of those I was sent to spread the message to. Knowing some hurting soul was perhaps hearing the word of God online for the first time as I quoted Psalm 40, a passage of scripture that has meant so much to me. I was there to catch fish, but I was there to win souls for Christ first and foremost. And, so, I went fishing in more than one way at Cherokee. And it was a productive trip in the end.
What’s next? Well, that week ate up all the funds I had budgeted for the year when it comes to qualifying for the 2026 B.A.S.S. Nation National Championship and the 2027 Bassmaster Classic. There are a couple of qualifiers left, with events on the Mississippi River and Lake Champlain later this year. There’s a slim chance I’ll get a wild hair and scratch up some money to make the long haul north. But, most likely, it’ll be 2027 before I compete for another shot at the Classic. In the meantime, I’ll focus on getting better. I’ll work on my forward-facing-sonar game, work at being a better person, and focus on my family. That’ll be plenty to do for now.
