A Classic to forget


Some days you're the bug. Some days you're the windshield. After floundering around on Lay for the past few days, I'm feeling pretty buggy. And squished.

During practice, I never really felt like I had figured out where or how to catch a giant bag of bass, but I felt like I had found an area where I could peck around and catch four or five bass each day that would weigh 12 to 13 pounds.

Nothing spectacular, given the standings after Day Two, but obviously much better than my whopping 2 pounds and change that are posted way down there in 40-whatever place.

So what happened? It's pretty simple; I didn't get bit. Hard to put them in the boat when they won't open their freakin' mouths.

I was fishing out deeper than most people (shocker, I know) with a Jewel football jig. Main points at the mouth of spawning pockets with a bluff off the end of the points — classic stuff. The bass were absolutely lo-o-o-oaded off the side of the bluff, too. Arches were everywhere on the sonar. Huge balls of shad were everywhere. Just classic stuff.

During practice, I had quite a few bites in specific little spots along the bluff. The few times I swung, it was a fatty. I figured I could peck around and get four or five of the fatty's to bite. Maybe even get one of the schools fired up and catch a giant. Ah, the best laid plans ...

Being Boat 10, I had my run of the creek after the 15-minute run down Lay. Pulled up on the best part of the bluff and spent 2 1/2 hours with a peck. Cliff Pace had pulled up on the next point over and caught one shortly after dropping the troller.

Well, he got one to bite, I thought to myself, so they can be caught. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not a sniff.

Finally caught two dumb ones in the back of a pocket that were gorging on dying shad. Two stupid, stinking (literally, from eating all those shad) keeps. How impressive did that look as I came across the stage? That's what I thought; not very.

Believe me, from where I was standing on the stage, it was a Classic to forget. I'm going to blame it all on some bad juju in the jacket I wore on the official practice day.

It was a North Face Mountain Parka that my bud Jim Frank at Ozark Outdoor Supply had found for me. Being magenta and black, I figured it would be good for a few pics and being the correct color of pink, might even have some good vibes to it.

WRONG. Man, was I wrong. Bad juju. Bad, bad juju. I'm afraid to touch it to haul it out of the hotel. Might have to get some rubber gloves and a plastic bag to keep from getting any more of the stink from it on me. Might even leave the thing hanging in the closet of the Sheraton-Birmingham. Damn jacket.

Classic Expo, here I come.

For more info on Kevin Short or to contact Kevin, check out his Web site at www.kfshort.com.