

Translation: I’ve been pounding the water for hours with nothing to show for it but a wicked backlash, a broken rod tip and a rapidly developing case of carpal tunnel syndrome.

Translation: I found one little suicidal bass, and that’s what he hit.

Translation: You are nowhere near my favorite spot in this area. I recommend that you stay right where you are while I run around the point about a hundred yards and whack ’em like there’s no tomorrow.

Translation: I just saw you catch one.

Translation: Actually, I didn’t lose that fish today … or even at this lake.

Translation: The Natural now knows that if he sees my boat, there are no bass within casting range.

Translation: Actually, that fish was probably about 2 pounds … and it was my only fish of the day unless you count the grass carp I foul-hooked.

Translation: We just dropped our last $100 to enter not one, but two pot tournaments. We are known all around the lake as “donors.” The real sticks out here love to see us coming. The last time we finished in the money … well, we’ve never actually finished in the money â unless you count the time we overslept and didn’t get to sign up or pay our entry fee. That was actually a good tournament for us!

Translation: I think that day was a Saturday … about 35 years ago. Man, I got lucky that day! Since then … not so much.

Translation: I told him not to eat at the truck stop just off the Interstate. It probably saved him a case of food poisoning that might have kept him off the water.